Big trouble in little Thailand

From sept 2010

So it’s been a long, long, loooong time since I’ve posted anything here. I have been writing material for the blog, but as life has been even more interesting for me than usual, I haven’t gotten around to it. Sorry. It will appear one day soon.



I’m back in Kuching now, after about six weeks in Thailand. It’s been an experience and a half. I spent a month in Chiang Mai on a personal quest to eliminate myself of alcoholism and to get myself fit again. Well, I’m still drinking, but I’m happy to report that it is entirely in moderation these days, which is precisely the lesson I intended to teach myself upon embarking on this trip. Y’see, I’ve always had somewhat of an extremist nature. All or nothing. Bone dry sober or stinking drunk. Pushing the limits of my body’s endurance, or not at all. Risking my neck in adrenalin fuelled pursuits or taking it easy. Seldom any inbetween. It’s not that I get that messy when I drink (well, with a few exceptions from time to time) but I suppose I just got sick of spending so much money on alcohol, then waking up feeling like my tongue’s been dipped in battery acid and my eyeballs have been buffed by 80 grit on an orbit sander. Not to mention the fleeting morning memories of stupid things I did or said the night before (that’s when you start praying that it only occurred in your dreams). Did I do that? No. Yes! Ah shit.




I started the trip with a lovely friend and fellow hedon by going to Phi Phi island in southern Thailand. Her and I spent about six days there relaxing, bumming around, visiting all the nice beaches and restaurants in the area. Heck, we even made it to Maya bay, the place where the movie “The Beach” with Leonardo DiCaprio was filmed. Phi Phi, despite being very touristy, was a good start. I got a chance to clear my head, as well as focus on what was to come. We laughed lots, had fun at the expense of local names and words, as well as the character of the people there. Everything was “no heb”. “Can I get a watermelon shake please?” No heb. “This looks good. Can I get the sweet and sour fish please?” No heb, despite it being a prominent feature on the menu. “Do you do laundry?” No heb. Infuriating, but funny at the same time. She found my passionate hatred towards flies hilarious; lunches and dinners punctuated by my frequent “fugoff” gesticulations while swatting away the verminous little bastards. It’s like how the saying goes eh? If you don’t laugh, you cry, and since I’ve been taking the time to find the funnier side of life, it has bestowed its rewards upon me.




At my insistence, we spent part of a day plunging ourselves off a perfectly good cliff. The boat waited for us, packed to the rafters with sane people, whilst we jumped out and paddled off to climb up a cliff face, only to throw ourselves off the top into fish riddled waters below. After a few attempts, she sustained a rather nasty water-slap to the ass, and I endured a rather painful moment of hydro-testicular compression, after which we called it quits. I didn’t want to be up on domestic violence charges, after all, the marks on her ass could have been easily construed as excess friskiness. Anyway, after much fun, games and laughter the relaxing soon came to an end, and I reluctantly said goodbye to my beautiful companion and began my journey to Bangkok.




I stayed for two days, checking out the muay thai fights at Lumpini stadium. It was fun, but Bangkok always starts getting to me fairly quickly. The whores, the bars, the pollution, and the general pushiness of the people never sits well with me. I recall walking back to my hotel, passing a few gogo bars on the way that were packed with fat old western men, and young impoverished Thai girls looking for a way out,whilst children played amongst that hellish environment. Incredulous. At least in Malaysia, despite some of the ridiculous religious laws we have here, you would never see such a thing. At the end of my second day I went to Hualampong train station and boarded the train that would take me to Chiang Mai. It was a 15 hour train ride through some gorgeous terrain. As night fell, the cabinmate helped me convert my seat to a bed, where I lay in the heat and humidity with the windows open, only to be rudely awakened by a rainstorm which left me absolutely drenched as I desperately tried to put up the archaic and rusting windows to save me from further deluge. But the ride was beautiful. We passed rice fields, ancient temples, mountains and villages, which finally wound its way to my destination. At 5AM I was greeted by beautiful rolling mountains covered in lush green foliage as I rubbed my eyes and yawned myself awake. A brief tuk tuk ride took me to the camp, where I was to spend the next month learning the rather simplistic yet deadly art of muay thai.
I’m not going to talk too much about Chiang Mai here, because I feel it deserves an entry of its own, which I have been writing in my spare time. All I will say for now is that it was an interesting time of introspection, clarity, focus, and great conversation with some fantastic people that I met there. I managed to reduce my alcohol consumption, and for the first time in a long time, I was finally thinking clearly once more. My time in Chiang Mai came to a close and I said goodbye to those lovely people that I had met along the way, and picked up my backpack once more to head off to Koh Phangan, the birthplace of the fullmoon party.




I was greeted at Koh Samui airport by Eing, my fellow hedon, who had travelled up from Kuching to spend the next few days with me in paradise. From there we caught a jet boat to Koh Phangan, and went straight to the hotel. My belief in karma has been wavering as of late, due to my keen observation of human behaviour, but we were pleasantly surprised by the upgrade that we had been given by the hotel. I still don’t know how we got it, but I wasn’t too concerned by how, but rather, by what the upgrade was. A private pool, a separate “living area” which consisted solely of a rather large daybed, romantic lighting, and thick curtains, right next to the private waterfall that trickled down to feed the pool, as well as a luxurious traditionally decorated room, complete with a starlight shower and a hot tub. Life is good. Needless to say, we didn’t actually get up to too much outside of the resort. Funny that. Oh, we did make it outside once in a while, to have brief misadventures on quad bikes. I spent a few hours absolutely fanging it around the dirt tracks that abound around the island. Decked out in combat gloves, singlet and combat shorts, and a skull facemask to protect my precious lungs from the dirt and diesel fumes kicked up by trucks I menaced the countryside by drifting all over the place. Ahhh, now that’s living! One bastard roadworker threatened to throw a can at me for no good reason other than that I was probably enjoying myself too much. Prick. Go work in the hot, blistering sun. Leemeealone.




On the day of the full moon party, a quick trip to the magic mountain bar to pick up some “provisions” was in order for preparations for the night to come. Supplies locked and loaded, we climbed aboard the jet boat with about 30 other people from the resort , and after an amazing ride in, complete with an even more amazing lightning show from a passing storm system, we were unceremoniously dumped into the water right on the beach. What greeted us was an assault on the senses. Loud music blaring from every single corner of the beach. Crazed, drunken revellers for as far as the eye could see. Swirling lights. Fire. More drunken people. Sex in the air. We took perch above the spot where the fire skipping was being held. To those uninitiated among you, this is basically a long length of rope doused in gasoline and set alight, held by two guys on opposing platforms, and swirled around maniacally. Anyone who dares enter the inferno skips furiously before inevitably being whipped by the rope and falling on their ass. We watched this for about an hour atop the platform than ran perpendicular to the fire skipping; a platform that allowed people to slide down between two poles of fire, waiting for our magic to kick in. What a hoot. People falling everywhere. The show ended when the rope burnt through and snapped; catapulting itself onto the platform and wrapping itself around panicked party goers. One girl caught the raw end of it, and was set ablaze before she ran screaming and splashing into the piss filled sea to douse the flame’s fury. Which reminds me. Government health warning follows. NEVER. EVER. Go near the water at Haad Rin beach unless you want a good dose of a million people’s urine. Yes, people openly piss in the sea. No one seems to care. The toilets are smelly and inconvenient to get to, and you risk losing your friends if you wander
too far. You have been warned.






We wandered around, letting the freaks entertain us. Some idiots climbed the scaffolding that was set up in the water which was to later be used for a massive sign that would be set alight with fire; a great backdrop against the inky sky punctuated by the beautiful pale moon that stood sentinel to the chaos below. Some folks had some hilarious getups. There was one group that had come bodypainted as the Na’vi people from the movie Avatar. A rather retarded batman wobbled precariously on the scaffolding. Some hideously repulsive fat dudes wore neon yellow speedos and nothing else. Girls were, par for the course, scantily clad. No complaints on the latter though. There was no shortage of eye candy, however there was also no shortage of disgusting female trash either. One girl, high on god-only-knows-what, writhed around as if possessed. A very intoxicated midget dressed as a sailor said hi to every girl that he passed, without the slightest success. Passed out people littered the beach. We met these hilarious girls who took the opportunity to snap photos of themselves atop these coma victims in some rather compromising poses. One of these such poses involved the girl taking the comatose from behind with a rather large, imaginary strap-on. Legendary.





We finally came to rest at a stop where the music was to our liking. Deep, hard electrofunk driven by dark, tribal bass; a pulsing primitive sound that had the revellers going apeshit. We had been bodypainted earlier with neon paint. My friend had beautiful floral designs down her arm and back whereas I adorned myself with flames running all the length of my right arm. Next to our music station was another bodypainting place, which had neon lights, so we used the opportunity to take some awesome photos. One guy, impressed by our photos, came up and chatted to us, also posing alongside us for some laughs. More good times and hilarity ensued.
My bucket, (traditional alcoholic fare on thai beaches; consists of a bucket with a small bottle of the poison of your choice with a mixer of your choice, and copious straws) seemed to be a magnet for foot traffic every time I set it down on the sand. Even with my camera bag next to it, and even though there was ample space for said foot traffic to walk around it, people seemed to be drawn to it, and kicked sand into it. For christ’s sake! I haven’t been drinking like this in a while! Leave my bloody drink alone!! At least my rage entertained Eing, even though there was so much happening around us to keep us smiling.Despite the plentiful entertainment, 5 hours had passed and it was time to go home. Our boat was leaving at 4am, and when we looked out into the surf, we realised that it was about to leave without us. Waving and shouting, we jumped into the surf, with me carrying my camera high above my head. Typical. Just typical. We were the last people out. FILO – First in, last out. But no one seemed to mind. Everyone was having too good a time, and we sat by this Australian couple with whom we shared some ridiculous inebriated banter with.





I won’t say too much more about the rest of the night, except that it was good. More than good. The next day was spent convalescing. Much pool time was involved, and we took some hilarious shots of me jumping butt nekkid into the pool from the banisters. There are a couple of facebook worthy shots that preserve my modesty, but i’m still debating whether or not to put them on facebook, just for shits and giggles. Ah hell, it’s not like I have an employer anyway. Ahh the bliss of self employment. We had a beautiful last supper, and concluded our wonderful time by lighting a floating lantern, making a wish, and casting it away to the starlit heavens above, and said goodnight to each other. The morning after that we boarded the jet boat, only to board two more planes to return to Kuching, where my family and my beloved new car awaited the prodigal son’s return.





The bastard taxi driver in KL nearly made us miss check in; firstly by taking forever to refuel his car which should have been done prior to picking us up, and secondly, by allowing his piece of shit cab to suffer a tyre puncture on the way. We made it though, and suffered the classic army situation of “hurry up and wait”, enduring a 50 minute flight delay, courtesy of my good friends at Air Asia. I suppose that’s why they have hot stewardesses dressed in hot red. It almost makes up for the lost time. Ogling is a centuries old male pastime, only made better by successive generations of skimpy and skimpier female clothing. Approaching the airstrip was unnerving. Angry lightning bolts streaked to the left and right of the plane as we touched down. Beautiful to watch, but I must admit I felt the ol’ sphincter pucker up more than once. We touched down safely amongst the thunderous, clammy tropical air, and made our way out. The driver was waiting for me there with my new car. Shit, and there I was hoping for good weather so I could put the top down and roar my way home in style, but that was not meant to be. Ah well, que sera sera. I gunned the engine all the way back to casa de Ling, where my beautiful family awaited me. My two year old niece greeted me at the door, blubbering and clinging onto me like a forlorn monkey babe that had been separated from its prized banana. Aww the sweet little thing... It’s good to be home. No, it’s great. Homecooked food has penetrated even my dreams whilst on the road, and my mother had a lovely meal all ready for me. Bless you, ma.

There’s so much that has happened in the last few months that simply can’t be shared in one blog entry, so I promise you, dear reader, I will spend the next few entries updating you on my misadventures.

Expect some inane stuff. Expect some deeply introspective thought. Expect some philosophizing. But more than anything else, expect to enjoy yourself as you see the world through the eyes of this MadMan you call Dan.

It’s been a blast

Partyin' Penang

The last day in Langkawi was not particularly the best. Waking up with a dreadful hangover didn't exactly improve my mood before realizing that I had to rush to the airport to book my ticket to Langkawi for the afternoon before it was too late to do so.

Cops. Bloody Malaysian, corrupt bastard cops. So there I was riding around Langkawi helmetless as I always do. But hey, on the last day Mr. Murphy decides to pay me a visit and tells me that I've been getting away with the common sense approach to biking on an island for too long. So after booking my ticket, I pull out of the airport on my motorbike, skull-masked and all... and don't get 10 metres before a bloody overweight bastard cop on the pavement flags me down. It must be my incrementally advancing age that stopped me from revving full throttle and tearing down the strip, because I know the younger Dan would have done so.



After having to bribe the cop (for the very first time in my whole 26 years, I might add!! I shall expand on West Malaysian Police corruption later) I headed back to John's place, packed my bags, had lunch, said goodbye to friends and made my way to the Lapangan Terbang. The plane ride was interesting. I had to practically punch the overweight Indian gent beside me awake so as to not-so-politely ask him to cease his horrendously loud snoring. Yeah. It was baaad. As was his B.O., which I'm sure I was not the sole person that suffered it. I later received muted applause from surrounding passengers for my efforts.





Landing in Penang, I caught a taxi to Georgetown. Georgetown really is the hub of all interesting things for backpackers to see in Penang. Sure, it may have a touristy vibe, but to be perfectly honest, the rest of Penang, excluding Batu Ferringhi, doesn't really have much to offer for the traveller, as it mostly consists of drab shophouses with no character. I spent some time on the mainland that day too; taking photos and walking around conversing and scaring locals with my Chinese and Malay skills. But my backpack was set down in Georgetown.



It's a place with so much character. There is just so much for the photographer to immerse himself in. Traditional buildings greet your lens on every corner, and the locals going about their daily business just demand a couple of surreptitious shots here and there. I've been in Penang many a time before, but this time I decided to settle for a backpacker hotel right on Jalan Pinang; one of three places called "Banana hotel". Don't let the dodgy name fool you. It was all I needed, and it made me happy. As usual, I got royal treatment from the staff for the mere fact that I was a white looking man that spoke all the local lingo, and had a Malaysian passport. Later that night I went to the 711 next door to pick up provisions and met a fantastic girl who had the decency and bravery to invite a pale-skin mohawked Malaysian to party with her and her friends. What a good night that was.





The main clubbing area in Penang is around Georgetown, and the top clubs there are Mois, and a place with the questionable name of Slippery Senoritas. Upon ducking into ""SS" as it is called, I realised that I had been there many a drunken moon ago with some other friends. But Mois was rockin' that night. We were treated to VIP goodness, all thanks to my svelte companion, and we rocked it out all night to some funky tunes. Yeah, this white boy can dance. When the mood is right, anyway.



I woke up with yet another pounding headache the next morning amongst other things, and was greeted upon my entrance from the hotel by a local crazy who insisted on trying to pat my mohawk for its originality. Dude... hangovers and crazy people trying to rub your head really don't go well together. Regardless, after getting some local grub in my system I booked my tickets for Bangkok and spent the rest of the available day taking loads of pictures of a place that has always held a special place in my Malaysian heart. The combination of the delightful food that is only found in Penang, mixed with the street scenes and interesting people watching made the rest of the day a joy. Even with an evil hangover.



I had an interesting conversation with a local at a bar while quenching my ""mat salleh" thirst for beer on a hot day. Hair of the dog, you know. "Waiyah.. you look like ang moh (white man) but can speak local aaah... I got business opportunity for you, you know!" "Really?" I replied. "Yah! Got lot of frustrated housewife in mainland you know! They kena love young man like you! Can earn good money, you know??!!" I politely declined, bought him a round to shut him up and was on my way.



My travel agent was an awesome dude. A true minority in the makeup of Malaysia. A muslim Indian. He offered me a ride to the airport because he had to pick up his children further afield anyway. His wife was in the car too, and we spoke freely about all the things that concerned us as Malaysian citizens; from our unique perspectives as different constituents from within the Malaysian population. They shared their concerns about their children growing up in a Muslim country that marginalised them as being less "pure" muslims than Malays, simply because of the fact that they were Muslims of a different genealogy. I spoke of the prejudices that the Chinese face, despite our economic prowess, and spoke even more of the unique situation that I have always found myself in; being half European and half Chinese in a muslim country. Eventually, we got on to the grand subject of the next elections. Much laughter filled the car on that trip, as well as moments of silent reflection... no doubt on the matter of the gravity of the subjects we so vainly disguised with laughter.



I got to the airport and thanked my kind new friends, and boarded the plane to the land of a thousand smiles.

Arrivederci Penang... Hello Bangkok.

Don't ring your bell in Langkawi, Theo...

It’s been an interesting few weeks. I’ve just arrived back from travels not long ago, and finally have some time to compile my travel notes into some semblance of order for the blog. I left in early August to head off to Langkawi to join my cousin John for some R and R away from screaming children and the sound of whirring breast pumps. It’s probably my fourth or fifth time to Langkawi, so it’s a place I know pretty well. For those that travel like I do, Langkawi has quite a bit to offer. For those that prefer the whole nightlife vibe with lots of activity going on, you’re probably best to head elsewhere.



It’s a gorgeous island located off the western tip of peninsular Malaysia, and is fairly close to Thailand. The terrain itself is a mix of rolling hills and mountains mixed with fertile padi fields inhabited by bellowing water buffalo. The wildlife there, although not sensational, still makes it a naturalist’s pleasure to visit. There are two species of monkey on the island. One is the dusky leaf, and the other is the macaque. I managed to get fantastic shots of the former at a golf course. The more attractive of the two species, the Dusky leaf has a dark furry body, a very long tail, and a face that is maned with a brushy white patch, which seems to give it a comedic quizzical demeanour.

I also saw several species of egret and heron, a few monitor lizards (or Biawak as the locals call them) as well as the eagles that Langkawi has earned its reputation from. I may as well go over the activities available in Langkawi while I’m at it. There is an island hopping tour available, which takes you to 4 or 5 different islands weather dependent. On these you can go snorkelling, boating, eagle watching, or you can just plonk yourself on the sand and soak up the scenery. One of these islands is called Dayang Bunting, or Maiden Lake. Situated in the middle of the island, elevated from sea level is a freshwater lake which has some spectacular surrounding scenery.


Langkawi also boasts an underwater world, located on the main drag by Cenang Beach. While it’s not a place that will set the world on fire, it’s still worth a visit as they have some fantastic specimens there. Still, I much prefer to see animals in the wild than in captivity. There are many tour operators also located around the main Cenang area which means that organizing activities is never too hard. This time around, I was intending to visit a Thai island which I’ve been to once before. It takes 45 minutes by boat and goes by the name of Koh Lipe. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t realise that the island is usually closed around this time of year because of high waves. It seems that ever since the boxing day tsunami of 2004, a lot of south east Asian islands have suffered a degree of unpredictability in the weather patterns, as well as from the contribution of destructive greenhouse gases. Global warming is no joke, people. It’s happening right before our eyes.

For dining and a drink out, Langkawi offers venues such as Top 10 in Kuah town, Eagle Rock in Cenang, as well as a multitude of good restaurants dotted along the beach. Three nights were spent at Top 10, where I immediately befriended all the staff and the resident band, and spent time partying with the lovely ladies as well as performing a la cameo on stage with the band, guest singing on a few songs. Loads of fun and laughter! Cenang beach area used to have a whole bunch of reggae bars, but I was very sad to learn that these have since gone out of business. Nothing used to make me as happy than to walk down to the beach bars, kick off my sandals, order a drink, and shuffle my feet in the sand to the funky tunes of Mr Marley while under the starry Langkawi night sky. With the come-and-go nature of the bars there though, I don’t think it should be too long until there is another such place to unwind.






A great daytime activity is a visit to the oriental village and the cable car ride, located on the North-western tip of the island. Make sure when you go that the winds are not too strong otherwise the cable cars will be closed. There’s some spectacular scenery viewing to be had up there, and there is also a sky bridge that spans across the mountain tops; from which you can see eagles soaring their way past the trees and riding the thermal currents. A truly breathtaking view, and even better when there’s good company around you, which I was fortunate enough to have this time around. There is also a small crocodile park, which is worth going to for the sake of seeing the many mutant crocodiles they have there. It’s like a croc freakshow; full of deformed crocodiles that have obviously suffered genetic damage as a result of inbreeding. Bizarre? Yes, but interesting enough to warrant a visit. Noteworthy beaches to see are Tanjung Rhu on the north central end, Pasir Tengkorak, which is Northwest, and Kok beach (unfortunate name) which is very close to the cable car park. Pasir Tengkorak has to be my favourite out of these, as it has a very beautiful little bay with moderate surf, and is inhabited by monkeys. The view out to the sea is gorgeous; especially between 4-6 pm, when the sun loses its bite and the colours of the sky mellow to softer hues. A great place to take a lover and just chill out.


While I was there, I did my usual thing, which was to hire a “big bike” (It actually is a small CC bike made to look big, with a single cylinder engine, but given all the dressings of a V twin) and just cruise around the island. With my camera bag strapped to me, sunglasses on, skullmask on my face (bug protection. Those suckers hurt at 120 kmph) I cruised around and just took in the scenery, enjoyed the cool wind, and snapped away. I visited a few resorts and introduced myself as the mohawked travel writer, to which they responded very hospitably; taking me around and showing me what made their place special. It was fun just walking around chatting to people and snapping photos, and chatting some more. I’m sure my appearance put a smile on their faces, as there weren’t any other masked marauders around from what I could see.


The first few nights I was there, we were joined by my cousin John’s friend Theo. Theo is a pistol and a firecracker, that man is. A Greek Australian, he is short in stature, pot bellied, has long greasy curly hair, and has been known to be mistaken for the porn star Ron Jeremy. His jokes kept us laughing the whole time, and there were certainly some moments that will forever be etched into my memory, whether I like it or not. One involved a Korean restaurant, a very drunk girl, Theo singing, which resulted in her puking on his feet. I think the next time he sings “ring my bell” will be with great trepidation. Back at John’s house we spent the nights getting plenty juiced and dancin’ and rockin’ out to Elvis. Aah, so good to find a fellow Elvis fan. On one such night after everyone else was tired and had gone to sleep, in my restless and drunken state, I decided to catch crabs on the beach at 3AM, armed with a torch and my trusty camera. Yep, drinking does that to you.


Oh, I nearly forgot. We also forced John into getting a Mohawk. I had my clippers with me, so we finally convinced him to get his ‘hawk done, even if it was only for a day. Hey, he’s got short hair anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Less than 5 minutes after it was done I was getting bombarded by angry phone calls from his wife and our mutual friends. Apparently I’m a bad influence on a 40 year old man.

A fun loving criminal is what I am, and for that, ladies and gentlemen, I will never apologise.

Onwards to Penang!

Apologies

I must apologise for not having posted in a while. I had my laptop melt down on me recently, and have only just got it back, minus all the stuff I've been working on for the past three weeks. This includes lots of writing and lots of photos, so you can be sure I was pretty pissed when I found out.

Besides, what I've been filling my time with recently has not been so adventurous, as I've been back in my hometown just trying to help my family out a bit due to the addition of my baby nephew William, born just over two weeks ago. I've been spending my time being a manny (a man-nanny) to my two nieces and one nephew, as well as fixing up stuff around the house.

Social activities here are as dull as a duckpond. On my rare occasions out (like last night) there is nothing much to do except for drinking yourself stupid. Last night's venture out was terrifying. I was bombarded by these girls who kept on repeating my most dreaded phrase... "One go!" Yes, the social norm here is to down your whole beer in one go, in the deluded notion that this is actually fun. It WAS fun... when I was about 16. After many years of drinking experience I have reached the verdict that it is quite the opposite.

Anyway, in other news... I'm heading off to Langkawi on Monday, which should be fun, then off to Thailand for a bit. Hoping to also get to Cambodia to see Angkor Wat if I have time, but I have to be back in Sibu for my nephew's "Man Yue". Man Yue is the Chinese custom that is observed whenever a child is born. In olden days, women were not supposed to bathe, to go out, to have any stimulus, or eat certain foods for a whole month after childbirth. Quite a ridiculous practise, but the idea behind it was to help the mother recuperate from the ordeal. Sounds like an even more arduous ordeal to me, to be perfectly honest.

The Man Yue also celebrates the first month of the child's life, and customary food is prepared for guests to symbolize the occasion. So, I look forward to being there for little Willie's Man Yue. Oh, I just remembered that I've been working on a post on religion, which I shall put up in due course.

A pre-post disclaimer: Don't read it if you are very religious and/or have a closed mind. We most likely won't be on speaking terms again if you are either of the above mentioned types.

Anyway, I have packing and more chores to do, so this will not be a long post at all. Count on reading more adventures soon.

Your resident MadMan,
signing out!

Coming Home

Coming home is always a bittersweet experience. So many emotions, memories, sights, sounds and smells come rushing back; with such intensity that it catches you off guard and makes you wonder why you had submerged those memories for so long. Life certainly does that to you though. It relentlessly pounds away like waves against a cliff face, posing new challenges and obstacles that distract you from remembering and honouring your roots.

I’ve come back to Sibu just recently. My sister has just given birth to her third child, a strong little tiger by the name of William. I find it interesting to always check myself at the door and gauge how I’ve progressed as a person each time I walk through those doors. And each time, I see in myself chronological growth and an appreciation for my place in the world.

As soon as I got myself settled, I did my ritual tour around the whole property; re-acquainting myself with the place I called my first home for so many years. Starting off on the inside, I examined all the family photos that my dad put up around the house. It was refreshing to see that all the photos were in their old places. Made me think how it’s nice to know that despite the crazy pace of activity and action in our lives, it’s good to come back to something that hasn’t changed since you were a kid. Or not that much, for that matter. Change in some form or another is always inevitable.

I was distressed to find a few places where the wood panels had lost their battle against the elements, but what is to be expected from a house over 30 years old, that has stood as strong as a sentinel against the tropical climes of Borneo? I got to the kitchen and did what I always do when I come back, which was to go to the herb and veggie pantry, open it up, and deeply inhale all the memories of my childhood spent watching my mother and Ah Kiew cook in the kitchen. Those are happy memories. It’s funny how the sense of smell rekindles old emotions and casts one’s mind back to a time you had thought was long forgotten. I went to my old room, which is now used by my little nieces whenever they are back in town with their parents and doting grandmother. I couldn’t help but notice how I felt totally safe and secure, despite the fact that I’m more than big and ugly enough to look after myself.

As I write this, I’m sitting on my balcony, watching a tropical storm brew. The wind has picked up and the trees are rustling; serenaded by the sound of the growling thunder. The sky occasionally flashes with lightning in the distance. I miss these storms. It makes me remember my childhood, where my family would scream at me to come inside to avoid being struck down by lightning. Getting back inside, I’d sometimes sit by my father’s feet as he sat there and plucked hairs off his wise old face with tweezers.

Back to the story. Going outside was a little bit harder for me. You see, my father was somewhat of a nature enthusiast. So much so that he brought the tropical rainforest to his house. Our garden was where I spent the majority of the waking hours of my childhood. In fact, the best memories I have of my childhood were spent out there. After all, how many other kids can lay claim to the fact that they had a miniature zoo in their backyard? Dad reared many different types of bird from Asia. Birds were Dad’s fascination in life. He spent so much time talking about them in our walks around the garden. I have my father to thank for giving me a deep appreciation of the natural world around us. Not only did we have birds, but we also played host to a whole raft of other interesting animalia.

Over the course of my childhood, Dad, at different times had the garden filled with the most amazing creatures. I can remember the gibbons that dad rescued from poachers. Gibbons are the smallest of the ape family, and are natural acrobats amongst the tree tops despite their lack of a prehensile tail. They have hyper-mobile spines, and elongated, padded fingers which help them power through the trees at a great speed.


Dad also rescued an Orang Utan in similar circumstances. Unfortunately back in those days, there was a lot of poaching going on, and Dad used to do his best to rehabilitate the poor creatures until they were good enough to send away back to their natural habitat. He was a hero in my eyes for doing that.

Apparently before I was born, dad had a clouded leopard for a while, which was also sent away when the time was right. I can remember a crocodile that dad had, that we kept in a separate pond. We also had Proboscis nose monkeys, bats, peacocks, a macacque, porcupine, slow loris, deer, and squirrels. Of the deer, we had two kinds. We had the kijang, which is a jungle deer slightly larger than a goat, and we had mousedeer, which, funnily enough, are tiny. They are the smallest deer species in the world. I remember the bats with great fondness. Dad had a whole extended family of fruit bats, which happen to be the largest species of bat in the world. They have faces that slightly resemble that of a fox, and have huge leathery bark brown wings, with a torso covered in thick black fur. In their natural environment, they leave their roosts in trees at dusk and travel to other trees that bear tropical fruits, thereby helping cross pollinate plant species. They would always be upside down at the top of the cage, and as soon as you produced some fruit and stuck it in between the rungs of the cage, they’d chatter animatedly, and clamber downwards as fast as possible to get the lion’s share of the meal. Inquisitive eyes would look at you trying to figure out if you had anymore food on you, and nostrils would flare in the attempt to confirm their wily suspicions.



Dad’s birds were all of Asian origin. He had some fantastic specimens, of which include pheasants, the before mentioned peacocks (that had an attitude problem) parrots, exotic pigeons, owls, eagles, and a huge range of other smaller birds. He even had a cassowary, which used to scare the crap out of me. They originate from the forests of equatorial new guinea as well as some parts of Australia. It wasn’t long before dad found another home for this impressive beast.


We also have a freshwater pond, where we used to have scores of tilapia fish, arapaima and soft shell Chinese turtles. The arapaima were really impressive. We have had two sets of two of these fish. Their natural habitat is in the rainforest rivers of south America, and they grow to be an impressive size; some growing to up to three metres plus. Our largest ones were about two metres in length. I used to stand on the edge of the pond and throw them bits and pieces of chicken meat, and as soon as the meat would hit the water, they would jump up and snap it up with their large and powerful jaws. Now, the pond has no fish; it is home to my pet terrapins. The oldest of which I’ve had since I was five, which makes him 21. Sorry big boy, I should have brought you a big fish for your 21st.


We have always had lots of dogs at home. With large grounds and lots of trees to hide around, home security has always been a big concern. I can never remember a time in the history of our house that we didn’t have at least 8 dogs. Doing a headcount today, I was impressed with the fact that we had 16 present, despite the lack of absence of my favourite dog who ran away a few months ago. Have to say it was heartbreaking to hear that. She’s a really special dog to me, as she was given to me by a friend, and I raised her during her infancy. She used to jump up on my chest as I lay down, and fall asleep nuzzling up to my chin. I hope she finds her way home. Unfortunately for her, dog meat is still a very treasured food in my home town, so I pray that she avoids the butcher’s knife and comes home where she’ll be loved and looked after.

Most of the dogs we have now are either her offspring, or her offspring’s offspring. What a great little mother she was. Her first litter of pups all survived and grew to be beautiful dogs with personality and alertness. They all share her same sense of inquisitivity; although none match her intelligence and affectionate social charms. We still have one Rottweiler left. We used to have a pair, but unfortunately the female passed away from health complications. That’s the problem with purebreds. They’re not very resilient in the tropical climate, and are far more susceptible than the local mongrels to diseases. The female was stupid beyond belief though. She had two litters in her lifetime. Her first litter only bore two, but I suspect there were more unborn inside her that didn’t manage to get out in time. One was stillborn, but the other one was alive and kicking, and I quickly scooped him up and hand reared him. He slept beside me in a little box, and I would wake up periodically to feed him some milk. Sometimes I even took him out with me when I was catching up with friends at night. Unfortunately, I had to leave town for a bit, and partway through my trip, my sister called to say that he had died one night. Guess he was kind of doomed from the start, but it didn’t take away the feeling of helplessness at nature’s unyielding rule of survival of the fittest.
The rain has really started to come down now. The flashes of lightning and the peals of thunder growing in intensity and frequency. It reminds me of how powerful the forces of mother nature is in this enchanted land of ours. Borneo is an incredible place. Situated right smack dab in the middle of the equator, it is a land of extremes. For the heat that we experience, we also get a lot of humidity due to our abundance of rainforest. Wow, I just saw the most brilliant flash of lightning right in front of me! It lingered for a few seconds, and closing my eyes, I can still see the flash burnt into my cornea. Some fear the thunder and lightning. For me, I have always been fascinated by it. It is a permanent reminder to me that despite all of man’s technological advances and progress through the ages, we are still vulnerable and expendable to the supreme might of nature.

Soon, it will be night. The swiftlets will begin their dusk cry, and start making their frenzied way back to their nests, which in urban environs are usually situated on the eaves of houses. The Chinese believe the swiftlets bring them luck and good fortune, so many people are hesitant to remove these nests from their houses. The swiftlet nest is made up of a mixture of fibre and saliva, and is remarkably rigid, considering its construction materials. Atypical of the Chinese, even though we do not remove the nests from homes, there are farming operations where people use the nests to produce a local delicacy; bird’s nest soup. I know, I know. What a weird thing to make a soup out of. But haven’t you heard the saying? All things wise and wonderful, all creatures great and small, all things bright and beautiful, the Chinese eat them all.

Home has also been host to a bunch of unwanted pests too. Given the vast amount of animal cages we have, it has always attracted rats. I can remember fun times hunting rats by myself as well as with my father. When by myself, I always used my trusty slingshot, which was pretty much always in my pocket even if I was indoors. I became quite a crack shot with it; sometimes managing to kill a rat with a lead slug at a distance of 15 metres. I also used a home made blow pipe. But with the blow pipe, I usually liked to tease the dogs. I’d chew on some paper until it was soft, then wad it into a ball. With these wads, I’d shoot the unsuspecting dogs on the butt. It never hurt them, but it certainly made them wonder what the hell was happening to them. Unable to see me from my perch up in the trees or on the roof, they’d growl and saunter off in a confused amble.

Whenever I went rat shooting with dad, he would carry his .22 rifle. I was always his spotter, and my sharp eye was always praised by dad. Once, I can remember, he shot two rats with one bullet. He was always a hero to me. I wanted so much to be like him when I was a kid. I still do. Yeah, you may be thinking, what’s so great about shooting two rats? But my dad was just “the man”. No matter what. When you’re a kid, things like this are important to you. Sometimes I think they still are. We used to feed the rats to the owls, who would hoot and bob their heads appreciatively as we threw them their dinner.

We’ve also had snakes and iguanas. I have killed many a poisonous snake in my garden. The very first one I killed was when I was 8 years old. I separated its head from its body with a parang; a local machete. I have only ever killed one python, of which I still feel bad for to this day. Back then, I didn’t know that they were endangered, but it was in one of our bird cages and was trying to rustle up an easy meal. It was a six footer. I still have the photo of me proudly holding the snake, with my parang in hand. I can remember once, on Christmas day, Ah Kai and I (my best friend) were up early, as kids usually are during the silly season. We were waiting for everyone else to wake up so we could dig into our presents. We saw a huge python coiled up on the verandah, just outside the lounge. I ran to my father’s room about to wake him up. My sister stopped me before I could pound on his door, and asked me why I was doing such a foolhardy thing. Dad hated to be woken by anyone other than himself. I told her there was a snake. She said to me not to bother Dad with such a trivial thing. Funny, because she’s such a snake hater. To this day she still can’t look at a snake on TV. I told her to go down and have a look for herself. So she did. Nevertheless, she came screaming back upstairs hollering “Dad, dad, get your gun!” The snake proved to be over four metres long. It was caught by the resident snake catcher and released into the wild.

The iguanas are good to have around here, although most locals don’t seem to think so. They help keep the rat numbers down. We have had some large ones; casually ambling past our long driveway. Occasionally we see smaller ones, which is a good sign that their numbers are still healthy and that they are still breeding. As always though, these iguanas are also considered a local delicacy, so as long as they stay within the grounds of our compound, they are safe. I quite often despair when I think of the way we treat the wildlife and the environment. We need to do more. Much more. We kill everything in our path, and if it isn’t edible, it is simply discarded. I hope one day it will change. I hope, through my writing, a new generation will learn to appreciate the wonders that this earth has. I know I am guilty of killing animals, but I have always been guided by these principles:

1. Never kill anything endangered. I have only done that once, with that poor python. I’m sorry, Mr Python. May you rest in peace.

2. Only kill what you can eat, if it is an edible species.

3. Kill any pests that may potentially harm endemic species, or species whose numbers are low. You are actually helping the environment in this case.

4. Use as much of your kill as possible, so as not to waste. I despise people that hunt purely for the pleasure of it, and people that kill animals for some perverse thrill of control over another.

Thus endeth my sermon. I hope I have managed to paint an accurate description of where I grew up. Despite all the bad stuff that happens here, it still is my home. A home I will love for the rest of my life. A home I hope my future children will have the same experiences I had as a child.

PS. Thanks to my good friend, "li'l D" for her inspiring words today. I love you, my good friend.