my first leap

Seb is upstairs in the room getting a map and doing his business. Having lived on my own for years now; I’ve not got used to the idea that someone else just outside the toilet door can hear you do your business in the toilet, sound effects and all. It’s an issue I know I have to deal with and I think it’s going to be harder than handling crouch-down toilets. So, as to avoid playing havoc with your digestive system and making your fellow-traveller think you are one of those people who takes an hour to do your thing; Seb and I had our ‘toilet’ talk and decided that if I (my butt) needed privacy; then he will disappear out of the room and vice versa. Oh, family is different, with family you feel you want to share even when they prefer it if you didn’t. My brothers and sisters are right now nodding their heads in agreement.

Yesterday morning we were woken up at 7am by a phone call. The woman on the other end spoke rapid Vietnamese so Seb gave the phone to me. I tell her I don’t speak Vietnamese in my usual Vietnamese phrase; this time, I’ve learnt to say ‘I don’t know how to understand’ but I had a feeling this could be my 3rd sister-cousin so I asked her in Cantonese if she understood Cantonese. She is my cousin; and as my sister rightly said in her comment; we call her 3rd sister because she is the third born in her family. She shocks me by telling me she’s downstairs. My nephews (my cousin’s sons but we call nephews) had told me that they were going to bring my 3rd cousin at 10am. I guess communications were lacking here. Well, she doesn’t have a phone, landline or mobile so it’s not surprising. I tell her to give us 30 mins. We rush down and this woman and man sits in the reception area. I look outside thinking she’s outside. Then I look at this couple and ask. Bingo. The man is her husband. I later find out her daughter is at home. We talk as we have a bit of breakfast. Not long after my nephews come along with 2 young girls. One girl is 3rd neice, the nephews are 4th and 6th. The other girl is my niece’s friend. Later on, Seb asked me a very important question; how are they related to me. Good question. I had no idea. So I asked. My cousin’s mother is my father’s sister. All along I thought it was via my mother’s side. Everyone had ridden motorbikes here. 3rd cousin, though lives in Saigon, is from another area, about 20 mins ride away. We decide to rent a motorbike from the hotel; Seb was willing to drive with me at the back. The kids hadn’t eaten so Seb and I take them to this restaurant where staff were very friendly called Little Saigon nearby. The staff remembered us. Whilst we ate, it poured down outside. Rain in Vietnam is like a child who is having a tantrum; a quick heavy spurt to get fast attention but once it gets what it wants; the cry dies down just as suddenly. While we waited for 4th nephew to fix a flat tyre somewhere nearby, Seb ran off to buy us some ponchos for sudden childish outbursts of rain and face masks for the pollution. The pollution is very noticeable only when you get off the bike; you feel a bit dizzy and for the next 5 mins you feel like someone is banging your head with a wooden mallet – a blinding headache that disappears once you’re not in the road or by the roadside. Then Seb tried out the bike, disappearing round one block and coming out round another. Though 3rd cousin and husband told us we couldn’t drive with our UK or French drivers licences; we told them we were able to hire a motorbike from the hotel so it should be okay. My 3rd cousin, a little worried for this strange French guy, gave me instructions (to give to Seb) to go slowly and be careful. I have already witness the crazy driving here and it’s mostly the motorbikes that seem to have rules all to themselves. The rules are; don’t die and don’t kill or hurt anyone. That’s it. We ride for 30 minutes or so to Damsen Park. Seb said ‘lets try to stay alive’ while we followed the others and dodged the thousands of other motorbikes coming from all directions. It rained a couple of times and we had to stop, put on our ponchos and rode again. Then the mission was; try to stay alive, hurt no one; dodge cars, lorries, motorbikes, bikes and the other combination of assorted similars; and stay concentrated and not get confused by the various flowing mess of colourful ponchos road signs and Vietnamese words zooming pass fast.

Damsen Park is an amusement park. We went on many rides; but according to 4th nephew, the scariest ride was a roller coaster tiny compared to what Seb and I have seen. Another memorable ride is similar to the playground ‘flying fox’ ride Veronica took me to try. This one was over a small lake. A strap was put around you – it was so loose, I didn’t feel it. Then they just push you off the ledge with only your hands keeping you from being hurled into the lake or getting strap-burned. I hung on for dear life. But half way my fingers gave up on me; they acted as though it was all over. I screamed, silently, ‘no, not yet, not yet!’. I imagined if I let go, I would not be lucky enough to fall into the lake and the worse would be I’d be soaking wet; I had to swim; and I was going to look a fool. That was okay. But I envisaged myself being cut in half with this harmless looking strap that was a string. I held on. But I was concentrating so much on holding on that when I got to the end and was suddenly faced with a big safety mat right in front of me, I didn’t react so my face went into the mat. The guy at the other end helped me out of the string and muttered some Vietnamese jibberish. I realised as I waited for the others – I was the first pushed – that you extend your legs out and kick the mat. When another girl did the same, I heard the laughter from where I stood. Man, I was lucky I didn’t hear the laughter or I would have happily thrown myself in the lake and not come up – so embarrasing. 

Mum had asked me to take some money to give to my dad’s sister. I didn’t want to carry wads of cash so I had put it into my account and now I’m trying to extract it from that same bank. Using a card at an ATM should be simple I thought. It is but there’s a limit to how much you can take out; even with visa. Seb told me the virtues of Western Union. Too late now. 3rd cousin is coming over tomorrow morning at 7am to accompany us to the countryside to see my dad’s sister. We’ve left our passports here for 4 days to get a China visa. I need to figure out how to get the money out.

Last night I lost my watch. I was so devastated when I tried to find out the time this morning at 7am that I quickly strapped on my trainers and ran downstairs to the computer desks, in my pyjamas. People were eating breakfast; I didn’t care how I looked; I must have been a sight. No watch. No one had seen a watch. I wanted to share this tragedy with Seb at such a heavenly hour; my timing has always been crap; Seb later explains this to me but I kind of knew. I apologised and tried to explain. But he’s right; it was only a watch, a cheap watch at that. But I loved that watch. It was army green, chunky and most importantly, it had been my constant companion since the beginning of my travels in San Francisco and it’s love was unconditional compared to my other companion VISA and now it was gone. Seb joked that we’ll have a funeral for it after he had some sleep. We found a watch shop that first showed me this dainty looking thing, expensive and all things metal – I explained I wanted chunky so that if I smashed it against the wall or someone’s face, it would not break and I wanted velcrose as it’s less fiddly and the strap conveniently covers the metal bits (I’m allergic to all metals except pure gold and pure silver – my skin is the princess) and cheap (I don’t want to attract thieves and I wanted something I didn’t care about if I lost it – yeah well I forgot about the sentimental value). The guy in the shop tried to merge a big watch face with separate velcrose straps; but even after that, it just didn’t feel the same. It’s the meaning behind it not what it is that had value. Same with people and your interaction with them, it’s the meaning and not who they are, what they have or what they do; and when the potatoes have been exchanged one way or both ways and you go your separate ways; sometimes you hang on to the person with the illusion that it was the person that’s special; they are but only for that moment in time; the most important is the meaning that lasts a lifetime, the potatoe that they gave you. People then just remember the painful separation, the truthful hurtful words that have to be said and they forget the potatoe. Then they find that they’ll meet another special person for a moment in time who gives them the same potatoe they didn’t pick up the last time. And again hurt and pain and the potatoe is again dumped. Then you realise that this pattern of interaction keeps happening to you until you learn that it’s not the person that you’re suppose to hang on to but the potatoe they’ve taken time out of their lives to give to you.

Off to pack. Seb is waiting and since I take ages to pack; I don’t want him to wait up. Today was fun but will elaborate another time. I don’t think there will be internet access where we’re going; we’re going to stay for 2 nights and will be back here. So see you then.

***

To Amy: I got it finally, who’s who and related to whom.

***

Success is falling nine times and getting up ten. – Jon Bon Jovi

I’m at a desk tapping at one of 2 computers available – free internet access – on the first floor of Yellow House Hotel. Seb has gone to join in with a party of French people we met earlier.

The flight from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City was the worse flight I ever had, not because of the service or Singapore Airlines, but because my stomach and butt were both playing up. Have you ever had the feeling where whatever food, gases etc inside you were pushing both ways but in the most incredibly uncomfortable way. The last 10 minutes as we were preparing to touchdown, I was holding onto the paper puke bag. Then as we queued, I desperately needed to go to the toilet but I was so close to the front of the queue, it just didn’t make sense. I had to ask Seb if I could go first and tell him I was about to disappear for how many days and don’t send a search party; I might just kill them all off by mistake. There were 3 toilets, one was covered in excrement all over the seat and the renching came back up into my throat and I thought I was going to vomit right there. But I wasn’t that lucky. The other 2 toilets had no tissue. I had to hover closer to the smeared orange poo stink with a grimace and the clean puke bag over my mouth to check if there was tissue in there. No such luck. I went back outside. Seb thought I had done the business but I said I couldn’t without tissue. Luckily my backpack came through on the moving belt as I stood there explaining and luckily in the side pocket, I had a packet of 6 small packets of tissue. I grabbed and ran leaving Seb none the wiser. As I unloaded, I can hear the cleaner next door muttering quiet obscenities I’m sure in Vietnamese, about the animal that made the mess that she had to now clean up. When she threw the bucket of water across the mess, luckily I hiked up my trousers and my feet shot off the floor as the water cleaned my bit of toilet floor as well. I saw the mess on the seat, and I quite agree and felt sorry for the cleaning lady; it was non-human the thing that did that. Non-human.

We grabbed the first convenient taxi, ignoring anyone who approached us talking some fast jibberish. The taxi guy quoted in US dollars; we point to a sign that quoted in dong for every 0.01km; he waves us off with two words ‘same, same’ and I thought yeah, I bet; and for the whole journey I was trying to figure out what 7 dollars was compared to the pound compared to the dong (1 pound = 29,719.18 dong) with Singaporean dollars and Malaysian ringgits still swimming innocently confusing things in my small head. I had bought a calculater just for Vietnam and at that very moment it was sleeping deep, lost in my backpack somewhere dark and useless. I rounded it up; a pound = 30,000 dong which is easy enough until you’re talking about millions! It’s as though the brain cannot compute; too giddy with the illusion that you’re suddenly rich beyond belief.

The taxi pulls up at a busy street but there is no sign that yells ‘Yellow House Hotel’. He points down an alley, helps us unload and leaves us with the blind faith that it was in the alley somewhere. And it is. We are on the 4th floor of a building with no lift. I try to avoid hiking there whenever possible. Only the promise of shower and bed would get me up there tonight otherwise I’m pretty happy on this computer all night. Two guys look after the place. Now they’re in the room on my right with family or friends. They’re friendly and helpful. After checking out our room, Seb and I go down to the reception. I had to call my cousins. I ask reception where I can find a phone; and before the reception guy could answer this European guy who I find out later is French and called Clemence offers me his mobile to use. He forgets he hasn’t got and runs upstairs for it. I thank him and use it. I try brother Sang. He tells me 3rd sister will come over and visit but is vague on the time of this visit. I tell him we’ll wander about for an hour and will be back to call him again. By the time I got off the phone Seb has already sprinkled his charm and got invited to Clemence’s house warming party tonight.

We cross the road and we find a concrete area where people in groups (mostly guys) were kicking a shuttle cock up in the air and keeping it off the ground as a group. Seb walks with me and then suggests a market, Clemence mentioned I’m sure, to check out. I wanted to stay so I suggested we meet again an hour later at the hotel. I sat and watched how effortlessly these groups kept their shuttlecocks in the air with just their feet. A boy sat eating grapes nearby. While Seb spoke to Clemence I asked the guy at reception what hello was in Vietnamese. So I say hello to this young boy in Vietnamese. He says it back. I say it again correcting my bad accent, and again and again. And he smiles and says it again and again. I ask him what the game was called; and it sounds like the Chinese words ‘playing football’, sounds a little like I said. He offers me a small bunch of his purple grapes and after awhile I’m bothering him and learning more Vietnamese. His English is non-existent, not even ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and I don’t think he knew where UK is. Watching people playing this game, I wanted to see if it was as effortless as they make out and after seeing 3 European guys give it a go and doing really well, I was itching to try. So I ask the young boy – he looked 13 – how much the shuttlecocks were. He tells me. I take out some money. I ask him in my best crap Vietnamese if he wanted to play and would he buy it for me. He’s reluctant. I am a stranger. Then in jibberish, I manage to convey that I would like him to teach me and does he want to play with me. He takes me to the guy selling these elongated shuttlecocks and we play. We are both totally crap at it. It is not as easy as it looks. In the end, we whack the shuttlecock with our palms instead of our feet, easier option but I was sure, we were the only ones doing it with our hands. I got hot and bothered but it was great fun. I needed a drink. I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I tell him I want a drink; he shows me a vending machine for coins. I tell him I have no coins. I show him my smallest note. He looks at it as though I was holding a gun and shook his head. I point to shops nearby and I make the drink gesture. He takes me to a stall; I choose from an assortment of bottled drinks and I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I insist, the stall woman insists; he chooses. We sit and attract attention from a 42 year old guy who works in the fast food store we sat outside. I try to communicate; they try to understand and I learn more Vietnamese words. The older guy tells me I learn fast. I tell the boy I’d like him to meet Seb. And sure enough, Seb was walking our way on his way back to the hotel. I introduce. I persuade Seb to play shuttlecock kicking with us. We clown about and then we leave the boy. I promised I’d come back and have dinner with him in half an hour. His sister and parents were working; and the boy sells lottery tickets. 

Seb tells me about Clemence’s party at this club and then back at his new place. I tell him about my plans for dinner with the boy. And when we got back, my 3rd sister had called and was on her way. We go to the club for some live music, had a couple of dances, and gin and tonics. The place is swarming with French people, trendy guys and sleek girls. I found the waitresses dressed in ball dresses more interesting. After half an hour, Seb accompanies back to the boy who understood my directions and had waited for me. I tell him I can’t eat with him; I felt bad; that my 3rd sister was coming and I need to be with her. A Vietnamese woman with good English nearby helped to translate. I tell her I want to give him some money to buy some food. He’s 16 but looks much younger. I leave feeling bad but it couldn’t be helped. We go back to the hotel; left a message for my 3rd sister, the club’s business card and a passport photo of me (we’ve never met and she probably doesn’t know what I look like). We go back to the club. We go back to the hotel; no sign of her; reception guy tells us she’s not coming today. We take a taxi to the house party. We’re confused by roads all having the same number and address. Clemence comes down to get us. We ascend to the roof where the funky guys and beautiful girls mull, drink and talk French. Seb fits right in but he fits right in anywhere. I, on the other hand, know very little French so couldn’t join in. I look at the scenery, roof tops at night and high lit buildings afar on all four corners of the rooftop; say hello to 3 people who were either drunk and couldn’t find words; didn’t speak English or didn’t want to talk then I got bored. I climbed down and found the gate locked with a heavy padlock. I go up and found a room that had lights on. Not wanting to disturb the party, I knocked at the door and asked the woman – who could speak English – to let me out. She did and I left. On the way in, I smiled at a young girl dressed in a Japanese kimono and she beamed back, I look back and she’s beaming back – if I was a guy, you can almost call it flirting. We got talking and I learnt more Vietnamese words and we exchanged email addresses. When I left, I realised I had not told Seb I was leaving. I scribbled a note telling him I was going back to the hotel and wrapped it around a rod on the gate of Clemence’s place. I took a taxi back to the hotel. I gave the taxi guy my smallest note and said in Vietnamese I don’t have anything smaller ‘kung gor itd dien’ (not spelt this way) and he smiled at me. I felt good jumping onto the computer when the reception guy told me my brother Sang was outside. I went outside to find 2 guys sitting on motorbikes. I spoke Cantonese, both just stared at me. I thought this was a joke. I was about to go back in when the reception guy pointed to an older guy coming out of the toilets. I spoke Cantonese and asked him if he’s brother Sang. He shook his head and asked if I was Hong Co – this is my mother’s name. I tell him. He tells me he’s brother Sang’s son and the younger guy on the motorbike is his brother. He calls me auntie. I stare at him. He looks older than me and he’s calling me auntie! He’s 24. His brother is 20. They go into shock when I tell them I’m 32. I wait patiently, amused and glad that I still have this affect on people regarding my age. It reminds me of the Chinese film ‘My Young Auntie’. We talk. He’s driven for an hour or so from the country and has taken an hour to find me and waited an hour. We plan to meet in the morning; his day off work tomorrow. He’s going to bring 3rd sister who will show us around because he’s not familiar with this area. We say goodbye. It’s weird meeting relatives you’ve never heard of and never seen before. But it was great talking to my nephews and they seem to find my exasperations when I can’t get Cantonese words out amusing. I think they find me, my English-grown presence amusing. Vietnamese people here find me amusing and a curiosity – I guess it’s better than a painful spot at the end of their noses. I understand when they ask me if I know Vietnamese and I always answer back ‘I don’t speak Vietnamese’ in Vietnamese. Then they seem to test me and it all becomes a playful game. I like it. I learn more this way. Tomorrow will be interesting. They tell me my 3rd sister is about 40 which seems like a century older just because there’s a 4 but really is not. I hope she’s as approachable as my nephews.

***

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world. – Brandi Snyder.

I’m back at the internet cafe opposite the 7-Eleven on the main road near Fragrance Hotel Emerald. Yes, back here again. We’re only going to stay one night before we catch our flight tomorrow afternoon. Kallang MRT (nearest station) is on the same green line as the airport. We just wanted to keep things simple. And it’s kind of cool to come back here and have that familiar feeling where you feel at home, like it’s a childhood neighbourhood.

Catching the KTM train from Kuala Lumpur was easy enough. We packed last night. As usual Seb whooshed through while I took my time. And as he got ready for bed, I was still packing and finding bits of his stuff that he had forgotten and was frustrating him by creating a neat pile for him to deal with when he woke. Remember what I said about the tortoise and the hare. This is a great example. Once I had finished, I had at the same time managed to tidy the room whilst putting away my mess. You should have seen Cullen’s face when he checked out the room he left me in; it was the uncleared aftermath of a bomb site. Cullen is very sweet; I later found out he had given me the room with proper twin beds and he slept on the sofa bed in another room. That is trully gentleman-like of him. I appreciate it Cullen! 

Seb and I did not get to bed until 1amish. He set his alarm – a new cheap watch he bought (we saw good-looking watches but you don’t really want to attract attention with good-looking watches), I set my alarm which I’ve figured out how to work finally and Seb asked for a morning wake-up call. We were well prepared.

After Seb exchanged emails with the guy on the reception desk; we left. My backpack, rid of many things posted or dumped, was still as full because naturally I had bought other things. It’s maddening how that happens and you always say to yourself, I’m going to have to dump stuff every time you lumber, stagger and struggle with the big lump on your back.

On the train, I try to hitch this monster lump of a backpack by first climbing and standing on the armrest. But as I yank, Seb always manages to come to the rescue. He tells me he doesn’t me to hurt myself. Really he doesn’t want to carry me, my backpack and his backpack as well if my back breaks or something. I reassure him telling I have travel insurance; if I die, all my visa debt will be covered and my family doesn’t have to weep in their sleep. Still he’s right and as it just takes a finger for him to lift it, I move out of his way and leave him to do the manly thing. 

Crossing the border from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore and vice versa is a puzzling affaire. On the way to Kuala Lumpur; we got stamped out of Singapore but never got a stamp to enter Malaysia. And on the way out of Kuala Lumpur, guards enter our carriages, check our passports and entry forms and with a red ballpoint pen, squiggle on my passport. This squiggle is my official stamp out of Malaysia because later we get stamped into Singapore. But this time going out of KL unlike going out of Singapore, we have to take our luggage with us to be scanned. It just goes to show how serious Singapore is about people coming into Singapore compared to Malaysia where one man’s squiggle is enough.

At Hotel Chinatown 2 there’s a shelf of books people can exchange their books for. I saw Bill Bryson’s ‘Neither here or there’ and took it without an exchange but hey, I am travelling budget-style and I can’t help it if I have no book to exchange. I read half the book on our train journey. Bill Bryson doesn’t like the French. I show extracts to Seb. Seb asks ‘Is he American?’ Yes, Bryson mentions he’s American and I guess he should know. Seb replies in his French way ‘Pur!’, a ’nuff said’ type of gesture. I tell Seb he can read it after. I ask Seb if he’s read the 2 Buddhist books the doctor gave him. He tells me ‘no’. I skimmed read one of the books; not fun reads.

I bought lots of snacks at Kuala Lumpur Sentral station – a modern hub of sleekness compared to Singapore’s KTM train station – to get rid of the Malaysian ringgits we had. Later I find out Seb won’t touch the crisps, prawn crackers and chocolate. Instead he went to search for proper food. He came back with a box of fried brown noodles which would have been more appealing if it wasn’t cold. I was concerned about how long it’s been cold. He tells me they have rice, a more appealing option. Luckily when the women came round with the food trolley, they accepted Singapore dollars as we had no Malaysian money left. One snack I bought at the 7-Eleven that Seb took a real liking to was a sweet dough-like thing that reminded me of the flubbery flubber jelly-like but thicker in the Robin William’s film. This sweet is called ‘mustiara dodol’. We tried the durian brown one and the pandan green one. At the food festival we saw how it was made, mixed in a vat by giant metal arms.

Got to go for food.

***

To Andrew: Thanks for your comment. It means a lot. Everyone’s comments have meant a lot.

To Amy: Thanks. Yes, please tell me what mum and dad thought.

To Simon: Will try call mum tonight.

***

The shortest answer is doing the thing. – Ernest Hemingway (writer, novelist).

I’m at the internet area in Hotel Chinatown 2. I didn’t know this existed for a day or two – so blind – it costs just a little bit more and there are only 5 computers (compared to Kafe Internet (my favourite) which has over 30 high speed connection) so if you don’t like someone standing by waiting for you to finish or you like the buzz of hearing over 20 youngsters play computer games beside you – then Kafe Internet would suit you more where you can pay by the hour or pay when you finish. The other night, Seb and I were on the computers when there was a blackout. I remember the two deaf teenagers on my left sign languaging to half a dozen other deaf people on their computer and every now and then they’d make me jump with some squeeking and horse-like laughing; behind me this older guy was having a very very serious emotional one to one (well, one to one with many listening in – via Skype no doubt) in Cantonese with, I thought from the language used, a loved one who either is a guy or unfortunately has a guy’s name. Seb was in the middle of a long email; I wasn’t. We checked out another place close by which looked a bit dodgier but I did see it in the dark – it too was experiencing a blackout at the same time. There’s no short supply of internet cafes here in Kuala Lumpur but I personally liked Kafe Internet close to Chinatown.

After yesterday’s post on Seb’s hyper-energetic superhuman physical presence; I got back from the internet cafe to him knocked out for the day. Next day, he was still not feeling very good, which is unusual for him it seems. He tells me he’s seldom ill so this was worrying. He tells me he saw a Chinese medicinal place where you can get a free consultation but of course pay for the medicine prescribed. So after some beef noodles and collecting the laundry from the hostel place nearby that does laundry by the kilo, we go to this Chinese doctor. I leave him to do some shopping for my family. I come back and he’s got really chummy with the Chinese guy behind the counter. I later find out he got really chummy with the doctor as well, so chummy the doctor gave him two books ‘Setting back into the moments’and ‘Now is the knowing’ – Buddhist books. He has a way with men. Okay, he too has a way with women. Man, he has a way with people, children, cats and dogs and rats! Am I envious? Yes. Is it like walking with Buddha sometimes. Yes. Can it be frustrating sometimes? Yes. It’s difficult to live up to Buddha-like people, especially when what you want to hear is plain biased bullshit and you get wisdom instead. Actually, I lie, Seb gives good bullshit as well. Anyway, he shows me these bags of bits of herb crush to bits of dust; it didn’t look appetising.

We shop and we take everything I bought to the nearest post office within reach of Chinatown. It is within the bus building where there are lots of food stalls – but the air conditioning is either non-existent or broken or not working well so it gets hotter than the outside – and booths to buy tickets. People hassle you talking jibberish in my eyes but are probably trying to get you to buy their tickets. The post office is near booth 27, up the stairs and on the next floor, in an area where no signs lead to it and you only know it exists by asking people. The young thin guy in the post office is bored of his job but still manages to do a good thorough job. We’ve met him before. This time Seb encourages me to send everything in a box. We discuss the merits of a box that can’t go through the letterbox or four A4 envelopes of stuff that will. The box wins because sticking the stamps on envelopes with glue can take some fiddling time. This time, it’s going recorded delivery and by the fastest simplest route.

After the post office, I thought I’d give this Chinese doctor a try. I’ve started to develop prickly heat around my neck area and my ankle area the last couple of days and the pills don’t seem to work for this. I see this doctor. He asks me where I’m from originally. I tell him Vietnam and that’s it, I’m Vietnamese in his eyes. He asks me if I know this Vietnamese person, that Vietnamese thing, this Vietnamese thing etc. No, I respond to them all. He prescribes me herbs that look exactly like Seb’s. He tells me these herbs will cool the heat down in my body, same thing he said to Seb. This friendly woman weighs out bits of herb dust and I find out I have a weeks worth, a packet to be taken in the morning and one at night. I’m really looking forward to drinking herb dust sloshed in water, yum yum not.

Back at the hotel, we decide on tonight’s food choices. Seb disappears to leave me to nap for a while. He’s chummy with the guy at the hotel desk – no surprise there. And he comes back with a list of recommendations. The hotel staff are really friendly and very helpful. I like this hotel. When we first got here, they gave us a twin room, but Seb didn’t like it. They gave us another room, but I just mentioned that it feels claustrophobic – Seb is off downstairs before I say the rest of the sentence, that it’s okay. When he’s back, I learnt that Seb went downstairs and explained that me, his wife-to-be (we thought it would be better for us if we pretended as it’s a muslim country; wherever we go people naturally believe I’m his wife for some reason so we just left it – oh, to people we are getting married in November) is scared of small spaces; the man Seb’s really chummy with said he’d give us another room next day. The room we have now is big and has windows – the advantages of having Seb being the way he is, chummy and energetic, and me being the neurotic wife-to-be and to many the traveller-actress-drama queen-maniac-itch pot-blogger. We didn’t leave the room til really late today; Seb not feeling himself; me enjoying sleeping til late for once and yet they still cleaned our room when we got back. I was pleasantly surprised. It’s either very normal and I’m just so easily pleased or this place is pretty cool. Though, if you do go here, there are rooms that have no windows and at night asleep in your bed, you’d be surprised to hear the snoring man next door and think that you’re really just in a thin cleverly disguised box in the middle of a hall and every now and then people walk by talking very loudly. It depends on which room you’re given. I later find out the room we ended up in – a good room – is a deluxe room and Seb had to pay a bit extra for it. In the end, we had Indian food. We were recommended this place on Lebur Ampang called ‘Sangeethar’ – I would so recommend this place. The food is simply out of this world. The lemon ginger tea is as delicious as the Triveni drink of, yes, a reminder, apple, pineapple and ginger.

Tutup (Closed)

***

Thanks William and Adrian for your comments on Silent Witness.

To my bro Si, you repeating 2 of my lines made me realise watching myself would be so embarrassing! Man, that Chinese accent, how embarrassing!

***

It’s not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. – Edmund Hillary (explorer).

Chinatown is a tight claustrophobic mayhem of loudness. The clothes stalls and food stalls on its outskirts get attention from tourists doing a quickie. But when you do a quickie, what you miss is the small fruit and meat stalls hidden away in an alleyway that opens up into a hub of steaming hot bustling food stalls. Seb and I found such a place the other morning in search of breakfast. We felt a little chuffed with ourselves when we realised we’re the only ‘tourists’ there. We have ‘Yong Tau Foo’ where we serve ourselves by choosing different types of meat, fish balls, crab sticks, vegetables like aubergine stuffed with fish or meat paste, then they chop these a little and cook them and voila.

Like when we found Jalan Masjid India in search of Indian food for dinner; places where we see tourists, we leave; we see locals, we stay. It’s a game we like to play called ‘hide from the other tourists’. The Indian food we had was delicious. I had a drink called ‘Triveni’ a lovely concoction of grape, pineapple and ginger. Trust me, if you don’t like ginger, you’ll start liking ginger, especially when most drinks you get comes with milk and a massive dose of sugar; if you don’t like sugar; you’re going to have a hard time – ginger becomes a nice alternative to sugar. I was also introduced to ‘lassi’ this Indian drink – imagine pure thick mango juice – that is ‘lassi’. Fresh fruit juice is abundant here; though only what’s in season; now, starfruit, apple, pineapple, melon (the sweetest melons I’ve ever had in my whole life) to name a few. Too lazy to peel a fruit? No worries, you can get a packet of your favourite fruit freshly peeled in a plastic bag ready to eat. Sugar cane, barley juice, soya bean; and fruit mixed with milk seems to be very popular as well.

In Jalan Ipoh, we were given our sugar cane drink in a plastic bag tied with a string and a straw. The skill is to undo the string and re-tie just half of it leaving an opening for your straw, then you can carry your plastic bag of drink with you and drink it when you want. Before getting this we saw 2 school girls with plastic bags of brown and wondered. With our own plastic bag of limey green, we wondered no more. 

Chow Kit is another place we checked out in search of, yes you’ve guessed, food. Here, we found Malay food, well that’s what the muslim woman told us. Seb did a great job of ordering. When I asked him what we’re having, he tells me he has no idea. So we had ‘sup ekor’ and ‘sup tamyam’ – both soups I definitely would recommend. And we had ‘nasi goreng barik’ and ‘nasi daging masak merah’ – both I liked very much. I prefer how the rice dishes were seasoned compared to Indian rice dishes; the chillies are lethal; I picked them out.

It seems with Kuala Lumpur, Seb and I have managed to walk around the whole area, some places more than twice. If you listen to the taxi drivers, you’d think the place is as big as Russia but it’s not. Jalan Masjid India is about 10 mins walk away. Bukit Bintang, 10 mins walk the another way. Almost everything worth seeing is an easy walk away. Kuala Lumpur’s public transport is very good; as good as London (well, good meaning it’s there, it exists); you have a choice in your mode of transport when it comes to the centre core. I like the buses, the monorail, the LRT and KTM. Taxis; beware of those that quote you a high price before you start off. We’ve had people quote us crazily as though we’re drawing numbers from some lottery game. We just laugh and walk away. They don’t mind; us laughing and walking away that is. One guy dropped his price drastically but we carried on walking; and laughing. And it seems to be more costly at different times of the day.

We’ve spent almost a week here and Kuala Lumpur is smaller than we thought. We did think about other areas to visit and even other surrounding countries but in the end a week is a little too long to see Kuala Lumpur – but you get to be really familiar with it – and not long enough to see other major areas or country (you’ll just end up running around with your backpack). Today we decided spur of the moment to go to Port Klang assuming that it’s by the sea. Yes, there’s sea, boats etc; it’s a port but other than that, there’s not much else. It took us an hour to get there. We learnt that you can get a boat from Port Klang to Pulau Ketam popular for fishing. A wild card. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Just had Chinese meal called ‘steamboat’. At home, in London, my family has this a lot but I never knew what it was called until now. Here, there’s a pot of boiling water (with flavourings added to create soup) in the middle of the table and raw meat, seafood and vegetables to add to this bubbling pot of soup. Once cooked, you can dip the food bits into a choice of sauces. There were tourists galore as we were smack in Chinatown. It couldn’t be helped. We were running out of food choices and we were hungry. It was a great choice. The unusual thing was everything possible to eat they’d display on your table and they count by empty sticks you leave how much you’re charged – you pay for what you eat. That I’ve never seen before. It’s ingenious.

After the meal, I suggested we play a game of snooker. So we wander about looking for this place I think I saw but wasn’t quite sure I saw; and after doing a whole circle around Chinatown, we asked someone. And sure enough we found it. We went up some dodgy-looking steps and into a room full of pool and snooker tables. The place was empty except for an old man and a short round woman sat on a small table by the desk. I run off to the toilets and when I got back, Seb tells me he’s still waiting for her to get off the phone. As I look over at the podgy Chinese woman, she ends her phone call. I ask her in Cantonese if they were open. Yes, they were. We play pool first and then a game of snooker. Once each. Pool, it got a little exciting because I was lucky. Snooker, I was lucky a handful of times; sometimes it felt almost like magic – even Seb was amazed – you know, those long long shots where you can’t see the other ball those types of shots? Remember I’m blind. But you can’t be lucky all the time. So it was really a snooker game Seb was playing with himself and I helped out by popping in some red ones and I think one or two coloured ones. 

If you can describe the interaction between Seb and I; the best way to explain it is using the tortoise and the hare analogy. I’m the tortoise; he’s the hare. With the heat and the potential heat rash under the skin ready to pop out and say hello, I cover myself in fabric from head to toe – religiously and nun-like. So I’m either in my treking outfit; looking like I’m ready for a mountain or two; or recently, a thin white cotton top (with sleeves that cover my arms and more) and a long thin pink flowy wrap-around layered skirt; looking like I’m in some Chinese kung fu movie (Seb said). And everytime I walk in the streets, I put up my girly UV umbrella, and sometimes I have my hankerchief to dab my forehead with. I know, I know, I know. The UV umbrella covers more than my face. And with the sun beating down on you directly, it can be very uncomfortable. People – women mostly – use umbrellas here but less so than in Singapore, and less still than in Taipei and Hong Kong. And the hankerchief – well, I don’t like wiping my forehead and my face with my hands. Also, it’s very good for covering your mouth from the fumes in the streets. It’s only when you walk a lot that you realise how polluted Kuala Lumpur is. With London and Europe going through a heatwave at the moment of up to 39, I think you’d understand. People are either dealing with the heat, a tsunami or waiting for President Bush to rescue them from Lebanon it seems. Anyway, back to the hare and the tortoise. So I’m pretty slow when I’m walking around and Seb, he just zooms off here and there. I turn around and he’s gone. I walk a few paces and he’s back again (and seen the whole place already). We’ve had the ‘pace’ conversation where I’ve basically said I’m cool if he wants to do stuff on his own at his own pace etc on our small or even big excursions. He tells me he’s cool with things the way it is though he jokes around calling me a princess with my umbrella etc and making slow tortoise impressions of me. I counterattack by telling him that at least the tortoise can stay in one place, read a sign and know the answer way before the hare who has whizzed around asking 5 different people who don’t know and/or don’t care. Stuff that in and chew it hard. No, seriously, I’m pretty lucky to have Seb around because he loves talking to people and getting to know them etc. I would never have met Kelvin and Joanna (who we’re going to try and see again in Singapore) if Seb was not Seb. He makes travelling easier, having so much energy, I’ve breathed my next breath and he’s done 102 things already. If I was alone, things will happen, but just at a slower pace and in my own dawdling time. Sometimes I have to remind myself to not look at where he’s at, paces ahead of me and trying to get there quicker, but rather enjoy where I am (paces behind). Also, it’s easy to get lazy especially when there’s someone there willing to do everything for you; being the gentleman that he is, Seb does and I feel I must be constantly aware of this and avoid it because I dread that lazy feeling, when your brain goes dead and your body just follows. Like the rat incident; my mind was alive; everything sensitive and alert and my blood pumping; I like that feeling. It worries me a little that I can only feel like that when I am on my own, alone.

***

Thanks Angela, Emma, Tobias, Graham, Phillipa, Glenn, Jo Ho, Steve for your comments and praise on Silent Witness (and Bloodties). I’ve heard nothing but good things so, well, I feel really chuffed about it all. I wish my family would comment even if it’s to say sorry we didn’t catch it! : ) The most important people I guess would be mum and dad, what they thought, I guess.

Just to let you know that 7944 pages has been viewed on my blog and there has been 1241 unique visitors to date – I’m guessing ‘unique’ means individual.

***

If you don’t know where you are going, any road will get you there. – Lewis Carroll (explorer). English Logician, Mathematician, Photographer and Novelist, especially remembered for Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1832-1898

Coming back from the internet cafe, the loud hawking noise of Chinatown turned into dark, closed up streets and alleys; so closed up, the main road I took had been shut off so darkly that I didn’t want to wander through it alone. It was 2am. I know… So I walked around. I get strange looks but I walk tall pretending I live there and these are my streets. I’m lost. I jump into a 7-Eleven and ask the girl. I walk on. I see a rat. I dodge the rat but as I dodge, another 3 rats are shaken from their hiding places so they whizzed around me trying to dodge me; one zoomed under my right foot and I kind of stepped on it, gently, not hard enough for bone crunching but enough to feel it’s back. It’s funny how the tiny scream that escapes your mouth happens like 5 seconds after the event, like in a joke you didn’t get straight away. A few minutes later down the same creepy path, Seb the biggest rat ever, made my skin jump 10 metres by jumping out at me.

From the gutters to the Middle East – while President Bush calls for restraint from Israel, Seb explains the implications of what would happen if Israel bombs Syria and Iran gets involved. We may have to leave Malaysia for Singapore. With the majority in Malaysia being muslims and Islam the official religion, it could be an issue. News for us here consists of updates everyday from CNN – where every new item is considered major major.

While the world rumbles, we get a taste of Chinatown. The clothes stalls here are crazy, packed, loud, and messy. The stall owners have walkie talkies and are jamming at them every now and then like they were buying and selling stock on the stock market that’s about to crash. Later we found out that these walkie talkies keep them in business, they are warning systems for when police are around and they have to run with their counterfeit goods. Chinatown is great for food as well. There’s a Food Centre where you have a choice of foods and meet interesting people. One such person was this 81 year old Chinese Malay man who looked 50. As well as telling us his life story, he tells us the secret of looking young – no alcohol, exercise and early nights. I’m so glad we’re staying right here; here, the whole area is vibrant and alive all day and night in total contrast to being totally deserted in the early mornings when the rats come out to play. Rats, cockcroaches etc roaming the streets are the norm here.

The Petronas Twin Towers are quite magnificent. The tickets are free but it’s first come first serve. We did manage to get into the Aquaria in the basement. I’ve been to many but this was pretty amazing and worth seeing. Other touristy places we checked out are the Lake Garden (we had just missed the festival which ended the day before) and Batu Caves (go and see the many many cute monkeys, monkeys the size of your fist – one grabbed Seb’s plastic bottle and proceeded to peel it as if it were a banana – we don’t know what happened to that poor bottle).

We were on the way to see the Arab quarters but saw a mass of brightly coloured tents, lots of people having a party, a festival. We jumped off the metrobus and joined in. We had found ourselves mulling with locals at the Citrarasa Malaysia 2006 on Jalan Ampang. Here, we tried ‘otak otak’ (fish grilled in banana leaf) among wonderful delights. We finally managed to get to Bukit Bintang later to enjoy grilled fish and mussels at Restoran Meng Kee Grill Fish on Jalan Alor recommended by a friend. Every time we saw something strange but edible-looking in terms of food, we’d ask for it. At some stalls, there’d be these triangular shaped paper wrapping something. We found out it’s called lasi lemak bungkus – plain rice with spicy sauce, half a boiled egg, and something called sambal it seems. I like this kind of travelling trying a bit of everything. We ended up in the Jalan Ipoh area by jumping from one bus (Rapid KL) onto another bus going wherever, that was pretty cool, not knowing where you are and which way you’re going. We gathered that the Metrobuses will end up taking us back into the centre and it did. That’s the fun side. The I’m-not-sure-if-it-was-a-good-idea is when we had a foot and body reflexology massage at a place called Imperial Reflexology. The foot massage was soooo good. The body, well, when the girl told me to strip to my underwear, I said in Mandarin ‘buxi’ which means can’t be, no. So it was weird to be almost butt naked with a towel between you and someone’s fingers and have her rub oil all over you and especially weird when she’s massaging your butt. So I’m feeling weirded out. Seb must have went through some sort of trauma, he had a older guy massage him! They offered to put cups on our backs and suck at the blood – some sort of cupping? Well, it felt strange but okay. They said it is good for circulation. It was only when we got back to the hotel that we saw cup marks, 13 round cups of hard love-bite redness. We still have them and Seb thinks it’ll take 5-6 days before they disappear for good. Man! I guess experiences are experiences and that was an experience. That said, both of us were so light and feeling so relaxed after we could have flown back.

Keluar. (Exit)

***

Most of us are just about as happy as we make up our minds to be. – William Adams (explorer). English Merchant, Adventurer and Explorer, the first Englishman to visit Japan, 1564–1620

Just arrived in Kuala Lumpur today, late; just had lovely Chinese claypot rice meal in Chinatown, I liked; our hotel ‘Hotel Chinatown 2’ is dead bang in Chinatown, so cool; and this internet cafe is hardly just a minute walk away, mega cool. There’s a handful of internet cafes; this one is run locally and is much better than the opposite one which is part of a hostel.

On the 13th, we tried to book a hotel in Kuala Lumpur and after several telling us that they were fully booked, and one particularly telling us it was because of some Arabic holiday (I looked it up and couldn’t find a thing on it); Seb and I decided to stay the 2 more nights. We had originally planned to go to Kuala Lumpur and then back to Singapore (for our flight to Vietnam) for another 2 nights. But in the end, we did all 4 nights in a row at the same hotel ‘Fragrance Hotel – Emerald’ 

The area is great; the locals come for the food stalls that go on til late in the morning. Yesterday night, Seb and I met up with Kelvin and Joanna, a couple Seb met at the airport. Both are from Singapore and speak Cantonese, Mandarin and Malay I’m sure. Kelvin is really into music, plays guitar and Joanna works in the film industry. They introduced us to frogs legs (without the congee), which tasted nicer than expected – but the weird stuff always do or no one would eat it. And it’s different when you don’t have to see them alive just before you eat them. Grilled crayfish and oyster omelette were mmmh mmmh. I tried Teh Tarik (stretched tea) which is tea with a taste that stretches out into a twist – really seriously, the taste has that sense of movement once swallowed. Weird I know but very tasty.

Our hotel is smack bang centre of the red light district so it’s not surprising that opposite is Hotel 6 (we found loads of hotels with simply numbers at the end of ‘Hotel’ eg Hotel 12 and Hotel 81). These hotels offer a ‘transit’ rate of $12 and an overnight rate of $40. Hotel 6, Seb and I studied a little more. Pretty slim (very young girls according to Seb; I’m blind so I can only tell that they’re slim) stand in front of Hotel 6. Men who stay in our hotel stare at pretty young slim girls dressed in tight short dresses on the other side of the road. We thought about staying over there to get a closer look at the going ons but we decided that we probably wouldn’t get much sleep with all the expected noise. We passed a group of gorgeous looking women until one of them spoke with a very masculine male voice – they were gorgeous looking women who were men! The area sounds really seedy but it’s not. Locals bring their family here for food and around the stalls it could easily be somewhere else. And we didn’t see any trouble at all.

Seb and I love the ginger tea you can get in Geylang, though we didn’t know how good it could get until Joanna and Kelvin took us to Little India; Joanna tells us that it’s properly done in a Muslim food stall as others offer instant powdered versions. You have to taste the real thing to tell the difference and we did. Kelvin and Joanna showed us the Mustafa Centre that is owned by this one guy called, yes you’ve guessed, Mustafa. They tell us this guy has CCTV cameras all over the place checking on his stalls. So we joke about this guy who sits in his mansion up high watching as he rakes it in. Anyway, this centre is amazing. It will blow your mind. It’s open 24 hours a day – the claims department is open 24 hours. And I do not exaggerate when I say, you can find anything and everything here, even things you didn’t know you wanted until you’re looking at it and you’re suddenly thinking ‘I need that’. With toilets on every floor – this guy wants you to relieve yourself quick and return to shopping quick time – and a labrynth of piles, rows, columns – name it they’ve got it – of merchandise. Just the torch section, man, I’ve never seen so many sizes, brands, choices – and cheap. You get brands from all over the world; same item, billions of brands from even the Arab countries, everywhere! Things you didn’t know existed or could get. Suddenly everything for everything you can imagine under one big gigantic store. I was tempted by the 2 CDs claiming to teach you 31 different languages, up to 5,000 words each language. You really must not move from the central path or you are lost forever. I found more insect repellent patches and candles. I found a hankerchief which I couldn’t find in Taiwan. I was looking for Camphor oil, an oil Ling mentioned that might help keep the insect buggers at bay (though Citronella oil and Eucalyptus oil are also natural insect repellents) while the others were checking out the many many many allsorted varieties of condoms. They do durian flavoured condoms! Joanna tells us that the durian is so popular here that it’s available (engineered) all year round; she remembers the days when it was more delicious and only available naturally at a particular time – though she and people have forgotten the season that it grows naturally. On buses, there’s a ‘no durian’ sign so it’s illegal to take them on a bus. Want to durian, walk home or persuade a taxi to take you and even the taxi driver might refuse you because they stink! Here, the same as in Hong Kong, you have to have the exact fare for the buses; no change is given. MRT stop around midnight but there are always taxis. Blue light on a taxi means they’re free. Red; they hired. Blue but with a sign means they’re on call but if you’re going the same way; they can take you. Singapore has take signs to another level. Not only do signs tell you how to behave but also encourage spiritual enlightenment. The tracks at the MRT tells you to ‘Value Life. Act Responsibly’. And TV screens not only advertise while you wait for the train; it gives you meaning quotes, not too dissimilar to the ones given at the end of my blog entries.

For our last couple of mornings, Seb and I cannot resist eating plain prata; an Indian pancake-like grilled bread. Just right next to Bugis MRT, a guy works the dough so you get fresh prata for breakfast. At the same food court, we also love the Yung Tau Foo stall where you pick the veg, the meat balls and the variety of tau foo (beancurd) for a soup or noodle soup or just-sauce-on-top dish. 

Seb and I have done most of the green and red MRT line. HarbourFront; try kaya toast at the Wang Jiao House of Kaya Toast. Kaya toast is a combination of coconut mix, sugar, egg, butter-like, jam-like substance slapped in the middle of crispy toast. For me, it was too sweet on it’s own but I can imagine tamed with black coffee. I can’t have coffee and Seb said his black coffee was equivalent to 35 espressos so he finished off the toast. The touristy food stalls near Newton MRT called Newton Circus is swamped by tourists and where there are tourists, there are pushy stall owners/waiters. The cost of a meal could have fed a family for a month. The food was good but I didn’t like the pushy waiters. Orchard Rd is another touristy area. Touristy areas are not great areas to hang out in. There are food courts close to most MRT stations and there is at least one fruit juice stall. Two new favourites are starfruit and kiwi; and kiwi and green melon. We do a-guess-what-I-got-you-contest. Seb is not very good at guessing. It tastes like green grass?!

I found the National Skin Centre (Novena MRT) on a list of hospitals in Singapore. Having called them, they were able to see me the next morning. They train doctors there so I was seen by a doctor who had a trainee doctor watching as well. I showed them the damage (it looks much better now – it’s now, like the doctor said, just a pigmentation problem). This centre is very efficient and clean. There is a number system though numbers are called at random so don’t disappear thinking there’s a long time to wait. Numbers are random and can jump up or down missing out numbers in between. A number system to see the doctor, a separate number system to collect medicine (random as well) and another for paying for medicine! They like numbers and signs in Singapore. The doctor said the scarring (pigmentation problem – the affected bits will be obviously browner in colour) could last more than 2 years. I believe him. He gave me some cream. When I found out I was getting just cream at the medicine counter, I didn’t want it. The Taiwanese doctor gave me cream which had side effects of burning and itching! After 10 mins of application, I got the ‘adverse side effects’ so Ling and I agreed to not use them. I dumped them at Singapore airport. Seb said cream would help. I made sure they weren’t the same cream. I asked the lady if she can ask the doctor to prescribe me some pills just in case the itching and burning came back so I got myself some more pills. At the moment, I take about 4 different pills twice a day and one, before bed. I haven’t got bitten like Seb has but I think it’s because the insects can smell my toxic body and decided against being drugged as well.

***

To Nick: Thanks : 0 ) The pigmentation will even out but will take 2 or more years, the doctor said. But all is well, no itching, no burning means a peaceful mind.

***

Poster $8.99 (81 x 115 in)

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone. – Audrey Hepburn. Belgian born British Actress and humanitarian.

I’m at a Cyber Cafe near our hotel ‘Fragrance Hotel – Emerald’ smack in the middle of the red light district Geylang and about 15 mins walk from the nearest MRT Kallang. Seb is on the computer in front tapping away. I chose this hotel out of a handful Seb emailed me. I chose it for the area; as expected, the atmosphere and surroundings are so much more vibrant and the people great fun to watch.

After my seemingly desperate despair in my last blog (it really only lasted that hour I was tapping away, once the rawness is dispelled one way or another – here by tapping on a computer to the world, the emotion is shot out of its canon and you’re no longer a potential explosion) I got back to Ling and my spirits were up again. The pills and injection were working well and the need to itch had gone. It felt so good to be back to normal mentally though physically, I still looked the same. Ling and I enjoyed some dinner at a little restaurant right next to her building. She was major tired because of the 4am start and I was now feeling the toll of not sleeping for the last couple of nights. I then met up with Yating for a final farewell and it felt so good to be able to laugh and enjoy a decent conversation without being distracted by my body; no need to sit on my hands or keep my fingers pressed hard against the table. I was happy again. It felt so good.

Ling and I both set our alarms for 4.30am so I can get a taxi to the Hyatt Hotel and then catch the airport bus from there. Somehow I woke up and checked my watch. 5.30am!!! The alarms didn’t go off or we were so tired we didn’t hear. I jumped out of bed calling Ling’s name and muttering rubbish like ‘oh my god oh my god’. She jumped and called for a taxi. The only way to get to the airport was now a very very fast taxi ride. Luckily the night before I had to take out $1000 because the ATM wouldn’t give me anything smaller so I had enough for the taxi ride. My plane was taking off 7.10am and to get to the airport takes out 40 – 45 mins or less if the driver is a little crazy. I so wished my driver would be a little more than daring. He was this middle aged man in a suit who didn’t look crazy. Ling talked fast at him, told him our situation, we overslept basically – she was honest. He smiled, nodded calmly and then we were off. It was when lorries drove passed us on the motorway that I thought ‘oh dear’. Ling said Seb could wait and I could get the next plane. He was expecting to wait 4 hours already so out loud to Ling I chanted ‘no no no no’ and in my head in the taxi ‘no no no no’. Amazingly, I got there in time. I gave him my $1000 and legged it, not caring about change. He got me there. He deserved it.

On the plane I watched ‘Wedding Crasher’ which was funnier than I thought and the comedy channel so I had been marinated-happy and ready for Singapore. When I got out Seb was waiting at the gates. We had a drink and made some plans.

Though suffering a little from jet lag – a plane ride from Switzerland, Seb was ready to see and do things so we checked out the area the hotel was in. Day time, nothing much. Night time is the best time. The food on offer are hot pot, dim sum, claypot rice, frog’s leg congee and many more. The live frogs put us off. Also, ladies of the night stood outside doorways to enclosed establishments showing off their wares. We checked out other areas including Chinatown and Little India.

Today we went to Pulau Ubin Island. The ferry (small chugging boat for up to 12 passengers and 2 crews – really cute I thought and prefer to big ones) ride there and especially back was worth going for the ride. We hired bikes on the island and rode around in a leisurely fashion. The weather in Singapore is not as humid as in Taiwan. I can handle this weather. It’s sunnier and breezier and I have my UV umbrella! Seb is not used to it yet, his body climatising to the weather and time difference.

I miss sashimi!! There is none of that here unless we seek a Japanese restaurant out and we saw two but they didn’t offer sashimi. Chinese food is popular here (Chinese people make up 76% of the population), Malay (14%) and Indian (8%)foods as well – all a bit too heavy for this weather – for me anyway. We found ourselves wandering into a cluster of the stalls part of the Singaporean Food Festival. They love their spicy foods (which I love but have to stay away from) and fried food (too heavy); and in Chinese fashion, everything is served big style portions. Exotic foods are harder to come by whereas your common apple and pear is easier to find. Seafood is abundant but served fried, steamed (less heavy) or soaked in spice. I so miss the exotic fruits, the fresh fruit juices and fresh seafood in Taipei. I tell Seb and he’s envious because he loves sashimi. A couple of times, we’ve thought of jumping on a plane to Taipei! Most people speak Mandarin or Cantonese and almost everyone speak English – or what you’d call Singenglish. At first it sounds foreign but you realise ‘jesus, they’re talking in English, but it’s not English’ – it’s a weird feeling but you get used to it. Seb must have thought I knew this weird language but no, it’s weirdly spoken English.

We’re going to book a hotel in Kuala Lumpar and then we’re off tomorrow by train! I’m excited.

***

To Tobias: It’s only drama for the hour I’m writing. I’m okay. It’s exciting.

To Amy: The scar is all over half of my calves with speckled scars over the other half, from ankle to knee, pretty bad. It seems this journey around the world has given me insight into the limitations of the body that is mine.

To Adam: A cool damp towel was best. Slapping didn’t work as well as squeezing.

***

It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. – Confucius. China’s most famous teacher, philosopher, and political theorist, 551-479 BC

The doctor immediately diagnosed infectious eczematoid dermatitis, a kind of allergic eczema. But he doesn’t know the cause. He thinks the fact that I’ve suffered from prickly heat before, and I’m sensitive to sunlight, heat and humidity; the allergic reaction to ‘OFF!’ (possibly DEET) could have made the condition worse.

I’ve been prescribed 6 different pills and was given an injection. I’ve been told to see another doctor for another injection when I get to Singapore. And that I should not use these pills for more than 2 weeks otherwise it could affect my body badly. He tells me to stay away from sunlight, heat and humidity (I’m thinking of the countries I’m going to next) even wearing protective clothing. I am to stay away from coffee, alcohol and spicy foods. Everything he’s told me I can handle. Then he tells me my legs are going to be scarred for up to 2 years! But it will go back to its normal colour eventually. I’m left dumbstruck. I thought maybe a month or two the most. But 2 years?!!

After swallowing the disgusting tasting pills and phoning Ling, I walk in the pouring rain to the internet cafe. I am numb. At least my UV umbrella is useful in sun and rain. Yating had called me a typical Taiwanese girl when I told her about my UV umbrella. They carry UV umbrellas here so why not. I feel bad for my legs. I feel shitty that I didn’t go to the hospital sooner especially after all the crap that I sprout about health and me being responsible for myself. I feel I’m a lawyer who has been negligent and I should not be left responsible for me because I am just crap. I’m the only person responsible and I’ve been rubbish at it. Now, I sit here, accepting the consequences. Ling tells me it won’t take that long for the scars to disappear. At this moment they’re still blistering, not even brown, not even scars yet but you can see it going that way. Yes, I feel sorry for myself, for my legs, goddamitt! And also so so so angry with myself! How can I make it up to you? How can I make it better for you? For myself, my body, me, my whole responsibility.

***

Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision. – Salvador Dalí. Spanish painter, 1904–1989

Saturday just pass midnight, walking back to the flat, you meet Ling on her way out. She tells you she’s going to meet up with her friend Trevor and invites you along. You run for the last train that will take us 2 stops away.

Trevor is approachable, amiable and instantly likeable and having studied in America spoke English with a distinct American accent. The three of you squeeze yourselves into a tasteful Japanese stall with a wooden seat lined half around the front stall. You climb over the wooden seat and close the wooden partition separating you from the street. There were a handful of people, a get-to-gether already underway. You’re happy to leave the ordering to Ling and Trevor. Trevor and Ling explain how it feels to be Taiwanese in terms of China. Ling had tried to explain this to me earlier. She has told you Taiwan was called The Republic of China first, way before China declared itself ‘The People’s Republic of China’. Taiwanese people see themselves as a separate entity from China but China does not feel that way. Trevor tells you of the confusion this sometimes causes – how he went to the ‘International’ end at the airport but was told to go to the ‘Domestic’ end type of confusion.

You try very hard to ignore the scream from your legs’ and arms’ desperate for attention, for a deep satisfying scratch. Ling and Trevor order a soup with an assortment of meat, veg and other things edible that you can’t name. You thought you hid it well but your few attempts to squeeze your arms and legs just to quieten the almost uncontrollable need to scratch did not go unnoticed by Trevor who asked you if you’re alright. You show him your arms and legs. Your neck is not as itchy, just red. The small itchy spots you thought were prickly heat are like thousands of small mosquito bites turned puffy with scratching (the area become a burning exasperation when touched even lightly by fabric) and hard squeezing (the lesser of the evils) and digging your nails in. The inflamed puffiness is similar looking to mosquito bites once you dig your nails in them. So many spots inflamed turn into a mass area of puffy red skin that looks like an extra layer of alien skin encasing yours. For awhile, for the last couple of nights, Ling has been your saviour, helping you put a towel in the fridge and making sure you cover the areas with it before you go to bed. The alien red other skin merge in with yours by the time you wake up but seem less inflamed and seem to be getting better. Until during the day, the heat and fabric near it aggravates it and it’s inflamed again; the alien redness spreading until it takes over your whole calve area and your legs. When it’s irritated, the area feels like it’s being grilled under a hot burning flame. Scratching, squeezing relieves but only for a few seconds but oh does it feel good. But you’re left with an even more blistering bleeding bit of flesh that you can’t believe belongs to you. Then you find that the small areas unaffected are invisible itchy spots and then that area too goes through the same process.

Trevor and Ling suggest you go to the hospital. And they talk about it and the costs etc in Mandarin. You feel bad that you skin is taking over this social meeting. And like everything else can’t help but zone out and all you can think about is your fingers, your nails tearing across this screaming alien itching flesh daring it to carry on and the need to destroy is so powerful you can imagine digging out the nerves, vein etc just to stop the itch and you feel so revved up you don’t care.

Ling, your nurse, hands you the cold towel to cover the areas one at a time. You’ve come to the conclusion that it could be a combination of an allergy to ‘Off! (the only new thing in my living regime) and prickly heat due to humidity. The only areas affected are the exposed areas when you wear a t-shirt and long shorts. Ling has been so good to you. She’s been working late and then she has to deal with you. You can’t help but feel bad about all this.

Sunday, you meet up with Yating for a starter. Then Ling joins the party for dinner. It is the first time you’ve tried prawn sashimi where you had to raw prawns still in their shells covered in crushed ice. They’re juicy, sweet and fresh. You also try another similar shrimp-like thing but its shell is hard to peel and if you peel it wrong it takes ages and you end with tiny bits of meat which doesn’t seem worth it. You had these before in China, but they were fried. This time you don’t think it’s worth the effort so you watch Ling as she struggles. The owner, who is very considerate and knows Ling, sees this and shows your party the way to do it. Lay the strimp on its belly, pull at the second segment and voila, the tail end of the shell slips easily away. He stops you dipping it into sauce, telling you that the first should just be plain so you can taste its sweetness. You all do this and he’s right.

During this meal, the itchiness comes back after being away all day. Yating got to see it and again both girls suggest you go to the hospital.  Ling says she’ll take you on the way home. When you’re outside the hospital, you feel bad. Ling has drank beer to help her sleep tonight because she has a 5am shoot tomorrow and here you are taking her time.

In the hospital, Ling finds out that the skin doctor will be attending tomorrow morning. You feel lucky again that he’s available because he’s not available all the time. Ling takes some forms and at home she helps you fill bits in you can’t fill in and then on the back of the form, she writes in Chinese my symptoms just in case. Before sleeping, in a slight drunken state, Ling reminds you to cover your arms and legs with the cold towel which has become a midnight visitor. You can’t sleep all night. At one point you’re scratching so furiously you thought you must be bleeding. You don’t want to disturb Ling sleeping. But it got so bad, you creep to the fridge for the towel. You still can’t sleep so when Ling’s alarm goes off and she goes into the bathroom, you gratefully get up. You check the night’s damage. You don’t know why but somehow it seems to be spreading to your knees and upper thighs. Ling switches the TV on and you’re temporarily gratefully distracted by football, Italy beating France for the World Cup.

After Ling leaves, you fall asleep and like a baby without fingerless mittens you scratch your arms.

I’m writing this waiting outside the doctor’s door. The queuing system tells me it’s now number 24. I’ve been here since number 14. I’m number 47. I have to distract my fingers somehow; though admittedly, my left leg is now sore and my fingers satisfied.

I got to the hospital about 9.30am and nearly cried when the woman at the registration desk said it was fully booked up and I have to come back another time. It could have been my look of desperation but she said I could try see the doctor and see if he’ll see me. I don’t think she really thought I had much of a chance but it was one way of getting rid of me. I wandered to the doctor’s closed door and tried to grab a nurse. It was obvious it would be almost impossible to get near the doctor who has a door, a nurse behind that closed door and a room full of patients waiting for him. Luckily, I saw a nurse busy tapping on her computer a couple of doors away. I show her my leg when she’s tells me the same. She stares. She talks to a younger nurse who also stares and suddenly I’m being fasttracked. The younger nurse takes me over to the registration desk and within 10 mins I’m registered and my statistics taken. She tells me it looks serious while she asks me various questions. The gravity of it all hits me. It must be pretty serious for them to admit me when I see they’re turning others away. I must admit the redness has gone more dry and turned to a darker red. I can see that my calves were going to be scarred for a month or so, til I can just peel them off. But if they can give me something to stop the burning and the unimaginable itchiness, then I can sleep and function like the less possessed.

Number 30. And I’ve ran out of paper. I grab a tiny wad of ‘record’ paper. Again the need to keep my fingers busy and from attacking the irritating areas is my only priority. Ling told me about the queuing system and suggested I go back to the flat or shopping and come back later. I dare not, in case I came too late. As I scribble away furiously, an English woman tried to find out if she could come back another time and the procedures etc. It was good to see people waiting around helping her. They treat you nice here. Though the woman who took my blood pressure – I rolled up my sleeve, she saw my deformed-looking arm and scrowling told me to cover myself again – was a little horrible – I guess if I saw someone with arms like mine (my legs are scarier and she didn’t see them), I’d be hesitant. This woman made me feel like I had leprosy. It was not a nice feeling. But I understand why she reacted that way. For the first time in my life, I know how it feels even for that moment how people with disfigurements and skin abnormalities feel.

Seb called several times and on Sunday night, the last night before he flies out to meet me. He’s been so good, telling me he’s found a couple of possible solutions to my condition and asking if I needed anything before he left. I’m really lucky to have friends like Ling, Yating and Seb. Like I said before, everyone I’ve met have been so good to me and I’m so grateful. My family too have been helping me. Seb said at least I seemed cheerful and still positive.

Number 34. It reminds me how important your body, your health is. You can have the strongest mind, your soul and your emotions knowing no limits but your body is what needs taken care of because it does have its limits. It was this year that for the first time in my life I prioritised and wrote down my values. And at the top was health. You cannot love fully, give fully, be creative fully if your body is not working fully. Some people don’t have a choice but if you have a choice, your health should come first. I should have gone to see a doctor sooner. I should have.

Number 38. The TV in front of us is no longer showing Chinese Opera where male characters are played by female characters and their make-up is a cake of colour. Now, the news is showing a bus broken down and various footage of individuals caught during their criminal activities. The bus reminds me of the one Ling and I saw last night with only 2 of its tyres in tact. She explained that in hot weather, motors stop working and tyres suffer heat exhaustion. So other things are affected by the heat. It doesn’t make me feel better.

Number 38. Man, that hasn’t changed. Okay, 39!! My last night in Taiwan. I’m going to miss my friends, the food, sashimi etc. I think my love for sashimi is due to the heat. Unlike fried foods, sashimi is fresh, light and very tasty. Soup is another of my favourites.

Number 40! I’m sorry to leave; I haven’t seen enough and because of the heat, I feel very restricted. Cold weather is easier to bear.

Number 40! Still! I need a drink!

***

The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. – George Bernard Shaw. Irish literary Critic, Playwright and Essayist. 1925 Nobel Prize for Literature, 1856–1950