Dog days

I’m not sure if it’s just because I live next to one of the largest parks that there is in Singapore, but Katong where I live is inundated with a plethora of pet shops. On a mile strip of East Coast Road I counted four alone. Maybe Singaporeans are super pet friendly or maybe it’s just that my habitual locale makes for a suitable place to pitch to the pet loving fraternity who are often seen taking Fido for regular walks.

Even more odd is the choice of dog I seem to see the most. Singapore is a hot and humid place for the majority of the year so you’d expect to see small dogs or those that cope with the heat well, such as miniatures or the less hairy breeds. Nope not in Singapore. I just keep seeing endless numbers of Siberian Huskies trotting up and down the place - which is probably the most unsuitable dog you can imagine for a climate like this. For a dog you normally expect to be sat lolling in front of a roaring fire after overdosing on the aroma of too much fondue in an Austrian ski chalet it’s a tiny bit odd seeing it pull a tanned roller-blading girl in hot-pants down the park path. Typically being pulled on the wrong side of the track going against the flow of traffic, but that’s a different story altogether.

What is it that makes people buy a dog with the thickest and most efficient heat absorbent coat and plonking it in a climate where people only own one sweater? I am a little perplexed to be honest. Now a husky is a lovely animal and I’m a dog person (I was going to say lover but it sounds a bit dodgy) as much as the next but I would certainly be asking myself the question of “is this the most suitable dog I can really think of buying here?”

Not to perambulate around the bush but it does make you think that the thought process has not been too well walked through.

For me it’d be easy to choose a dog like that as I used to watch the TV show Due South as a growing kid and always wanted to have a dog like the immensely cute and perversely talented Diefenbaker when I was grown up. This was the kind of dog that had attitude, selective hearing and made Lassie look like she’d be better off at home assisting in some delicate baking rather than saving little Jimmy from down the disused mineshaft. I’d still love one, but my track record in temporarily abandoning my two cats in London for a while along with living fifteen stories up in a house a third smaller than my house in London does not make me the ideal candidate for having one. It does seem a little bit wrong having one in the least snowy climate that you can possibly find but the ones I have seen seem happy enough panting away happily up and down by the beach.

You do see a lot of smaller handbag type dogs too. I say handbag as you generally see them being carried inside handbags but predominantly the dog I see over and over again is the Husky. Maybe it’s a fashion trend that I have not picked up on. A quick google of ‘Singapore, Husky puppies’ gives quite a few cute looking hits which are surprisingly cheap compared to puppies back home. Sadly though, you do see quite a few dogs around 12-18 months old looking to be re-homed probably after the owners have realised that the maid has been swallowed or something.

Maybe at home these dogs are being kept in sub zero condo conditions which makes them feel slightly more at home. Sat shivering away in some arctic tinged high rise stalactite ridden apartment where the children are huddled around the dog in the evening as if to draw off the heat they've absorbed from a day basking under the palm trees might be what goes on. Friends of mine missing the winter season had such a party last year. Inviting friends around for a winter fondue party in full hat, gloves and winter parker. All the windows were closed, every AC unit turned onto the coldest setting and the frost free freezer door opened for good measure.

Brr – make me cold thinking about it. Maybe it’s my trip to London next week and the onward trip to Utah which is making me think of cold thoughts again.

A fortnight back in London via Utah for some snowboarding is lined up. It is going to be nice to be back in London briefly, if nothing else but to stock up on things that I have actually found are impossible to buy in Singapore:-

Namely muesli, good sun lotion (as in not emulsion paint)and good handmade shoes that are less than $1000.

The thought of getting to wear not just a sweater, but a coat some gloves and a scarf for the first time in nearly 8 months is giving me the chills just thinking about it. From 26 degrees in the shade to minus 20 in my thermals is going to be a bit of a shock to the system.

Maybe I should try and get invited around somewhere to huddle up with the dog in preparation.

Speaking in code.

My day to day job is based around ecommerce working for one of the banks here in Singapore. Let’s call it ShiezerBank Corp to keep some anonymity here. Our financial competition is formed of the usual suspects of Mighty Yank Bank, Shittybank and Briecrap, all of which have great towering offices here.

Working in IT and especially banking IT everyone talks in acronyms for reasons I’ve never really understood. Perhaps it’s because were a bit lazy and can’t string full incondite sentences together using the proper words. Perhaps it makes us sound a little bit more clever or in a unique clan using three abbreviated letters when those around us have absolutely no idea on what is being discussed. I put it down to people having too much to say and not enough time to say it so using them gets the maximum amount of information expended into the air with the minimal amount of conversational dexterity. Of course it could simply be that people in banking IT are complete twats.

So as I was flaneuring down the road the other day in a taxi the local radio DJ was reading out the local travel bulletin and it caught my ear. Funnily enough, even the DJs here have that mid-Atlantic nasal sound like UK DJ’s did back in the 90’s. He was reading out the travel bulletins and they are the same as you’d expect everywhere else. Too many cars, too many pillions having altercations with other peoples bumpers and the odd thoroughfare or byway being blocked by bumbling bystanders.
The one thing that stood out though was the sheer number of acronyms being used in the delivery. The entire bulletin must have been less than 30 seconds and he must have dropped in about 20 between words like avoid, sunny, overturned and flabbelation. Ok I’m lying about the last one but it’s a great sounding word and if you heard that on a travel bulletin you’d probably crash through excitement and end up in the next bulletin.

After being here almost a year, I’ve picked up that Singaporeans love acronyms. They just can’t get enough of them. Everywhere you go, from the banks, to the roads, to your personal status to the food you eat - it’s all using acronyms.

Now in the travel bulletin – I worked out about half of what was being said seeing as a lot of them are traffic related to the many highways and expressways that spider out in all directions over the island.
The funny thing is, you end up picking them up and regurgitating them when you least expect it.

Since I arrived I’d come in via SIA on an EP visa hoping to get my PR from the MOM. Working hard all day saves me enough money to think about buying a HDB near the CBD, hopefully close enough to the MRT as it’s too damn expensive paying the ERP going on the PIE when the ECP is backed up. It’s not as if I can even afford the car COE as a what’s left in my DBS and UOB accounts after my CPF an SPG took anyway. Still I better not complain too much as the PAP might not be AOK with it.

There’s a small game there to see how many you can get right.

It takes a while to pick up the patois of the local pericombobulation being spouted in a tonal splurry of shortened words. I’m still very confused half the time and I’m often saying to myself - WTF?

When you intermingle it all together with bit of Singlish it makes for an interesting conversation, even if you really don’t have much of an idea of what is being said – Ken?

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

Yes it’s happy Chinese New Year to all this week. It’s been quite an exciting week for me as it’s my first real experience of CNY here in Singapore as I arrived last year just after the end of it. This year I was quite prepared to make the most of seeing the celebrations here which started off rightly with a trip to Chinatown on new years eve.
It was packed as you’d expect and all manner of red and gold ornaments, charms and decorations were being sold from the makeshift stalls in the rammed streets to starry eyed passers by looking for that last bit of useless crap that everyone from nearly every culture ends up buying at celebration time.
I got sucked in by the mind bending tractor beams of one eager salesman and came away a few dollars lighter with some Chinese scriptures and a bag full of sweeties to help assist my expanding waistline through the proceeding year of the rabbit. Being a rabbit myself as far as Chinese astrology goes, it should be a fruitful year for me, so lets just see shall we.
Chinatown on any normal night is a veritable feast of bargaining and browsing the numerous stalls which range from the buy 5 get 5 free fridge magnet type to the somewhat moderately tastefully looking antiques shops which are probably not all that antique.
On new years eve, it was like the very fabric of society was about to unravel and the only way to save yourself was to buy up more food than you could possibly eat in a year and just for good measure buy up a few extra fridge magnets just in case. It was lots of fun though and I ended up having some of the most amazing oyster omelette I’ve ever had. It’s exactly what it says and is just oysters cut up and mixed into an omelette. It is mind blowingly good and as with most hawker food it was gorgeous to gulp down with an ice cold Tiger and have a bit of a laugh with the passing waitress who was keen to try and teach me some additional Mandarin other than the very rude swear words that I’d been taught by a couple of my local friends here. There was a good reason to this as I’d been very kindly invited to spend Reunion dinner with one of my good friends family so it was going to be handy if I could turn up and say a few words and not look like I had a bad case of Tourette's.

My good friend R was kind enough to invite me to her cousins condo to experience a proper CNY family dinner as she thought it would be good for me to see. I was overjoyed at the prospect so spent the next few days trying to muster up some basic Mandarin and learn a few bits about some of the Chinese customs and general do’s and don’ts. The Chinese are probably some of the most superstitious and ceremonial people I’ve ever met and all sorts of strange and quaint peculiarities come into effect at this time. Not owing money to people, cleaning the house on a certain day, wearing the right coloured clothing. It’s a minefield of potential faux pas for a lumbering Ang Mo like myself to fall into so I spent a day or two trying to find out as much as I could so I’d look less like the clumsy grinning idiot that I often do at functions where I’m the odd one out. I actually do quite enjoy being in new situations but only when I’ve got something to contribute and if spouting a bit of Gong Xi Fa Cai was going to raise a smile or the odd "What's he saying??" eyebrow or two then so be it.
So off I trotted up to the north of the island on my trusty Hog (i.e not so trusty after developing yet another funny rattle and a spuriously odd sounding horn) with my bag full of mandarin oranges and sweaty palms clutching a few post-it notes with enough polite gestures scribbled down to get me through most dinner related conversational situations.

If during the day I was ever in need of saying “I’ve lost my passport” or “ “Where is the chemist?” then I was truly equipped with the right vocabulary. Anything else and I was going to be winging it.

The mandarin oranges are presented to the householder as a good will gesture as they represent abundance and good fortune. You give two to the host – and you get two back, which you then continually recycle as you visit other homes. For a nation that does absolutely bugger all in terms of recycling (something which I find odd given the organisational side of things) it’s the best example of use and reuse you’re likely to see here.
Cunningly I’d gone with an entire bag of spare oranges just in case I cocked up something and ended up being an orange down, but it seemed to go to plan and I left with the requisite number of fruits. I did spend the next few days having mandarin orange smoothies which was another plus side to my over exuberance at filling up my fridge magnet and fruit armageddon stockade.

When I arrived I was warmly greeted by R’s family who were all super friendly and made me feel at home. As customary at these kind of occasions a paper plate was thrust in to my palm (slightly obscuring my now streaking “Do you have an extra pillow” translation) and was then instructed to fill my boots with as much homemade food as possible. Mrs R was happy to point out all the things that they’d made which I confess were all delicious. I think my favourite was the little jellies in the shape of animals of which I must have been around 12 years old when I had last had it without Tequila in it.
I ate so many of them I started getting an odd look from a passing 5 year old which was something of a look of "How many of MY jellies are you actually going to eat Mr??". I backed away at this point to the slightly more grown up food of chicken wings giving my most polite smile that is actually possible with a mouth full of jelly.

It was really fun to meet generation after generation of family members and it made me think about Christmases at home long ago when I was younger when aunts, uncles and grandparents all used to gather around and generally remark on how much I’d grown up since the last time they’d seen me. Ha – I’m now 6ft 4’. No more growing required!
One of the great traditions here at this time is the red packet giving or Hóng Bāo. The custom is for the more senior folks to give red envelopes of money to those that are younger and unmarried as a symbol of property, good luck and also to ward off evil spirits. In the envelope there is a small wad of notes which will add up to an even number, again another good luck sign. I never really expected to get any red packets at all as I was after all a complete stranger in the house and not exactly a spring chicken these days but some of the elders were quite curious about me and demanded R to have me dragged over and to duly have a little packet thrust in to my mitt.
Now being invited around to someone’s house for a special occasion and being fed till you drop with jelly and then being paid for it is my idea of a good day out.
I left it to the next day to actually open one and inside was a bunch of crisply folded brand new two dollar notes. R giggled a lot at my expression on receiving my first as I was quite surprised about it to be honest and secretly chuffed to bits.

My favourite bit of the day was the tossing of the Yusheng fish salad.
Yusheng is a fish based salad which originates from the 1960s in Singapore. It’s another sign of prosperity and good health to have this. It’s a very brightly coloured dish made up of carrots, pickles, peppers with salmon strips mixed into it. It’s then drenched in a mountain of crackers and sesame seeds until it looks like a food version of Mount Vesuvius that is just about to go off if even another morsel of food is added to its crater like peak.
The best bit about this though is that everyone gathers around it with chop sticks and decimates the thing in to a frenzy of salad tossing - throwing it higher and higher whist yelling out phrases of prosperity. The higher you toss the salad the more prosperous your year ahead is supposedly going to be. Step back kids – the 6ft 4 fella is coming through.
After getting a bit carried away I ended up nearly having to wipe my salad out of the ceiling fan - although it certainly appears that my year ahead might actually be quite prosperous given the amount of vertical my little bit of salmon took.
After everyone has had a go at mixing the salad it’s served into small bowls and eaten with chop sticks. It’s actually quite tasty and one of R’s uncles was adamant that I have second and third portions whilst making sure I had a good fill of the yummy salmon which was pretty fantastic.

After dinner it was time for some family photographs which was cute and nice to see a whole range of family generations sitting together whilst desperately trying to keep a front row of 7 year olds still long enough to get a couple of shots for the family album. After dispersing and for a brisk walk around the condo gardens it was time to listen to Mr R sing some traditional Chinese folk songs, mostly from around the communist era I believe. Here my Mandarin phrasebook was sadly lacking I’m afraid. I believe communist folk songs are in the next edition.
Now the Chinese love a good sing song but Mr R was actually pretty damn good and it was really nice to watch and listen to. He was good enough to explain some of the meanings but it was nice to just listen and see some of the places that he’d been invited to sing at in China which set me off thinking of all the places that I’d like to go and visit there in the coming year. All in all it was a really interesting day and I was really grateful to have been invited along. It’s exactly why I’m here and being able to experience it was lots of fun. Big thanks to R and family!

I must have made a good enough impression as I got my invite back for next year. I think some of that might be to clean off the remaining Yusheng that is still stuck in the ceiling fan but we’ll see.

January happenings.

This last week I was back in Borneo doing some more technical diving courses that I’ve been meaning to do, just so that I can start doing some longer mixed gasses on the rebreather. For those that don’t know what a rebreather is, it’s a device that sits on your back a bit like a suitcase and closes the breathing circuit so that exhaled gas goes back into a unit on your back which then messes about with it so that you can breathe it again.
It just means you dive for hours and potentially deeper without having nasty decompression stops for hours at a time.
It’s a bit more complicated than that in reality – but that’s the 101 lesson. If you want to know more - hey – I’ll teach you ;)

It was a cool course although harder than I imagined to master and a little bit scary to be honest when going through some of the disaster drills. Still a way to go before I can teach it - but not a bad start until the point when I got a bloody great cold half way through the week and had to stop diving. I pushed it a bit and now I’m deaf in one ear for the next two weeks whilst it sorts itself out. Not too clever.

I flew back a few days early in the end as I was getting bored silly of Malaysian TV (only 5 channels) and one of those is an all day repeating cycle of MacGyver, Remington Steele and Matt Houston. It’s the channel where shitty detective TV series never die. I’ll pop back later in the year after I get back from the UK/US in March once I need my fix of Murder She Wrote.
The entire week was a bit of a disaster as I broke my iphone by taking it diving, I broke my hearing through the cold – and whilst there I also had the third ID fraud in the last two years, this time on my iTunes account. Not a very good week really.

Since arriving in Sing I’d been missing doing the cultural activities that I used to do in London so at Christmas I booked myself some tickets for Carmen which was in town and playing at the Esplanade Theatre.

This was great, as I’d fancied seeing the Esplanade up close for some time. The building, like most grand theatres is quite a spectacular sight glistening away on the Singapore horizon. The building from the outside is quite remarkable and is not dissimilar to the shape of two halved Durian fruits. As long as it doesn’t pong like one thank you.
Durian for the uninitiated is a fruit of truly nauseating properties. You either love it or hate it. Some say you’ve only really got Asia in your blood once you’ve accepted the fruit. I’m not so sure about this. The great thing about Durian is all the various guises it comes in.
Durian chocolate, crisps, moon cakes, ice cream – you name it. If you can get it – you can be damn sure there is a Durian flavoured hybrid of it.

It’s hard to really describe the Durian smell in words which don’t make it sound totally foul. It divides opinion into equally as hostile encampments as Marmite can. Personally, I’m not a big fan of anything that smells like old socks full of smelly cheese that’s been festering in the boot of the car on a hot and humid day. But that’s just me.

Maybe it’ll grow on me in time.

Anyway, after grabbing the tickets and settling down in the surprisingly big seats I sat back and took in the show. The theatre was basically a carbon copy of a traditional Shaftsbury avenue theatre. The classic horse shoe design on a slight slope, with four tiers offering elevated seats all not too far away with pretty good views. I’d prompted for tenth row stall seats as I quite fancied a good view and was not disappointed.
I’d never seen Carmen before, although I did know the story and was aware it was a relative smorgasbord of classics and ditties that you pick up with relative ease. What was unusual was watching a majority Chinese cast sing a Spanish themed opera in French. It was all done pretty well and the screens at the side translating into Mandarin and English made it all the more easy. The English, not the Mandarin obviously.
For those that don’t know the story of Carmen – here is my slightly abridged version.

Girl working at Lemonade factory starts drinking far too much of the local produce and goes a bit loopy on it and has a bit of a rough and tumble at the office with one of the other girls over the merits of fruit based drinks counting as one of the required five-a-day. The ensuing altercation is split up by the local shop steward, Mr Jose – who subsequently decides that Carmen is the best thing since R. Whites was invented and promptly decides that she’s the one that he want to make juice with from now on.
Carmen tries to persuade Mr Jose into running off to the hills to start off their own Organic Lemonade business with the possibility of resurrecting Panda Cola. He finds this a bit hard to believe and decides that nobody would want to buy Panda Cola, particularly in the hills of Seville, so goes back to the factory shaking his head in disbelief.
Carmen being a slightly more fiery Spanish women clobbers Mr Jose over the head and drags him off to the hills where she dreams of making ice cream floats. Mr Jose starts coming around to the idea of this as a sound business idea just as Carmen bumps in to the local prized flower arranger Mr Hyacinth. She realises she can only have true happiness with a world champion flower arranger and decides that Panda Cola was truly an awful business proposition and that eighties based cola drinks was a ridiculous idea. Mr Jose is swiftly consigned to the back room and is no longer considered as a viable entity which peeves him somewhat.
Mr Jose having just invested everything into this takes this ever so slightly badly and decides that it’s in the best possible interest to kill everyone, which he goes about doing.

There’s a bit of singing and dancing involved in all of this and everyone seems to have a jolly good time about it, until of course when they all die.

That’s my slightly shorter version of the story but I think it captures the prevalent parts of the story and portrays the layered and complex messages of love, lemonade making and not to mess with Latino women. On the whole, it didn’t have the complete magic or energy that you’d get in a London theatre, but it was a great substitute and I’d love to go again sometime in the future.

I’ve finally figured out the local theatre circuit now, so should be planning a few more trips as the year progresses.

Two wheels best.

A new year brings new hopes, new challenges and for some reason a whole bunch of paperwork and admin.
This week it seems like my letterbox has been carpet bombed with flyers, letters, forms and just about every product under the sun.
I’m thinking of having my letter box Feng Shui’d to ward off evil Pizza delivery letters and Real Estate offerings for properties that I can neither afford nor desire.
Some quite pleasing letters that have arrived are my appointment letters for the Ministry Of Manpower (see previous posting for the MoM) so that I can apply for my Permanent Residency (or PR as it’s know). PR basically changes my employment status over from a temporary resident (i.e 2 years) to a visa that has a few more practical benefits and also opens the door to me perhaps buying a house and becoming more of an long term member of society. There are some disadvantages to this as well for some expats, but on the whole it’d be a good thing for me to have especially as I hope to stick around for a while which is kind of handy as my company has renewed my contract to stay for another year which is jolly fine with me. Like most forms in Singapore, it’s a doddle to fill in and hopefully in the coming months I’ll be getting a Welcome To the Club! letter back. I do go on about Singaporean efficiency a lot but when it’s good it’s very very good, and when it’s bad, it’s not actually all that bad at all. It’ll take a few more forms and a few more months to sort out but it’s a step in the right direction.

Being the new year and with a Christmas void of family and friends from home there was no Christmas tree, no baubles and certainly no Escape To Victory playing on ITV2. To make up for this I did what any self respecting guy would do and went out and decided to buy myself a big f*ck off present. This came in the shape of a 1996 Harley Davidson Fatboy Softail motorbike. Having being declined entry on to this island of my beloved Ducati 996 I’ve been enviously looking at bikes passing me since I arrived. This being Asia I did the only thing that you can do and bought an American bike. I’m told that more HD’s are sold in Asia than in the USA which given the number I’ve seen scooting about could be a very reliable statistic.
I’ve never been a HD fan, but my dream bike is stuck in a garage at home so anything else would be second best to that, apart from maybe a 1198 in matt black, but I’m hardly going to spank 70K on a bike that I can’t ride anywhere on without hitting the sea in 15 minutes. Singapore is only 70ks from the widest points so it’s not going to take long to get from the sea to the sea.
I’ve fancied the idea of doing a bit of road touring in Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia next year so when I saw this beauty up for sale, at a price that seemed ok, it was an offer I could not refuse.

After picking the bike up and realising it’s not the quietest ride in town I soon discovered that it’s also not the lightest nor has the best stopping distances. I’m used to riding Italian racers which you can stop with your little finger on a penny. This thing needs a hand like an Olympic lifter and the foot brake being pressed with some vigour to stop it’s hulking mass from becoming intimate with the vehicle in front. I’ve never ever used a foot brake to stop a bike before so as the first set of red lights approached my heart started to race a little as they got closer and closer as my little pinky feathered the three pound brake leaver. Only when firmly pressing a good portion of my size eleven on the foot long brake pedal did the beast come to a standstill. After a little wipe of the brow, we moved on having learnt my first lesson of American brakes.
I’m being a bit harsh here as my Ducati has six pot callipers on two twelve inch galvanised discs just on the front. That’s the kind of stopping power the space shuttle utilises when they realise a crucial bit has been left off on a trolley in the hanger and they decide to abort take off. The HD has a bar of soap and some sort of heavy anchor you throw off the back to slow you down string as far as I can see.
It really is a fun ride though and I can see the attraction with Hogs and why people rave about them. If you need to drive a sofa to work and back there really is no other choice. Apart from actually putting some wheels on a sofa and sticking some chrome bits on the side I suppose.

I’ve managed to get a few of the guys in the office geed up so we’re all off up to Central Malaysia in a few weeks to have a bit of a boys road trip which I’m looking forward to very much and I’m sure will give me some stories to wax lyrical anecdotally.

So from two wheels with an engine to two wheels without. This weekend I indulged in my other big passion which is cycling. I bought myself a Trek road bike a few months back with a view to using it to keep a bit fit by cycling to work every other day or so, but also to explore a bit of the island upon. I’ve always been more of a mountain kind of guy, but as most of the hills here resemble small mole hills there is not much choice in vertical.
I’m really enjoying the road riding so a few of the guys from work and I ventured off to Bintan in Indonesia for a days riding the pristine roads there. We set off at 5am to cycle to the ferry terminal in the east and took the 50 minute ferry over the waters to Indonesia.
We coined ourselves the affectionate and slightly deprecating name of Mamils. Middle Aged Men in Lycra to you and me.
I’d been to Bintan once before but only on a luxury spa weekend so was quite looking forward to seeing what the real place is like beyond the ringed fences of the spa compounds that scatter the place.
The riding and roads where epic. It’s the most pristine island of islands and is surprisingly bigger than Singapore by a fair bit - and the roads, hills and scenery is unparalleled. I’d ridden a bit in Borneo the year before and it was certainly on par with that, if not better for road riding.
We did a 90k loop of the north west part of the island which is used as a stage run for the Tour De Bintan cycle race held yearly in October. I’d not done it the year before as it’s a bit of a killer event, but it’d be something I’d be keen to do this year after seeing the layout.

The three of us set off on our pristine bikes with the combined street value of a Porsche 911 and swiftly started to sweat our own bodyweight as the first of many rolling hills and king of the mountain stages started to loom into sight around gorgeous traffic free bends.
After not riding a hill for over a year and after 90ks of ups and downs I can safely say I had nothing left in the tank at the end. So much so that when I came to stop outside the police station at the end of the ride I promptly got cramp in my dismounting cleat foot and landed in a heap with Trek’s finest on top off me with it’s wheels spinning.
The local constabulary thought this quite funny and gave me an inspiring round of applause whilst I tried to look a bit like I knew what I was doing. It’s a bit hard trying to look anything other than a total dick when you’re strapped to a bike by your feet whilst your head is in a ditch. After scrabbling out from under the bike and dusting off my lycra we got our bearings and headed off back to the ferry for some well earned Satay and copious Bintang beers.
All the way around the island we were greeted and waved at by the most friendly school kids and people you could hope to meet. Being smiled and at and cheered by a sea of gappy toothed kids out by the roadsides in the brightest of school uniforms made the day go by brilliantly and made us all feel very special. I can’t wait to go back and spend a few days exploring more of the routes and seeing more of the island. After doing it, you can really see why people do these amazing trips on bike over extraordinary distances in the most remote of places. There really is nothing quite like appreciating friendly inquisitiveness than getting amongst the people than on a bike and I’ve found.
Planning has commenced to go back with with a bigger group for the 156Km stage ride in late February with a well deserved stay in the spa in the evening to tend to our battered and bruised bodies.
I just need to take the padded shorts next time and get some more practice in as my backside feels like it’s been riding a razor blade today.

New Year message

As the new year beckons I look back fondly on the last few months since I arrived in Singapore and some of the great experiences I’ve had, some of the great people I’ve met and most of all some of the wonderful things I’ve learnt since I arrived with a couple suitcases full of stuff that I thought you could not buy here. Turns out the snowboards, sweaters and puffa jacket have not seen the light of day since I unpacked them and I’m already on my third pair of flip flops so it gives you an idea of the weather I'm used to. Going back to the snowdrifts of the UK does not seem like a good prospect. Even more interesting, I've had one day of being ill since I arrived and that I suspect was down to some rather dubious satay that I'd polished off one evening.

So as I look back, what have I garnered about this new land?

I’ve learnt that everything and anything can be bought in Singapore, apart from Muesli.
I’ve discovered that you can buy over 100 different types of Chilli Sauce at the most basic supermarket. The wall of chilli I’ve coined it.

I’ve figured out that you can reserve a table place from the massing hordes in a public place with nothing more than an elaborately folded business card.
I’ve worked out that the most valuable and often rarest item amongst friends is a serviette in a hawker centre.
I’ve come to the conclusion that Singaporean deserts whilst looking like they’ve come from Mars are actually quite nice once you brave them and give them a go.

I’ve just noticed that these all seem to be food related... Maybe I’m just a bit hungry.

It’s not just been all about food though. I’ve been enriched culturally and potentially emotionally since I’ve arrived and that was always the goal above any positive of warm weather, low taxes and a clean city which are the things you hear most of the people comment on when they describe why they like it here.


Some of the things I’d like to achieve this coming year include....

The damn four tones of Mandarin. Erggg – Arghh – Urghh – ZzzUgg is all it sounds like to me. Mandarin does actually make a little bit of sense when you deconstruct it but the tones – they’ve got me stumped.

Convert ten people to give up eating Shark Fin. For every one I convert the ripple effect will continue. I’ve managed it with 2 people so far with not so much effort, so it can be done. Granted, they’ve now switched to Tiger penis so I might need to perfect my cross over technique but it’s the thought that counts.

Learn some Asian cooking – I do miss cooking and cooking for 1 is nowhere near as much fun as for a bunch of folks. So, I’d like to go and learn to make a few dishes and make use of some of the great local produce out here . Starting off with figuring out the local wet market.... I need to find some unwitting test subjects to try out experiments on and now I’ve finally got a dining table it’s something I’d like to try out.

More travel. It’s hard to know where to start with the travel options ahead this year. China, Japan and some road trips on my new steed around Malaysia and Indonesia are top of the list and a couple more diving trips that I’ve got my eye on in Sipadan, Sulawesi and a a few of the more eastern Indonesian islands. Who knows what opportunity will arise with work as well. My trip to India this year was very interesting and somewhat humbling and was a place I’d love to go back and be able to explore some more.

So as the year closes to an end I’m quite excited about the year ahead and what may, or may not be. Even better is that I can say this all again in February as it’s Chinese New Year then!

Happy new year to everyone and hopefully I’ll see some of you this way in the coming year.

I’ll keep you posted on the continual search for muesli and the progress of my Ergggs and Arghhs.

In the meantime as I stock the fridge full of Tiger for the friends and festivities that tomorrow brings I bid you Xīn Nián Kuài Lè!

Christmas in the Philippines

Christmas day this year was a little bit different than any I’ve spent before. Not being able to go back to the UK for the seasonal break as had most people I decided that a few days diving somewhere exotic would be a good idea. So after a little bit of planning myself and three other dive buddies set course to Puerto Galera in the Philippines to spend a few days either side of Christmas day doing a bit of lounging around with the occasional diving thrown in.
PG is a quaint little place in the province of Oriental Mindoro (which is a very cool sounding name) which is about 100ks drive south of Manila. Having never been to the Philippines before and facing the prospect of having my turkey on the beach I was quite looking forward to this mini excursion.
Once you reach the coastal town of Batangas, a jump on a little bum boat across the Manila Channel for an hour’s sail and you’re plonked down on the sandy beach of Sabang which is the main heart of the bay where most of the cafes and bistros (spelt Bistrot oddly) are perched.
It’s a sleepy enough little place and I’d expected it to be rammed at peak season but mostly down to the credit crunch, snowfalls in Europe and other unknown factors the place was oddly quiet. I’ve no problem with this at all and it made the place feel all the more quaint without hoards of European tourists clogging the place up. The Philippines is a great location to spend the festive period as the majority of Filipinos are Christian so Christmas (or Cleese-maaass!! – as I now find myself pronouncing it ) and the shenanigans that go with it are celebrated in gusto.
The minute we arrived in Batangas, a flurry of bargaining, payment of taxes, bribes and backhanders commenced at a rate that I’ve never seen before in all of my travels. From unloading of my dive gear from the taxi in the ferry terminal car park to setting sail on the bum boat we must have paid 5 different taxes and paid off 3 or more people looking for a quick peso or two. It’s a bit daunting at first to have such a full on frontal of people looking to make a quick buck off you, but once you’ve figured out that it’s done in a friendly and non menacing way, you quickly get into the spirit of it all and go with the flow. Ian, my half Chinese mate had a field day bargaining and negotiating everything from his bags being carried to the environmental tax and even the price of a cup of coffee. I just sat back and watched and took it all in. My top tip for anyone doing this is to carry a wad of low denomination peso notes around and give them out like they are going out of print.
The amount that Filipinos earn and the poverty level is strikingly low so I wasn’t going to begrudge giving a few of my dollars away to people who needed them a lot more than I did. It’s hard not to give a few pesos to a wide toothy grin smiling back at you in people that just want a few pesos for helping you out in any way that they can. There is not a lot of paid work to be had so anything that can lend itself to a bit of income is fair game.

After a plane, car and ferry ride we arrived in Sabang and decamped our stuff, wacked on the dive gear and promptly set about exploring some of the local reefs and dive sites that were on offer. The diving in PG is scattered around the many coves and pocket beaches which make up the coastline. It’s mostly accessible by small boat as the rugged coastline is fragmented with big rocky outcrops which are simply stunning to look at.
Behind and right up to the white beaches the thick jungle encroaches all the way back up to the mountainous ranges of Mindoro. It would have been great to do some exploring of this and do some trekking of the interior, but that would have to wait for another time. PG being one of the top diving destinations in the Philippines which is what we were here to do.
The first couple of dives where a little uneventful, but by day two we were in the thick of some good diving on the some of the more advanced sites. PG really does have a great variety and health of corals which is easily on par to that of Komodo which I was at a few months before. The visibility is not as great but it’s pretty acceptable and coupled with some great drift dives in a some quite strong current made for a great couple of dives on Canyons and Fish Bowl.
I had to laugh at the Fish Bowl name. I must have dived in over 20 places with dive sites of the same name. I’m going to start a campaign for more creative dive site naming. Surely there has to be a better and more interesting method than taking a fish or animal name and appending it with a topographical noun. Shark Reef, Coral Garden and Crystal Point are getting a bit repetitive to see on dive maps. I’ve decided that I’m only going to dive sites that have more interesting names next year, that or just rename them myself as something more descriptively accurate. Sounds good in principle but I’m sure not many people will want to go diving with me to “Swampy quagmire” or “Nowt at all to see bleached mound”
If you do like drift diving though, some of the sites here are pretty good for that and I can see myself going back at some point to do some more of the more technical 60-70mtr channels and canyons that are within easy reach of the main beach.
As a place to go out PG is quite a lot of fun as well. The beaches in Sabang are not much to write about as the influx of cafes and dive shops has spoilt the idyllic feel of the main bay coupled with quite a large selection of girly bars to frequent in the evening which gives it a more of a Patong feel than Mediterranean infused hideaway. What it lacks for in being rough around the edges it more than makes up for in exuberance. You can easily spot the folks that have arrived more for the pleasure of the bar girls than the diving but hey, this is Asia after all and I’m no prude. The beaches further along the coast which are pleasant boat ride away are simply stunning. If ever you wanted to see a place that has been hardly touched by man and to have your own beach for the afternoon with a glass of Chablis or two, then this is the place. Get dropped off, crack open the vino, swim around on your own beach and get picked up later by your own little boat.

But this still being Christmas eve we were duly required to have our Christmas lunch or something as close to it as we could find. In the end, it was not difficult to find a decent lunch as most of the hotels had laid on buffet style dinners with salmon, turkey, lamb and all the trimmings of cranberry jam and accoutrements that one could wish for. It really was pretty good although sadly no Christmas pudding and a tawny port to wash it down afterwards.
As far as Christmas dinner was concerned, it was my first in Asia, my first by the beach and my first away from friends, family and loved ones. It was really enjoyable though and as I looked out over sea watching the colourful hanging lanterns swinging in the sea breeze I gave a little toast to those far away in distance, but not very far away in thoughts.

In the evening I made my way into the locals end of the bay and got talking to a bunch of young local guys and some girls who were back from overseas visiting their families for the celebratory period. In the Philippines, it’s a big thing to come back and see your family and spend time together at this time of year as they are very family orientated.
After a few drinks of some of the local fire-water which consisted of pure gin and lime juice fused together in some magical swirling concoction followed by copious amounts of Red Horse, the local 7% beer, we were all hugging and singing Filipino party songs like I was one of the family, albeit a slightly taller and more pale version.
Speaking of beer, it took me a few days to work out this little peculiarity of napkins being wrapped around the heads of the beers. At first, I’d thought it was some polite hygiene thing or to keep the condensation at bay like in humid Singapore, were your beer will be sat in a pool of water within seconds of leaving the fridge. After watching a few locals wipe the rim upon opening the bottle my curiosity got the better of me and I gave in and asked. It was explained to me that the bottle tops of San Miguel rust for some reason and occasionally make the neck go a rusty colour, which is to be wiped off. So, every single bottle of San Miguel comes with a little hat napkin to wipe it, rusty or not. My inquisitive mind was satisfied at last.

As we all sat out by the family house by the bay the local band in the bar next door were belting out local renditions of Let it Snow when clearly it could be seen that it was anything but snowing and no amount of letting would be likely to change that meteorological forecast. As we all danced around I was made to feel at home in a way that you’d never see anywhere else in the world. Allowing a complete stranger into your home, into your lives and at the most important family time of the year and making them feel like part of the furniture was something that I’ll remember for a long time. The world really does have some good people in it.

After being invited into their home in the early hours for yet more traditional local food (the goat curry looked a bit odd but was amazing) we had some more drinks and I got to ask lots of questions about the Filipino way of life and I was probed, climbed on and giggled at by the small children about what it was like in England at Christmas time.
No TV or Playstation to be seen, no family bickering, no expensive gifts being exchanged but a simple and enjoyable get together with anyone who was sober enough to be able to still speak coherently. Man, I can tell you Filipino know how to drink!
In the early hours as I walked back to the hotel along the beach I sat down on the harbour steps and looked out to the mainland wondering what was going to be in store for the year ahead. Certainly some new adventures, certainly some new friends to be made. As the firecrackers and fireworks subsided I picked myself up and started the short walk home just to be greeted by a grin of one of the young kids I’d been chatting to. “You are coming for New Years Andy?” was the question. “You should really see us party then!!” he smirked.
I smiled to him and replied maybe. For sure, it’ll be a place I do end up going back to one day. I just need to let my liver relax a little before then.

I do in Bali

This weekend, I was back to Bali for a friend’s wedding that I’d kindly been invited to. It was quite exciting as not only was this the first wedding I’d been to this year but it was also my first Singaporean wedding too, albeit it being in Bali of course.
The wedding was in the north of Bali in Tulamben which is a pretty little village in the northeast of Bali, about two and a bit hour’s drive in a rickety little minibus. Previously I’ve been a bit hard on Bali but that’s more to do with the south as the north and anywhere other than Kuta is actually quite pretty. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly why I like Indonesia so much but it’s a place I find myself enjoying whenever I end up there. I’m certainly not enjoying the annoying $25US visa that you need to buy every time you decide to enter and then the $10US tax you have to pay to leave so it’s time to investigate getting a longer term visa. That and another passport as I’m down to the last few pages and it’s starting to get funny looks from the immigration folks as I pass over my 10 year old battered and frayed paperwork over the counter.

I was in Bali for a few days and being a bit of a diving connection to the group, it was customary to get a couple of dives in whilst there. Tulamben has three or so shore based dives which are actually really nice. The water was a tepid 30 degrees and with pretty good visibility and no current at all. I even managed to see a few new things that I’ve never seen before which was cool (Ribbon Eel for one and a Leaf fish!).

The main highlight for the diving is the Liberty wreck. This is a huge WWII ship which was torpedoed by the Japanese, although apparently it was only sunk off Bali by an erupting volcano in 1963. Diving it is pretty easy for all levels and I was lucky enough to dive it pretty much alone one morning when I got up before the others and had it to myself.
It’s about 120mtrs in length and has some good swim throughs and for a shore based wreck the flora and fauna is very impressive. A dream to teach on I’m sure.

After a day’s diving and a fun evening of drinking far too much of the local firewater (Arak – a fermented coconut number) with some Instructor mates, it was time for the wedding the next day. Luckily, the weather held out after the torrential downpours which we had the day before and a lovely ceremony was had. It was a simple enough ceremony with about 40 guests right on the beachfront.
Being a bunch of divers, we had changed the “Arch of Sabres” to an “Arch of Fins” as the happy couple passed through a plethora of brightly coloured raised ScubaPro and Mares fins.

It was quite funny to watch and will probably the only time I ever see that again. The ceremony was on a little bit of beach next to the dive school and had been decked out in pretty ribbons, balloons and traditional Indonesian ceremonial bits and bobs (not a very technical description I know)


After the ceremony the drink flowed and everyone ended up getting thrown into the pool, which was quite refreshing as it was getting pretty sticky in the afternoon.

The traditional tossing of the bouquet was performed but with a slight twist in throwing it to a bunch of burly 6ft blokes splashing around in the pool who were still wearing the somewhat de rigueur wedding uniform of khaki beach shorts and white linen shirts.
Annoyingly, I was out jumped by a rather large ex second row rugby player who caught the bouquet, much to the delight of his hysterically giggling Malay girlfriend. It was quite funny to watch (the catch not the Malay girlfriend) and once the frothing waters had subsided the victoriously caught bunch of slightly soggy and battered flowers were held aloft for all to applaud. Well done Neil!

In the evening we were treated to some traditional Indonesian dancing which was really fun to watch. Not being the most appreciative of the communicative medium of dance I could not really understand the full sequence of what was being conveyed, but it was very interesting nonetheless.
I do now understand where the robot dance gets its origins from though.

What was great over the few days that I was there was that I met a load more great people especially a few more instructors which was fun in so much as to swap travel stories and tales with. All in all, a very relaxing and fun weekend. I forgot how much fun weddings can be, which is handy as I’ve two coming up back in England next year.
Which reminds me – time to start writing the Best Man speeches.

Reflections...

It’s been nearly six months since I started out on this journey and although it only seems like two minutes since I was packing up my London life and coming out here to make a new start, I guess I’ve discovered a lot but in some ways I’ve only just scratched the surface. Some things are easy, some things are hard and there is nothing more satisfying than writing a list about what is floating my boat and what is not.

Floating the boat

Travel – Singapore is one massive bus stop to the world, either by air or by boat. Nearly everything coming from West to East or vice versa comes in close proximity if not actually even stopping here. Taking a cursory look out of the window down to the beach (ok – I exaggerate about the quality of my view) it’s one long cavalcade of container ships, freight and tankers ploughing up and down the Straights on to destinations further and more unpronounceable than I know. The same goes for me. It’s possible to be in a different country every weekend for a year in less than 4 hours on a plane for a few hundred dollars and not even hit the same place twice. I’m whittling them down a bit but even I know it’ll be a list of places that would take a lifetime to see and I’ll be lucky if I even do half of them.

Food – Trying desperately not to put on the famous Singapore Stone is a tricky job. One of the two national sports here is eating and it’s possible to eat out on hardly any money at all and satisfy one’s palate on everything and anything from any corner of the globe and some odder places in between.
As long as you like it with chilli sauce you’re sorted. Screwed if you don’t. Even McDonald's have a special chilli sauce pot that I’ve only ever seen served here.

Cheap beer – Singapore is actually an expensive city to go drinking in if you don’t watch what you are doing. It’s quite easy to be racking up S$16 beers if you don’t pay attention, but in the same sentence, if you shop around when plying the local barmen for his trade, you can easily be knocking back S$5 beers a few feet in the opposite direction. Happy hours are the rule here and hawker stalls peddle the amber nectar at prices that can hardly be beat as long as you don’t mind the beer of choice here, Tiger.

The beautiful people – Ok, Asian women are very hot I’ll make no bones about it. Even still, Singapore does seem to attract a rather above average set of people, both male and female I note. I’m not counting myself in any of this statement but the journey to work is all the more easy on the eye than anywhere else in the world I’ve been lucky to work. Maybe it’s something in the water.

Exploring – Maybe it’s living in a new city after living in the old one for so long, but the weekends and holidays seem all the more exciting when there are new places to explore, new people to meet and new experiences to try out.
Getting up early on the weekend is all the more easy knowing that there is a whole new exotic world outside the door waiting for you.

Cycling to work by the beach – I’ve been a keen cyclist for quite a few years now and NOTHING beats cycling to work along the beach with the morning sun shining on the sand and the waves coming rippling in. Fair enough, I’m painting a picture of absolute paradise but whilst the sand is imported from Indonesia and the waves are laced with marine diesel, it’s still quite exhilarating to be able to wrap the start and end of the work day with a pootle down the promenade.
Changi may not be the most rip roaring of places to have an office on the island, but for the days that I am there it’s actually a pleasure to go to work that way.

Bonkers food names – Kang Kong, Kai Lan – the list goes on of foods that look familiar but of which I’ve no idea of what they actually are. It’s an education just trying to do the local shopping and lots of fun deciphering that some exotic word that you can’t pronounce just means garden peas.
Buying fish from the wet market is even more of a fun activity. All manner of fish types are on offer of varieties that I’ve never been able to buy before. I think I might sign up for a local cooking course to try and not only understand what I’m actually buying, but also to find out what on earth I'm to do with it as well.


Not floating the boat.

The lack of seasons – Singapore has two seasons. A hot one and and a really hot one. You never even know which one it’s going to be on any given day as well I’ve found. I’m not complaining at all and more than anything I’m not going to be a moaning Brit who bangs on about the weather all the time. What I do miss is the seasons and especially the changing of seasons. No more crisp crunchy frost on the way to work. No more kicking brown leaves down the pavement. No more seeing a cool mist on the Surrey downs whilst walking the dog before breakfast. Ok, I never lived in Surrey, and I don’t even have a dog, but it’s the thought that counts.
It's now Christmas here and seeing Orchard Road lit up in all it's glory, which is quite impressive actually is rather nice but it's not the same without roasted chestnuts, a cold crisp breeze and the excuse to warm yourself up with lashings of warm mulled wine as you traipse along.

Ants in my condo – I have very mild OCD. I like things to be in order. Ants do not have OCD. Ants like chaos, apart from that thing they do when they go in a nice neat line (which is quite nice to watch).

I don’t like ants. I have lots of ants in my condo. Therefore, it’s very annoying.

I don’t know if it’s just me but the general fumigation exercises I see every few weeks around the place does make me think that it’s more of a common thing than my taste in home furnishings being particularly desirable to the local ant population and making them want to move in with me.

Building noise - Singapore in places is one massive building site. Everywhere you look there are condos, malls, MRT stations and office buildings being built. Either nothing has been built in the last ten years and someone has been given the mandate of “Hey – We need to build a load of shit!” or there is a boom going on that I don’t know about. It’s a rush job though as building starts from 8am in the morning till 8pm in the evening and even over the weekends now outside my condo on the East Coast. The sound of the jack hammer and pile driving was not the dulcet tones I’d set myself to hearing on a Sunday morning over my breakfast noodles.

Having to change the bed sheets every week – Just to set this straight before the giggling at the back starts – this is nothing to do with my prowess but more that I sleep without the AC on when I can which can make it bloody hot and sweaty at night. This means that the sheets only last a week before they’re whisked off to be changed for another set. My two cats will think it’s an amusement park for them alone as they go mental whenever I change the sheets and they are around. Obviously the answer is just to sleep with the AC on, but maybe I’m just getting a bit green in my old age, or maybe I’m just a bit tight when it comes to paying bills.

Never being able to get a cab after 10pm on a Sunday, anywhere – For some reason all the cabs in Singapore enter the twilight zone at 10pm on Sunday. Now, there is obviously something going on at this time which likens the chance of hailing a cab to the same odds as the winning the lottery, twice. Where do they all go? Where tell me? If it starts to rain at this time, give up as all the taxis are made out of something that makes them dissolve in rain water and you’ve no chance at all of seeing one.

Being able to share it with someone – this is pretty self explanatory but half the fun of doing the kind of stuff I’m getting up to is precisely what it says. Half the fun. I’m a double the fun twice the laugh kind of person so it’d be all the more nicer to have a partner in crime to do some of the things I’m doing with. Besides it’d make the hotel bills half the price.

Singapore organisation – sometimes it’s good when things don’t work. Don’t pay your Electricity bill on time – they cut you off exactly at 9am the day after. Want to park your car overnight in the visitors spot and don’t have the green sticker but have the red one, forget it. Rules are rules I agree, but there is absolutely no chance of flexibility, bending, letting go or even trying to argue about anything as it simply won’t wash. “Cannot” is the answer if you try, which is a pretty infuriating word I can tell you. I’ll get on to the joys of Singlish another time when I’ve managed to get to 10 or more words that I can make out.

It’s not much of a list and the negatives are hardly very important. All in all, it’s hard not to love Singapore and coming here has been a real highlight of my life so far. Let's hope they let me stay a bit longer!
If the worst I can complain about is the amount of ants I have wandering around the place, whilst shirking away from the wider topical points such as discussions on oppression of freedom from a single party government for the people, then things aren't too bad I suppose.

Driving

As a newbie here in Singapore, I’m entitled to drive on my international license for the first 12 months without having to worry about anything. Once I get past 12 months though, I need to take the Singapore Basic Driving Theory test. Why, I don’t really know. They drive on the same side as the UK, all the signs are in English, even the road signs look the same.
The only reason I can make out is that I probably drive quite sensibly and I have to take a test in how to drive like a twat.

Here is some evidence to go with this,

Example 1.
Whilst approaching an open junction with no clear right of way, what is the best course of action when two cars from opposite sides arrive at the same time?

Answer in England - Slow down to a safe speed, flash ones headlights whilst raising eyebrows northerly in a manner to suggest, after you dear Sir, thus allowing the opposing vehicle to navigate the crossing in a safe and thoroughly jolly encounter.

In Singapore – Drop your head down, make no eye contact at all with the opposing enemy and accelerate wildly until you either make it first or crash and explode in a fireball of death.

Example 2.
In a three lane highway, which is the correct procedure for overtaking slow moving traffic?

Answer in England – Using ones mirrors (all three of them), indicate well in advance and manoeuvre in a controlled and somewhat graceful manner into the lane to the right hand side of said slow moving vehicle. Politely wave in a nonchalant manner to the passing vehicle with a slight waft of the relaxed and loose wrist whilst smiling in appreciation throughout the exercise.

In Singapore – Never show weakness or anticipation by giving the game away by signalling, just jam your foot down on the gas and use any means necessary to undertake or overtake the infidel in front of you. Once past, rapidly jam on the brakes before slamming into the back of the vehicle you could not see as you were on your mobile phone therefore crashing and exploding in a fireball of death.

Now I’m not saying everyone drives like a complete cock in Singapore but there are some seriously bad examples out there. Maybe I’ll turn into one if I actually pass my test, who knows. It’s been over fifteen years since I learned to drive a car and over ten years since I learned to ride a superbike. To get me through the mish-mash of different signs here I’ve bought the theory book, which has the majority of signs and sample questions that you’d expect plus a couple of ones that you’d not expect on the mean streets of London. It’s got nothing like the “Give way to Elephants” or “Caution! – Monkeys” signs I saw in Africa, but there are a couple of odd ones for sure.

My test is on the 21st Jan so I’ll swot up a little on stopping distances, aggressive taxi evasion techniques and other salient pieces of information that might be in the book beforehand.

As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them

Musings from Indonesia

After a few busy weeks at work I was all ready for a vacation and some trip I had lined up! I’d been planning a bit of a dive/bum around type trip for a few weeks and finally putting a trip together to Indonesia to visit Bali, the Gili Islands and finally some of the lower parts of Indonesia, Flores to be exact which is where Komodo and the famous Komodo dragons are to be found.
My good mate Steph happened to be in town at the same time with work by chance so I had my dive buddy to drag along and get reckless with underwater.
First point of call was Bali for no other reason than it’s the main small island hub in Indonesia, at least from a flight perspective. I’d no real affinity or desire to visit Bali and to be honest it’s not really my kind of place, at least the parts I visited anyway. I know there are probably some amazing parts to Bali, and I know I travelled to the bits that are advertised as bawdy, brash and over commercialised. At least the guide book was accurate.

Kuta is like the Indonesian version of Blackpool/Brighton/Margate for the visiting Aussies. Sadly, it was not my cup of tea, but I knew what I was in for prior to arriving so it was not too disappointing. I’ve already promised myself that next time I’m passing through that I’ll visit the more remote areas to get a better balance of it and not think that the entire place is covered in pasty looking half cut fat Aussies. I think being in a predominantly Eastern culture the last few months may have made me more susceptible to being slightly irked by the beer chanting rugby loving whose got the most tattoos brigade. God help me if I ever go back to London!

After an evening in Bali it was a super early flight over to the Gili Islands. Gili Trawangan to be exact. The Gili islands are just off Lombok and consists of three small islands with no cars or motorised transport other than the occasional horse and cart that lug you from the ferry terminal, which is more like a few planks of wood on a bit of sand up to the hotel/guest house/boardings of choice you have booked. The little horse and carts are quite cute and the small ponies seem to have an enjoyable time of trotting up and down the seafront with the occasional sugar cube treat from passing tourists to keep them happy.

Gili T is quite small as an island and you could ride around it on bikes in about an hour or so. On arrival, the place seemed quite similar to a few other dive location places I’ve got to over the last few years, such as Phi Phi (pre Tsunami in 2000) and most obviously Dahab in Egypt.
The main difference in this trip was that I was 10 years older than other previous trips like this so lodging with the hippy, dreadlocked crusties in their twenties was not going to be that appealing as it once was.
So doing the only thing I could think of when presented with a beach full of crusties, I swiftly checked myself into the nearest fully equipped private infinity pool luxury chalet for 5 that I could find.

I was not disappointed.

I’ve stayed in some plush places in my time, but this was certainly in the top 5.
Private plunge pool that can take a 6ft 4 guy dive bombing into it – check
Fully equipped fridge full of beer, spirits and all you can drink booze – check
Fully appointed living rooms with lounging sofas and open walled rooms onto the pool – check
Horse and cart to take you wherever you wish whenever the need calls – check

All in all, it was one of the best holiday accommodation finds I’ve ever had, and for a price at far far less than I imagined. Good start then.
Even better was that the chalet was a little off the beaten track and quite close to a secluded beach on the opposite side of the island that I imagine a lot of the other inhabitants would never venture too. This made sunsets all the more spectacular whilst supping upon a nice cold Bintang on your own private beach. As Mastercard put it, the price for no crusties, priceless.

Gili was to be home for the next 3 days or so whilst I hatched a plan to venture further East through the Nusa Tenagarra . The Nusa region itself is absolutely massive and is made up of various isles forming a rather large labyrinth of islands, inlets, idyllic locations and places to lose yourself in.
As ever, some diving had to be done in Gili before the real stuff later on. Diving in Gili is pretty good but nothing to get too crazy about. The highlight for me though was a 45mtr Japanese wreck between the main islands. Whilst nothing on the scale of the Thistlegorm or other big wrecks that there are, it was very impressive if not for the fact that the coral build up and aquatic life surrounding it was quite spectacular. Sunk in WW2, it’s a small sized patrol boat sitting perfectly upright in a reasonably strong current. Being one of the harder dives to do in the area (although its pretty easy to be fair) it was only me and two other Instructors doing it which made it all the more better as we could relax and do our own thing.

As now seems customary on holiday nowadays or maybe it’s just that I’m holidaying in Asia, I found myself leaning towards going for a massage whilst here. Actually, it was Steph dragging me along to the hotel spa as she was after a bit of a scrub and wash.
When we arrived at the spa, the lovely girl behind the desk answered that they had space for two people having a Balinese massage but one of them would be by a man and would we mind. Steph being the honourable female instantaneously laid claim to the 4ft something delicate waif like Balinese girl whilst I was saddled with the male masseuse.
I have never had a male massage before and after a minute or so of deliberation I decided that in the interests of equality and balance that I was quite ok with the matter. The more I thought about it, the more the idea of having someone with a bit more butch about them to kneed my weary limbs became appealing.
So in I walk and was presented by a slightly more miniature but equally alarming version of Johnah Lomu. To say that this guy had hands that looked like they had shaped planets would be something of an understatement. His fingers were each about the size of a Walls sausage and his thumbs had been flattened and softened into what I can only describe as gigantic ladle shaped implements.
Balinese aromatherapy massage is supposed to be quite deep on the muscles and is described as invigorating, stress relieving and therapeutic. I can safely say that I was none of those things upon the sight of “Edward-going-to-wring-you-dry-bitch-Hands”.

As we started off with some gentle stokes all was good, although as we progressed on to the more stronger parts I did end up thinking that if he squeezed me any harder that I’d burst like a tube of toothpaste and all my innards would shoot out of one end or the other. To say that I could feel the vital bits inside of my body bobbling along on the underside of my ribs like a human xylophone would be a good example of just how tough this guy was. Being a typical guy, when he asked me in the most effeminate Mike Tyson of lilts of “Are you ok?” I could only just suck in enough enough air into my squished lungs and squeeze out a whimpering “Yes, thaaaaaatts..... fiiiiiiine” that seemed to fluctuate wildly between the higher octaves. Julie Andrews would have been proud.

After about an hour of this my time was up and my body was done. During the last few minutes I think I was having some kind of outer body experience as I was thinking some very odd thoughts. Granted, my very essence of man and inner soul had probably been squeezed out of my now limp body and was swishing around somewhere on the floor amongst the flower petals, but after a bit of reflection the last time I’d felt like this was probably as a small boy being towel dried by my Dad after my Sunday evening bath just after the end of Songs of Praise. It’s odd how the senses can bring back the most distant of long and forgotten memories.

Having slowly come out of my regressed state I finally scooped up my innards and lolled my way down to the beach in a jelly like state for a few well earned cocktails.
The great thing about Bali is that you can allow yourself to drink all manner of naff cocktails served in glasses made out of opened up coconuts and not feel like a complete tit. I can’t remember the last time I drank a cocktail out of a cup shaped like a monkeys head, but after a few I was past caring and coupled with my softy skinned and supple exterior my brain was reaching a suitably addled level as well.

The next day I felt like I’d been hit full on by a train but was able to stretch to places that a Russian gymnast would be proud of.
I’d have no qualms about having a guy massage me again having done it. In fact I can highly recommend it, especially if you’ve got a few clicks or knots that really need shifting. Just don’t be afraid to say when it’s just a little bit too hard and you’ll be right as rain or just a little bit taller than when you first went in.

After a few days of beach bliss it was time to get back on the speed boat and whisk back to Bali to get the puddle jumper of a plane to Flores. Flores is one of the more westerly parts of the southern Indonesian Islands and has been recommended to me many times as one of the best dive locations around, especially for seeing Mantas, something which have eluded me for most of my diving career. The flight is a quick forty minutes and landing in Labuan Bajo is quite a neat experience. Bajo is a little ramshackle fishing port with nothing much at all to it other than a few dilapidated fishing boats and a scattering of little shops selling all manner of tat to the visiting tourists who use it as a base for visiting Komodo and the surrounding islands. I’d actually done a bit of homework for once and had plumped for the idea of going on a three day liveaboard at sea with one of the local dive dudes. The beauty and advantages about doing liveaboards rather than shore based diving are many and as I wanted to do as much of this away from the crowds this looked like the best option available.
I chanced upon local dive dude Condo (pronounced Jondo in these parts) who was an ex Komodo National Park Ranger and a bit of a dive god in these parts. Having done over 10,000 dives and pretty much discovered the entire region over the last 20 years and named most of the dive sites (still a dream of mine to do) I decided that this was the fella to show me around. Condos boat he explained was not much, but it was cheap, friendly and we’d be the only two on the dive sites so would have pretty much the entire National Park to ourselves. I signed up quickly, agreed a price and we were off down to the jetty the next day as quick as a flash.
Having my own boat, my own dive sites and my own personal dive god was not something I was going to dally over.
His boat I can only describe as rustic. No radio, no O2, no radar - which are all pretty much common place on most dive boats. It did have a resident ants nest though which is a first for me and I’ve been on a lot of boats! As far as a dive boats go it had all the required prerequisites of being able to chug around the Flores seas and plonk us down right on to the pristine reefs and channels that I’d come so far to see. The best way to describe the boat is that it looked not to dissimilar to the wooden boat in Jaws just after the shark had taken the back half of it off in one giant bite. It was certainly as flimsy as that one and had more bits of sea beaten and frayed rope holding it together than any boat I’ve seen or sailed on before.

My personal favourite though was a rolled up sock stuffed into the side of the boat which I can only presume was shoring up some sort of leak just above the waterline. It took all of my personal might not to pull it out and see what would happen. Now, don’t get me wrong, the boat was more than worthy for sailing in and for a couple of people on a three day trip around the islands it fit the bill perfectly. I instantly took a likening to Condo, which was not so hard in that his easygoing nature and absolute and totally overwhelming knowledge of the local area was second to none. He was as curious about me as I was about him so we had many a good story to tell in-between dives gassing about our lives while we ourselves off–gassed in the sun lounging on the jib of the boat.
It’s pretty rare that you meet someone who is an absolute master in his field but Condo really did bowl me over from the minute we got on the boat. I knew I was in secret awe of the guy and in great company and I was going to try and soak up as much of it as possible. Fishing together off the back of the boat to catch our supper was something that I’ll remember for a long time, although if I eat anymore perfectly cooked fresh fish in the next month I’ll end up looking like one.

The big hope for me on this trip was to dive quite closely with the large Manta rays which were apparently in abundance in these parts. When I asked if it would be possible to see them on the trip, Condo coolly turned back to me and with a slight smile asked me “What time I’d like to see them?”. At this point I got a little bit overexcited and did a bit of a schoolboy giggle which I’m not entirely sure I got away with made me look cool as you like.

The diving in Komodo I can safely attest to is some of the finest in the world. I’ve dived in a lot of locations all over the world and have never really been able to answer the age old question that Instructors get asked a lot which is “Where is the best place you’ve dived?”. I’ve never been able to answer that properly before because nearly everywhere in the world has something unique to that place which will make that one and every other one like it special in some kind of way. I do of course count out Wraysbury lake which will always be a complete cesspool and should be filled in with concrete at the nearest opportunity, but that’s a different story altogether.

After just a couple of dives with Condo and before we’d actually even seen a Manta I already made my mind up that this place was one of the best if not the best location I’d ever been to. The diving is truly out of this world. The abundance, magnitude and diversity of aquatic life on a single dive is something that I had never experienced before in many many hundreds of dives. The reefs and corals themselves look like they’ve been down to the gym, got on the Arnie bulk fast programme and pumped themselves full of steroids as if to be in some body building contest just for fauna. They are in such fantastical shape and are in pristine show condition.
After my second dive here whilst climbing precariously back up the wooden ladder on the back of the boat in case it might come away at any given moment and launch me spectacularly back into the sea I found myself being a little bit awestruck.
I can't actually remember the last time this happened to me and we had not even seen the big stuff yet.

That my friend was going to be in the afternoon.

The Komodo diving is not for everyone to be honest although Condo, like any good Instructor, would never take you anywhere that was not possible for you to go. Being quite experienced, we decided to go and do a dive that tourists don’t normally get to go on and to say the least, I’d call it slightly hairy.

It was truly epic. We dived a 45mtr dive on a two point current meet. That’s where two strong currents meet together at the edge of a reef system and bring in all manner of activity. Current diving can be quite taxing, especially if you just want to stay in one place and watch the world pass you by without having to fight against the oncoming current. Not that you can fight it, as the sea is all big and powerful, and simply put, we are not.
I’ve dived some great drift dives over the years but nothing prepared me for this. As we dropped down to about 40mtrs we roped ourselves on to some reef hooks and latched ourselves on to the corner of the reef and held on for dear mercy. Two currents were meeting together about 20mtrs in front of the point and being aimed straight back at us over a coral pinnacle maybe 6ft tall in front of us which I was now attached firmly to. This allowed us to pop our heads up over the coral head and look down the edge of the reef without being swept away in the current. I’ve never experienced anything like it and to be hit full face on with a 4 knot head current was something that I won’t forget in a hurry. The effect of this was mesmerising. As we hung there cowering behind the pinnacle holding on for dear life, ten or so reef sharks hung about three feet away from me circling the pinnacle picking off lunchtime fish as they pleased. Just as I gawped at this a pair of dolphins clicked past giving us the eye as they stopped, taking a cursory glance towards us and deciding that we must be a bit mental to be sat hanging around there and sped off into the open sea.

We lasted about 40 minutes there which any seasoned diver will know puts you way into decompression so it was time to leave. My tank was precariously low by now and ideas like drop tanks and decompression stages gasses had been thrown out with the ships radio, radar and other useless diving paraphernalia back on the shore.
After we unhooked ourselves from the coral we had to throw ourselves into the maelstrom of the two currents and wait to get spat out the far end so that we could be picked up by the tender. This bit was a little bit scary but Condo had told me what to expect so I was pretty comfortable with it.
Condo’s dive briefing was something like this.

“OK - Andeee ....This is the sea....We jump in..... We see sharks...We get thrown around a little.... We get out.”

Personally, I see nothing more that needs adding to a dive briefing like that, but even I was feeling that the descriptive parts of “You’ll get thrown around a little” to be somewhat lacking in creative narrative.
The actual effect was like being put on a fast spin cycle and was one of the few times where I was totally out of control and at the mercy of the sea. We were thrown from 10mtrs to 5mtrs back to 10mtr about three or four times and then finally spat out on to a flat coral ledge at 5mtrs which is where it all calmed down and I could try and figure out what had just happened. It was a bit hairy like I said, but Condo was smirking away at me from behind a battered regulator so I tried to not look too mangled up and gained a little bit of composure whilst attempting to settle into my 20 minute decompression stop that I’d managed to accumulate whilst doing the impression of a solitary old sock in a extended rinse cycle.
It’s rare that I bleed a tank totally dry before finishing a dive, but after this one I was taking no chances and left the water only when a turtle sat next to me decided that I’d been sitting still there for so long that I was either worth some turtle based rumpy pumpy with or having a little nibble upon my rather edible looking fins.
After a long 1hr 10 mins which is pretty good for a 45mtr dive on a single tank it was time to dry off and reflect on the surface.

Reef hooks are pretty much an essential piece of kit here as you will get swished around quite a lot in the rapidly changing currents. If you want the chance to see something without being thrown past it you need to know how to use one properly or you’re either going to get lacerated on the protruding coral or see absolutely nothing as you are tossed around like a piece of lettuce in a colander.
Condo had this amazing reef hook which he waved around like some magic wand which was quite a good effect as he’d wave it in a general direction and low and behold, as if some Harry Potter scene was happening in front of me – something large and impressive would magically appear in the direction it was pointing. This I found very entertaining and wished for one of my own. This proved to be a very invaluable piece of magical attire when we went on the Manta dive of the day.

As I’ve said and I make no bones about it, I’ve only seen a Manta once in my entire dive career and it was one of those “Did I really see it??” type sightings where it was a bit blurry, several metres away and with about 40 other buffoons splashing around somewhere. So, I’d hardly say it was the kind of sighting that Attenborough would be silkily regaling about. I’d high hopes here and I can safely say afterwards that I had my fair share of Manta action over the few days I had here.

On our final dive of the day and with one flick of the magic manta divining rod, Condo laid out 8 or so gigantic Mantas on what was the best dive of my entire life. Luckily, I even got a bit of video of it and you can just make out me in the background. Yes, that’s me, the one who has swallowed the regulator from smiling too much.

Mantas to me and quite a lot of other people are the true majesties of the sea. They are massive beyond belief, they are graceful to an extent that they are entrancing to watch and to top it off they are quite inquisitive creatures who will take a bit of interest in the odd passing diver if you are lucky enough.
That I was when thankfully, the biggest one of the day which was about 20ft across came swooping by just centimetres over my head as I led down flat on the coral bed barely daring to breathe. Its tennis ball sized eye giving me a cursory glance over as it stopped, flapping it’s huge wingspan a little whilst just glancing gently against my head and moving onwards will be something that I’ll remember for a long long time.

I really need to get myself one of the magic reef wands though.

On the final day it was time to set course back to Bajo and stop off at Komodo and The Rinca Islands, which are the natural habitat for the Komodo Dragon. Ore as they are commonly referred to are the largest living reptile still in existence and are commonly thought as the nearest thing we have around to the dinosaurs. Rinca, the island that I went to is the smaller of the two and offers a few hikes around with the local rangers to go and spot these magnificent beasts in the wild. In Rinca, they feed mainly on water buffalo which have been introduced by man as to keep the numbers of Ore at a high enough level as to not endanger the population level. Until about 10 years ago a live goat used to be sacrificed each day to them as to put on a bit of a show but this has now been ceased and they generally loll about until they get hungry enough to go kill more naturally. Again, Condo being an ex Ranger had lots of good stories to tell which made the day all the more interesting. The Dragons themselves are quite impressive and it’s pretty disconcerting to be 5ft away from these beasts when they are eyeing you up as their next meal. It’s all pretty safe though and quite good fun and something I’m really pleased to have done.
The landscape on Rinca is out of this world. You really do feel that you are back in the beginning of time looking out over the terrain from Jurassic Park without a human blemish on the landscape. It made me think a lot about how much me do cock the place (i.e. the world) up by us being here. When you look out at a landscape untouched by us you can see what a different place it would be if we weren't around building coffee shops everywhere.

As we chugged back into port I thought to myself why I’d never considered this before? When I worked out that from London it would take 3 days travelling just to get here and the same to return the answer was a bit more obvious. The gateway to these parts has been opened and I absolutely wholeheartedly cannot wait to explore some more of it over the coming year. I guess that’s what the purpose is here.

Moreover, I looked back out to the sea and smiled to myself and for the first time in a very long time I finally felt content inside. It’s taken a while but it’s getting there.