Jungle Boogie

Borneo and Brunei

Kelly's Jungle Book

Royal Brunei Airlines on the morning of Chinese New Year – heading for a Muslim country since everything will shut down in Singapore for the next four days. Our flight is blessed with a television screen of a mosque superimposed with Arabic phrases as a man speaks in tongues.

Once we arrived, we took a taxi to the boarder of Brunei and Borneo to meet Lim, our guide who drove us to Medamit to catch a long boat into the jungle.

“Don’t worry, the man is handicapped and can not speak very well, but he can still drive the boat.” Lim explains as a guy comes up with one arm put on backwards, his knees do not bend and he has three teeth, but as promised, he is one hell of a jungle boat driver. We wait on the dock for the driver’s mom, grandma and grandpa to finish shopping in town. Lim says we are lucky today because the tribe has hunted two wild boars for dinner tonight.

Up Shit Creek with 3 Paddles

The river winds through the jungle with dark clouds above. The water is the color and consistency of chocolate milk. An hour upstream, we reached the Long House of the Penan Tribe, the former cannibals who once ruled the jungle of Mulu National Park. They were featured in the August 1999 issue of National Geographic. The driver and our guide are the chief’s sons and I believe this to be the chief in this photo, but when I saw him, he was in a baseball cap, t-shirt and shorts.

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/enlarge/penan-tribesman_pod_image.html

We spent the night in a Longhouse, which is exactly that – a long house with many families living next to one another. Their homes are on stilts and connected by a long exterior porch which becomes a communal street for the village. Again, I make friends with the jungle kids who love their new glow bracelets and want me to hang them upside down by their ankles.

The slaughtered boars are out back with their heads cooking on the grill and carcasses being chopped up for dinner tonight. The bugs are Jurassic Park sized. Ants have bodies the size of wasps and a delirious cicada is mesmerized by a fluorescent light and has been banging his body repeatedly against the ceiling. I thought one of the kids was throwing a tennis ball at the roof.

At night we play blowpipe darts, which was their way of hunting before guns. You put a poison dart in a long wooden tube and blow. I ask to see their skulls, but our guide informs me that they have been buried. The Christians were good for one thing in Borneo – eliminating cannibalism. The missionaries brainwashed the tribes into good souls who now farm and kill pigs instead of eating people. Yey Jesus!

Jungle Hickeys

From the longhouse, the chief drove us three hours upstream to the beginning of the Headhunter’s Trail of Mulu National Park where we began an 11 ½ km trek through the jungle. We waded through calf-high murky water, swamps alternated by wet roots that are hard to tell from the snakes. The forest canopy is high with red monkeys flying overhead with prickles and vines hanging in the air, all covered in moss. Leaves are the diameter of hoola hoops. You can feel the photosynthesis happening around you. Blood sucking, malaria-ridden bugs and worms are driving me nuts.

I am traveling with my friend Tim from the ANZA bike team. He is a former outward bounds instructor who came prepared with gators and Gortex boots. I’m in my aerobic shoes with ankle-high socks, so the leeches are having a feast on me. Wild boars are crossing our trail and at km 5, the downpour begins.

When we reach Camp 5, our 19 year old guide is pulling the leeches off me. I run to the bathroom to clean up and as I squat to pee, I notice my shorts are filled with blood. One little sucker crawled almost to China and attached himself to the crevice between my inner thigh and buttocks and he is STILL sucking my blood. All the other bites have turned into dark purple blood freckles.

Camp 5

Backpackers gather from all over the world at camp 5 – Norway, Australia, Wales, Japan, Holland, KL and South Africa are all represented. Even though it is pouring, I occasionally get a glimpse of the limestone cliffs above us, which look like Yosemite. Our 19 year old jungle boy cooks for us too. Everything is a carb-overload and I will not be eating rice for a few weeks after this trip. Bats are dive bombing our barracks which consist of outdoor sleeping quarters covered from the rain.

Since I do not have my backpacking gear in Asia, I look like a tool with my 1200 count pristine white cotton duvet cover I stole from the serviced apartment with matching pillow case and fluffy white towel covered in a pink mosquito net. I feel like Paris Hilton in the rough life.

I wake in the middle of the night hallucinating. With my eyes closed, I see snakes and centipedes transforming into roots and trees winding in and out of giant leaves that turn back into snakes. With eyes open I see glowing objects floating in the pitch dark. a.) This is the onset of malaria, b.) Someone has slipped me some acid, or c.) The correct answer is my mind is so stressed from the hike through the jungle. I have a horrible nightmare that our long boat is lost down stream in this storm happening outside and we’ll have to walk back to the longhouse.

Pinnacles
5am and it is still storming, but we are going to try to summit anyways. The river has raised at least a couple of meters by now. I went pottie with a preying mantis.

Our guide has calves of steel and is carrying a machete. There are no switchbacks on this trail, only straight up, pulling myself up on roots and trees, trying to aim for the ones that are not alive or have 1,000 legs. The rocks are encased in moss and intertwined with vines feeding back up to the rain forest. Some points have ropes and cables to hold on to.

At 1800m of the 2400m view to the Pinnacles, our guide turns us back due the danger of the impeding rains and the fact that if we slip, we may be impaled by a limestone pinnacle. We are soaked from head to toe and know there is nothing to see in the cloud above us.

It takes more time to maneuver down the cliff than up. At one point I remember feeling like Bat Man spelunking down the side of the bat cave, just as my tree gives way and my back hits the limestone shaft on one side and flies me back to rack my stomach on the other side and send me into a small pool of water. This is not a trip for the weak or light-hearted. I think I saw this on TV once when it was called the Eco-Challenge.

36 hours straight of rain flooded the river an extra 20-30 feet, but luckily the chief managed to hold tight of the longboat. He has been waiting for us to come out of the jungle for two nights. The usual 4 hour trip downstream only took half that today with the speed of the flood waters.

Brunei

One night back in Brunei to dry our feet. The opulent mosques look like they are ready for the Vegas strip, but the main mosque I wanted to see was under scaffolding. The Sultan must have been at the height of his wealth during the 1960s and early 70’s by the looks of the Brady Bunch era architecture. Our goal is to find something that does not contain rice for dinner and we discover the only Italian restaurant in town along side of the lagoon. Across the lagoon is a community on stilts and ‘water coffins,’ as they call their water taxis, cutting through the choppy wakes in front of us. The thing that sucks most is Brunei is dry and we can not even have a glass of wine.

Brunei is one of those been there, done that types of destinations. Our flight is blessed for its way back to Singapore. I’m glad we did the trip – it was an adventure of a lifetime. Kelly’s Jungle detox too. Breathing pure oxygen, sleeping dusk to dawn, full moisture treatment, absence of sun to ruin my skin, my carbo diet and new blood. I feel great – like Keith Richards after a transfusion. My psyche will take a little longer to recover.

Borneo & Brunei

Borneo and Brunei
Happy Chinese New Year Everyone!

We have an extra two days off in Singapore this week, so I am heading to Borneo for the CNY! Even though I hate monkeys, I will be looking for the ugliest of them all- the endangered proboscis monkey! He has a nose that looks like a dong! Poor ugly monkey.

We'll be flying to Brunei and bus to the boarder to find our jungle trekking guide to take us into Mulu National Park - the Yosemite of SE Asia. We'll be staying in a longhouse on the river the 1st night while trekking the head-hunter trail, which yes, used to be the thoroughfare for cannibals.

From there, we will go to camp 5 to summit the Pinnacles route, complete with cables - just like Half-Dome. Look for pictures next week!

http://www.mulupark.com/html/activities/jungle_trekking_headhunter.htm

Bali-wood

Bali-wood

This Holiday season in Southeast Asia, I am mistaken for a Russian hooker, took my first Bollywood dance class, have begun to HATE MONKEYS, and spent NYE 2008 at the Kuta Pizza Hut.

Craig met me on the island of Bali where we were adopted by our new Indonesian family, Pak Chandra et al. Chandra is a friend of my new Indian family in Singapore. They used to work together in Jakarta before Chandra married a Balinese woman. He picked us up at the airport and showed us around the island for two days before we set off on our own.

Poor Craig, after thirty hours on a plane, he was thrown in Chandra’s SUV to cliff side beaches, giant gauruda statues and monkey dances during the sunset at Ulu Watu. The Kecak (monkey dance) is a traditional trance dance where Indonesian men drink heavily and chant in a circle as a tale of the Monkey Gods is played out in the center. The temple we witnessed it at is known for it’s beautiful sunset and the monkey thieves who have learned how to steal only expensive items from tourists (i.e. cell phones, cameras, jewelry and sunglasses) to hold for ransom until they are fed bananas. These little beasts are aggressive too.

Hit U with my Monkey Stick

Yes, I had a Monkey Stick! To keep the little monsters off me, because, as you know, I have trouble not terrorizing the monkeys. After the dance, we walked the dark temple and Chandra warned us not to venture down certain shady alley-ways for fear of the monkey gangs attacking us.

When we got to Ubud, our villa was on the opposite side from the Monkey Forest. Our first few minutes looking for the Alam Jiwa, Craig was trying to shake monkeys off his legs. He had tried to hide peanuts in his pants (for himself, not the monkeys), but they were on to him. From then on, we did everything in our power to avoid walking through the Monkey Forest, even as much as walking an hour out of our way in a rainstorm to avoid the evil almost-people.

Prior to Ubud, Craig went to Densapar to take his Indonesian driving test and obtain a national driver’s license. It took a little to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, especially in a world where horns are used not to mean, ‘watch-out’ but ‘I’m coming, get out of my way.’ There were a few times where we realized we were driving on the wrong side of the road and others when we learned not to drive the white lines on the map. That was when we almost got stuck in a rice field.

Ubud is the Napa Valley of Art. The town is remote, yet very cosmopolitan, traditional, yet the cuisine can rival the best SF restaurants. Ubud is ubber-friendly. Artists from all over the world have set up shop there to get away from it all while Balinese craftsmen work alongside them. We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas there in a beautiful little villa overlooking the rice fields which were serene and relaxing, except for the view of men with machetes off the balcony.

http://www.alamindahbali.com/alam_jiwa.htm

We loved Ubud so much we returned for two more nights towards the end of the trip.

Note to anyone planning to travel to Bali – December is the rainy season. We walked for five hours in a rainstorm on Christmas and it took days for us to see the sun again. The volcanoes we set off to see with Chandra we had to visit an additional two times before we had visibility of the tops of the mountains.

Everything is $5.37!

What can one buy for 50,000 Rupia (~$5.37)? Taxi to the Airport. One-hour massage. Manicure AND Pedicure. Two glasses of wine. A dress and a rattan purse.

After Ubud, we set off to Kitamani via Goa Gajah, the elephant caves, that smelled like elephant butt, but that was probably the smell of the former rotting corpses that once lined the sides of the caves. We also visited Gunang Kawi with 11^th century carvings and the site of the first Monkey Dance that we saw in the movie Baraka. If you haven’t seen this movie yet and want to feel like you have gone on a trip around the world – pick it up!

http://www.spiritofbaraka.com/baraka.aspx

Unfortunately, Craig was bit by a snake in the rice fields surrounding the temple which sent him into a long slumber that night with an inflamed foot.

Banana Pancakes Again?

In search of Sun, we headed to Lovina, a beach on the northern coast, where for about twenty bucks, you too can have your private bungalow on the beach surrounded by rice fields and fishing villages. The children in the fishing villages were adorable on our morning walk to the town.

http://www.kubulalang.com/

From Lovina, we visited the Gitgit Waterfalls, into the foggy mountains/volcano lakes, Munduk for a panoramic view and lunch, then a sunset drive down the coastal road along the black sand beaches to the diving town of Tulamben. We were up with the sun to do a wreck dive of the US Liberty, a Navy cargo ship that was shot down by the Japanese during WW2 and then split in half by a volcanic eruption in the 60’s.

We drove further around the coast to Amed for lunch and an afternoon hike into the hill tribes on Gutung Seraya. We traversed small menageries and rice field terraces to make it to the ridge where families lived like billie goats in bamboo huts overhanging the terraces.

Sorry we hit your chicken. Here is a glow bracelet to make up for it.

Further down the road were even more remote coastal villages. Dogs sleep in the middle of the street. Children run from their homes to the street to high-five us and say hello as we drive through the villages. Teenage boys gather along side of the road and beg us for cigarettes and sunglasses. An old man stopped us and made a shivering gesture as he pointed to my white blouse that was drying in the backseat. It would have made him look like a pirate and I just couldn’t contribute to fashion faux pas in Indonesia. Instead, I passed out glow bracelets to the kids on the streets.

At sunset, not knowing exactly where we were on a map, we stopped at Irene’s Homestay, in which ended up being Ujung. In the morning, I went for a jog, used the boulders as weights to work out, and taught some local boys some kickboxing moves as the sun rose. We also observed the local construction techniques in which women are used as manual labor carrying boulders and bags of semen on their heads in their OSHA approved flip flops. Oh – ‘semen’ is Indonesian for cement.

Our second trip to Ubud, we brought the sun back from the coast. We rented bikes to ride the river valleys. Temple, temple, temple, rice field, monkey, rice field, monkey, temple, temple, shrine, you buy sarong, I give you good price, temple, temple, taxi? Maybe tomorrow? temple, temple, rice field…

After overheating, sore buttocks, and Craig, 6’5” riding on a child’s size bike all day, we relaxed at the most beautiful infinity pool to get our Zen back. Craig is very well read and indulged in a book on explorations in Papua New Guinea, while I am finishing Getting Stoned with Savages. Ironically, both books are very similar, exploring the South Pacific cultures and cannibalism.

Kuta Cowboys

New Year’s Eve after more banana pancakes, we left Ubud for the Temple Tanah Lot on the western coast –the Mt. Saint Michel of Indonesia, and then to Legian Beach, just north of Kuta for the NYE celebration. We wanted to stay out of Kuta for two reasons – 1.) it is known as the vacation center of inebriated Aussie debauchery and 2.) it is the five year anniversary of the terrorist bombings.

We realized that we are some of the only Caucasians on kuta beach this holiday season, as it is filled mostly with families from Jakarta. At sunset we walked the beach and although we were tourists, we were also a tourist attraction. Families and groups of teenagers wanted their pictures taken with us. One guy asked Craig what celebrities we were.

Oddly enough, the hottest NYE hangout in Kuta is the Circle K Convenience store. This is where the biggest crowd is gathered. Trying to stay out of confined spaces, we were going to hang on the beach to watch the festivities, but we were starving! Restaurants all had their special buffets that would take hours to divulge in, besides the lines and cover charges for the big parties. So we figured we would grab a pizza before taking it to the beach. As we were waiting for the ‘za there was a mad dash of people and bodies flying by the window. Who would bomb a Pizza Hut? Unfortunately, twenty minutes before the countdown to 2008, a torrential downpour with Gale-force winds hit Kuta beach, forcing the crowd to seek shelter.

We were trapped in a Pizza Hut for an hour while the clock struck twelve and the streets flooded. We still got rained on all the way home, two beaches up. Happy New Year 2008!

P.S. The worst thing about 2008 is when you fail to realize that your ATM card expired on 12/07 and you have no money to get out of a country.

December 2007 - My New Home

Degrees Celsius

Who are the people in your neighborhood? I spent this week in Singapore getting acquainted with my new surroundings. Contrary to my original beliefs, I actually like Orchard Road, especially at night and especially during the Christmas Season. It is not like Naperville as much as a cross between London, the Champs Elysees and Ginza. Marks and Spencer, Takashimaya and Boarders on the corner, every expensive shop Paris would frequent and a Starbucks on every block. When Gloria Estefan warns that the ‘rhythm is going to get you,’ watch out for that Asian shopping bug instead.

My new apartment has 2 flat screen TV’s, 2 DVDs, 6 remote controls, over 100 stations, but no alarm clock or radio. So my first purchase was an iPod clock radio. My apartment has no dishwasher too, but on my second day I realized I do have one and her name might be Ling Ling. She comes everyday to clean my apartment and it makes me nuts! Feng shui uses a lot of items placed on angles. I’m more of an orthogonal girl (i.e. anal retentive) so when I walk in from work, my first five minutes are spent straightening the items in my apartment. Sunday is now the only day of the week that I have to make my bed.

Getting acquainted with my new kitchen was dangerous. My oven is the size of a microwave oven, and it is a microwave oven too. I go to make a pizza, trying to set the dial to 400, but it only went so far, so I figured it was warming up. Then it starts making a sound like a microwave. I walk away for a while and start to smell something burning. I stopped the oven, thinking I microwaved the pizza, opened the door to take the rack with the pizza out, and burnt the bejesus out of my fingers. 400 degrees Celsius = over 752 degrees Fahrenheit . The oven did not go that high, but it was on the hottest setting. I will not have fingerprints for a while.

My washer is also a dryer. I still have not figured this one out either, because my clothes are still wet and it baked my undies.

Thursday I went to dinner at a restaurant where the waiters started dancing on tables and breaking plates on the ground. Friday I ate Rudolph (venison) atop a revolving restaurant with a view of fireworks to kick off the Christmas Season. Saturday I walked to the Botanical Gardens where the Orchids are located, soon to become my new running route.

I am making friends quickly here. The Aussies are really nice. Many people I have met while interviewing at the local gyms are also road bike riders, so I have started riding with the ANZA cycling team. This is the Australia/New Zealand team that does group rides in Singapore. It feels much safer to travel in a peloton rather than alone and it is a great way to meet people. This morning I rode with the Rat Pack and we were riding on an expressway. Good motivation to keep up with the group. Later in the morning I attended some other instructor's classes, ballet with Kayla to help with my Pilates and Bellydancing with Jessie to get me to Bollywood!

Since I do not have a car, I have been pooling home with people from the Lonza jobsite and my estimator, Jen. Lonza is the site in construction next door which Genentech plans to buy after one full run of Avastin. The HR girl from Lonza is living in my building, but she will be leaving at the end of the month. One of the Lonza superintendents lives in my old Chinatown neighborhood, so I hitch home with him once a week to go to my Yoga class with Ruberman, the Indian Guru who can put himself in any compromising positions.

November 2007 -

Phish Phood

This week in Asia, I almost lost a nipple, was chased by irate monkeys and may have eaten dog instead of Turkey this Thanksgiving.

I had only been here a week before making my first doctor’s visit. This is why you don’t ride a bike in hot pants! I was on a nearby Indonesian Island for the weekend, not widely inhabited, very hot and humid. With no athletic gear with me, I thought flip flops and the hot pants bathing suit from a previous story would perfect biking attire….NOT.

As the rear tire slid from underneath me taking a corner, the entire right side of my body glided across the path, giving me the worst road rash I have ever encountered. My top slid down to my waist and my nipple was severed to a dangling little mosquito bite. My elbow has the deepest wound-about 1.5cm deep (I have to start thinking in the metric system now), .5 cm laceration on my ankle and baby toe (See Carl, nature tried to get rid of that 6^th toe on it’s own.), and a nice light braising across my entire thigh – little blood freckles. I must have slid in monkey poo or something.

The next day I met back in Singapore with my relocation agent who urged me to see the medic, for fear of infection and some nasty blood poising they have in SE Asia due to the humid weather not allowing for proper clotting. Nothing a little Neosporin could not have fixed back in the States.

All around the mulberry bush, monkeys chased Kelly….

Outside of Kuala Lumpur there is a wonderful excursion called the Batu Caves. After climbing over 250 stairs there is an amazing Hindu shrine built into the limestone caves, overlooking the city of KL. There is a giant gold statue of a Hindu God, alters and figurines built into the caves. It is also inhabited by a tribe of monkeys. Mean monkeys - the kind that steal your young and sell them to the gypsies for bananas.

At first glance they seem harmless. They are cute little animals, not much bigger than a squirrel, with fingers and faces that resemble human babies. Some of the Malaysian children may be mistaken as monkeys. One is eating a coconut, one is trying to get the last few sips from a can of beer, one is on a gate ready to pee on un-expecting bystanders, and another is playing with a plastic bag as if it is a toy (how come monkeys never suffocate from plastic bags over their heads?)

If you try to photograph them, they show teeth. If you try to talk monkey-talk with them they squeal back and show their teeth. If you show your teeth back, they WILL chase you. The blond girl finds this out the hard way. Not only by one monkey, but his friends join in to chase me from all directions, as I am screaming and running in circles. Then I realize what I did wrong. One of the friends goes over to comfort the monkey I had the confrontation with, by giving her a friendly monkey hump – probably to show me I was imposing on his territory.

On my way out I meet an Indian man with an iguana in a cage that he has named Godzilla.

“You should put those monkeys in the cage instead!” I mention to him

“No, non, no, we are in their world. The caves were here for them first.” <Insert accent of Apu from the Simpsons here.>

I want to be a Bollywood Dancer!

Now that I have moved to my new home at Newton’s circus, Little India is just walking distance away. I love Indian food and I suppose after enough visits to Little India, I will be ready for the real thing. My engineers have recommended some fabulous curry restaurants to me, one of which I frequent because I love to watch their Bollywood movies!

Every good Bollywood film must have the following:

1.) A beautiful star & starlette that are sexually-charged, but can not even as much as kiss on screen.

2.) A family of bystanders that can break into dance on a moments notice in the background.

3.) Some dance moves stolen from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, except they are clad in Saris instead of wearing zombie outfits. Brittney Spears, Prince and Paula Abdul’s dance moves are widely plagiarized as well.

4.) A slow beach scene where the star will ride up on a white horse singing a love song to his beloved, who is obviously a virgin. As he gets closer, the camera angles will spin as they embrace, but will NEVER show any sex.

While I watch the Bollywood films, my muscles twich as I do buttox pinchies to the beat of the sitar. I want to break into dance with them. This also happens whenever an 80’s song that my pompom squad practiced a gazillion times comes on the radio and my muscle memory knows the exact beat in which to enter into a jump split.

So even though I do not know any of the words to my new found songs, I can do a high-pitched phonetic squeal, which only to me sounds like a Bollywood hit. One evening in Little India with a friend, I break out into dancing in the streets with my squeal, just to see if others will join in like they do in the movies. They do not. The Indian guys on the street think the white girl is crazy.

Since I have accomplished just about every goal I ever have set for myself in life, I decide to make one a little less unobtainable. I want to be a Bollywood dancer! My friend says it can never happen since I am not Indian, but the next morning I go to work and tell my Indian engineers about my new dream and they think it is a GREAT idea! Watch out Shah Rukh!

This summer I found it ironic how Paris, Nicole Richie, Lohan, and Owen can all jump start their careers with their stints in jail and rehab, while the news in Singapore was predicting the fall of Bollywood because two of their main stars could face prision charges for political activity, while a female Indian actress is being demoralized for kissing an American actor on screen. What is wrong with our pop culture?

Be Careful What You Wish For…

After setting my new dream of becoming a Bollywood dancer, Monday I came home from work to the Travel & Leisure Station’s week of India adventures. Anthony Bourdin was traveling there and eating the best delicacies. I changed the station to an Indian Soap Opera, than the next station was an Indian Idol competition that was more like Star Search. Tuesday I get invited to an Indian family’s house for dinner on Saturday night.

Wednesday I was interviewing an engineering firm for a project. As they were discussing their current projects, they informed me that they have just been awarded the Mumbai International Airport. Mumbai = Bombay. Bombay = the home to BOLLYWOOD! So of course I told them about my new dream! His response: “You want to work in Bollywood? We need to staff the project.” So my interview of him turns tables, but I am not quite yet ready for my dream.

“Talk to me in a year.” I said. “I need more practice.”

Saturday night was dinner with the Vermas, their seventeen year old son and his friend, Sandeep. The father is one of my engineers. The wife, Suma, works for the Indian embassy. The son looks like an Indian Ricky Martin, and Sandeep went to school for a year in Calgary, ya hey der. Suma made an amazing dinner, while the boys taught me everything I needed to know about Bollywood. They showed one of the newest films with cameo appearances from all the most famous stars – Om Shanti Om. It is about reincarnation and the circle of life. It was more like Saturday Night Fever with Hippies, then a Pirate scene mixed with Mesopotamia. I think they are stealing ideas from Sword Lake!

I did get inducted with my new Indian name – Kavita Keen. That is the closest Indian name to mine and it means poetry. Now I have a Fijian family and an Indian family. I finally went home around 1am.

Phish Phood

For Thanksgiving, a visiting friend and I ventured into Malaysia to go SCUBA diving. Wednesday afternoon after work, we boarded a five hour bus to Kuala Lumpur to spend the evening outside of Petrones Towers, then a bus on Thursday to Georgetown in Penang which vastly resembles Charleston, South Carolina with more Asians, then a ferry Friday morning to the Island of Langkawi.

In third world countries, there is a new theory I have discovered. It is the multiple of 1.5. Whatever amount of time they say a bus, train, or ferry is going to take, multiply it by 1.5 to get the real time.

Malaysians are notorious for burning down their rainforests. It is odd to believe that Singapore, a short causeway away, was once part of this country. In 1957, the governments made a rule that anyone on the Island of Singapore at 5:30pm will be Singaporean and all others will remain Malaysians. Entire families were torn apart due to the traffic jam that day (Taxicab driver, 2007).

So we also find out the SCUBA diving in Malaysia is not really that great on the West Coast, due to the fact that their former techniques for fishing included them exercising their skill with dynamite and blowing up the reefs. The only decent diving spot is a marine reserve.

The ocean is a welcomed relief to my bike crash wounds. For the past week, every time water or soap hits my skin, I have been in pain. In the ocean, I am floating in a gentle bed of saline solution, bubbling up the dried scabs and keeping them from itching. I can feel the healing.

My family and close friends know my two biggest fears in life. 1.) Carnival workers and 2.) the fish bitting the toes off me underwater. This is why you will never see me at the fair or swimming in water where I can not see bottom. How do I get the nerve to SCUBA dive then? Diving is different because I can see the fish and there are flippers on my feet, so unless they have a very big mouth, my toes remain. My relatively new hobby has allowed me to be brave with fish to the point that in Belize, I massaged the stomach of a 2m nurse shark.

Tropical fish are also friendly, happy looking fish as opposed to the Muskies mounted above the bars in Northern Wisconsin. They look like snakes with teeth. Tropical fish never bite people unless provoked. That is what I learned in diving courses. Well, they failed to tell me that the fish will not bite you unless you provoke them, or if you have scabs hanging off your body. As I swam into a school of pretty blue fish, they started biting at my elbow, ankles, knees, and anywhere else dead skin was hanging off my body. Asian Piranahs…they cleaned me up pretty well.

So I am back in Singapore now, ready to go back to work. Nipples do heal very fast and will reattach themselves. Happy belated Thanksgiving!

October 2007 - Miss Saigon

Miss Saigon

Vietnam – the one place where I have had more dong in my hands and pockets than anywhere in the world! My hotel bill was over fourteen million dong! That is only about $250.

The Path of Least Resistance

I learn something new everyday. In Vietnam, a mom, a dad, baby and two pigs can fit on a motorbike. Traffic flows like water, all vehicles, mostly mopeds, travel at the same speed without organization or accidents. It was almost impossible to find a break in traffic to cross streets. After observing the locals, I realized that you can not wait for a break in the traffic to cross. You just have to walk into the intersection and the traffic goes around you. As I walk into traffic without getting killed, I feel a bit like Jesus walking on water. Mopeds flow around me, barely touching me as if I had just swum into a school of fish. (Note for later: this does not happen with fish if you have scabs hanging off your body, so I am sure there are exceptions to the rules.)

My father served in Vietnam in the 1960’s. His 60th birthday is in two weeks, where I will visit him in Chicago. I am hoping to visit his old post a Long Binh, about twenty miles outside of Ho-Chi Minh City, to take photos of what it looks like today.

I met up with an acquaintance in Saigon whom I met on the plane on a prior trip to Singapore (the man who informed me of my sleep potato chip eating disorder.) He has lived in Saigon for almost ten years and told me to contact him if I ever make it there. He met me at the Continental, my hotel on the main square where the Quiet American was filmed. He took me on a walking tour of Ho Chi Minh, introducing me to some of the best roof-top bars in the city for sunset. Unfortunately, he informs me that my father’s former post is now an Industrial wasteland and there is not much left of the barracks.

That evening I indulged in Vietnamese shopping through open marketplaces, the most beautiful silk shops, and art galleries. In one day, I had a dress made to fit my measurements exactly out of the silk of my choice for US$40. This is much different from the shopping centers in Singapore and finally I can find some nice bargains. Of course I have to indulge in a $20 massage and manicure & pedicure, since all the people who do my nails in the US are Vietnamese.

The next morning I woke up early to go for a run along the Mekong River before the heat and humidity set in. The city has a very French influence in the architecture of the Opera House, train station, churches and community buildings. I have a dog friend who I named ‘Dinner.’

October 2007 - Jakarta

This week in Asia

I have a new boss. My contractor’s jack russell terrier killed a two meter python in his backyard. My move to Newton’s Circus has been confirmed for November 15^th. I explained snow to a group of the Indian engineers who were just mesmerized by the stories. Oktoberfest is partying strong in Singapore. And I was almost banned from entering Indonesia, due to the fact that I have run out of pages in my passport.

Newton’s Circus is still in the expatriate side of Singapore, however, it is off the main shopping road and the grounds, pool, and gym are resort-like. It is a brand new serviced apartment complex with architecturally obtrusive exterior and cutting-edge interiors. The complex is called Orchard-Scotts, just two blocks from the famed shopping Mecca of Orchard Avenue.

As my mother looked up on the internet, Newton’s Circus is described as a “food orgy.” It has a well-known hawker food court where my colleagues took me for my first dinner in Singapore. This is where we were flashed by an elderly, half-naked Asian man with fake Rolexes taped to his mid-section in May.

Kid in a Candy Store with the Chinese Basketball Team

Friday after work, I took off to the Airport to catch a Lufthansa flight to Jakarta that was cancelled due to ‘mechanical difficulties.’ After three hours in the airport, I was reassigned to a later Singapore Air flight, where, I am a Countess...

One of my favorite stores in the duty free area is the candy store. Here I am surrounded by my favorite European chocolates – Rochers, Milka Bars, Lindt, and Cadbury. I notice next to me an extremely odd sight. Two Asian men are towering over me. I can not help but stare since I have never seen this in person, only on TV with that Yao guy in the American NBA.

As I turn a corner there is another one, then another and another two meter plus Asian man. Am I in some sort of bizarre Ambien dream-state withdrawal or something? In a society where I am taller than most of the men, this was bizarre. I finally have to ask someone if they are all together and they are basket ball players.

The delay ends up being a good misfortune, since the setback flies me in at night with fireworks blasting around the plane during the celebration of Idul Fitri, marking the finish of a month of fasting for Ramadhan. Imagine if you combined Lent, Mardi Gras, Christmas and the Fourth of July – you would get what is going on in Indonesia this weekend.

Jakarta is a huge city and Java is the most densely populated of the islands. I have been picked up in a black SUV with tinted windows. If I did not know better, I could have accidentally flown to Baghdad with the number of people piled into trucks, waving flags and shooting fireworks out of bazooka-shaped apparatuses. I am stuck in a parade, that no one is watching, everyone is participating, but nobody is throwing any candy. Whole families are riding the streets of Jakarta on a single motorbike. Women in veils and dresses are hanging off the sides and babies are riding on their fathers’ shoulders or the handle bars. Viagra vendors line the streets.

The driver too is Muslim and celebrating the end of the fast tomorrow. Families will disappear from the streets and disperse into the countryside to their hometowns to feast with their relatives. As I read in the Straights Times this morning, people exodus from the cities. All the hired help leaves for their families and the rich are left to wipe their own butts. Ever see ‘A Day Without A Mexican’ where California falls to pieces when all the Hispanics disappear? The newspaper article said that many of the hotels in Jakarta get booked this weekend because the families can not fend for themselves without their servants, which ultimately cost $65 a month, on average, for each live-in helper.

The fireworks and parties went on through the night. When I awoke to the prayer calls on Saturday morning, the streets were desolate. It is a great weekend to explore the usually crowded, hustling and bustling third world city. The people I encounter are in the best holiday wear headed for the feast.

The Muslim religion is based from five pillars: 1.) There is one God, the almighty Mohammad. 2.) The fast for one month during Ramadan. 3.) A pilgrimage to Mecca. 4.) Oms to the poor and 5.) Prayer – like five times a day! Not only that, but loud speakers blare through the city to remind them to pray, five times a day!

The people here haven’t eaten for a month (from sunrise to sunset) and everyone is so happy in the streets, yelling ‘Hello’ as their whole family passes by on the motorcycle. Did you know a family of six can fit on a motorcycle? I made it to the old town on my walk with the old harbor lined with scooners and the Dutch town square where the buildings are rotting away and the canals are full of floating garbage. The streets are very impoverished, but there is something beautiful about the shanties I pass in the streets.

After a long stroll through the afternoon, I headed back to my hotel in a bajaj, motorcycle with three wheels and tin can around it. My room looks over three mosques. The rooftop pool is a sort of oasis in Jakarta. With the amount of 8+ earthquakes in the area lately, I wonder how safe this top-heavy structure really is?

Hanging with the Dutch James Bond

The wonderful thing about traveling by yourself is that you are invited into situations that would not normally offer themselves if you were with a companion. As I lay by the pool with the nannieless families, the only other Caucasian I have seen besides looking in the mirror this morning, plants himself next to me with a pleasant, “Hello, how are you today?”

As I leave the pool, he pipes up to introduce himself and break the ice. His name is Hans, he is Dutch and works in the oil business. He is not married, because the Dutch do not marry anymore, but has a live-in girl friend and eight year old son with her. He seems harmless, so I stay a while longer, happy to have met someone else who speaks English.

He invited me to join him and a business associate, Stephen the Aussie, for dinner this evening. I accept and meet them in the lobby for a drink prior to heading out to Jakarta at night. They both seem very reputable and we have all exchanged business cards and had wonderful conversation.

Unfortunately, when all the hired help leaves Jakarta, all the restaurants close down too. We are stuck back at the hotel to spend the rest of the evening with a few bottles of wine meeting my new friends. Some how, this turns into an impromptu job interview, as the two of them are launching a new business together, providing oil platforms and storage for petrol for companies around the world. They are traveling from Jakarta, to KL, then to Malta, then Moscow and back to Malaysia and Jakarta again, all this month.

I am hesitant to get involved in their venture, knowing nothing about oil, except how to fill up my car at Shell.

“Neither one of us knew anything about oil either when we got involved. It is just like any other business, it is all about making relationships and fostering them through time.” Stephen was formerly in the mining business and Hans was a Dutch spy. What does a Dutch spy spy on? This question unleashes a series of made for Hollywood stories that I am amazed with and could write a story on his stories alone.

As a soldier, Hans has been shot through the air 30m (almost a hundred feet), covered in others blood and body parts from a mine explosion which caused him not sleep for a good five weeks. During this time of insomnia he explains that the body releases adrenaline and hormones that make the brain acutely aware. He could sense the movement of insects around him and became more in tune with nature. During this bout with sleeplessness, he became addicted to morphine and suffered the withdrawals to end the dependence, which landed him into a mindset that the Dutch CIA profiles to be a spy.

Unlike the FBI agent I went on a date with a couple years ago, Dutch spies are more than happy to share their experiences with strangers. Regardless, even with the exciting stories, I have enough respect for myself not to fall into James Bond’s traps to get a girl into bed. Stephen is leaving for Perth in the morning and we all agree to meet for breakfast to see him off. While I am sleeping, Hans is up all night, tragically bothered by the American girl that ignored his advances and spent the night performing background checks on me.

So I am back in Singapore now, back to the grind. Next week, maybe Saigon if I can get passport pages and a Vietnamese Visa.