Jogging dans le Parking

We are still locked down and sedentary, my butt is starting to spread like cheese in a raclette and I’m going a bit apeshit. In my mind only, though. The exterior remains reasonably calm, so Eddie doesn’t notice I might soon rappel down the balcony. I tried running on the spot, but I’m so clumsy, I broke my phone, which was attached to my ears, playing “Stranger Things”, the phone, not the ears and I thought it a good idea to leave “the spot” and run backwards and forwards a bit, which is obviously a bad idea when your ears are connected to your phone on a cord shorter than the length of the room. So now I’ve taken to running in the car park.

Not that pretty when you first start. But one can find beauty in anything, if one tries. I am a great fan of industrial buildings, factories, the concrete ugly. There are the cement works outside Ipoh, which you can see from the gorgeous temple in a cave. Well, the temple is ugly, but the cave is beautiful. So I tried to look for the beauty in my 9 story car park. And I found it.

A slice of greenery in the sunlight. If I was a decent photographer, I would be able to show this contrast between the concrete and the light much better, but you get the idea. Running up the next ramp (there are nine of these and bloody steep they are too), turning the corner and there it is:

Beauty.
In metal.
And chrome.

Whatever happened to chrome? Does anyone know why it has so completely vanished from our cars? Yes, there’s still the odd bit of plastic trying to look like chrome, but that’s rhinestone to Ms Taylor’s lavaliere. But I digress. By now I needed a bit of a breather from the bastard ramps so I took a good look. Alfa Romeos are as beautiful as they are temperamental, something not entirely unusual in human beauty either. I remember driving one in Luxembourg whose gear box stick was so completely wonky, you had to guess where anything was. I am of course still talking about the car. On to the next level…

Two more ramps and I get a view up the road where the Pavilion guys are trying to block our last bit of view. They will probably succeed. We used to have the Twin Towers as well, but they vanished. Behind the nausea inducing ugliness of Vida, a building distinguished by nothing at all. And now this highly anticipated piece of Pavilion real estate is going to take away the pink erection that is the Telecom Tower. Not that that is in any way an architectural masterpiece, but at least it is funny. With all those tacky dancing lights in varying colours. Tax payers’ money well spent, I say!

Have you noticed that as I tackle more and more ramps, my temper does not seem to improve?

That’s probably why I come across this temple telling me to Zen out a bit. That’s the idea, but it’s not really a Zen kind of temple. They have nightlong performances of gongs and opera and I swear, Karaoke! But still, it’s pretty, there among the greenery. Which leads me to another point; the city is greener than you imagine! We are here, right in the middle of the urban jungle and it’s as much ape as asphalt. Actually until Pavilion started their construction we still had monkeys up on the hill. Not sure where they’ve gone. Down to Changkat, I imagine.

Our building management hates visitors, so they put the visitor car bays at the second but last level and make them so narrow guests can just about park, but once they’ve parked, they can’t get out of the car. And if they do manage to get out, they can’t have a drink, or they won’t be able to get down the narrow (and steep) ramps without incurring large bodywork bills.

Now I’m almost at the top, panting like an elephant ballerina past her prime, not sure whether this might be my last opportunity to call the cardiologist, but I ignore the stabbing pain and shortness of breath and wobble on up the last bloody ramp, fight the nausea, make it to the end of the level and hang my head over the wall, ready to fertilise the herb garden below.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have a herb garden! Our mid range, dubiously maintained abode sports a sizeable garden. We have hillocks of wild pepper leaf, three types of basil, rosemary so fragrant, we had the vice squad in twice, looking for weed. Of which there is none, as our gardener takes care of it all. Ginger flowers, pandan leaf, mint, stevia, enough ulam to feed a village and all free for anyone to pick. Provided they live here.

This is the point at which I notice there is another ramp to tackle, but it really is the last one this time. Past one more beautiful car, which I know also belongs to that friend of ours. We see him taking them for a spin every now and again, not too far away, lest they get grumpy and want to go home, like the old age pensioners they are.
At last and finally I’m at the top, so now I just have to run down and do the whole thing another four times and that’s an hour’s run.

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