Tom’s Travels

TRIP TO PERHENTIAN ISLANDS

With the departure of Joe & Marlene (Canadians) and Renee (Australian), the Great Eight diminished to the Fab Five. However, now that Mike (Irish), Sara (English) and Julia (Polish) have gone our group has shrunk to the Dynamic Duo, Colleen and me. So, since we had a three day weekend, we felt it was imperative that we take a trip in their honor. We bought a package at a tourism fair in Kuala Lumpur and headed for the Perhentian Islands, a group of small islands off the northeast coast of Malaysia, almost up to Thailand. It was an excellent choice. A 55 minute plane ride, a one hour taxi ride and a thirty minute boat ride and we were there. Paradise. Clean, sandy beaches interrupted by huge boulders worn smooth by the sea. Crystal clear water and lots of coral just offshore.

We stayed at the Perhentian Island Resort which is right on the beach nestled in the palm trees. The beach in front runs for couple of hundred yards in each direction before it end in a wall of huge rocks leading into the sea. (We found later that we could take a walkway through the woods along the beach to get to another isolated resort area which was not quite as upscale as the Perhertian. By not so upscale, I mean it was more of a backpackers destination). There was a nice restaurant, a tiny gift shop, and a dive shop. Nothing else. A great place for a quiet, relaxing vacation. The sky was overcast when we arrived but the sun popped out while we were having lunch. The restaurant was not crowded and we surmised that, according to the Lonely Planet, we had arrived at the tail end of the season. We went to the dive shop and arranged a snorkeling trip for that afternoon. We went out with four other people, think they were Japanese. The snorkeling was great. Identified lots of fish thanks to a book about The Coral Reef that Julia had given me as a parting present. Butterflyfish, Angelfish, Parrotfish, Triggerfish, Wrasses, and assorted small, brightly colored, beautiful fish. It was an undersea wonderland. We saw Giant clams maybe two feet across, interlocking scalloped shells that opened to reveal a bright colored mantle covering each side giving the illusion of two huge lips ranging in color from blues to greens to browns. Beautiful to behold. Giant anemones swayed with the current and clownfish swam blissfully in and out of the poisonous tentacles. Long spined sea urchins that must have been at least 18 inches across. Christmas tree worms that disappeared into the coral when you got close. All shapes, sizes and colors of coral.

They took us to three different spots, each a little different, with different things to see. The last was close to the resort and offered the most fish. The guide threw some bread into the water and we were engulfed in a mountain of small fish in a feeding frenzy, some nipping at our arms and legs. Even when they weren’t being fed, the little ones swam right up to your mask an peeked in, as if to say “Who are you and what are you doing here?” You could almost touch them but never quite as they would scurry just out of your reach.

Saturday was overcast and we hesitated to go out on a boat if the visibility was not good, so we just snorkeled off the beach. It was great. Not as many fish nor as many varieties but loads of things to see. I particularly liked the anemones with clownfish swimming in and out and the colorful giant clams. Went to one spot where a sea turtle hangs out and watched him feed on the bottom. Dove down to get close to him but he wasn’t having any of that and immediately swam away. It rained in the late afternoon so we read and worked Kakuro, the latest craze in numbers puzzles. More challenging than Sudoku.

Sunday we had to leave at noon in order to catch the ferry. Went snorkeling off the beach again. This time very close to the spot where the guide had fed the fish. We worked our way out to the tip of the island to a wide channel which separates two islands. Saw lots of fish (as usual) but some were different from what we had seen before. A blue spotted lagoon ray. A school of what they called sword fish swam by. They looked like needlenose fish but larger, a miniature version of barracuda. I first though they might be a cousin of the barracuda as they had a big mouth full of needle sharp teeth. My book tells me they were Halfbeaks and they don’t look near as dangerous in the book as they did in the water. We passed a couple huge barracuda resting comfortably on the bottom between two boulders. Colleen didn’t realize what they were and was only interested because they were so large. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what they were and became very nervous. I remembered that I had forgotten to take off my necklace. I’m not afraid of many things in the sea but I have a healthy respect for the damage a barracuda can do. I was happy to leave them behind. When we got to the end of the island, where we could feel the current, we saw a couple of black tipped sharks, not big, maybe 2 to 3 feet. They didn’t bother me at all. They are beautiful to watch move in the water. There may have been more than two. We weren’t sure as they circled us a couple of times before moving away. As we worked back toward the beach, the barracuda swam by us, closer than I wanted. I’ve seen lots of barracuda in the water in the Florida Keys but these made me really nervous.

The Perhentian Islands are great to visit. They told us the best time is June and July. It was wonderful and I’d like to go back for a totally relaxing vacation. But we had to leave and head back to KL for one more month of teaching before going to Australia.

Trip to Bali

Friday August 24:

We finally had a week off from the grind of teaching five days a week, week after week. A whole week to get out of town and we took it. Three of us, Colleen, Julia and I, headed for Bali, that jewel in the necklace of 170,000 islands that make up Indonesia. We had big plans to visit several islands nearby and really get a taste of Indonesia. We left the apartment at 8AM for our 11:30 flight. Things went smoothly and we got to the airport in plenty of time, had breakfast at McDonalds (am I the only person who really likes an Egg McMuffin?) and browsed through the mini-mart for books to read. We went through security and they asked me to open my bag which I did of course as I had nothing to hide. The woman pulled an unopened jar of peanut butter from my backpack. Peanut butter is an essential item for any serious traveler traveling to a land and cuisine with which he is unfamiliar. (And it’s great for cheap snacks). The lady looked at the jar and then at another person in uniform and then turned to me and said, “This is a gel.” “Pardon me?” I responded, wondering if she had ever tasted peanut butter or had seen it spread on bread. “It’s not a gel,” I said. “it’s a gel, You can’t take this on board. You’ll have to go back to check-in and check this through or we’ll have to keep.” I hope she likes peanut butter.

We flew on Air Asia and, lo and behold, they asked Express Passengers and Senior Citizens to board first. Well, I hated to reveal my age but I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to be one of the first on the plane, especially since the seating was first come first served. I went to the head of the line and saved seats in the front for Colleen and Julia. It was a pretty day but slightly overcast. Not much to see except a blanket of white clouds below until suddenly we saw a mountain rising through the layer of white. A volcano, obviously dormant as there was a lake in the crater. We took some pictures out the window.

As we descended, we could see crystal clear blue water beneath us and blue sky overhead. A good start to any vacation. At the airport, we went got our luggage and went through through immigration. We had to get a visa for Indonesia. The sign said Visa for 7 days- $10. Visa for 8 days or more- $25. We looked at each other. We had arrived on Friday and weren’t leaving until the following Saturday. Was it worth the chance? Nope. We wanted a worry free vacation. We paid the $25 dollars. The airport in Bali is beautiful. The statuary and artwork are unique and distinctive. Even with my limited knowledge of what to expect, I felt I was in Bali, the Bali of the movies and National Geographic. We looked for a way into town, something that is always risky in airports. Invariably, you will be taken. It always coats more to go from the airport to your hotel than from your hotel to the airport. There was a taxi station inside the airport and we decided to take a taxi for what seemed reasonable, $4. The driver said, “Let me help you,” and he grabbed Colleen’s bag with wheels leaving her with a backpack and a large purse and Julia with a backpack and and her carry-on bag. So much for tropical chivalry.

We told the driver to just take us to downtown Kuta as we didn’t have a reservation. He asked us what we needed and suggested a couple of places, all of which were too expensive for our budgets. We told how much we wanted to spend and he took us to the Melasti Hotel. I sat in the car with the driver while the girls looked at the room and bartered on the price. The driver was very talkative and told me his name (I didn’t remember what it was) which meant Number Two. His older brother is Number One. He said it is a very popular name in Bali as ALL second sons are named Number Two and ALL first sons are Number One. Only the last name is different. The same system is used for women but maybe with a feminine suffix. The girls got a good price on a room for three and we decided to stay. The hotel was on the beach and on the main street of the town. A great location and a beautiful hotel with two swimming pools and lush, tropical foliage everywhere. All the staff were wearing colorful, traditional outfits with funny looking pointed hats. Can’t really describe them. I’ll have to send pictures. The hotel was not a single building but several buildings with lots of stairs that went that way and this. It reminded me of a maze, like the staircases in “The Name of the Rose” or the moving stairs in the Harry Potter movies. The second time we went to the room, we had trouble finding it. There were statues everywhere, bas reliefs on the walls and several Hindu alters. Our room overlooked the pool and when we leaned out from our balcony, we could see the beach and the spectacular sunsets. We were in a tropical paradise.

We settled in and then went for a walk along the beach. The beach is very wide and the sand was brown (unlike the white sugar sand on Siesta Key). The waves were rolling in and there were lots of surfers. We cut through the yard of a luxury hotel to get back to the main road. The yard had beautiful foliage, a huge pool with a bar right in the water, and the promise of a buffet with traditional dancing on Saturday night. We made a note to come back. The main drag in Bali is very busy and caters to tourists. There are huge malls, a stretch with the most exclusive shops and many areas of street markets with small booths mostly selling t-shirts and souvenirs. Typical vacation resort town.

There are statues and shrines everywhere. Indonesia is 80% Muslim but Bali is 90% Hindu. The shrines are Hindu but not like the ones I had seen in other countries. Instead of a shrine covered with figures representing the various Hindu gods, the ones in Bali are rather simple with geometric designs for decorations and no statues.

We took lots of pictures along the way, had a good dinner and crashed early.

Saturday August 25:

Enjoyed a good buffet breakfast which was included in the price of the room. We got off to a slow start. In fact, the whole day went slowly. We went to the pool. I sunbathed forty minutes on each side trying to get a start on a tan. Julia went for a walk on the beach with her camera. I stayed by the pool and read and watched the kites dancing in the sky. There were lots of kites most five or six feet across and of various decorations: birds, ships, blossoms, mermaids, etc. There was a shrine beside the pool and around noon an employee of the hotel brought an offering consisting a small dish about four inches square, made from a banana leaf (perhaps) and filled with rice, flowers and whatever else was appropriate. He placed the offering on the shrine which already had several offerings of similar design, lit a josh stick (an incense stick), clasped his hands in prayer with the josh stick between them held his hands to his forehead, and bowed three times while saying a prayer. He told me that offering are made three times a day, morning, noon and night. And, since there were many offerings on the alter, it seems that many employees of the hotel make their offerings there.

We walked down the beach in the shade of the trees that lined the beach, avoiding, or trying to the hawkers trying to sell everything from t-shirts to massages and pedicures to bows and arrows. Don’t know why you would want a bow and arrow on the beach. We had lunch in an Indonesian restaurant and had gato-gato. Not sure what it was but it was good. Topped it off with a Krispy Kreme donut next door. Walked through narrow streets lined with shops offering souvenirs, clothes and gifts. Visited the Bomb Memorial honoring about two hundred people who were killed by an explosion in a popular restaurant in ????. approximately 40 Australians died and the locals told us that their tourist traffic has not completely recovered. I bough a bright colored Bali shirt on the way back to the hotel. The rest of the day, we just rested, napped, sat by the pool, worked puzzles and avoided the sun in the heat of the day,

That night we had dinner in a Mexican restaurant and then came back to the hotel where we had some drinks and listened to two lady singers, most of whose songs were in English.

Sunday August 26:

We hired a car and driver named Yoman for the day to take us around the island. They have a set route but we could change things up a bit if we desired. First, we went to a traditional dance performance. Colorful costumes, painted faces, stylized dancing and lots of posing. The dance told a story of good triumphing over evil. Evil spirits, monkey gods and lots of slapstick and penis humor (which seemed out of place). Anyway, it was interesting but not what I had expected. The music was provided unusual instruments: Something like a violin but with only one string and positioned vertically, drums, and a series of different sized bells played with a mallet. The music seemed very random with no obvious melody but the musicians all knew when to begin and they all ended together which seemed something of a minor miracle to me.

We passed on stopping at the gold and silver village (each village has a specialty) and visited a woodcarving village. A brief tour told about the various woods used and we got to watch some men carving indifferent designs and sizes. Some of the work was incredibly intricate, fishermen with nets and woven baskets, and some were erotic, penises of various sizes, something a gay might want to have in his living room. Obviously there is a market for that sort of thing. We stopped briefly at the Monkey Forest. We didn’t pay to walk through because there were monkeys everywhere around the entrance. They would come right up to you and take peanuts out of your hand. I watched and took pictures.

Next we went to the Elephant Cave Temple, a Hindu temple. When we walked in, a man told us to follow him and the began telling us about the temple. It was built in the 11th century but then covered by an earthquake. The cave was rediscovered in 1923 and the fountains which are at a lower level were only found in 1954. The entrance to the cave had many carvings of animals, however the guide at the temple told us that there are no elephants in Bali. There was an shrine near the cave and the guide noticing that someone had left money as an offering walked over and took it. Why would a god need spending money? About half way through the tour, our guide began asking us how much we were going to give him He suggested ten dollars. I gave him some money and told him to go away. It always upsets me when they attach themselves to you and then want money. I didn’t ask him to show us around. We saw women preparing rice cake and workmen carrying concrete blocks on their heads. Labor is still very primitive.

We stopped briefly in the town of Ubud for a snack and walked around a bit. Lots of women carrying large baskets on the heads moving smoothly and gracefully down the street. Someone told us that the in Bali they bury the dead, leave them for four or five years, then dig them up and cremate them. Then they will either go to heaven or hell. This was also true in Vietnam where they dig them up after three years and rebury them. Not sure what religion practices this.

We had lunch at a restaurant on top of a hill looking out at a volcano and a lake beside it. It was an incredible location and the restaurant obviously catered to tourists. The meal was buffet was expensive and the added tax and service charge, something which was usually included in the simpler restaurants. But the view was worth it. Don’t know when it last erupted but you could see where the lava flow had ended, a stark contrast between the black, barren land and the lush, tropical green plants. Houses were built close to the edge of the lava flow but I’m not sure if they were spared from the last eruption or were built afterward. Not sure I would want to live that close to a volcano. But the view from the restaurant was lovely. We lingered over our late lunch, had fruit for desert and took pictures. We were the last to leave.

On the way back we passed my stands on the side of the road selling fruit, something we had not seen in the lowlands. Must have been grown in the higher elevations. We stopped to take pictures of rice paddies terraced on the side of a mountain. Obviously another tourist site as the moment we stopped we were surrounded by hawkers selling their wares. As we left I decided to buy a carved wooden box that contained five pairs of chopsticks. Only three dollars, but a big mistake. The moment I indicated I would make the purchase, all the other hawkers came running toward us and became very aggressive, shouting and shoving things in my face. I was barely able to get in the car. They crowded so close I was unable to shut the door. When I reached for the handle I accidentally hit one woman in the stomach and she became very angry. When I was bale to close the door and we moved away, she made an angry gesture at me. I will be more careful when I but things on the street. The driver told me I should have only paid two dollars though the hawker had started at ten.

It was a good day. We enjoyed a nice meal and crashed early.

Monday August 27:

We decided to go to Lembongan Island, a small island just west of Bali. I was still searching for the white sands of Siesta Beach. We had asked several times and had gotten different information on how to get there. “The ferry leaves only in the afternoon.” “The fast boat is at 8Am and 3PM.” We had the hotel call and found that if we left immediately, we could catch the ferry, so we did. We took a taxi to Samur, bought ferry tickets, and carried all our luggage about 100 yards down the beach to where the ferry was anchored. It was not on a pier, just in the water and it was difficult to board because of the waves moving the boat about. We had to wade into the water to get on board. The crew took our bags, carried them ten feet to the boat and then wanted a tip of 10,000 rupiah (about a dollar). If they had carried our bags the 100 yards along the beach they would have deserved a dollar.

The ride to Lembongan took about an hour and a half. It was uneventful but exciting. Clear blue water and clear sky overhead. There were huge swells of ten to fifteen feet. You could look down at the horizon and then it would disappear behind a wall of water. But the boat rose and fell smoothly. You could see how a fisherman at sea would not realize that he had been lifted by a gentle swell that would become a tsunami wave and cause so much destruction on shore. As we approached the island waves were crashing in the the rocks sending water splashing up twenty to thirty feet up the side of the cliff. Such force! What power could withstand it? It was beautiful to watch. As the waves began to break, they would change color from a deep blue to a teal just before they turned to foam.

We landed on the beach (I carried my bags) and the hawkers began to attach themselves to us, telling about hotels and dive trips. One told us the cheap hotels were “this way” and walked with us. We stopped at the first and bartered for a good price. We should have asked more questions. We got a room on the beach for $7 per night per person a big shower and a fan but no air conditioning and no fresh water.

We walked along the beach which was soft, brown sand and difficult to walk on. There was a lot of debris on the beach, plastic bags, shoes, batteries, etc. and I was surprised that the local would not clean it up every day. The beach was lined with small restaurants and cottages made of concrete block. The water is very shallow for one fifty to two hundred yards out from shore and then there is a line where the waves break. The breakers are regular, uniform and big, maybe eight to twelve feet. They must be good for surfing as there were always a group of surfers plying their skills.

We had lunch on the beach and then took a nap, read and rested. It was not too hot but we were tired. In the late afternoon, we walked down to the beach to watch the sunset. The tide was out and the land was exposed for about a hundred yards out. Boats that had been floating were now sitting on land and tilted to one side. The locals were out harvesting seaweed which is the major export crop here. They had placed stakes in the ground to catch the seaweed as it was washed in by the waves. The land was still moist and was very green as a result of the exposed seaweed. They filled huge woven baskets and carried two at a time balanced on a bamboo pole on their shoulder. The seaweed was they sorted (they seemed to separate the good from the bad but I was never able to figure out what constituted good or bad) and then dried it in the sun. The sunset was spectacular. Beautiful colors. Red and yellow and orange and pink. We took lots of pictures. Men in long, narrow boats filled with piles of seaweed poled their way across the shallows and made great silhouettes against the setting sun.

We had a quiet dinner with several beers. We arranged a snorkeling trip for the next morning with a guy who constantly made lame jokes but but thought they were hysterical. We enjoyed a full moon as we walked back to our cottage. It was high Season for Lembongan but, surprisingly, there were almost no “no vacancy” signs on the cottages and the restaurants were never crowded.

Tuesday August 28

After an “American Breakfast” (as advertised on the menu) of eggs, toast, bacon, ham, butter, jam, coffee and fruit,we took our first snorkeling trip. It was fantastic!! Maybe the best snorkeling I’ve ever done. Two different locations. The first was a wall dive (snorkel) on Nusa Penida, a small island next to Lenbongan. We jumped in the water near a steep cliff and drifted slowly with the current. We could see maybe twenty or thirty feet down a slope beneath us before it dropped off into a deep channel between the islands. There were many, many fish of many varieties and an abundance of beautiful coral. We drifted for over an hour and there was no one else in sight. It was marvelous. Can’t tell you what all I saw but I’m sure i saw many fish I had never seen before. The most amazing sight was an electric blue (the girls said periwinkle, if that means anything to you women. Guys don’t know what color periwinkle is). Anyway it was beautiful. It was about six inches in diameter and the arms didn’t taper to a point but were th same size to the end, like five pieces of a blue garden hos joined together.

The second dive was back at Lembongan just out from a stand of mangroves and beyond the seaweed beds. The reef was just below us anywhere from two to five meters. We could dive down and get close to everything. It was spectacular. Occasionally, we were in schools of small fish who reflected sunlight in sparkling colors. It looked like it was “raining fish”. I picked up a blue starfish, had a picture made and the returned it to the sea.

Back at the cottage we showered in saltwater (not my favorite thing) changed, had lunch, napped, read and rested. In the late afternoon, we went to the beach to get pictures of the sunset. We walked out into the seaweed beds which were in one to six inches of water. There were stakes with strings tied between to catch the seaweed and the locals were there harvesting the day’s catch. In the shallow water, we saw blue starfish, tapered starfish with what looked like big warts, starfish the size of one inch sanddollars with five tiny, fragile legs that looked like centipedes, urchins, and long (two feet) worm like creatures with mouths that seemed to be lined with feathers (strange looking). Met a guy named Carlton Ward who was there working on his thesis. He was a freelance photographer and had worked for National Geographic. Told us to look at his pictures on www.carltonward.com. Got more beautiful pictures of the sunset.

Had dinner and beer overlooking the sea and decided to stay another night. Too good to leave though we would have given a lot to have a shower in fresh water.

Wednesday August 29:

Another American breakfast and another snorkeling trip. This time to Crystal Bay, a small cove on Nusa Penida. The sea was rough, the sky was cloudy and there was a lot of surge that kept moving us around. But the snorkeling was great even with the lessened visibility. It would have been almost impossible to have done a wall dive. The water was a little colder making it a little difficult to stay long. Just as we left two boats arrived with about a dozen Japanese divers in wet suits equipped with high tech underwater photographic equipment. Would love to see the pictures they took. The second dive was near the mangroves again but in a different area, and even better than the day before. Saw what I found out later to be a Unicorn Fish. Yes, it had a protrusion the size of my finger coming out of its forehead. Many, many beautiful, colorful fish.

Back to Lembongan for a saltwater shower and lunch. Lay on the beach for a while to get some sun and napped in the afternoon. That evening, we walked through the small village on our way to dinner and some beer. Small shops offering only the bare essentials. No big name brands here.

Thursday August 30:

Caught the 8:30 boat back to Samur on Bali, the same boat that at sundown the night before had been lying on its side in shallow water but was afloat in the morning tide. The trip was easy with only gentle swells and there were no big waves crashing against the rocks. I was disappointed as I wanted to get some pictures. We caught the shuttle bus back to Kuta and walk a couple of blocks to the Melasti Hotel. No reason to search for something new when we had a good thing. We spent most of the afternoon relaxing by the pool and enjoying fresh water showers. What a pleasure it was to wash away three days of saltwater. That evening, we hired a driver to take us to Uluwatu, a temple perched high on a cliff overlooking the Indian Ocean. The setting was spectacular. As the temple was quite some distance from town, our driver agreed to stay with us as long as we liked and bring us back for a reasonable price. We paid the entry fee and were given gold ribbons to wear to show respect for the temple. The girls were given sarongs. The driver went into the temple grounds with us, explaining that if he were along the guides would not try to attach themselves to us. He told we would see monkeys and to be very careful as they were adept at stealing glasses and hats and scarves and even cameras from tourists. I tucked my glasses inside my shirt. We arrived a little before sunset and walked along a walled path on the edge of the cliff which must have dropped 500 to 700 feet into the ocean. Waves were rolling in and crashing against the shore. We were mesmerized by the beauty of the setting, so mesmerized that Colleen barely noticed when a monkey pulled the hair tie from her hair and started chewing on it. We realized there were monkeys everywhere running up and down the wall coming very close to the visitors. We became very cautious but continued to enjoy the beautiful views. Other tourists weren’t so cautious as we saw monkeys rob them of sunglasses and scarves and anything else not attached. They had tried to sell us food to feed the monkeys at the entrance but we had declined. Now we got to see the real reason for the food. When one lady lost what looked like an expensive pair of sunglasses, an experienced guide took some food and presented it to the monkey thief and lured him closer. Then he tossed the food within reach of the monkey who dropped the glasses and grabbed the food. The guide quickly retrieved the glasses and gave them to the appreciative woman. We saw this act of kidnap and ransom repeated several times during our brief visit. Obviously the monkeys had figured out a surefire way to be fed.

We couldn’t actually go into the temple but got pictures of the temple, the cliffs, the sunset and the monkeys. The temple was built in the 11th century and is very sacred to the Balinese due to its location on a narrow promontory and the fact that it is dedicated to the spirits of the sea. We attended a traditional dance in an open air theater on the temple grounds. Very similar to the last one in telling the story of good versus evil with colorful costumes, kings and queens, a monkey god, various dragons, etc. The biggest difference was a chorus of men in sarongs seated in a circle who chanted rhythmically throughout. The rhythms changed somewhat with the entrance of different characters and the chorus sometimes rose and moved around but they never left the stage. It was better than the fist show we had seem but both seemed to be a little long. Afterward we had our pictures made with various characters from the performance who were happy to pose for the cameras.

Our driver took us back to town where we bought some bread and goodies from the bakery and turned in early. Another great day in Bali.

Friday August 31:

Our last full day in Bali and we did very little. We slept late, had a leisurely breakfast, and headed to the beach. There was a big surf and lots of surfers were enjoying it. I went into the water had great difficulty just staying afloat. The waves were rolling in and were powerful. In the short time I was in the water, I was almost exhausted just fighting the waves and the the undertow. When Julia went in, I stood on the beach close to the water in case she got into trouble. She was repeatedly belted about and knocked over but she loved it. Later she got a massage from one of the ladies right there on the beach. A manicure and pedicure were also available but she passed.

Had a sandwich for lunch and spent the afternoon at the pool. Total relaxation. Wrote post cards and got them in the mail on this our last full day in Bali.

Saturday September 1:

Our last day. No plans. Had to check out by noon but the flight wasn’t until late in the afternoon. We left our luggage in the hotel reception and went shopping. Had lunch but then went out by the pool again where we spent the afternoon soaking up that last bit of sunshine. We showered at the pool and dressed in the bathroom. We didn’t want to miss a minute of that beautiful weather in that beautiful location.

The hotel got a cab for us. We had it timed perfectly to get to the airport for our flight. What we hadn’t counted on was the cab being headed in the wrong direction, unable to turn around, getting caught in a traffic jam, and then following a circuitous route which finally got us to the airport. We were slightly panicked and somewhat irritable as we rushed to the check-in and the gate. We made it with a little time to spare. Just enough to get something to eat. Something to eat being cookies and crackers, nothing healthy or nourishing. We would have to settle for airline food, which on Air Asia is less than appetizing unless you like noodles or tuna sandwiches that only provide the odor of tuna, no hint of the real thing.

All in all, it was an outstanding trip. We had a wonderful time and would recommend it to anyone. Bali is Indonesia like Key West is Florida. Part of the whole but entirely different. The temples, the designs of the religious structures were completely different from anything we had seen before. More geometric than ornate. More reserved than flamboyant. Monotone rather than colorful. The people were very friendly and helpful, happy to have tourists, hoping that the tourist industry would return to it previous level before the explosion in the restaurant that killed so many people. There is much to see. Much more than we could have taken in during the short time we were there. It’s on my list of places that deserve a return visit.

Off we went again, our hardy little band of eight. To Singapore this time, one of the last outposts of British colonialism. And we went in style. No Putaraya bus station with is noise and crowds and long delays breathing in exhaust fumes from lines of buses waiting to get in and out of the station. This time we went in comfort (and obviously paid a higher tariff). We caught our bus at a very nice hotel in downtown Kuala Lumpur (KL) near Petronas Towers. After the normal hassle with the taxi drivers to get into town, we were happy to sit in the restaurant of the hotel and enjoy the ambiance as well as the free coffee and tea. A couple of us made a quick trip to load up on beer. The bus arrived and we boarded. A double decker with a wide comfortable cushioned seat for everyone on the upper deck and a lounge below which would accommodate six people sitting around a coffee table. Some of our group laid claim to the lounge immediately. They had their beer and vodka and could enjoy their choice of films on the DVD. I remained above, happy to relax in comfort and read, something which is almost impossible to accomplish on a normal bus due to what seems to be a total lack of shock absorbers. Of course, a few beers made the ride more pleasant. The trip was uneventful with a single bathroom break. We were given water and served a pleasant meal.

Singapore was separated from Malaysia in 1965, thus, it is a separate country as well as an island and we had to go through customs to enter. We first went through customs to leave Malaysia. We had to get off the bus, show our passports, and give up the piece of paper that showed when we had entered the country. We got back on the bus, drove a couple of miles and had to get off again with ALL our luggage, go through Singapore customs where the luggage went through the Xray machine, get our passports stamped and get back on the bus. We had crossed the border. The only problem we encountered was that you have to declare any alcohol brought into the country. Joe had a bottle of Vodka so he went to the authorities and showed them the bottle. They told him the tariff was twenty four dollars which Joe started to pay and then remembered that the Vodka had only cost seven dollars. He decided to let them keep it and told them to take it home and enjoy. They immediately exclaimed that they couldn’t do that, they might lose their jobs. So a good bottle of vodka wasted, benefiting no one.

The bus let us off at Harbor Front, which is at the far end of the island from the mainland. We bartered with a taxi to take us to Ali’s Nest, a hostel where we had made a reservation. Joe and Marlene had opted for a little better accommodation but also in the Little India area of Singapore. We dropped them off first and then went to Ali’s. Unfortunately, the reservation I had made a few days prior had not been recorded and all the rooms were taken. Ali was very apologetic and immediately set to work to find us a room nearby. Within a few minutes, Colleen and I had a room, clean with A/C and a shared bath. We dropped our bags and went back to Ali’s to see what everyone was doing. Surprise! Surprise! Chris Robinson, our friend from Language Link in Hanoi and his brother, Steve, were there at Ali’s. We had planned by e-mail to meet in Singapore but he didn’t know where he would be staying. He told us that when he got off the bus at 5:30 that evening, Ali was waiting trying to rent his last available room, evidently the room that I thought I had reserved. But all worked out well.

The group wanted to go to Raffles, a landmark hotel in Singapore built in the Colonial style and opened in 1887. Raffles claims to be the spot where the first Singapore Sling was concocted and they now market it for $12, glass not included. Chris, Colleen, Steve and I opted for a few beers in a little street side cafe where we could catch up on news from Hanoi.

The next morning we set off to visit the Changi Prison Museum. On the bus to the museum, a local struck up a conversation with me and was quick to point out that the British had not made much effort to defend Singapore. Not knowing much about the war, I couldn’t defend the Brits but I’m sure they did what they could with what resources they had in the area. He told me that the peoples of southeast Asia were shocked that the Japanese had taken control of the area so easily. The locals had viewed the British as their superiors and protectors and had always looked up to them for leadership and considered them invincible. The defeat of the British made the people realize that they weren’t so invincible and that planted the seeds of independence in their minds. If the Brits could not protect them, then they would have to take care of themselves and govern themselves. (I have now seen this idea expressed several times in several different books). The British were never able to reestablish colonial rule in Southeast Asia and the Empire began to crumble.

The museum exhibits were very moving with pictures and stories and letters that had been written at the time. It depicted the hardships suffered by the Brits AND the locals civilians. The cruelty and barbarity were almost unbelievable except that we can see the same treatment of human beings in other parts of the world today. We never seem to learn. Some of the pictures looked like scenes from one of the Nazi concentration camps. Emaciated bodies living in terrible conditions. I was glad to see it but happy to leave. One of the articles I read later said that if the Japanese had not been so cruel, they might have established an empire in the area but their cruelty made the people hate them.

We headed downtown on a bus. Unfortunately, Chris and Steve had to leave us. They wanted to see a different part of town and were flying to The Philippines that night. We had lunch in a Chinese restaurant. Some of the group went to tour Chinatown. Colleen and I headed for the downtown area on the river. The business district of Singapore is just like any big, modern city. Tall buildings of glass and steel. The same shops with the same names you find everywhere else in the world. We found the Merlion, a large statue of a lion with the tail of a mermaid, which is supposed to be the symbol of Singapore. Think I could have picked a better symbol. Our gang found us and we had a few beers before heading back to our lodgings.

Again we split up for the evening. Three of us went to the night zoo, an interesting concept. The zoo is huge and large enough so that the cages are not obvious. The animals appear to be living in the wild. It is not well lit, allowing the animals to roam in semi darkness but making it difficult to get pictures as flash photography is not allowed. We same everything from lions and tigers to porcupines and hyenas (which are larger that I thought). The most interesting thing to me was a crocodile like creature with a long but narrow snout and lots of sharp teeth. There were several of them in a dark pool and they surfaced periodically to swallow what they had caught. And they were huge, probably 15 feet. Not sure what part of the world they were from, India I think, but I would hate to meet one of them in the water. I would not be at the top of the food chain.

We went back downtown to see a brief (very brief) fireworks display to commemorate the anniversary of Singapore’s independence which had occurred a few days before. I told Julia, a young teacher from Poland, into Hooters to get some beer for the group. She had never been to a Hooters and was mildly surprised to see the costumes worn by the waitresses.

The next day, Colleen, Julia, Renee and I went strolling through Little India, one of the major neighborhoods of Singapore. We went looking for temples and shrines and we found them. What was most interesting, we found one block that had a Buddhist temple and a Hindu Shrine side by side, with people streaming in and out of both. Street peddlers sold flowers and incense and other things to be used as offerings. And just down the street were a Christian Church and a Jewish synagogue, all on the same street, coexisting peacefully side by side. It was wonderful to see and should be an example for the whole world. There are temples all over Singapore but I was surprised to see so many Christian churches, even a Methodist church. Singapore is 76% Chines, 14% Malay and 8% Indian so temples are to be expected but Christian churches must be the result of the British influence on the island.

We made our way to Raffles Hotel, a splendid old hotel built by one of the first European entrepreneurs, a representative of the East India Company. It’s a grand old place. Lots of tropical flowers and trees fill several courtyards. The hotel is spread out and you can wander from one beautiful area to another. Water flows in fountains and birds sing in the tees. There is a circular drive at the entrance where a tall, dark, Indian looking gentleman in what seems to me to be Indian imperial dress complete with turban, opens the door for the cars arriving. He was very friendly and was happy to tell us about the hotel and what important people had stayed there (including Bill Clinton). He had worked there for over twenty years and told us a little of the history. He was also happy to pose for pictures with us. One could imagine Raffles in it heyday in the early 1900s when guests of the hotel dressed in formal wear for dinner and the men enjoyed brandy and cigars after the meal while the women “freshened up”. It would be a beautiful setting for a movie with a spacious lobby filled with flowers and wooden stairways leading to the upper floors. We didn’t stay long and didn’t have a drink because we were casually dressed and, I think, a little intimidated by the surroundings. We had heard that Raffles has a strict dress code but actually, there was no evidence of it.

We wandered toward the downtown area taking photos enjoying th scenery. We happened upon a Cricket Match in full swing (if you can describe cricket in that manner). It seemed to be a friendly match as there were no spectators. All the participants were dressed in white (obligatory) and played with enthusiasm. The setting was the Singapore Cricket Club, a reminder of the splendor of the colonial era. I’ve talked to several Brits and Ozzies since living in southeast Asia and have learned a little about the game and how it is scored and some of the terminology. I would really like to sit and watch an entire match sometime so I could really comprehend what is going on. But, to my amazement, Test Matches, matches between countries can last up to five days. I can think of very few sports which would hold my interest for so long. And i don’t think cricket is one of those.

We had lunch down town and then made our way back to our lodgings, gathered up our bags and headed for the subway. We got to Harbor Front in plenty of time to look around the huge mall. From Harbor Front you can catch a gondola which takes you across the river to Sentosa Island which has a Butterfly Park, Underwater World where you can walk under the water and watch sharks, etc. swimming overhead, and several nature walks. Unfortunately, our time was limited and we had to pass. We caught the bus for an uneventful ride back to KL.

Well, we’ve come to the end of another trip (those of you who have read this far).

Singapore is a very interesting city, rich in history, and diverse in nationalities. I recommend it to anyone.

Hello Everyone,

Hope I’m not boring you but here’s another chapter of my travels. Remember, the delete button is an option and I will never know. So feel free.

Two weeks ago, our hearty band, six of us this time went to Malaka, a seaport about four hours south of Kuala Lumpur (KL). I won’t burden you with our travails in the the KL bus terminal but we waited in the heat and crowds and fumes for over an hour past our departure time for the bus. But we were finally on our way. The discouraging part was that about thirty minutes into the trip, we passed the spot we had left about four hours before in order to get to KL. But the bus didn’t stop there or I would have been upset that we had not caught the bus there.

We got to Melaka, which is larger than I had anticipated, and a teacher who stays there on weekends, came to pick us up. After some stops and starts, we finally hooked up and she took us to our hotel, an old Chinese house. The price was right, as it should have been. The house was somewhat rundown, the shower and toilet were down the hall and shared by several others and there were no towels and no hot water. There was a single sheet on the bed, no top sheet, and no air conditioning, just a fan. Not the nicest of accommodations and I was unprepared. I hadn’t brought a towel, soap or a sheet. But we were in the old district of town which is where we wanted to be. We headed to the night market which was still bustling. Stalls had been set up in the street after dark and sold almost everything, food, trinkets, belts, and all manner of junk.

We settled into a bar on a busy corner that had musical entertainment, a one man band playing a guitar and accompanied by all the electrical equipment at his fingertips. He was good and played all types of music and sang in English. The were several people who were locals and obviously regulars in the bar. They all knew each other and occasionally one would come to the mike and join in the orchestra in a karaoke rendition of whatever song they chose. (Have I mentioned that karaoke is big, no HUGE, in southeast Asia? Well, it is. It’s everywhere). Surprisingly, to me at least, he played a lot of Latin rhythms, samba, mambo, tango, and several of the group got up to dance. I got the impression that this was the main appeal of the bar and the main interest of the locals. They knew all the ballroom dances. (Something I had also seen in Hanoi). They even did some line dancing. There was one gentleman in his late sixties maybe who really excelled and he reveled in it. He knew all the dances and spent the evening squiring different ladies around the dance floor. He had rhythm and he had attitude.

The next day we walked around the town. Had breakfast at a little Indian cafe where little English was spoken. We wanted fried eggs but didn’t see that pictured on the wall (there was no menu). When an elderly gentleman wearing a sarong and talking between the spaces in his teeth came to our table, we ordered roti, a flat, round, pancake sized piece of bread similar to a tortilla only a little thicker. And we ordered coffee. Raising his voice only slightly , he shouted back to the kitchen, never looking to see if they heard him nor writing anything down. They brought us roti with little dishes of curried potatoes and minced vegetable, most of which were too hot for me. They didn’t have butter which was a mystery to me so I ate my roti plain and think I ordered another. There was rice wrapped in banana leaves on the table when we arrived but I didn’t know what it was until later. Also a dish of hard boiled eggs but I didn’t try them. (I was really sure they were hardboiled and was afraid to break one open.) The man in the kitchen made latte or some fancy coffee by pouring it back and forth between pot and cup with his hands about three feet apart giving it the froth necessary. He put on quite a show back in the kitchen.

The group began looking around while I searched for a little nicer accommodation. When I caught back up, they were touring a mosque. The girls were wearing long black robes provided by the mosques for infidels. Of course, we had to take our shoes off. The Muslims always have an area where you can wash yourself before going in to pray. This was a simple mosque, not very ornate, but peaceful and quiet. Just down the street, we went into a Buddhist temple, very ornate and very busy. Lots of people going in and out, buying incense and flowers, playing, and placing the flowers on the alters. In a Buddhist Temple there are many, many statues of Buddha, each a little bit different and many which don’t look like the Buddha as we know him. Each receives it’s homage of flowers and incense. People go around to various Buddhas, place three or four sticks on incense between there hands, hold there hands up to their foreheads in the fashion of prayer, bow three times. Say a silent prayer, and present the incense to the Buddhas. Then they repeat the process at another Buddha. Like in the Catholic church where you have many saints to pray to, they seem to pray to Buddha but in many different forms. I’ll try to do some research on the religion and let you know more when I do. All the Buddhist temples are decorated to the nth degree and mostly in red and gold. They make a baroque church look like a Cistercian Abbey.

It began to rain and we dashed into a Chinese street side cafe for tea and coffee then continued down the street going into shops along the way. We had lunch in a little cafe where we ordered by pointing at pictures on the menu. We tried to find out what was hot and what was not and ordered according to our tastes. For desert we shared a concoction which seemed to be an ice slushy with different fruits blends in. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t bad either.

The heart of town features an area that was the official residence of the Dutch governors, built in 1650. There is a hill topped by another church and surrounded by a wall. Within the wall is the residential area of the governors and just outside is another church. In the square in front of the entrance, there is a beautiful fountain. The square is decorated with flowers and is the hub for all the cyclo drivers. A cyclo is a bicycle with a bench in the front wide enough for two people and a wheel on each side. The are very gaudily decorated with flowers or streamers or anything else colorful they can find and they are usually equipped with a radio or CD playing loud music, often music that is painful to the ears. The cyclo drivers are relentless hawking their wares. They offer a ride for a certain price for a certain period of time. If you say no, they say, “Maybe later” and try to get some commitment from you. The next time they see you they will ask, ‘Ready now?” Obviously, they can’t remember everyone they have spoken to so many of them just start with “Are you ready now?” hoping you will not remember that they are not the one who spoke to you before. I was able to resist the temptation of riding in a flower bed that sprouted bad music, loudly.

We continued our tour through a couple of museums of Malaysian history with a stop for beer and chocolate. Being a Saturday, the area was crowded with school children. It was fascinating to watch them. The boys were in uniforms of blue pants and white shirts and the girls wore long dresses with a patch on the left breast and head scarves. It seemed strange to see them in head scarves but they acted like children of every country, laughing and pinching and taunting and giggling. We took pictures surreptitiously but sometimes when they saw us, some turned away and some posed for the camera. We ended our day in a palace which had been built for the Sultan, mostly wood but well preserved.

That evening, we went to a Indian restaurant. (They serve beer. The Muslim restaurants do not.) We struggled with the order but got it done. I had no idea what we were going to get to eat. They brought out pieces of banana leaves and placed one before each of us like a place mat. But, they turned out to be our plates. They brought us rice, several vegetable all somewhat spicy, papadan (sp?), a hard puffy bread like a taco, some chicken which had been cooked whole and then chopped up and served, bones and all. We ate with our fingers just like everyone else in the restaurant. I’ve gotten used to seeing this though this was the first time I had tried it. All the Indians and Yemeni and Saudis (the Arabs) at school eat with their fingers. One student told me if he eats with a fork, the food tastes different to him. Obviously, all Indian restaurants have large sinks in the dining room where you can wash your hands before and after the meal. The food was good and they brought us more whenever we asked. We took pictures like tourists and the waiter took one of all of us. They are used to westerners coming in and are very tolerant of our behavior.

We went back to the night market, walked around and drank more beer.

The next morning, we went separate ways. My group went to another museum and then down by the river. In the mud flats we saw what must have been “walking catfish”. They swam to the edge of the water and then crawled around in the mud, obviously breathing air. Had never seen them before though I had heard of them.

An uneventful, boring bus ride got us back to KL in the late afternoon.

Next trip….. Singapore!

Hello All,

I’m going to try to catch up on my writing. I’ve made several trips and have others planned and I’m way behind. At some point, I’ll bring you up to date on my trip to Laos, Cambodia, Hong Kong, Macao, and China. Now I want to write about a trip to Cameron Highlands.

Our group of eight teachers, (the usual suspects: Marlene, Joe, Colleen, Renee, Julie, Mike, Sarah and me) left school on a Friday and headed for Putaraya, the bus station in Kuala Lumpur. We had the usual hassle with the overcharging cabbies but arrived in time to catch the bus which was actually about two blocks down the street from the terminal. Don’t know how their system works but it seems to just not very efficiently. The ticket seller told us to cross the street and turn right. We did and kept walking til we found a line of buses and then had to find the right one. Bus drivers kept looking at our tickets and telling us to keep going. We got to the bus and it shortly took off, which was better than waiting for it to get into the station.

The ride was bumpy but uneventful til we started up the mountain. Cameron Highlands is a mountainous area in central Malaysia, a rocky spine that dives the country in two. It was dark when we went up and we couldn’t see the spectacular views but it wasn’t so dark that we couldn’t see how steep the mountainsides were or how far the bus would roll if it slipped off the road. We arrived in the small town of Tanah Rata and got a taxi to our hotel. We walk into our room to find a man watching TV and two little girls playing on the floor. We had private rooms as advertised but shared a common kitchen and living area with people who were already there.

The next morning we headed to the tourist office to find out where we could go hiking. We chose Hike number 1 which started from the next town up the road and went to the top of a mountain where we were promised wonderful views. The taxi driver dropped us off and pointed to a gravel road and said, “Go that way.” Luckily, most people in Malaysia can speak English, probably more so than any non-native English speaking country I’ve been in. We set off down the road which had no signs indicating that this was the way to go. We called to a man working in a field and he just pointed on down the road. Pretty soon we came to a sign reading Trail 1 and we left the road in favor of a path leading into dense foliage. We took pictures to record our merry band adventuring into the wild, figuring that this would make a good “before” for a “before and after”. Very quickly, the path turned upward and very quickly I was sweating and breathing very hard. We made our way up the mountain, and believe me it was a mountain, with frequent stops along the way to let the “old folks” rest and catch their breath. (No names will be mentioned). Parts of the hike included literally grabbing a limb or root above and pulling yourself upward. Many time the next step was so high that I had to use my arms more than my legs. This was not a hike, it was a climb. Luckily, along the trail there were many exposed roots. They served two purposes. In some cases they served as aids because the earth had been trapped behind them and they formed a natural step and good footing to send us on our way. In other cases, where the earth had been washed away by rainfall and the roots were out of the ground, they served as traps to grab our feet. We crawled over logs and under logs and pulled and tugged and helped each other. It was work but it was fun but in our quest to reach the summit and not knowing where that would be or how long it would take, we failed to stop and smell the roses. We should have made a few more stops to enjoy the scenery and try to observe any wild life. A few times we thought we had reached the summit but when we got there the trail sloped down for a short time and then up again. We got to the top, tired and sweaty. We climbed a tower along with hordes of others who had ridden to the top on the rode on the other side of the mountain. The stairs were narrow and you had to wait til someone came down before you could go up. It was worth it, however. We did get our spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. (One of our group later read in the Lonely Planet guide that Trail 1 is very difficult and prone to mudslides and should only be attempted from the top down). It wasn’t that bad.

After resting for a while, we started down, down the paved road that lead back to town. This turned out to be longer than the trip up. As we walked, everyone said hello to us. It seems that Malaysians are pleased to Westerners in their country and like to practice their English. There were groups of teenagers (the girls wearing head scarves) making the journey downward and they smiled and called out as they passed us. When we came upon a group of them at their gathering spot, we took pictures and then they were very excited to pose for us and then see themselves in the pictures we had made. The whole group waved and shouted goodbye when we proceeded onward.

Cameron Highlands is the tea growing region of Malaysia and we soon came upon broad expanses of tea bushes covering the mountainside. Mountains weren’t terraced as we had seen in so many other countries where rice was grown but the tea bushes were simply planted on the mountainsides no matter how steep the slope. We watched workers harvesting the tea leaves. It was very similar to the way we trim our hedges. Large clippers were used, only these had round, plastic attachments so that when the clippers were closed they formed a round container to catch the tea leaves trimmed from the tops of the bushes. The worker would make several cuts the container would hold no more and then he would flip the leaves over his shoulder into the large woven basket strapped to his back. Occasionally, he would stop, take the basket off his back, mash the leaves down toward the bottom so he would have more room in the basket, put it back on his back and continue. It was a fascinating process and we spent quite some time just standing on the roadside watching the workmen and enjoying the view of vast acreages of green tea bushes on the steep, rolling mountainside.

Soon we came to the headquarters of the tea plantation, which consisted of a restaurant on the mountainside, a gift shop where you could buy samples of their produce and the factory where the tea was processed. Being tired and hungry, we opted for the restaurant. The choice wasn’t great but we were hungry. The place was crowded, mostly, as you would expect, with Malaysians. Malaysia, as you know, is predominately a Muslim country. The woman keep their heads covered in public. They wear long dresses that touch the ground and head scarves. Some outfits are brightly colored floral designs, some are simple and plain, and some are all black. Some of those in black were covered from head to toe with only their face and hands showing. (We have some of these in our classes at school). Others, and we saw several in the restaurant, are covered from head to toe in black with gloves and veils leaving only their eyes in view. What was so interesting was that some of the black outfits were very fancy with embroidered designs and flashes of silk or beads or some shiny stone. And many of the woman were wearing expensive jewelry. When they sat down we sometimes got glimpses of what they wore underneath, anything from jeans and tennis shoes on up. (I once asked a teacher at school what the women in black at our school thought of the Koreans in their mini-skirts and she told me that the women in black might be wearing the same thing underneath. The black outfits are only worn in public.) I wondered how the ladies with veils would manage to eat. They simply lift the veil ever so slightly, just enough to get the food or their coffee cups to their mouths but without exposing their faces. Several men were taking pictures of their wives in their total black out fits, which seemed to me an oxymoron. You couldn’t see anything but their eyes. Can you imagine him showing the picture to his friends? “This is my wife, Stella.” (Many Malaysians actually have western names. Stella is the name of one of our teachers).

I’m somewhat put off by the women who reveal only their eyes. They seem unapproachable. Of course, that’s only my perception. They are following the traditions of their religion that the MEN have set for them. I have yet to find out who decides if a Muslim woman wears a head scarf and anything else she desires or a full coverage colorful dress or a black outfit revealing the face or one which reveals only the eyes. Is it her decision? I don’t know. I’m sure the ladies in black are very pleasant, happy, outgoing people but I have trouble walking up and saying hello to anyone wearing a mask. Can you imagine the reaction if I walked around Kuala Lumpur wearing a ski mask?

The Plantation Headquarters is on a hillside with a single road leading to it. The road was congested with tour buses trying to drop off and pick up people and tractors pulling trailers laden with huge bags of tea leaves. It was almost impossible to turn around and yet, through trial and error, they succeeded.

By this time we were exhausted, knackered, as the Brits would say, and, unable to face the prospect of walking any more, we called cabs to pick us up. By this time it was late in the day.

Back in town we went out to eat. Tanah Rata is a mountain resort town and reminded me a little bit of Gatlinburg, Tennessee in the fifties. The architecture is varied and there is even what seemed to be a Catholic convent. The streets (and there aren’t many) are lined with gift shops and restaurants. Men stand out in front and urge you to come in and try their cuisine. In Malaysia, you can find almost anything you want with a heavy emphasis on Indian, which is usually very hot, and Chinese. With eight people it is always difficult to come to a consensus but we finally decided on a German restaurant. A big mistake. Some of the food was OK but some was not. However, the service was atrocious! They brought out the food as it was prepared which is not unusual in Southeast Asia but that means that some are waiting for their food while others are eating. But this place screwed up our orders completely, totally failed to deliver some of the orders and served an appetizer as the last thing that came out of the kitchen. The beer cost three times the price in the mini-mart on the corner and the worst thing was that the waitress, left the restaurant and returned with our beer order in a plastic bag from the mini-mart. Bummer! After dinner, we walked around for a little while and then crashed.

The next morning, the weather was overcast and part of our group headed back to KL. Four of us decided to stay on and look around. We rode about two or three kilometers up the mountain to what had been described as a native village. It consisted of wooden houses with tin roofs spaced out evenly on the hillside. No bamboo huts. No thatched roofs. We immediately decided that there was no reason to stay but our taxi was gone. We understood that we could visit a waterfall nearby and asked an eight year old boy how to get there. He indicated that we should follow him and he began to climb the hill between the houses. We stopped to take pictures and several people on their porches said, “No pictures”. We followed the little boy and his brother, maybe four years old, as they scampered up the hill. We were huffing and puffing as they lead up ever upward into the forest. After a fifteen or twenty minute climb we topped the ridge and headed down. We came to a road and he said, “Waterfall” as he pointed to the paved road. Then he said, “Ten Ringgits” (about three dollars). We gave him less than that and started down the road just as it began to rain. Not terribly hard but enough to get us wet. We walked and walked and walked and finally came to civilization, Tanah Rata, where we had begun our adventure several hours earlier. The waterfall was about fifteen minutes from town, not anywhere near the village. After lunch, we went there and were very disappointed. It wasn’t worth the effort, not even the effort of walking from the town. It wasn’t a real waterfall, just a series of rapids extending about one hundred feet or so down the side of the mountain. And no spot from which you could see it all at the same time, just glimpses of each little drop.

We caught the afternoon bus and were rewarded were wonderful views of the mountains as we made our way down to the flatlands. Cameron Highlands is beautiful country, not unlike the Smokies. I would like to go back and spend more time hiking in the mountains. All in all, it was a very good trip.

More to follow. Love to all,

Tom

Hello Everyone,
 
Well, I’ve been remiss lately on keeping you up to date on my travels (for those of you who are interested). I’ve got notes on my adventures in Hong Kong, Macau and China and will get those to you when I can. This epistle will be about my initial impressions of Malaysia, my home for the next few months. Remember, the delete button is always an option.
 
I left Vietnam with the intention of finding a job in China and had applied to several schools. Got responses from some but they didn’t seem to inviting or I didn’t think I would like the area. One job that sounded good was withdrawn when they realized I am 68. They stated that they had contacted the local authorities and were told that I would not be able to get a work permit. One job that was offered in Tianjin, about two hours from Beijing in an industrial port city, didn’t sound that good but they said I wouldn’t need a work permit for a three month contract so I accepted it. However, during my travels, I was offered a job in Malaysia, good pay, free housing and airfare home for a three month contract. I jumped on it. So that’s where I am now. Got the job through the recommendation of a couple of friends, Joe and Marlene Foley, who were teachers with me at the Caledonian School in Prague.
 
Arrived in Malaysia on a Monday with the idea of settling in, finding my way around and beginning work the following Monday. Met with Joe and Marlene that night (they live in the same apartment complex) and was informed that the school wanted me to start the next day, which I did. Not properly prepared but willing to take the money.
 
I’m working for International House at Limkokwing University of Creative Technology in Cyberjaya, Malaysia. International House (IH) is a huge organization with schools all over the world. I got my teaching certification from IH in Madrid. I’m very pleased to get connected with them because I may be able to transfer easily to their other IH schools. IH has an outstanding reputation. Limkokwing U. was founded by a Chinese gentleman who named it after himself. They have branches in London, Beijing and about three other spots. Their students are mostly design students and art students and architects and they come here from all over the world.
 
The IH students are trying to improve their English to a level that they can be accepted into an English speaking University. Evidently, Limkokwing has the franchise for International House in this area. I was hired to work i a special three month summer program designed especially for Koreans who would come for one month at a time. Unfortunately, by the time I got here, the summer program had been scrapped and the Koreans were integrated into the classes for the ﾓinternational?students. I won’t bore you with the details of the problems   this has caused, mostly because the Koreans have come over in groups of about forty each week and have been introduced into classes that have already started. Oh well, it’s not my problem. I’ve enjoyed teaching all of the and have especially enjoyed meeting students from countries I have never visited. I’ve got students from Korea, China, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam. There are students from Kazakstan and Russia and Mongolia. Limkokwing brags of having students from 90 different countries.

Things are somewhat disorganized at the moment because the Director of studies, my boss whom I have never met and who is supposed to be in charge, has been away for a month. But the students are nice and everyone has been helpful. I have a nice, free apartment and a nice pool that I swim in every afternoon. Life is good!
 
Malaysia seems to be the most prosperous of the southeast Asian countries I have visited. Of course, I’m basing this on this relatively new and growing city of Cyberjaya and Kuala Lumpur. They have good infrastructure, good roads and good public transportation. The major highways around here are almost like the interstates in the US. There has been plenty of blue sky and sunshine, which i love, and, surprisingly, it has not seemed as hot as Hanoi though it is much closer toe the equator. 
 
Cyberjaya, the Intelligent City, as it says on the sign at the city limit is only ten years old (though I’m sure some of the buildings and businesses are older than that) and is intended to be the Silicon Valley of Malaysia. It’s growing fast but the housing projects which are going up everywhere, though architecturally interesting, have a sameness about them. Someone from our school of creative technology should step out of the box.
 
Putrajaya, which was developed to house all of the government offices, is new and fancy, even the mosques. It is just across the highway from our school and is probably the main reason for the rapid growth in the area.
 
Kuala Lumpur (KL, as it is affectionately known) is about 20 miles away, easily reached by bus in about 45 minutes to an hour. It’s a big, modern city with all the major hotels and all the big name shops. 7-11s are everywhere. Lots of McDonalds, KFCs and Pizza Huts. Those aren’t the big names I was referring to. The major landmark in KL is Petronas Towers, twin towers with a walkway connecting the two on the 40th floor. It was featured in the movie Entrapment. Until recently, it was the tallest building in the world. (The title was lost to a building in Taiwan.) It has Gucci, Chanel, Hermes, Bvlgari, Giorgio Armani, Tiffany, Louis Vuitton and Salvatore Ferragamo in addition to McDonald’s, KFC and Pizza Hut.    
 
According to the people I have talked to, Malaysia is composed of three main groups: the Malays who are Muslims, the Chines who are Buddhists and the Indians who are Hindus. A member of the school administration, a Pakistani, who has been very helpful to arriving teachers told me that the Chinese are the businessmen, the Indians are the workers and the Malay are lazy. All the groups are represented in the the student body and the faculty. Thus, in the cafeteria each day, I see girls in head scarves (even a couple in full burkas revealing nothing but their faces), girls with the dots on their foreheads to indicate whether or not they are married and  and some, mostly the Koreans, in tank tops and mini-skirts. It’s and unusual and fascinating assortment of costumes and religious. What is so wonderful is the fact that there seems to be total acceptance between them. No one looks askance at another group or shows any disapproval. They all seem to get along. Certainly there is a lot of clannishness as they stay in their groups but there is also a lot in integration as well. All the groups are represented in my apartment complex as well and little children play together while the mothers talk, one in a scarf and one with a dot on her forehead.  Muslim women in the pool are almost completely covered, head to toe. Of course, some dress in completely western clothing. It’s fascinating to see all the cultures blend together. Hope to learn a lot more about their beliefs and traditions. The people are nice, friendly, and very helpful. The children are adorable with shiny, jet black hair and huge dark eyes. And they always wave when you say hello.
 

One interesting fact, tradition, superstition is the idea that the number four is unlucky. Think this is from the Chinese. Believe that the word for four in Chinese also means death. Consequently, just as we often don’t have a 13th floor in the US, there is no 4th floor here. The elevator shows 2, 3, 3a, 5. I live on 13a.  11,  12,  13,  13a,  15,  16. I assume the same is true for Petronas Towers and i don’t know how many floors that is.
 
Went to the beach last weekend, a small island of the coast, Pulau Pankor in the Straits of Melaka between Malaysia and Indonesia. Going to the central highlands this weekend.
 
But more about that later. My fingers are tired and you must be too.
 
What’s the news where you are?
 
Love to all,
 
Tom
 

Hello Everyone,
 
Well, I’ve been remiss lately on keeping you up to date on my travels (for those of you who are interested). I’ve got notes on my adventures in Hong Kong, Macau and China and will get those to you when I can. This epistle will be about my initial impressions of Malaysia, my home for the next few months. Remember, the delete button is always an option.
 
I left Vietnam with the intention of finding a job in China and had applied to several schools. Got responses from some but they didn’t seem to inviting or I didn’t think I would like the area. One job that sounded good was withdrawn when they realized I am 68. They stated that they had contacted the local authorities and were told that I would not be able to get a work permit. One job that was offered in Tianjin, about two hours from Beijing in an industrial port city, didn’t sound that good but they said I wouldn’t need a work permit for a three month contract so I accepted it. However, during my travels, I was offered a job in Malaysia, good pay, free housing and airfare home for a three month contract. I jumped on it. So that’s where I am now. Got the job through the recommendation of a couple of friends, Joe and Marlene Foley, who were teachers with me at the Caledonian School in Prague.
 
Arrived in Malaysia on a Monday with the idea of settling in, finding my way around and beginning work the following Monday. Met with Joe and Marlene that night (they live in the same apartment complex) and was informed that the school wanted me to start the next day, which I did. Not properly prepared but willing to take the money.
 
I’m working for International House at Limkokwing University of Creative Technology in Cyberjaya, Malaysia. International House (IH) is a huge organization with schools all over the world. I got my teaching certification from IH in Madrid. I’m very pleased to get connected with them because I may be able to transfer easily to their other IH schools. IH has an outstanding reputation. Limkokwing U. was founded by a Chinese gentleman who named it after himself. They have branches in London, Beijing and about three other spots. Their students are mostly design students and art students and architects and they come here from all over the world.
 
The IH students are trying to improve their English to a level that they can be accepted into an English speaking University. Evidently, Limkokwing has the franchise for International House in this area. I was hired to work i a special three month summer program designed especially for Koreans who would come for one month at a time. Unfortunately, by the time I got here, the summer program had been scrapped and the Koreans were integrated into the classes for the ﾓinternational?students. I won’t bore you with the details of the problems   this has caused, mostly because the Koreans have come over in groups of about forty each week and have been introduced into classes that have already started. Oh well, it’s not my problem. I’ve enjoyed teaching all of the and have especially enjoyed meeting students from countries I have never visited. I’ve got students from Korea, China, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam. There are students from Kazakstan and Russia and Mongolia. Limkokwing brags of having students from 90 different countries.

Things are somewhat disorganized at the moment because the Director of studies, my boss whom I have never met and who is supposed to be in charge, has been away for a month. But the students are nice and everyone has been helpful. I have a nice, free apartment and a nice pool that I swim in every afternoon. Life is good!
 
Malaysia seems to be the most prosperous of the southeast Asian countries I have visited. Of course, I’m basing this on this relatively new and growing city of Cyberjaya and Kuala Lumpur. They have good infrastructure, good roads and good public transportation. The major highways around here are almost like the interstates in the US. There has been plenty of blue sky and sunshine, which i love, and, surprisingly, it has not seemed as hot as Hanoi though it is much closer toe the equator. 
 
Cyberjaya, the Intelligent City, as it says on the sign at the city limit is only ten years old (though I’m sure some of the buildings and businesses are older than that) and is intended to be the Silicon Valley of Malaysia. It’s growing fast but the housing projects which are going up everywhere, though architecturally interesting, have a sameness about them. Someone from our school of creative technology should step out of the box.
 
Putrajaya, which was developed to house all of the government offices, is new and fancy, even the mosques. It is just across the highway from our school and is probably the main reason for the rapid growth in the area.
 
Kuala Lumpur (KL, as it is affectionately known) is about 20 miles away, easily reached by bus in about 45 minutes to an hour. It’s a big, modern city with all the major hotels and all the big name shops. 7-11s are everywhere. Lots of McDonalds, KFCs and Pizza Huts. Those aren’t the big names I was referring to. The major landmark in KL is Petronas Towers, twin towers with a walkway connecting the two on the 40th floor. It was featured in the movie Entrapment. Until recently, it was the tallest building in the world. (The title was lost to a building in Taiwan.) It has Gucci, Chanel, Hermes, Bvlgari, Giorgio Armani, Tiffany, Louis Vuitton and Salvatore Ferragamo in addition to McDonald’s, KFC and Pizza Hut.    
 
According to the people I have talked to, Malaysia is composed of three main groups: the Malays who are Muslims, the Chines who are Buddhists and the Indians who are Hindus. A member of the school administration, a Pakistani, who has been very helpful to arriving teachers told me that the Chinese are the businessmen, the Indians are the workers and the Malay are lazy. All the groups are represented in the the student body and the faculty. Thus, in the cafeteria each day, I see girls in head scarves (even a couple in full burkas revealing nothing but their faces), girls with the dots on their foreheads to indicate whether or not they are married and  and some, mostly the Koreans, in tank tops and mini-skirts. It’s and unusual and fascinating assortment of costumes and religious. What is so wonderful is the fact that there seems to be total acceptance between them. No one looks askance at another group or shows any disapproval. They all seem to get along. Certainly there is a lot of clannishness as they stay in their groups but there is also a lot in integration as well. All the groups are represented in my apartment complex as well and little children play together while the mothers talk, one in a scarf and one with a dot on her forehead.  Muslim women in the pool are almost completely covered, head to toe. Of course, some dress in completely western clothing. It’s fascinating to see all the cultures blend together. Hope to learn a lot more about their beliefs and traditions. The people are nice, friendly, and very helpful. The children are adorable with shiny, jet black hair and huge dark eyes. And they always wave when you say hello.
 

One interesting fact, tradition, superstition is the idea that the number four is unlucky. Think this is from the Chinese. Believe that the word for four in Chinese also means death. Consequently, just as we often don’t have a 13th floor in the US, there is no 4th floor here. The elevator shows 2, 3, 3a, 5. I live on 13a.  11,  12,  13,  13a,  15,  16. I assume the same is true for Petronas Towers and i don’t know how many floors that is.
 
Went to the beach last weekend, a small island of the coast, Pulau Pankor in the Straits of Melaka between Malaysia and Indonesia. Going to the central highlands this weekend.
 
But more about that later. My fingers are tired and you must be too.
 
What’s the news where you are?
 
Love to all,
 
Tom
 

Hi ALL,
 
Just a note to all those who were planning to visit me in China. Hold the Phone!!  Just accepted a job at Limkokwing University, College of Creative Technology in Cyberjaya, Malaysia. Cyberjaya (don’t you just love that name!) is a small town about 25 miles south of Kuala Lumpur. I’ll be working for International House, an English language school with branches all over the world. Hopefully, if I do a good job, I’ll be able to work for other International House branches. I’ll also be working with Joe and Marlene Foley, two friends whom I worked with in Prague. Ain’t it a small world!
 
I had a job in Tienjien, China (two hours east of Beijing) but didn’t like what I had read about the town. A big sea port but upriver from the sea with no historical or cultural interest. The lady I talked with said I would be living on the 6th floor of a building with no elevator. And each time I talked with her, she seemed a little strange. We were never on the same wavelength. So I never really wanted that job and was happy to find something else.
 
Ironically, I accepted the job in Cyberjaya (love saying that)yesterday and today I got an offer from another school in China that I would have been happy to accept. Maybe next year.   
 
Currently enjoying Luang Prabang, Laos immensely. Quiet, almost sleepy small town during the day. Very hot. Went to a waterfall and swam. Going tubing on the river tomorrow. Leave for Siem Reap, Cambodia Monday. Then will go to Singapore or the Philippines, get a Chinese visa, and go to Beijing, the Fobidden City, the Great Wall, and maybe try to get into Mongolia. All this before starting work July 2. Have a three month contract but they felt certain they could use mean extra month, until November when Harrison and David come out and we go to Australia and New Zealand. Home for Christmas.
 
Will put all my adventures into a letter when I have time.
 
Love to all,
 
PaPa, Dad, Tom

 
This will be relatively brief but wanted to bring you up to date. When time and a computer permit will give you more details.  
 
Left Hanoi on May 23 and went to Luang Prabang, Laos where I spent five peaceful days relaxing. Great after the hustle and bustle and noise of Hanoi. There is littler to do there and I did little of it. Went to a great waterfall and swam. Visited lots of temples. Had a massage.
 
Flew to Siem Reap, Cambodia. It’s the closest town to Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat is a huge Hindu Temple, reputed to be the largest religious structure in the world. Angkor was the capital city of the ancient Khmer Empire. Angkor Wat is the largest temple and it is magnificent. Well worth the trip. But I spent four days visiting other temples in the area and there are many. Angkor Wat was not my favorite as I weill explain in a later epistle. Tokk a day to recover.
 
Next on the list was Hong Kong, the New York City of China.It was handed ofver to the Chinese in 1997 by the British and as a Special Administrative Region is somewhat autonomous. One country, two systems. But there seem to be problems as to exactly what is determined by Hong Kong and what is decided in Beijing. Lots of tall building, corporate offices, business men in suits. Kowloon, across Victoria Harbor but still in the Region, is Brokklyn, the working man’s domain and a Hong Kong wannabe. Went to Ned Kelly’s Last Stand, a pub/restaurant where there is a great little jazz band. Ned wasn’t there. He was shot in Australia in 1880.
 
Took a one day ferry trip to Macau, another SRA. Didn’t need a visa for either of the SRA’s but had to get a visa to go to Beijing. It’s all China. Go figure. Macau was colonized by the Portuguese so signs are in Chinese, Portuguese and English. Macau (thought we spelled it Macao) has kept it’s old world charm with winding cobblestone streets, mosaic pictures in the sidewalk, and old buildings. Bought local favorites: almond cookies and some sort of pork jerky that was sweet and delicious. Couls have eaten tons of it.
 
Flew to Beijing. No problem entering the country. Actually, maybe the fastest I’ve ever been through immigrations. Caught a bus into the city and then a cab to the hotel. Went to the Forbidden City yesterday.  They refer to it as the Palace Museum. It’s enormous, complex, and requires a map in order to find your way around.  Spent most of the day there and just walked around. Didn’t linger long over anything and didn’t see it all. Unfortunately, some of the major buildings are being renovated and was not able to get the best of pictures. Tiennamen Square is directly across the street and it is gigantic as well. Probably could hold several million people at once. Beyond the Square is Mao’s Mausoleun (I think). Lots of work going on. Street improvements, etc. in preparation for next year’s Olympics.
 
Great Wall tomorrow. Haven’t decided what to do after that. Someplace else in China. Have to be back in Hanoi on the 24th and Malaysia on the 28th.
 
Having a wonderful time.
 
Love to all,
 
Tom   
  

Took a wonderful trip to Ha Giang Province in the north of Vietnam on the Chinese border. Incredible, mountainous terrain with ethnic minority groups in traditional dress. Film at eleven.

Saturday, April 28

We met at the travel agency who had arranged the trip at 7AM Saturday morning. Seven of us, six women and me, all teachers, 3 Americans (Colleen, Stephanie and I), 2 Brits (Caroline and Vicki), 1 Australian (Michelle) and 1 South African (Michelle). A good group, very compatible.

Left home at six AM and was surprised to see so many people out in the streets. The parks were full of people playing badminton, walking, doing Tai Chi, stretching. The streets were full of people opening their shops and setting out their wares. The city was alive at a time that I was usually still asleep.

We had rented a nine passenger van with a driver and a guide. Luckily, this was upgraded at no charge to a sixteen passenger Mercedes van that we filled but still had enough room to be comfortable. Westerners take up more space than Vietnamese. We stowed our luggage, piled and and were delighted to be headed out of town. At this point, anything outside of the city limits of Hanoi would have been considered a wonderful vacation. The city is incredibly noisy and crowded. Everyone honks their horns constantly, even the motorbikes. There seems to be some rule that you should honk in order to let the person in front of you know that you are there (as if he couldn’t hear you or see you in his rear view mirror). And you honk so that the motorbikes and bicycles will move out of your way, which they seldom do. And sometimes it seems you honk just to for the sheer joy of hearing your horn. Life in the street is never quiet. When we got out of the city, we could see open land, flat land, vast, green, rice paddies with women and men bent at the waist working in the fields, people hoeing the land in preparation for planting or tending one or two or several water buffalo. I saw a woman bent over working in a rice field. She suddenly squatted down and all I could see was the cone shaped hat that everyone wore. I’m always amazed at how low the Vietnamese can get when they squat down. They sit on stools that are about six inches high when they eat and all can squat to rest or talk or work in the streets. When they huddle over a heated game of Vietnamese “Chess”, they are usually below the level of my knees.

The roads around Hanoi are not good and we bumped along, honking all the way. Generally we drove down the middle of the road allowing motorbikes to pass on each side going in both directions. Vietnam has wasted money painting white lines in the middle of the road as they are ignored, even in the city. Two vehicles approaching each other head on move over at the last minute. There are thirty motorcycle deaths a day in Vietnam, one a day in Hanoi. From what I’ve witnessed, I would expect more. Almost no one wears a helmet.

So there we are, bumping along on crowded roads, going through small towns with crowded streets, passing an occasional factory belching smoke in to the air. Life in Vietnam is conducted in the streets. Shops are almost always open front so you can see all the merchandise from the street and when they open, they expand out into what should be a side walk but seldom is. We stopped for a coffee break and a pit stop. The “rest room” consisted of two “urinals” and one “stall”. The “urinals” were 3 feet by 3 feet enclosures with concrete floors and brick walls about four feet high, open to the sky and no door. There were two bricks on the floor on which you could stand, supposedly so you wouldn’t splash on your shoes. There was no water and no hole. The urine drained downhill through a hole in the wall to the next urinal which was a duplicate of the first. The ladies had to walk past the two urinals to get to the “stall”. The “stall” had a hole in the floor and, again, two bricks. Walls but no roof and the door wouldn’t close completely. You had to hold the hold onto the door to keep it shut. Privacy is not a big commodity in Vietnam. But we managed.

Everyone ordered coffee except me. I can’t drink Vietnamese coffee. Essentially, it’s tar, unless you add a lot of water. And i can’t add enough sugar to get away from the bitter taste. So I ordered a coke. Not a diet coke, my drink of choice, which is available in only a few places in Hanoi, and rare as hen’s teeth outside the city, but a regular coke with a syrupy taste. The lady picked up a bottle coke, warm, which had been sitting out, collecting what looked like decades of road dust. She took a rag and carefully wiped off the dust. Then she used the same rag, untouched, to wipe out the glass I was to use to drink my coke. I drank from the bottle.

The motorbike is the major form of transportation as well as transport in Vietnam. Everything is delivered on motorbikes. It’s hard to believe what volumes and quantities they will put on the back of a motorbike. I’ve often said that if you bought a car in Vietnam, they would deliver it on a motorbike. Some of what we saw in the country was very upsetting. One man had three grown pigs in wire cages, alive and struggling in their confined pens, plus one tied down on his back on top of the cages. Another had three wire cages of mid-sized dogs that were stuffed in so tight they were literally unable to move. It was appalling. They were probably on their way to a restaurant where they would be someone’s supper.

We stopped at Tuyen Quang for lunch. As usual, we ordered several different dishes and shared. Anything you can reach with your chopsticks is yours. Standard fare. Tofu, morning glory (some sort of cooked green plant, similar to spinach), French fries, and what South African Michelle described as “whitefish”. They turned out to be minnows, cooked whole, probably fried. They weren’t bad but not particularly good either. Not something I’ll be searching out in my travels. The tails and fins were a little too sharp and pointy for my taste.

After lunch and some distance from Hanoi, the roads got wider and better. Strange that the worst roads are close to the capital city. We left the flat land and drove through rolling hills. It began to drizzle and was raining lightly when we arrived at Ha Giang, the major city in the Ha Giang province. We had left Hanoi at seven and arrived in the late afternoon, approximately 150 miles in about eight hours. Did I mention the roads were bad? The motorbikes were making better time. They could dodge potholes and other vehicles. The rooms in the hotel were large, usually two double beds, but the mattresses could have been used as a torture mechanism. They were hard, real hard. There was no give whatsoever. The floor seemed softer. The Vietnamese seem to like hard furniture. The chairs and sofa in my living room are massive carved wooden pieces. I couldn’t sit on them for very long without having a sore behind, so I got some pillows. When the Vietnamese landlady comes over, she removes the pillows before she sits down.

We went for a walk around Ha Giang. Ha Giang Province is not a heavily traveled tourist area. We were the attraction. People always looked at us as we passed by. Most yelled out “Hello”, especially the young people. When we answered “Hello” many began to giggle and look at their friends. Look what I did! I made them say something. In most cases, that was the extent of their English, though some were able to respond to “How are you?” Passed a small shop where they were making heavy wooden furniture by hand. I think this is standard procedure. One man was using a hammer and chisel to carve an elaborate design in the headboard for a bed. The other was sanding another piece which had three dimensional figures. I watched for a while. It was amazing. One slip and you start over. A lot of work for one piece of furniture.

We had dinner on a barge in the river. The menu was in Vietnamese so we had to walk around other people’s tables and point to their dishes to let the waitress know what we wanted. The locals were very understanding about this. The service was bad but the food was good. However, I didn’t like the way the chicken was prepared. The roast a whole chicken and then just chop it up with a meat cleaver and serve it on a plate. So, instead of getting a nice slice of chicken breast, you get a cross-section of chicken, bones and all. There was no drumstick, just a chopped up piece of chicken. The dinner which was very nice and a lot of food cost 283VND (about $18 for seven people). Lunch had cost 480VND (about $29). We soon realized that anytime we went into a restaurant with our guide, the meal usually cost twice as much as when he was not along. It seems that he always got a free meal we paid for it, and more. Later that evening, we had drinks overlooking the river. 4 beers and 3 Vodka and Orange juice. 7 drinks for $6. That was a good deal, but, of course, the guide was not along.

Sunday, April 29

We had a breakfast of Pho (pronounced “fuh”), the typical morning meal for Vietnamese, essentially a bowl of chicken soup without the chicken and some greens thrown in and some of that coffee which I can’t drink. Then we headed for a village nearby, our first encounter with the locals. The village was nestled in gently rolling hills but provided plenty of flat land for rice farming and rice was obviously the principle crop. The village was off the road but on the beaten path. The people seemed accustomed to having visitors as they ignored us or briefly acknowledged us as we walked through. Most of the homes were thatched huts on stilts. The houses had walls that were not completely closed in and the inhabitants were exposed to the weather. The thatched roofs were almost a foot thick so they were protected from the rain but not the cold. There were lots of animals, water buffalo, ducks, chickens and horses, and lots of children who were very friendly and always said “Hello”. They loved to have their pictures made and then see them in the digital cameras. All the adults were working. Women and men bent over in the rice fields, back breaking work. No wonder we saw so many older people who were stooped. There was a woman washing rice in a woven basket and a man brewing rice wine, a staple of the area, and young girls fishing. The village had an intricate irrigation system fashioned from bamboo split in half. Water flowed down from the hills and they trapped it to feed the rice paddies. They even devised a primitive method to lower the water, run it under the paved pathway and then raise it back up so it could continue into the fields. Difficult to explain but fascinating. All done with bamboo, the most plentiful building material in the area.

Next we drove to a small town where we wanted to see the street market that is frequently by local ethnic minorities, Unfortunately, we were too late on a rainy morning and the market had closed down. So they took us to where we were to spend the night, a homestay with a local family. Well this was part of the tour and they were prepared to have guests. We didn’t actually stay with the family, we had our our stilt house with eight mattresses on the floor separated by curtains that could be drawn for a bit of privacy. Those who had made other trips with homestays indicated that we were in the lap of luxury. Yes, the shower was underneath the main house some twenty yards away, but, at least, we had a shower. The family provided lunch for us. We sat on the floor, a good trick for me since my knees don’t bend very well, and shared from bowls of food laid out on a mat. The family ate separately on a different mat. The food was good. There was a dark meat which was excellent, tender and tasty. The told us it was beef but we were pretty sure it was water buffalo. Maybe the best meat I have ever tasted. We had beer for lunch and then the man of the house wanted to toast us with rice wine. He especially want to toast with me since I was the only man and the oldest (I guess). Anyway, I had five shots of rice wine in addition to the beer. Needless to say, we all took naps after lunch.

After the nap, we were to go to a village some 15 kilometers away. The guide wanted to drive us but we insisted on walking. We walked through several small towns and we were the highlight of the day for the locals. Everyone said “Hello”. They called their families out of the house to see us going by. Kids came across the street to speak to us. They shook our hands and laughed. They wanted photos made and wanted to look at them. One man tried to hand me his baby but the baby started crying. Think the general thought was, “What are these westerners doing walking way out here?” Along the way, we saw a group of boys sitting on a boulder fishing in the river, two guys on motorbikes crossing the river on a narrow bamboo bridge, several waterwheels, and several women carrying heavy loads on their shoulders in the twin baskets. Some of the women had black teeth, the result of chewing betel nuts, evidently a desirable look in this area. The guide showed us the “plant that sleeps”, a small low growing fern like plant. When you touch it, it seems to wilt but recovers in about fifteen minutes. He said that the Vietnamese were able to track the Americans during the “American War” by following the trail left by this plant. My thought was, “Why didn’t our South Vietnamese allies warn us about it?”

We finally got to the village. They flat land was planted in rice and corn and the village was in the foothills. The village was not very interesting and it was getting late in the day so we quickly walked through. One old man latched on to us and wanted to have his picture made with us. He shook our hands and saluted and smiled a lot. He didn’t speak any English so the guide interpreted. He was 74 years old, had fought in the war and had killed 13 Americans. He had been shot in the head and the hip. Some of what he said the guide did not interpret claiming that it was a dialect he did not understand. We weren’t sure what to believe as he seemed drunk or many even mentally unbalanced. He shook hands and wouldn’t let go. As we walked away from the village, he accompanied us, held the girls’ hands and sang to them. A happy, jovial man, but strange.

Supper was a duplication of lunch. Lots of good food and plenty of rice wine. We all slept well that night under mosquito nets.

Monday, April 30

The guide took us back to the same restaurant where we had had breakfast the day before. We decided against Pho and walked across the street hoping to find something else. No luck, so we ordered coffee ( I got a seven up) and juice. We asked for bread and one of the women got on her bike and rode away. A few minutes later she came back with a plastic bag of four baguettes. We asked for more and she rode away again. In the car we broke out the peanut butter we had brought and made sandwiches. They were delicious.

We left Ha Giang and started our climb in to the mountains. We would leave the valley floor and snake our way upward on narrow, winding roads. The driver, an excellent driver I might add, honked the horn before making each turn to announce to anyone approaching that we our van was just around the corner. We never really got away from the constant noise even in the peaceful, isolated mountains. We climbed up, up, up, hairpin curve after hairpin curve. We stopped for pictures and watched families planting crops on the hillside, and when I say “hillside”, I mean a steep slope. They had carved out narrow terraces that stretched from the top to the bottom of the hill and worked in groups as they tilled the land. Children looked after babies and some women worked with a baby strapped to their back. Others left their infants on the hillside in the shade of an umbrella. One maybe eight year old boy had a one year old on his back and held the hand of a three year old as the wandered up and down the slopes. Other children walked along the road tending their water buffalo. They were somewhat stand-offish but also curious and came toward us and let us take pictures. Large areas of land were under cultivation but there weren’t very many people working and they seemed to be working as a unit.

We passed through Quang Ba and continued to climb. The major crop at this altitude and in this terrain was corn. We saw long irrigation ditches made of concrete, probably constructed by the government. We stopped in Yen Minh for lunch of tofu (standard), noodles, beef, morning glory and iced coffee. I was able to drink the iced coffee because they put so much condensed milk in it that it kills the task and makes it seem more like chocolate milk. We saw another group of westerners, 4 adults (one man and three women) and 7 children, the only other westerners we saw on the entire trip. They were French and were teachers in Ho Chi Minh City. We agreed that we were happy not to be traveling with children though they were very well behaved and ate what was placed before them with chopsticks. At the end of the meal, the children were given brownies. I whined, “Oh, I want a brownie.” The man heard me and brought me a slice of brownie. I tried to refuse but he insisted explaining that they had more and saying, “You’re traveling with six women. You need it.” I took it and shared with my group. It was delicious!

After lunch, we continued our climb upward. Wooden plows were used to loosen the soil where possible. Houses were made of mud and clay. This was Black H’mong country, one of the ethnic minority groups in the mountains. Our guide told us and we were able to distinguish them by the two panels of black on the women’s black skirts. (Blue H’mong had two blue panels on black skirts). At this altitude the land was very rocky but it seemed that every inch of available soil was planted in corn. (Some one told us that the dirt had been “brought in” but I question this. Literally, a square foot of dirt surrounded by boulders had a sprig of corn starting to grow. Everyone, including old people, was bending over doing manual labor, chopping, hoeing, cutting, and weeding on the steep hillsides. At one point, we stopped to get pictures of the spectacular view. A family of Black H’mong walked down the narrow path from their house on the hill to see us. Several adults and four or five children. The man carried his naked son in his arms. They were excited to have their pictures made and see them in the cameras. One woman had four gold teeth across the front. Saw this a few times and maybe it is a symbol of wealth. A better symbol would have been to have running water. It seemed that none of them had had a bath in quite some time. Beautiful, friendly people but living a hard life scratching a living our of the hills with little chance for improvement in the future. I admired them a great deal. I would not have wanted to live like that and yet they smiled and seemed happy.

We passed through Meo Vac and entered the land of the Blue H’Mong. This area provided the most spectacular scenery. High Mountains topped by what looked to be volcanic rocks. Big country with high mountains and deep valleys. It reminded me of the Alps or the Pyrenees. It didn’t have snow capped mountains but the distance from the valley floor to the top of the mountain felt like the Alps. Vast and magnificent. We all agreed that the photos we were taking now and would look at later would not capture the majesty and beauty of the landscape.

We decided to walk along the road for a kilometer or two taking pictures and watching the people working n the hillsides. It seemed almost impossible to plant crops of the steep mountains. We felt that if we slipped we would be unable to stop ourselves and would roll all the way to the bottom. And yet these people worked the soil and moved easily along narrow paths worn by years of climbing the mountains.

We spent the night in Dong Van, about 15 or 20 miles from the Chinese border. This has always been a tense area and we had to have permits to enter. Saw several signs in the area that said “Frontier Area”. Evidently, in years past, the Chinese would come across the border and steal Vietnamese women for wives. Now they pay families for their daughters. April 30th is the anniversary of reunification of North and South. There was a big celebration on TV. Singing, fireworks, ceremonies, men in military uniforms and old film clips. I can’t really get a handle on the feelings of the people. Are they expressing their sentiments or are they parroting the dictates of the government? Were they celebrating the reunification of the country or a victory over the Americans? I’ve talked to my students about the American War and there seems to be no animosity toward Americans or me. I told them I would not wear a t-shirt with the Vietnamese flag on it if I were in America because of the reaction it would cause. One student pointed out that that response was probably because we lost the war. I asked what happened to the leaders of the South Vietnamese military (our allies) after the war. They told me they were “reeducated”. I found out later that some stayed in “reeducation” camps for ten years. I don’t really have a grasp on the lasting effects of the war.

That night we walked the streets. People called out “Hello’. Children came up and said “Hello”, shook our hands, giggled and ran away. One man brought his babe in arms up to me and held the baby up to my face. The baby made a kissing sound against my cheek. I think they feel it brings good luck. We were sitting on the curb drinking beer when a man went by on a bicycle with a box on the back. A really strange sound was coming from the box. A person?, an animal?, a cry for help? We referred to him as the Poltergeist Man. He passed by and we hoped he would continue away, but he turned around after about a hundred yards and headed back our way. He passed us again but stopped nearby and opened the box when someone came out to him. We walked over and discovered that he was selling bread from the box. The sound coming from the box was his advertisement but it almost scared us away. We bought some bread.

Tuesday, May 1

May 1st is Labor Day in most of the world. There was a parade of school children down the main street of Dong Van. Bread and peanut butter for breakfast. We stopped at a Lo Lo village. Interesting but not much to see. One young girl put on their native costume, a patchwork of bright colors, and posed for pictures. We continued through the mountains but had started our descent. Still spectacular. We could see paths winding from the valley floors to high in the peaks. Every available bit of space was cultivated, but there never seemed to be enough people to farm such a vast area. Maybe they practiced crop rotation.

We stopped at a village called Pho Cao (not sure if this was just the name of the village or the ethnic minority that lived there). We walked along the main street, the only street as far as I could tell. Everyone was dressed in black. They didn’t say must, just looked at us. I got the impression that they didn’t have many visitors. All the men were dressed in the same black outfit, black pants and jacket with buttons up the front. They were having lunch from a common pot. Meat was being cut up, cooked and served on a long board with the men sitting on each side. The women wore black, heavily pleated wrap around skirts with colored panels and brocade down the back. They displayed more color. Everyone seemed shy and suspicious. We found out later that it was a funeral. The grandfather had been killed in a motorcycle accident.

We took pictures and when we showed them, everyone began to gather around until we were surrounded by people eager to see their images in the camera. They began to offer us food and drink, goat meat, very fatty and rice wine out of a common cup. The funeral was evidently an occasion for eating and drinking. One man passed out and was lying on the ground. Everyone simply ignored him. I was amazed that no one stepped on him as they crowded around to look at pictures.

We continued our descent through the mountains. We stopped beside the river and went wading. Two women were planting corn on the slope between the road and the river. I’m sure it was not their land but I doubt that anyone would question their us of the land. Life in the mountains is a hard life and no one should limit their ability to scratch out an existence.

We had lunch in Yen Minh, the restaurant where we had seen the French travelers, completing the loop of the mountain area. Amazing country. Vast and beautiful. Stopped at Heaven’s Gate, a high pass through the mountains, our last chance to get good pictures of the terrain. Then down the mountains to Ha Giang. Had a nice, inexpensive dinner (without the guide) and then went to a bar. Two of the ladies in our group ordered drinks the locals didn’t know how to mix so our ladies went behind the bar and made their own drinks. A good time was had by all.

Wednesday, May 2nd

Our sightseeing was over. This day would be devoted to making the run back to Hanoi in order to teach at two in the afternoon. We decided to leave at 5AM. We piled into the van, hoping to get some more sleep. The motor wouldn’t start. The battery was dead, really dead. After several adjustments to the engine (don’t know what he did), the motor started and we were on our way. At 6AM, we saw children with backpacks walking to school and others riding their bikes. 6AM! The streets were full of people and all the little roadside markets were open. They start early in Vietnam. We passed buses absolutely packed with people. Some even had people riding on top of the bus with all the luggage including motorbikes tied on. And on those roads that would have been a real heart pounding experience. The trip back was uneventful and a little sad. Back to work. Back to the noise and crowds of Hanoi. Away from the beauty of the mountains.

It was a wonderful trip and I recommend it to everyone.

Hello Everyone,
Here’s a long over-due update. I’ll try to cover a lot of topics. If they’re of interest to you, you might want to fix yourself a cuppa tea or a drink and sit back and enjoy. This is going to be a long one. If it isn’t of interest, no worries. That’s what the delete button is for.
Travels, Hoi An: We went this ancient UNESCO town in central Vietnam several weeks ago. The highlights were the quaintness of the town itself; getting clothes made to fit by one of the dozens of tailors there — I had a couple nice blouses made, slacks and a skirt that fit better than any I’ve ever had, a silk bathrobe, and an ao dai–traditional Vietnamese outfit; the Children’s Mid-Autumn festival going on, which included groups of boys going around with a couple dressed as dragons, one in a mask collecting money, and the contstant drum beats of the drummer. In Hoi An we had one of the best meals yet — veggies and shrimp and spices all carmelized in a clay pot, served with rice, 2 appetizers and flan for less than $4 per person. We went on a river cruise and on one side of the boat they saw a large rat swimming in the river, whereas on my side, I saw a water snake.
Travels, Nha Trang: after we got our jobs and housing arranged but not yet ready to start, we headed to this wonderful beach resort town. There were luxury rooms for hundreds of dollars, backpacker beds for just a couple dollars, and plenty of decent rooms for a few dollars more. I can’t imagine who stays in those luxury hotels. The beach was fabulous for swimming in the surf (no rats or snakes) and for relaxing in beach chairs, which you could rent for the whole day and move in and out of the shade as needed. We had great seafood and fresh fruit. There were vendors going up and down the beach, selling everything from books and sunglasses to fresh pineapple. But the highlight was the lobster lady — she carried 2 pots hanging from her bamboo pole. One had limes, oil, plates, knife, other supplies. The other had a small and burning coal brazier topped with a large pot loaded with steaming lobsters. She carried this up and down the beach all day. We went on a very entertaining boat trip, which Tom described best in his email. I’ll attach the description at the end here, for those of you who haven’t already read it. We also went to a beautiful Cham (Hindu) Tower complex, similar to Angor Wat in Cambodia, but on a smaller scale. Still intact, despite unknown construction techniques and 800-1000 years old. Much more impressive than the partial towers we had seen at My Son, but those had been heavily damaged during the 70’s — if I type out the reason why, it will trigger the automatic censor that will prevent my email from going through. But, ancient religious towers that had stood for over 800 years were doing fine until certain things fell on them about 35 years ago.
Coffee: Yes, there’s coffee here. Vietnam is the world’s 2nd exporter of coffee, after Brazil. They serve it very strong here. They put the grounds in an individual cup with a lid on top and a seize on the bottom, and set this on top of your coffee cup. They pour hot water over this and it slowly drips down into your coffee cup. Or, you can drink it iced and white — with sweet, syrupy condensed milk. On a hot afternoon, this is as refreshing as having a bucket of cold water dumped on your head, but not as messy. I love it.
Food: we’ve had plenty of good food and some really fabulous food here, and nothing bad at all. I admit we’ve been pretty cautious and eating only at restaurants and cafes. There are little stands all up and down the street, with people cooking something right there, and tiny little stools where people stop by to buy a cheap, hot meal and sit down to eat. I know we’re missing out on part of the culture and some good food by not going to these. Some of them look fine, but others have some meat that looks like it’s been around quite a while. It’s a tropical climate. There’s no sign of reridgeration on the streets, and plenty of dirt and flies. But these stands are not really an option because the stools are SOOO tiny and SOOO low to the ground, that even if we could sit on them comfortably and not break them (both unlikely), we still couldnt’ get back up. Wll, maybe if we rolled off them onto the sidewalk first and then … nevermind, it just isn’t happening. We’re going to start trying more of the small local cafes, with full size chairs.
People: Everyone is at least pleasant, if not out-of-their-way friendly. (Although many taxi drivers do try to charge double — I guess we have to accept that this is common in a lot of countries.) Vietnamese smile a lot by nature, and it’s nice to see. Little kids often shout “hello! hello!” at foreigners, and giggle when we say hello back. Lonely Planet says this is similar to kids tapping on the glass at an aquarium to see if the strange creature will respond. Whatever, the kids are adorable and this always makes us smile.
Jobs: we decided to work at a school in Hanoi that seems very professionally run, has plenty of resources and a new building, and agreed to let us teach adults at first but then let me take a few kids classes to develop my skills there. Being in the north, in the large and noisy city, wasn’t our first choice, but it looks like a good school, and our job offer in Danang (near “China Beach”) wasn’t due to start for a couple more months. We’ve been working part time for 2 weeks, and starting tomorrow we’ll have full schedules. So far, I can see that the students are very motivated and the staff is very friendly. More details after I’ve been there awhile.
Our house– We found out that apartments are less available and much more expensive than renting an entire house. The typical Vietnamese city house is very tall, long and narrow. Ours is 10 feet wide, which doesn’t sound like much, but it’s fine, considering the house goes back 40 feet and is 4 storeys tall. A wooden spiral staircase runs through the center of the whole thing, and looking from the top down is an amazing shot. The first floor has entry, living room, hall with bathroom and kitchen/dining area. There are 2 bedrooms and a bathroom on each of the next 2 floors, with tiny balconies that are filled with plants. The top floor has the ancestor room (where our landlords have left their “altar” with candles and other items dedicated to their ancestors) and then instead of another room, a top floor covered patio with washer, laundry lines and a view of all the other rooftops around. We are down a nice alley away from the very noisy main street, but unfortunately we are right next to the community announcements loudspeakers, which go off at least once a day.
This is where the title of my email fits in. We have a few pets that came with the house–geckos. They are quiet, feed themselves, don’t make a mess, and just greet us when we enter and then scamper quickly away.
After living in small hotel rooms, we’re now getting used to all this space. We’ve each got our own office set up. But, there’s still plenty of room for guests — if you don’t mind the geckos or the community service announcements blaring in, or the stairs; each storey is 12 feet high, or 20 stairs each — that’s 80 stairs from the kitchen to the laundry room. But, despite these oddities, it’s a pretty nice setup and there’s room for 4 easily, and more in a pinch. Anyone interested???? We’ll be here for a year.
Our local: After our first day of cleaning, moving furniture and unpacking, we headed down the main street to find a place to eat and get a cool drink. The closest restaurant (again, not counting those streetside stands with the tiny little chairs) was called “Pragold, Czech Restaurant.” We were delighted to go inside and find pictures of Prague, the Good Soldier Svejk, and copper vats with Pilsner fresh-brewed on the premises. They even brought us a little dish of peanuts and then charged us when we started eating them, just like the waiters in Prague! I confess that I became teary-eyed when I saw the pictures of Old Town Square.
Well, that’s more than enough for now. I want to spend some time organizing photos and getting them on yahoo to send in a convenient way, but now that I’m starting a heavy work schedule, I’m not sure how long it will take me. If I can’t get to it, I’ll send just a few as attachments before long.
For those of you that didn’t already read Tom’s group update, our Nha Trang boat trip is described below. And here’s where I’ll sign off.
Hope all is well with you and yours.
Take care,
Colleen
Nha Trang boat tour: It was a covered boat with about twenty people. We visited four different islands. At the first, we went snorkeling. Visibility was about 20 to 25 feet so we could see lots of tropical fish, many of which I had seen before but couldn’t name now. It made me remember how much I enjoyed scuba diving. I was the last out of the water.
Our guide, Dat, was very lively, very animated. He promised us a strip show after lunch. “You know the Chippendale’s? Same, same, only better.” He said “same, same” a lot. The strip show didn’t happen but we did have entertainment. At the next island, we anchored and had lunch, a huge spread that was served family style and we ate with chopsticks. (I’m getting pretty proficient at that). There was more food than we could eat and it was very good. The benches in the middle of the boat had been folded flat to make a table for the meal. After lunch it served as a platform for the entertainment.
There was a group led by Dat, the lead singer. He had a back up singer (wearing a cook’s apron and no shirt), an electric guitarist and a drummer. The drummer was the most interesting as his “drums” consisted of several plastic buckets of various sizes that looked as if they had been rescued form the trash heap. He had an actual cymbal but it had a piece missing from one side. However, they made good music and were entertaining and loud. A cross between rock and roll and heavy metal. They sang a song for each country represented by their international group of boaters. Waltzing Matilda for the Aussies and Yellow Submarine for the Brits. there was even a song for the South Koreans on board. When Dat got to the lone Finn, he said “Finland, England, same,same.” A New Zealander got up and he and Dat did a chant with fierce looking threatening movements and facial expressions. Must have been something from the Kiwi Natives. Reminded me of the movie, Whale Rider. For Americans they played played a Twist song and got some of us up on the platform to dance. Modest though I am, I did get up. They finished with a song they sang to the tune of Aulde Land Syne. (sp)
Then Dat announced Happy Hour! He got into a round, floating apparatus in the water that had a box full of bottles of wine and plastic cups. We grabbed life preservers and jumped in. Everytime we swam up to him he refilled our cups. We drank and floated for about an hour.
Next we went to a beach on another island, and finally, we went to the last island and visited an aquarium. Sharks and sea turtles and eels and grouper and assorted tropical fish. It was a great day, and easily well worth the $10!
&&&&&&&&&