Treasure Island

An eagle glides majestically across the verdant jungle, rising to its eerie on the cliffs of the island.

My boat lies at anchor, 40 metres from the line of the shore.

I hear the play of monkeys in the forest, birdsong and the soft susurrus of the sea lapping at my side and breaking in small waves on the beach.

This is Langkawi. Malaysia’s paradise in the Andaman.

Two months ago, almost to the day, I flew in for the first time ever to finally join my new boat (well new for me anyway). I knew no one, and had not so great knowledge (other than books and conversations) of boats but a dream.

A strong dream, nurtured since I was about 10 years old and was walking down a wharf with my Dad where we found an old abandoned fishing boat. I could see its charms immediately, but Dad didn’t quite see how we could get it home.

Long years have passed and when I arrived in Langkawi, it was like walking into that dream.

My first impressions of the place on jetting in from fast paced Singapore were not great.

A bit grubby? Not much infrastructure, hellish hot. Maybe I had made a mistake.

Several weeks passed and my love for the boat I had bought increased daily. I was busy as a one armed wallpaper hanger learning and commissioning navigation systems, power and light, engine and batteries and of course learning about sails.

The camaraderie in marinas amongst cruising sailors is deservedly legendary. Here are people who have lifted themselves from the mundane and struck out on extraordinary journeys of self and world discovery. All of them help me. From parts to advice, from sail cleats to yoghurt recipes. I am amongst some of the friendliest people I have known to date. A striking characteristic of all these people is their lack of commerciality and their acceptance of all races. Quite remarkable. Considering I knew no one when I arrived, I now have family whose exploits on the sea I keenly listen to.

As I move around town and interact with the locals, buying fittings, engine parts, even food, I meet some of the loveliest unassuming people to add to this family.  I spend hours just pleasantly chatting, something I cant ever recall doing.

Days fly by, and it dawns on me that Langkawi is not about the towns and main island, its truly the people that make this place special.

Today, nearly 2 months after arriving as a novice, me and my boat lie at anchor in one of the most scenically picturesque islands I have ever seen. No one is around. Earlier I walked the beach, listened to the monkeys play, watched as eagles soared above and the hornbills flapped noisily squawking around the forest.

Only tracks left of humanity were my footmarks in the white sand.

Paradise found

For Pete, cause he did deserve to be here.

Honestly

Or was that Honesty.

First, let me mention how hot it is. As in ice cream just isn't an option here hot.

OK, 100 miles north or north east of where i sit now, this would NOT have happened.

As you do from time to time, I needed to buy bread, so into 7/11 (convenience store chain) I go and take a loaf of bread off the shelf, proceed to the check out counter with cash in hand, wait in queue and then my turn, pass the money, get some water as well and wait....... the check out clerk, looks at the use by tag on the bread and then replaces the loaf with a fresher one.

I didnt ask him. No legislation requires him to do it. He didn't make a big deal of it either. To him it was just important to be fair.

I am in a Malaysia. Langkawi actually. Kuah if you really want to know. Email me for the longitude and latitude :-)

North and North East of me is Thailand.

There, I would be charged extra because of my white face (well slightly sunburnt face, did I mention the heat?).

In Thailand, the rip off is an art form. Practiced from an early age. From the moment you arrive at the slightly new airport and are harassed all the way from the point of baggage collection to rent a taxi, until you leave by the same portal, the smiling faces always seem to want to sell you something. Always more expensive than it should be, but what the heck you're on holiday eh?

Having based there for quite some time, one gets guarded whenever approached on the street by a stranger (no not in that kind of way). My hand automatically covers my wallet. Thailand, land of a thousand smiles.

Back to Malaysia. The melody of the Mullah drifts through the heavy humid air. Languid. Oh yes, here the state religion is Islam.

I am approached on the street by a stranger. He says hi and asks where I come from. My hand flexes and covers. Guardedly I respond. Turns out he's a tourist like me, and just wants to chat. Nice guy, nothing to sell.

All over town, people say hi to each other, even old tourists like me. No one yet has tried to sell me anything. No one yet has been anything other than very polite and friendly in a genuine way. 100 miles to Thailand. 20,000 miles of cultural change.

I blame Islam for this, or maybe its the heat.

Salam Malam

Singapore 4

Noodles, noodles, rice or noodles, chicken, pork or seafood, too many
options. She senses my indecision and drifts away lips pursed in amusement
at another's folly.

A seemingly endless myriad of corridors and alleys wind my eye and
eventually feet away from the lunchtime aromas of the central hall where a
score of small stalls labor over lunch for the army which lives above.

This is Peoples Park.

The center of the housing development boards public
housing project in Singapore. A venture first promulgated in the 60's to
house Singapore's ever burgeoning population of workers in the island city.
A success story by any measure, its now aging denizens have a secure life
in a comfortable environment. Everything one could ever need is within a
short walk

Its easy to lose your way in the Parks sprawling commercial areas, as paths lead to shops lead to food stalls lead
to money changers lead to public transport lead to massage clinics, ever
winding and more confusing as only a grand Chinese puzzle could ever be.

Hoardings struggle for recognition amongst lucky symbols and lantern
shapes. Red is everywhere.

The afternoon buzzes with the serious chatter of Uncles and Aunties,
gathered in so many tea shops, all engaged in their favorite hobby. Gossip.

The tea choice is enough to cause comment, only the finest of what
China can muster is expected and its preparation is a serious matter.

Alone, I am mesmerized by the animation of these mostly octogenarians whose
banter and laughter electrify the surrounding air with mirth and sparkle.

An elderly gent walks to the middle of the main square, sets a small
speaker down and begins to sing Chinese Opera.

From the moment he begins to
intonate and croon out the characters of his performance, the crowd stops.
Onlookers quickly gather, even children visiting Grandma are hushed.

Total reverence. Dignity in his every move. Remarkable that we can sit quietly
over tea and watch.

And so daily, the populace dances from the serious business of food, to
tea, to thoughtful art, surrounded by cheerfulness in a setting of peace.

Peoples Park. Yes I can see that.

Singapore Three

OK you guys, quit with the antics la!!

I have trouble enough sleeping without the doors closing noisily and the creaking stuff. Give me a break eh?

Plus, I need those socks that got lost in the laundry back thank you, and I would prefer that you dont break anymore of my appliances.

Whew. Thats a lot to ask I guess, but i am an expat and we do quite press the point. What exactly do I have to give or do to create a bit of peace around here?

Probably easier to answer that, than why exactly do the Chinese consider the gates of hell open for this month? As in once a year the gates of hell open. And it's this month. Hmmmm, loose ghosts, pandemonium.

I'm serious. No one buys a car or a house during this month. No swimming at rivers or beaches and other adventurous activities whatsoever during this month.

No big business decisions either. Singapore, whilst not exactly grinding to a halt, takes on an air of caution. Consider that the general populace here is urbane and well educated this kind of creeps up as a bit of a surprise.

So, whats the story?

Evidently its a bunch of Hungry Ghosts.

Hungry Ghosts appear from Chinese ancestor worship. 鬼法界, 鬼界 is "the realm of the hungry ghosts". Some Chinese believe that the ghosts of their ancestors return to their houses at a certain time of the year, hungry and ready to eat. A festival is held to honor the hungry ancestor ghosts and food and drink is put out to satisfy their needs. Honor of ancestors is a big thing amongst Chinese. Might be a useful attribute methinks. Even the Buddhists get in on the act. The temple next door to me has been working overtime with chanting and horn blowing all weekend.

So little bins have started appearing across the neighborhood. A fire burns in the bottom and into this goes food, clothing (probably my socks) and anything else which could make the dead ancestor happier for the year ahead. They are never forgotten, and angered at ones peril.

Oh and money. Hell is not cheap la. It has its demigods and gate openers all of whom need to be "well oiled" for a comfortable existence.

Now, if you don't get with the swing of this, then certain little prompts start to help you appreciate the situation.

First it was the socks. Then the doors mysteriously opening and closing when i wasn't looking. Creaking sounds have woken me up in the last few nights. Now my appliances have started malfunctioning. Yesterday was the washing machine. Today the espresso machine.

The thing about superstition is you can say all you like about how silly it is, ill-educated nonsense, but......

Its been a superstition for thousands of years. Skepticism has only been a "science" for around 20 years. Its just a pup.

Me?

I pride myself on rational explanations and an understanding of natural laws rather than pseudoscience. Animistic beliefs I respect, they are born of long cultural experience. Skepticism only lasts until you are looking for that missing sock.

I am out tonight to make an offering of food to my local ghosts, and to also sling a few dollars for all my departed ancestors. I wonder what the exchange rate is and do they take Visa. Of course they must, hell is well populated with bankers hehe.

Just call me ill-educated :)

Singapore Two

No problems lah! Dont be so Money Face Lah! Aeyo can lah!

Today I am so blur blur, I wonder how I can write this and put sense to the language known as Singlish.

4 cultures (maybe 5 considering the english expat in addition to Malay, Chinese, Indian, European) have intertwined to form this modern day republic, each with its own diametrically opposite language structures, cuisines and fashions to make Singapore one of the most eclectic places on the planet. Vaguely reminiscent or familiar of all of the homes of the cultures it combines yet somehow blended to a new level to make a Singaporean no matter what their ancestry or ethnic heritage stand out in a crowd when returned to their mother place.

It really becomes obvious when you sit in on a discussion amongst its denizens, white skinned chinese, darker skinned malay, dark skinned indians all of whose cultural homes are obvious and yet when you hear them speak, the colour distinction is the only difference you can notice. (The lower case use for the ethnic origins is intentional, they are now Singaporeans)

Close your eyes

Listen

Its English, but its not. It blends Malay, "you makan already?" with Chinese "Hey Ah Beng makan already?" with Hindi/Urdu "Hey Ah Beng makan roti already?" with the parent English (I say parent, as English is what Singaporeans mainly speak) to come out with "Hey ah beng you wan do makan roti prata already lah?"

What the hell does this mean?

How the hell do I know, I am just a visitor lah

No lah makan liao lah. Tze tze, terimah kaseh

Now I go play play cause I am a little slow slow

Singapore One

With a nod and a swaying of his head (as only an Indian can do and interpret) Waiter Number 136 acknowledges my order of Roti Prata and Teh Tarik.

I sit back in the plastic chair at the cheap laminex table, savoring the moistness of the tropical evening as Singapore traffic rushes by oblivious of the ritual through which they drive like the possessed.

Roti prata is the Singaporean evolution of the Pakistani and Indian paratha, a pancake bread made of dough composed of fat, egg, flour and water. Roti means bread in Hindi, Urdu, most other North Indian languages and Malay, while Prata means flat. It is traditionally served with curry or, more rarely, with sugar or condensed milk. In addition, although consumed at any time of the day by some locals, the vast majority tend to consume it as a late night or early morning dish, particularly at 24-hour outlets.

There are two main types of the dish - the smaller but crispy version (made famous by the Jalan Kayu chains) and the flatter and more fluffy version common elsewhere. Both versions are prepared in similar fashion - by flipping the dough into a large thin layer before heating it on a hot plate.

Teh tarik (literally pulled tea or 拉茶 in Mandarin) is a hot tea beverage which can be commonly found in restaurants, outdoor stalls and kopi tiams in Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei. Its name is derived from the pouring process of "pulling" the drink during preparation. It is made from black tea and condensed milk.

The mixture is poured back and forth repeatedly between two vessels over a height, giving it a thick frothy top. This process is said to cool the tea to drinking temperatures, and helps mix the tea with the condensed milk more thoroughly.

Thanks Wikipedia.

Now back to the show.

The Prata cook and the Tarek maker seem to be in a competition as to who can perform the most flourishes per step all the while acknowledging each others simple magic with a wobbling motion of the head. Quite amazing to watch the geometry of this as nothing is spilt or misplaced during the dance.

Up swirls the Prata in the air before landing perfectly square on the large flat cooking surface the cook dives on it with a large spatula turning and prodding it into its fluffy end product, the Teh spirals back and forth between the large metal jug and the cup, a continual cascade seeming to flow with no end between both vessels.

Its pure India where dramatics and inferred magic may make the difference between a sale or no sale/no eat, although the affluence surrounding the demo (modern day Singapore) belies its rural roots. The transportation to the old markets of Delhi nearly works.

In its simplest form, exposed by the preparation of food, thousands of years of culture and migration lay bare. All for $2.20.

Within minutes I have old India served on a plate with a watery lamb curry, the teh (tea) is frothy and sweet. The smell can only be described as sensuous. The taste? Ahh Singapore, forget your expensive nightlife, this is truly part of you.

And Waiter Number 136 gives me a wide smile and an appreciative nod to acknowledge that this Ang Moh recognised the show.

Ah Beng Lah

Aperture

London grows on you. The more you poke your lens into its numerous crannies the more its uniqueness reveals itself.

Of special mention here is the Aperture Photgraphers Cafe on Museum Street.



In addition to serving Lavazza espresso (of course its my favourite, isnt it yours?) They have an amazing array of very hard to get cameras, all second hand, but in great working order. The ambience is interesting with a mix of amateurs and working pro's either midway or just back from some of the most interesting places.



The camaraderie is brilliant and the sales staff very interactive. The shop looks like a rubbish dump though, be warned, although most working photographers seem to have an appetite for things boheme. The place just reeks of funk.



Also worthy of special mention is Classic Cameras in Pied Bull Lane, just round the corner. Its the best Leica Shop I have ever been to and the staff are great. Its nice to buy things from people who truly believe in what they sell, no hype, just honest input.

For a more thorough look at Londons nooks try here http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikefrancisphoto/

I am starting to really like this town.