Down some worn steps,
out of the light,
is a dusty cavern.
Lit by a few, bald bulbs and
smelling like the homes of old people.
There is no order
in the piles that gather
like someone who was preparing to move
and got disturbed.
Be prepared to spend some time
rooting.
Sit on the floor and carefully
dust off the cover and
hold it to the light.
The chaos is calming
as is the thought of where each
paperback once lived.
Who devoured the pages
with lusty abandon?
How many hours were spend savouring each word
on a chaise longue in the foetal position?
The search is as pleasurable
as the potential or reality of a rare find.
I select two
never more
or less
for I need enough
to carry me through a journey or a lunch hour or a Sunday afternoon
but with the prospect of another visit
sometime
very soon.
I leave with two treasures in my pocket.
I think of the moment
when I can open the cover and begin to read
in peace.
Free at last.
I smile.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
It's that time again...Poem Friday #21
It was National Poetry Day on the 7th October and the theme was 'Home'.
Home
Home is where the hearth is,
Mostly metaphorically speaking
these days.
Home is when you see a light shining
in the distance from your window
on a dark night
and feel uplifted.
Home is when you have butterflies
in your stomach at the thought of it
after a long journey.
Home is a creation of your own
your things, your colours, your ideas
made real.
Home is when you can relax
and swoon unashamedly
on a beaten-up leather sofa.
Home is when you love
the small things and the great things in it
from nooks with potential to cavernous lofts
as hot as hell.
But home is more than a place,
than a colour, than a possession or two.
It is the sum of you and the people you love
in it
for visits or for keeps.
Home
Home is where the hearth is,
Mostly metaphorically speaking
these days.
Home is when you see a light shining
in the distance from your window
on a dark night
and feel uplifted.
Home is when you have butterflies
in your stomach at the thought of it
after a long journey.
Home is a creation of your own
your things, your colours, your ideas
made real.
Home is when you can relax
and swoon unashamedly
on a beaten-up leather sofa.
Home is when you love
the small things and the great things in it
from nooks with potential to cavernous lofts
as hot as hell.
But home is more than a place,
than a colour, than a possession or two.
It is the sum of you and the people you love
in it
for visits or for keeps.
It's that time again... Poem Friday # 20
Ben Nevis
Uphill we tread,
A perfect line of primary colours marching upwards.
Mist hangs halfway in the sky, tiny droplets that soak the skin in a second.
Mountain lochs appear, at once inviting and then foreboding,
depending on the light.
Crushed velvet hillocks in the distance;
the softness draws you in.
Heads bowed, we snake ever upwards on the path,
following an invisible 'W'.
Some dream of the summit,
Some chat freely.
Some stay in the moment,
locked in a private battle of heart and mind and muscle.
We approach the top as a unit,
united in our mutual success.
For an instant we are adventurers and conquerors of the highest spot in our country.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A party of 8 ascended Ben Nevis on Sunday 19th September. The weather was dreich with occasional breaks in the cloud. Ben Nevis is 4,408 ft (1,344m), the highest mountain in Britain.
Uphill we tread,
A perfect line of primary colours marching upwards.
Mist hangs halfway in the sky, tiny droplets that soak the skin in a second.
Mountain lochs appear, at once inviting and then foreboding,
depending on the light.
Crushed velvet hillocks in the distance;
the softness draws you in.
Heads bowed, we snake ever upwards on the path,
following an invisible 'W'.
Some dream of the summit,
Some chat freely.
Some stay in the moment,
locked in a private battle of heart and mind and muscle.
We approach the top as a unit,
united in our mutual success.
For an instant we are adventurers and conquerors of the highest spot in our country.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A party of 8 ascended Ben Nevis on Sunday 19th September. The weather was dreich with occasional breaks in the cloud. Ben Nevis is 4,408 ft (1,344m), the highest mountain in Britain.
Saturday, 11 September 2010
Poem Friday # 19
The Jungle
From above it is immense.
A mat of green photosynthesising vessels.
For hundred of millions of years it has been,
generating life within.
The occasional opening
speaks of destruction
at the hands of man.
Smoke billows in the distance.
Fires, that clear ground to meet our insatiable demand for lathery soaps.
Inside
and you enter into an inhospitable world.
It sucks your breathe as humidity rises,
It coats you in sweat as you dare to breathe from every pore.
Ears tune in to alien sounds:
Cicadas that screech frenetically,
The howl of a monkey and
the thunderous roar as a giant leaf falls to the forest floor.
Nostrils are invaded by moisture and fragrance:
flowering orchids,
damp leaf litter,
and the pungent aroma of wild garlic.
And you see
vast armies of insects
patrolling their patch.
Soldier ants that forward march,
forward march, forward march.
Following a relentless trail.
I seek the light and see nothing but
buttress roots as tall as me,
and etiolated shoots snaking to the sky,
Climbers and creepers
swinging their way upwards by any means.
I feel my heart rhythms,
pulsating to a jungle beat,
And I am acutely aware of myself in this place.
Nutritionally devoid yet nature rich.
A vast and bountiful kingdom,
sacred to native tribes,
Who's existence hangs, precariously.
As yet, uncertain.
From above it is immense.
A mat of green photosynthesising vessels.
For hundred of millions of years it has been,
generating life within.
The occasional opening
speaks of destruction
at the hands of man.
Smoke billows in the distance.
Fires, that clear ground to meet our insatiable demand for lathery soaps.
Inside
and you enter into an inhospitable world.
It sucks your breathe as humidity rises,
It coats you in sweat as you dare to breathe from every pore.
Ears tune in to alien sounds:
Cicadas that screech frenetically,
The howl of a monkey and
the thunderous roar as a giant leaf falls to the forest floor.
Nostrils are invaded by moisture and fragrance:
flowering orchids,
damp leaf litter,
and the pungent aroma of wild garlic.
And you see
vast armies of insects
patrolling their patch.
Soldier ants that forward march,
forward march, forward march.
Following a relentless trail.
I seek the light and see nothing but
buttress roots as tall as me,
and etiolated shoots snaking to the sky,
Climbers and creepers
swinging their way upwards by any means.
I feel my heart rhythms,
pulsating to a jungle beat,
And I am acutely aware of myself in this place.
Nutritionally devoid yet nature rich.
A vast and bountiful kingdom,
sacred to native tribes,
Who's existence hangs, precariously.
As yet, uncertain.
Monday, 30 August 2010
Singapore, Mumai magic, home to Heathrow
I spent Tuesday to Saturday in Singapore staying with my friend Cara, husband Sam and newish baby daughter.
It was good to get to the condominium after my flight. I was more than a little delicate on Tuesday. I retired straight to bed on arrival and pretty much did not emerge until 6pm.
We then headed out for some food at a local Chinese venue (the Chinese make up about 70-80% of Singapore's population). I had 'chicken-rice' - it is no more exciting than it sounds, but after a day of not eating tasted delicious.
The days that followed were a nice mix of sightseeing and normal activities.
We visited the old colonial part of Singapore and the thriving Central Business District (CBD). We took the elevator up 56 floors to the top of Marina Bay Sands - this is a newish (opened June 2010) complex comprising three high rise buildings (supposedly in the style of a deck of cards) with a 'boat' on top. The boat includes a viewing deck known as the skypark and a 150m pool for residents of the hotel. The view was pretty cool and the pool is amazing. It is apparently the largest sized pool in the world found at that height
The complex is designed for rich Chinese. It has designer stores and an expensive hotel and a casino to rival those in nearby Macau.
After our day of sightseeing we retired to the Singapore Cricket Club, a truly ex pat experience. It is quite prestigious, but my friends Sam and Cara have managed to get membership. Typically sophisticated we drank beer with our dinner.
We decided to have a sports day on Thursday. This involved tennis at the apartment block in the morning followed by an 8km jungle run (for me) in the afternoon. What sort of nutter runs at 2pm in 32degree heat? Me apparently. I didn't stop sweating for an hour afterwards. Dinner was take-out from the Thomson Plaza, one of the many indoor food centres that sell an incredible range of foods which are cooked fresh for a mere 3-$5 (about £.250).
Friday began with tennis again and then I was booked in for a full body Javanese massage. She was not a shy lady and happily pummelled every area imaginable. She certainly exerted herself and belched twice over the course of my hour session (I think my appointment coincided with lunch). I left greased up with oil and floppy.
In the afternoon we went to the urban planning museum. Very interesting to see how well you can plan on a micro scale -Singapore is a city-state and really not that big an island (smaller than greater London) and when they run out of land they simply reclaim more from the sea! It was all designed according to a visionary masterplan - transport links are excellent, there are food outlets pretty much everywhere and green spaces are valued. Water is supplied by means of 15 man-made reservoirs which also serve as recreational spaces and waste is shipped out to an offshore landfill site.
Following my bus-man's holiday I took a hot and sweaty tour of some temples and sat in Raffles Square watching the workers start their weekend and contemplating the human condition. It was then time to head to the famous Raffles restaurant for dinner.
What a buffet! It was a culinary delight and I had six plates worth of the food. Very enjoyable.
On Saturday we fawned over orchids at the botanic gardens and then it was time to fly to Mumbai.
I arrived into Mumbai around 9pm Indian time to find out that my visa was not valid. The rules had just changed (you have to leave 2 months between re-entry periods). I sucked up to the immigration man who took me off to an office full of jobs-worth and I was rewarded with a re-entry permit form. Not before I had been well and truly grilled on why the hell I would travel via Mumbai and not spend a decent amount of time there. Fair question.
I took a cab to my pre-booked 3 star Best Western Emerald Hotel.
On arrival, I had an interview with the manager who informed me that several rooms were unavailable due to electric failure. And lucky me I was upgraded to the 5-star Sea Palace across the road.
Several more interviews later and I was escorted to room 108 by a grinning bell-boy (although boy is not quite correct as he was at least 50). He took great pleasure in showing me how everything in the room worked (including pulling back the covers of my double bed) before I shooed him off with 100 rupees.
I left to fly home the following afternoon.
It was a long flight and Heathrow welcomed us with chaotic queues at immigration. I waited one hour to enter the UK.
Still the cab ride home was entertaining. My driver's best friend is the some of Idi Amin! Apparently he had around 50 children. In case you're wondering how we got on to that subject it was the Scottish connection - Idi Amin loved Scotland. See the film Last King of Scotland if you haven't already.
And so endeth one great trip.
It was good to get to the condominium after my flight. I was more than a little delicate on Tuesday. I retired straight to bed on arrival and pretty much did not emerge until 6pm.
We then headed out for some food at a local Chinese venue (the Chinese make up about 70-80% of Singapore's population). I had 'chicken-rice' - it is no more exciting than it sounds, but after a day of not eating tasted delicious.
The days that followed were a nice mix of sightseeing and normal activities.
We visited the old colonial part of Singapore and the thriving Central Business District (CBD). We took the elevator up 56 floors to the top of Marina Bay Sands - this is a newish (opened June 2010) complex comprising three high rise buildings (supposedly in the style of a deck of cards) with a 'boat' on top. The boat includes a viewing deck known as the skypark and a 150m pool for residents of the hotel. The view was pretty cool and the pool is amazing. It is apparently the largest sized pool in the world found at that height
The complex is designed for rich Chinese. It has designer stores and an expensive hotel and a casino to rival those in nearby Macau.
After our day of sightseeing we retired to the Singapore Cricket Club, a truly ex pat experience. It is quite prestigious, but my friends Sam and Cara have managed to get membership. Typically sophisticated we drank beer with our dinner.
We decided to have a sports day on Thursday. This involved tennis at the apartment block in the morning followed by an 8km jungle run (for me) in the afternoon. What sort of nutter runs at 2pm in 32degree heat? Me apparently. I didn't stop sweating for an hour afterwards. Dinner was take-out from the Thomson Plaza, one of the many indoor food centres that sell an incredible range of foods which are cooked fresh for a mere 3-$5 (about £.250).
Friday began with tennis again and then I was booked in for a full body Javanese massage. She was not a shy lady and happily pummelled every area imaginable. She certainly exerted herself and belched twice over the course of my hour session (I think my appointment coincided with lunch). I left greased up with oil and floppy.
In the afternoon we went to the urban planning museum. Very interesting to see how well you can plan on a micro scale -Singapore is a city-state and really not that big an island (smaller than greater London) and when they run out of land they simply reclaim more from the sea! It was all designed according to a visionary masterplan - transport links are excellent, there are food outlets pretty much everywhere and green spaces are valued. Water is supplied by means of 15 man-made reservoirs which also serve as recreational spaces and waste is shipped out to an offshore landfill site.
Following my bus-man's holiday I took a hot and sweaty tour of some temples and sat in Raffles Square watching the workers start their weekend and contemplating the human condition. It was then time to head to the famous Raffles restaurant for dinner.
What a buffet! It was a culinary delight and I had six plates worth of the food. Very enjoyable.
On Saturday we fawned over orchids at the botanic gardens and then it was time to fly to Mumbai.
I arrived into Mumbai around 9pm Indian time to find out that my visa was not valid. The rules had just changed (you have to leave 2 months between re-entry periods). I sucked up to the immigration man who took me off to an office full of jobs-worth and I was rewarded with a re-entry permit form. Not before I had been well and truly grilled on why the hell I would travel via Mumbai and not spend a decent amount of time there. Fair question.
I took a cab to my pre-booked 3 star Best Western Emerald Hotel.
On arrival, I had an interview with the manager who informed me that several rooms were unavailable due to electric failure. And lucky me I was upgraded to the 5-star Sea Palace across the road.
Several more interviews later and I was escorted to room 108 by a grinning bell-boy (although boy is not quite correct as he was at least 50). He took great pleasure in showing me how everything in the room worked (including pulling back the covers of my double bed) before I shooed him off with 100 rupees.
I left to fly home the following afternoon.
It was a long flight and Heathrow welcomed us with chaotic queues at immigration. I waited one hour to enter the UK.
Still the cab ride home was entertaining. My driver's best friend is the some of Idi Amin! Apparently he had around 50 children. In case you're wondering how we got on to that subject it was the Scottish connection - Idi Amin loved Scotland. See the film Last King of Scotland if you haven't already.
And so endeth one great trip.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Goodbye Borneo
I arrived back into Borneo on Sunday evening and basically had dinner and went to bed. The next day (Monday, 23rd August) I was up early to go and see orang-utans.
There is a rehabilitation centre at a place called Semaggoh about 20km away from Kuching. The centre rescues orang-utans that have been orphaned (for whatever reason) and then enables them to live in semi-wild conditions in the National Park. The Park is not large enough to sustain them, hence there are two supplementary 'feeds' a day, one at 9am and one at 3pm. I think there are around 20/25 orang-utans currently living there. They range from 29 year old males, including 'Ritchie' the dominant male to a female baby of only 1 month.
I went for the 9am feed.
I think we were very lucky as quite a few orang-utans came down that morning including the sizeable Ritchie and other mothers and babies and adolescents. There were a lot of people there and I couldn't help but feel a bit sad that their existence amounted to this. I'm sure it's better than a zoo, but being stared at twice a day whilst you try to feed can hardly be enjoyable for them.
In the afternoon I mooched around. I went to some museums and then sat in some gardens for a while, quietly perspiring in the heat. I then went for a drink and resigned myself to souvenir shopping.
I decided what I was going to by and came back to the places later on after I had showered. It was particularly hot on Monday.
One of the places had all sorts of indigenous souvenirs and the shopkeeper, who is of the Iban tribe, personally writes a statement of meaning to accompany every gift you buy.
Whilst I was waiting for him to write my statement they offered me a beer and I sat down and started chatting. Three hours later and I was still there (the shop had now closed) and I was getting increasingly spooked by all the shaman faces and war masks bearing down on me.
I was very hungry so we left to get some food.
They then invited me to a karaoke bar. I'm loathe to turn down an opportunity to sing in public and Asians love their karaoke, so off we went. Someone's brother drove us. I've know idea where we went but it was about 25 minutes out of Kuching.
The place was dead on arrival, so our party of four took it in turns to sing. I was treated to Malay and Indonesians love songs and then sang some of our own favourites - the Beatles, Wonderwall, Backstreet Boys etc.
At about 1am the place started filling up. Remember this is a Monday night. Everyone was well up for singing and vying for the microphone.
Word got around that it was my last night and I was constantly plied with drink. The bar owner personally said that I would not go without a drink that night.
And everyone got down. Malay people can bump and grind. Great fun. The first time I have been able to bust some of my own moves in a long time!
We left about 4am and I got back to a locked hostel. Several minutes of banging later and I was in. I 'slept' for about 2 hours and then left to get my flight to Singapore.
The 1.5 hour flight felt like hours in my fragile state. But, what a great way to leave Borneo!
There is a rehabilitation centre at a place called Semaggoh about 20km away from Kuching. The centre rescues orang-utans that have been orphaned (for whatever reason) and then enables them to live in semi-wild conditions in the National Park. The Park is not large enough to sustain them, hence there are two supplementary 'feeds' a day, one at 9am and one at 3pm. I think there are around 20/25 orang-utans currently living there. They range from 29 year old males, including 'Ritchie' the dominant male to a female baby of only 1 month.
I went for the 9am feed.
I think we were very lucky as quite a few orang-utans came down that morning including the sizeable Ritchie and other mothers and babies and adolescents. There were a lot of people there and I couldn't help but feel a bit sad that their existence amounted to this. I'm sure it's better than a zoo, but being stared at twice a day whilst you try to feed can hardly be enjoyable for them.
In the afternoon I mooched around. I went to some museums and then sat in some gardens for a while, quietly perspiring in the heat. I then went for a drink and resigned myself to souvenir shopping.
I decided what I was going to by and came back to the places later on after I had showered. It was particularly hot on Monday.
One of the places had all sorts of indigenous souvenirs and the shopkeeper, who is of the Iban tribe, personally writes a statement of meaning to accompany every gift you buy.
Whilst I was waiting for him to write my statement they offered me a beer and I sat down and started chatting. Three hours later and I was still there (the shop had now closed) and I was getting increasingly spooked by all the shaman faces and war masks bearing down on me.
I was very hungry so we left to get some food.
They then invited me to a karaoke bar. I'm loathe to turn down an opportunity to sing in public and Asians love their karaoke, so off we went. Someone's brother drove us. I've know idea where we went but it was about 25 minutes out of Kuching.
The place was dead on arrival, so our party of four took it in turns to sing. I was treated to Malay and Indonesians love songs and then sang some of our own favourites - the Beatles, Wonderwall, Backstreet Boys etc.
At about 1am the place started filling up. Remember this is a Monday night. Everyone was well up for singing and vying for the microphone.
Word got around that it was my last night and I was constantly plied with drink. The bar owner personally said that I would not go without a drink that night.
And everyone got down. Malay people can bump and grind. Great fun. The first time I have been able to bust some of my own moves in a long time!
We left about 4am and I got back to a locked hostel. Several minutes of banging later and I was in. I 'slept' for about 2 hours and then left to get my flight to Singapore.
The 1.5 hour flight felt like hours in my fragile state. But, what a great way to leave Borneo!
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Miri
Miri, Wednesday 18th August 2010
On Wednesday I left Kuching bound for Gulung Mulu National Park in the east of the island. My flights meant that I had to go via a city called Miri on the coast with a connecting flight to Mulu on Thursday morning.
I travelled on MasWings which is part of Malaysian Airlines and seems to serve the cities and towns of Borneo.
I arrived into Miri at about 2pm. I purposefully arrived late as it is reputed to be a bit of a dive. The rumours were true.
From the airport I went straight to my hotel, the Pacific Orient, a grimy mid-range place that kind of represented the city with it's below the surface dirt and slightly seedy air.
I left the hotel pretty sharpish and made for the tourist information, mainly to get information about Mulu, but also hoping for something to fill the afternoon.
The tourist officer recommended I go up to the oil museum on the top of Canada Hill. I asked him the direction and he responded that I should take a cab. 'How many minutes walking I asked?'. 'Oh about 30 minutes' he responded but you should take a cab.
Of course I walked and it was a sweaty climb and did involve a precarious crossing of a four lane highway (the city was not planned for the pedestrian), but it was a filler!
The museum itself was not so interesting to me; mainly an opportunity for Shell to market themselves. I did manage to extract some interesting facts though.
[Amusing interlude: Miri feels much more Asian than Kuching and definitely more seedy. For the first time since entering Borneo I was getting stared at a lot. On entering the oil museum two men jumped to open the door for me and one asked if I was single. I admired his direct approach].
Miri was born from oil. It is where the first oil well was dug in Malaysia in 1910 - one hundred years of drilling almost to the day (Wednesday August 10th). There are now 624 oil wells in the Miri Oil Field. Well number 1 became known as the 'The Grand Old Lady of Miri'.
Oil is the reason why Miri achieved city status in 2005 and is responsible for the relative wealth (and all the trappings that this brings - prostitution and the like). But, evidently some good has come from it from an infrastructure perspective.
I met a guy who I met earlier in the week on the walk down and we agreed to meet for dinner. We went to 'ladies night' at the local bar and drank lots of beer under the watchful eye of the proprietor who wore hotpants and tucked the notes into her waistband.
I retired to the hotel a little later than planned to the sound of booming music. I realised my room lay directly above 'Secrets' nightclub and 90s rave anthems seemed to be a favourite... time for the Bioears.
I was woken to telephone wake-up call at 6am (1 hour earlier than asked for). I was not amused, but at least I got my flight on time and could get out of this place!
Thursday 19th - Sunday 22nd August, Gulung Mulu National Park
I also flew to Mulu by MasWings but the plane was a tiny, lightweight aircraft. It was a short flight, just 25 minutes, but quite fun and great to see the rainforest from above. I was acutely aware of the irony of flying by plane to admire the beauty of a rainforest. It didn't sit too well with me. Nor did the knowledge that the National Park is actually land of the Penan tribe, nomads who were forced off their land so the Park could be set up. But more on that at a later date.
We arrived at Miri airstrip at 10am, basically a field with a bit of tarmac.
People were jostling for lifts to the Park HQ so I decided to avoid the crush and walk the 1.5km instead. It was pretty hot and luckily someone took pity on me and picked me and all my rucsacs up on his return journey.
Gulung Mulu National Park is the largest National Park in Sarawak, some 52,566 ha (compared to Kubah at 2,230 and Bako at 2,728). The dominant forest type is mixed dicterocarp (also the dominant forest on the island generally) but also has peat swamp, kerangas and montane forest. Now excuse the stats: there are 80 species of mammals, 270 birds, 130 reptiles, 50 fish species and somewhere in the region of 20,000 insects! Phew...
The Park is also a World Heritage Site and consequently is less 'free' than the others I have been too. You have to register and it's near on impossible to do anything without a guide. I see it as a rainforest experience for the novice.
However, it does harbour some incredible natural and cultural heritage, including Deer Cave, the largest cave passage in the world. This is also home to some 2-3 million wrinkle-lipped bats and it's the cave that everyone is familiar with from 'Life of Mammals'.
I booked to visit the cave on Thursday afternoon and I troop with around 19 others along a jungle trail to the opening. It was not really the jungle experience I'd become accustomed to, the only mammals I heard were of the human kind chatting about all sorts of drivel. Anyway....
I'm going to find it hard to write about the Deer Cave in a way that will do it justice on paper. I don't think I can. The place is incredible. Firstly the scale is immense, the interior is almost cathedral-like; there are irregular forms of rock and tiny pinholes through which a torch beam of light shines down and then there are the sudden openings through which a lush layer of vegetation can be seen. One such opening is known as the 'Garden of Eden'. It was truly beautiful, like walking out of the gloom and into paradise.
As you walk deeper into the cave you become more aware of the clicking bats and the restless activity above your heads and the stench of ammonia (from the bat's guano) pervades your senses.
This is a living chamber and a home to millions of bats, tiny swiftlets and numerous other oddities that thrive on bat shit!
I walked slowly back through the cave. Without meaning to get too sentimental I did feel like I had witnessed something unique and was quite moved. It felt life-affirming. Those experiences are so special and I felt quite emotional to be there and be part of it.
On exiting the cave we wandered to the 'bat observatory' to await the daily exodus of bats at sunset. They leave on mass to go and feed some 40km away at the coast.
It was raining and was shaping up to be less of 'Life of Mammals' moment and more of a bat trickle. However, they did come; and between the hour of 18:00 - 19:00 groups of bats rushed out. You cannot see them at the mouth of the cave as their dark shapes are hidden but once they break the skyline they dance and twirl around one another, snaking together in spirals and curves, entwined in an exit dance before heading to the coast.
I wondered what it was like to be a bat at that moment; do they tremble with excitement before they flee the cave? Something we will never know.
On my remaining days at Mulu I visited some other caves (although it was difficult to top Deer Cave) and did some trekking. I enjoyed the park culture and staying in a large dorm and eating communally and drinking beer. It was quite relaxing.
Yesterday afternoon we returned from a trek and it started to rain; in torrents. It rained all afternoon and all night and into this morning. It was like some sort of biblical storm. Everywhere was underwater this morning; in some places waist deep! Luckily all the buildings are built on stilts.
Several flights were cancelled this morning, but I made mine this afternoon. Quite lucky really. I enjoyed the 'down-time' and finished two books but was itching to be off. Also hanging around the dorm starts to lose it's appeal. Looking around at the various bodies in repose and glum-looking people reminded me of a hospital ward. Good to get out!!
So, here I am back in Kuching but for one day longer only. Tomorrow I'm on a 7.20am (!) bus to go and see the orang-u-tuans. I hope to snatch a glimpse.
Jungle Spots
- a female stick insect hanging on with one arm to a gate; she is about 30cm long. A bit like cliffhanger.
- a bright red beetle wandering slowly on a trail.
- fireflies. Beadlets of light suspended in the night. Apparently the males signal to the females and if she responds with light he's in there.
- Raja Brooke butterflies sucking salty water.
Some notes on 'Jobs Worth'
1. The man who controls the elevator in the Thomson Clinic Singapore. And you thought working in a basement was bad..
2. The lady who dusts water bottles in the main bazaar, Kuching.
3. The man who sweeps leaves of the jungle trails in Gulung Mulu National Park.
On Wednesday I left Kuching bound for Gulung Mulu National Park in the east of the island. My flights meant that I had to go via a city called Miri on the coast with a connecting flight to Mulu on Thursday morning.
I travelled on MasWings which is part of Malaysian Airlines and seems to serve the cities and towns of Borneo.
I arrived into Miri at about 2pm. I purposefully arrived late as it is reputed to be a bit of a dive. The rumours were true.
From the airport I went straight to my hotel, the Pacific Orient, a grimy mid-range place that kind of represented the city with it's below the surface dirt and slightly seedy air.
I left the hotel pretty sharpish and made for the tourist information, mainly to get information about Mulu, but also hoping for something to fill the afternoon.
The tourist officer recommended I go up to the oil museum on the top of Canada Hill. I asked him the direction and he responded that I should take a cab. 'How many minutes walking I asked?'. 'Oh about 30 minutes' he responded but you should take a cab.
Of course I walked and it was a sweaty climb and did involve a precarious crossing of a four lane highway (the city was not planned for the pedestrian), but it was a filler!
The museum itself was not so interesting to me; mainly an opportunity for Shell to market themselves. I did manage to extract some interesting facts though.
[Amusing interlude: Miri feels much more Asian than Kuching and definitely more seedy. For the first time since entering Borneo I was getting stared at a lot. On entering the oil museum two men jumped to open the door for me and one asked if I was single. I admired his direct approach].
Miri was born from oil. It is where the first oil well was dug in Malaysia in 1910 - one hundred years of drilling almost to the day (Wednesday August 10th). There are now 624 oil wells in the Miri Oil Field. Well number 1 became known as the 'The Grand Old Lady of Miri'.
Oil is the reason why Miri achieved city status in 2005 and is responsible for the relative wealth (and all the trappings that this brings - prostitution and the like). But, evidently some good has come from it from an infrastructure perspective.
I met a guy who I met earlier in the week on the walk down and we agreed to meet for dinner. We went to 'ladies night' at the local bar and drank lots of beer under the watchful eye of the proprietor who wore hotpants and tucked the notes into her waistband.
I retired to the hotel a little later than planned to the sound of booming music. I realised my room lay directly above 'Secrets' nightclub and 90s rave anthems seemed to be a favourite... time for the Bioears.
I was woken to telephone wake-up call at 6am (1 hour earlier than asked for). I was not amused, but at least I got my flight on time and could get out of this place!
Thursday 19th - Sunday 22nd August, Gulung Mulu National Park
I also flew to Mulu by MasWings but the plane was a tiny, lightweight aircraft. It was a short flight, just 25 minutes, but quite fun and great to see the rainforest from above. I was acutely aware of the irony of flying by plane to admire the beauty of a rainforest. It didn't sit too well with me. Nor did the knowledge that the National Park is actually land of the Penan tribe, nomads who were forced off their land so the Park could be set up. But more on that at a later date.
We arrived at Miri airstrip at 10am, basically a field with a bit of tarmac.
People were jostling for lifts to the Park HQ so I decided to avoid the crush and walk the 1.5km instead. It was pretty hot and luckily someone took pity on me and picked me and all my rucsacs up on his return journey.
Gulung Mulu National Park is the largest National Park in Sarawak, some 52,566 ha (compared to Kubah at 2,230 and Bako at 2,728). The dominant forest type is mixed dicterocarp (also the dominant forest on the island generally) but also has peat swamp, kerangas and montane forest. Now excuse the stats: there are 80 species of mammals, 270 birds, 130 reptiles, 50 fish species and somewhere in the region of 20,000 insects! Phew...
The Park is also a World Heritage Site and consequently is less 'free' than the others I have been too. You have to register and it's near on impossible to do anything without a guide. I see it as a rainforest experience for the novice.
However, it does harbour some incredible natural and cultural heritage, including Deer Cave, the largest cave passage in the world. This is also home to some 2-3 million wrinkle-lipped bats and it's the cave that everyone is familiar with from 'Life of Mammals'.
I booked to visit the cave on Thursday afternoon and I troop with around 19 others along a jungle trail to the opening. It was not really the jungle experience I'd become accustomed to, the only mammals I heard were of the human kind chatting about all sorts of drivel. Anyway....
I'm going to find it hard to write about the Deer Cave in a way that will do it justice on paper. I don't think I can. The place is incredible. Firstly the scale is immense, the interior is almost cathedral-like; there are irregular forms of rock and tiny pinholes through which a torch beam of light shines down and then there are the sudden openings through which a lush layer of vegetation can be seen. One such opening is known as the 'Garden of Eden'. It was truly beautiful, like walking out of the gloom and into paradise.
As you walk deeper into the cave you become more aware of the clicking bats and the restless activity above your heads and the stench of ammonia (from the bat's guano) pervades your senses.
This is a living chamber and a home to millions of bats, tiny swiftlets and numerous other oddities that thrive on bat shit!
I walked slowly back through the cave. Without meaning to get too sentimental I did feel like I had witnessed something unique and was quite moved. It felt life-affirming. Those experiences are so special and I felt quite emotional to be there and be part of it.
On exiting the cave we wandered to the 'bat observatory' to await the daily exodus of bats at sunset. They leave on mass to go and feed some 40km away at the coast.
It was raining and was shaping up to be less of 'Life of Mammals' moment and more of a bat trickle. However, they did come; and between the hour of 18:00 - 19:00 groups of bats rushed out. You cannot see them at the mouth of the cave as their dark shapes are hidden but once they break the skyline they dance and twirl around one another, snaking together in spirals and curves, entwined in an exit dance before heading to the coast.
I wondered what it was like to be a bat at that moment; do they tremble with excitement before they flee the cave? Something we will never know.
On my remaining days at Mulu I visited some other caves (although it was difficult to top Deer Cave) and did some trekking. I enjoyed the park culture and staying in a large dorm and eating communally and drinking beer. It was quite relaxing.
Yesterday afternoon we returned from a trek and it started to rain; in torrents. It rained all afternoon and all night and into this morning. It was like some sort of biblical storm. Everywhere was underwater this morning; in some places waist deep! Luckily all the buildings are built on stilts.
Several flights were cancelled this morning, but I made mine this afternoon. Quite lucky really. I enjoyed the 'down-time' and finished two books but was itching to be off. Also hanging around the dorm starts to lose it's appeal. Looking around at the various bodies in repose and glum-looking people reminded me of a hospital ward. Good to get out!!
So, here I am back in Kuching but for one day longer only. Tomorrow I'm on a 7.20am (!) bus to go and see the orang-u-tuans. I hope to snatch a glimpse.
Jungle Spots
- a female stick insect hanging on with one arm to a gate; she is about 30cm long. A bit like cliffhanger.
- a bright red beetle wandering slowly on a trail.
- fireflies. Beadlets of light suspended in the night. Apparently the males signal to the females and if she responds with light he's in there.
- Raja Brooke butterflies sucking salty water.
Some notes on 'Jobs Worth'
1. The man who controls the elevator in the Thomson Clinic Singapore. And you thought working in a basement was bad..
2. The lady who dusts water bottles in the main bazaar, Kuching.
3. The man who sweeps leaves of the jungle trails in Gulung Mulu National Park.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Facing the fear
So a few days since I last wrote and a lot has happened. I've been staying in a couple of National Parks, so will try and fill in the gaps as best I can.
Kubah National Park, near Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo; Sunday 15th August 2010
On Sunday, I spent a lazy morning waiting on my lift out of Kuching. I went to Sarawak Women's Museum which sounds like a great idea in principle. It was quite boring though - just a lot of profiles of elite women. The third point in the write-up is 'husband's name and profession'!
When I got to Kubah NP I checked in to my dormitory jungle lodge to find out I was the only person staying the National Park that night!
I trekked the summit trail up to the highest point in the National Park (2,988ft, just shy of a Scottish munro, but I figure that the physicality of the trek puts it up there). It took me 1.5 hours up, 1 hour down. The view at the top was stunning; they have built a viewing platform above the tree canopy so there are great views around.
The heat was relentless and it was a real slog; thank god for cans of 100 plus! On the way down I got caught in one of the many rainstorms and this started the constant soakings I came to expect at least once a day.
Once down I made myself a frugal meal of noodles, fruit and biscuits (tasted delicious to me) and waited for the sun to go down before trekking up to the frog pond, home of up to 50 species of tree frogs (150 have been recorded in Borneo to date).
I was aware of all the sounds of the jungle; the honk of the hornbill somewhere in the distance, the wind through thick foliage, the crash of a brittle leaf falling to the forest floor. Quite atmospheric.
A strange barking begins around the lodge and I start to get freaked out. Everytime I move around the lodge it seems to follow me. I can't see anything in the half-light. I knew that if I could see the animal I would be less scared, but it remains hidden. I close all the curtains and my imagination runs riot. I try to be rational and tell myself that nothing can kill me in the jungle and I will trek up to see the frogs.
I leave at 7pm to walk thirty minutes to the pond. I feel strangely calmer when I'm outside again. I reach the pond and all is quiet to begin with, just the occasional chirrup. I circuit around the pond a few times shining my flashlight on the various tree leaves.
I spot my first frog in a tree about a metre away from me. It is tiny, irridescent green and maybe 5-10cm across, looking bewildered as the flashlight shines on it. As time passes and my searches become bolder, more frogs come into view. Some are literally at my eye level and huge!
After forty five minutes or so the sound is deafening; a cacophony of frogs calling deep into the night. I leave after one hour conscious that my flashlight is disturbing them.
I walk back down, no need for a torch as the moon is shining so brightly. Stars twinkle in the night sky bordered by the by the black silhouette of the canopy rainforest. I notice lights darting off to my left and right - fireflies; lighting up the sky like diamonds.
As I turn a corner I lose the moonlight and am enveloped by the dark night. The thirty minute walk down seems timeless, like I am suspended in the night.
In the distance I can see a light; I know it is my hostel.
I wander in and slowly begin to process my evening. Tonight has truly been one of life's marvels. And ironically people are paying 1,000s RM (malaysian currency) to stay in luxury resorts here and I have experienced all of the this for a few British pounds. Oh and the price of a pack of super-noodles.
Frog Encounter
A flashlight unfurls the coat of darkness
and it's golden beam reveals:
tiny eyes,
amphibious forms,
Green,
Black,
Red,
Brown
and stripes.
Suspended on a tree leaf,
or motionless on leaf litter,
Mouths opening in unison
to expel a mating cry.
Bako National Park, Monday 16th and Tuesday 17th August.
Today (Monday) I travelled Bako National Park to the north of Kuching. I awoke early having not slept on account of the strange barking in Kubah and banging around the lodge.
My pick-up arrives punctually at 8am and it takes about an hour to reach the gateway to Bako NP. From here you commandeer a boat (if you're a single traveller like me); otherwise it's all part of the package.
The twenty minute boat ride to the park is glorious. Although it has been raining incessantly since the early hours of the morning, the clouds and mist cast a beautiful light across the skyline. Looking south you see the imposing figure of Mount Santubong; the summit visible above a ring of cumulus clouds.
Arrival is a bit chaotic. There is one park attendant and everyone must register on arrival. You also have to decide which trail you are walking and enter it into a log book (all a bit pointless I think because if you get lost or injured in the jungle you probably are done for).
There are many daytrippers and most just hang around waiting to be told what to do. They are almost all dressed in standard issue plastic, yellow ponchos (perfect wildlife spotting attire), looking forlorn as the rain pours down.
I opt for the Tajor trek, through thick, steep jungle at the beginning before opening out into heathy, open forest, then moving to the coast.
After 3.5km you reach a waterfall, which is pretty average really. I trek on for a another 500m through thick jungle, cutting a trail as I go, before a steep descent to a beach at the northern end of the park. The beach is secluded, there is not a soul around, so I strip off (I forgot my swimwear) and go for a dip. Of course I have only been in ten minutes when three French people arrive!
It's a beautiful beach, mangrove sands as far as the eye can see, home to tiny burrowing crabs living in little pinholes. They rummage through the beach mud looking for edible detritus and leave little mud balls in their wake. A monitor lizard slinks around a rock and tries to steal my food. Otherwise all is peaceful.
I arrive back to my dorm room around 4pm totally exhausted. I shower whilst looking out to massive bearded pigs grubbing around on the grass. They are truly ridiculous looking and run on strange hooves that gives the impression they are balancing on stilettos. Naughty macaques are everywhere and if you are not careful they will whip the food right off your plate.
There is one eating place - a communal canteen where everyone gets together to eat food and drink beer. I have an interesting conversation with some Australians.
I go to bed at 9.30pm. There is no electricity, so no light and no fan. It is so hot you can scarcely breathe. I am woken abruptly around 3am when the fan and strip light suddenly come on all blazing at once. I was not impressed.
I get up at 6.30am to try to catch some proboscis monkeys on an early morning feed. Baby macaques are playing on the beach at high tide and bearded pigs chase one another across the grass. I take the Telok Delima trail and see nothing for 45 minutes or so and eventually I hear some crashing overhead and am rewarded with a view of a male proboscis monkey feeding. Proboscis monkeys are native only to Borneo. They have a huge nose and pot belly. They are known as 'Orang Belanda' in Malay which means 'Dutchmen'. I love that blatant bit of racism!
I do a number of treks over the course of the day. I have a stand-off with an adult male macaque on one of the trails - he goes for me with teeth bared, snarling. I was quite scared and unable to move forward until a group came along behind him and chased him off with sticks!
I climb up steep, trails with knarled roots underfoot to be faced with incredible coastal views at the top and shorter jungle trails with diverse botany.
At 4pm I wade out to meet my boat at high tide. Seven of us chug along and get back just in time to take the last bus home.
I am exhausted and reeling from all that I have seen. I feel and look feral. It's good for the soul.
Today I fly to Miri before heading to another National Park - Gulung Mulu tomorrow. It is home to the most extensive range of limestone caves in the world and the rainforest is 180 million years old!! Incredible.
Kubah National Park, near Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo; Sunday 15th August 2010
On Sunday, I spent a lazy morning waiting on my lift out of Kuching. I went to Sarawak Women's Museum which sounds like a great idea in principle. It was quite boring though - just a lot of profiles of elite women. The third point in the write-up is 'husband's name and profession'!
When I got to Kubah NP I checked in to my dormitory jungle lodge to find out I was the only person staying the National Park that night!
I trekked the summit trail up to the highest point in the National Park (2,988ft, just shy of a Scottish munro, but I figure that the physicality of the trek puts it up there). It took me 1.5 hours up, 1 hour down. The view at the top was stunning; they have built a viewing platform above the tree canopy so there are great views around.
The heat was relentless and it was a real slog; thank god for cans of 100 plus! On the way down I got caught in one of the many rainstorms and this started the constant soakings I came to expect at least once a day.
Once down I made myself a frugal meal of noodles, fruit and biscuits (tasted delicious to me) and waited for the sun to go down before trekking up to the frog pond, home of up to 50 species of tree frogs (150 have been recorded in Borneo to date).
I was aware of all the sounds of the jungle; the honk of the hornbill somewhere in the distance, the wind through thick foliage, the crash of a brittle leaf falling to the forest floor. Quite atmospheric.
A strange barking begins around the lodge and I start to get freaked out. Everytime I move around the lodge it seems to follow me. I can't see anything in the half-light. I knew that if I could see the animal I would be less scared, but it remains hidden. I close all the curtains and my imagination runs riot. I try to be rational and tell myself that nothing can kill me in the jungle and I will trek up to see the frogs.
I leave at 7pm to walk thirty minutes to the pond. I feel strangely calmer when I'm outside again. I reach the pond and all is quiet to begin with, just the occasional chirrup. I circuit around the pond a few times shining my flashlight on the various tree leaves.
I spot my first frog in a tree about a metre away from me. It is tiny, irridescent green and maybe 5-10cm across, looking bewildered as the flashlight shines on it. As time passes and my searches become bolder, more frogs come into view. Some are literally at my eye level and huge!
After forty five minutes or so the sound is deafening; a cacophony of frogs calling deep into the night. I leave after one hour conscious that my flashlight is disturbing them.
I walk back down, no need for a torch as the moon is shining so brightly. Stars twinkle in the night sky bordered by the by the black silhouette of the canopy rainforest. I notice lights darting off to my left and right - fireflies; lighting up the sky like diamonds.
As I turn a corner I lose the moonlight and am enveloped by the dark night. The thirty minute walk down seems timeless, like I am suspended in the night.
In the distance I can see a light; I know it is my hostel.
I wander in and slowly begin to process my evening. Tonight has truly been one of life's marvels. And ironically people are paying 1,000s RM (malaysian currency) to stay in luxury resorts here and I have experienced all of the this for a few British pounds. Oh and the price of a pack of super-noodles.
Frog Encounter
A flashlight unfurls the coat of darkness
and it's golden beam reveals:
tiny eyes,
amphibious forms,
Green,
Black,
Red,
Brown
and stripes.
Suspended on a tree leaf,
or motionless on leaf litter,
Mouths opening in unison
to expel a mating cry.
Bako National Park, Monday 16th and Tuesday 17th August.
Today (Monday) I travelled Bako National Park to the north of Kuching. I awoke early having not slept on account of the strange barking in Kubah and banging around the lodge.
My pick-up arrives punctually at 8am and it takes about an hour to reach the gateway to Bako NP. From here you commandeer a boat (if you're a single traveller like me); otherwise it's all part of the package.
The twenty minute boat ride to the park is glorious. Although it has been raining incessantly since the early hours of the morning, the clouds and mist cast a beautiful light across the skyline. Looking south you see the imposing figure of Mount Santubong; the summit visible above a ring of cumulus clouds.
Arrival is a bit chaotic. There is one park attendant and everyone must register on arrival. You also have to decide which trail you are walking and enter it into a log book (all a bit pointless I think because if you get lost or injured in the jungle you probably are done for).
There are many daytrippers and most just hang around waiting to be told what to do. They are almost all dressed in standard issue plastic, yellow ponchos (perfect wildlife spotting attire), looking forlorn as the rain pours down.
I opt for the Tajor trek, through thick, steep jungle at the beginning before opening out into heathy, open forest, then moving to the coast.
After 3.5km you reach a waterfall, which is pretty average really. I trek on for a another 500m through thick jungle, cutting a trail as I go, before a steep descent to a beach at the northern end of the park. The beach is secluded, there is not a soul around, so I strip off (I forgot my swimwear) and go for a dip. Of course I have only been in ten minutes when three French people arrive!
It's a beautiful beach, mangrove sands as far as the eye can see, home to tiny burrowing crabs living in little pinholes. They rummage through the beach mud looking for edible detritus and leave little mud balls in their wake. A monitor lizard slinks around a rock and tries to steal my food. Otherwise all is peaceful.
I arrive back to my dorm room around 4pm totally exhausted. I shower whilst looking out to massive bearded pigs grubbing around on the grass. They are truly ridiculous looking and run on strange hooves that gives the impression they are balancing on stilettos. Naughty macaques are everywhere and if you are not careful they will whip the food right off your plate.
There is one eating place - a communal canteen where everyone gets together to eat food and drink beer. I have an interesting conversation with some Australians.
I go to bed at 9.30pm. There is no electricity, so no light and no fan. It is so hot you can scarcely breathe. I am woken abruptly around 3am when the fan and strip light suddenly come on all blazing at once. I was not impressed.
I get up at 6.30am to try to catch some proboscis monkeys on an early morning feed. Baby macaques are playing on the beach at high tide and bearded pigs chase one another across the grass. I take the Telok Delima trail and see nothing for 45 minutes or so and eventually I hear some crashing overhead and am rewarded with a view of a male proboscis monkey feeding. Proboscis monkeys are native only to Borneo. They have a huge nose and pot belly. They are known as 'Orang Belanda' in Malay which means 'Dutchmen'. I love that blatant bit of racism!
I do a number of treks over the course of the day. I have a stand-off with an adult male macaque on one of the trails - he goes for me with teeth bared, snarling. I was quite scared and unable to move forward until a group came along behind him and chased him off with sticks!
I climb up steep, trails with knarled roots underfoot to be faced with incredible coastal views at the top and shorter jungle trails with diverse botany.
At 4pm I wade out to meet my boat at high tide. Seven of us chug along and get back just in time to take the last bus home.
I am exhausted and reeling from all that I have seen. I feel and look feral. It's good for the soul.
Today I fly to Miri before heading to another National Park - Gulung Mulu tomorrow. It is home to the most extensive range of limestone caves in the world and the rainforest is 180 million years old!! Incredible.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
When it rains, it rains...
Gulang Santubong, August 14th, 6.57pm.
Today my plan was to climb mount Santubong (c.810m), between the village of Santubong and Damai beach resort. I was woken at 8am to my hostel room phone ringing. Sarah managed to somehow get through from Canada. We spoke for about 45 minutes which was very nice despite the 15 hour time difference which meant I had literally woken up.. Anyway, too much information, but it has a point - my room is quite cell-like - there are no windows and a small bed in one corner, a small desk in another and much welcome air con. But, the lack of light means I won't wake up. I currently have no watch and mobile is kapoot so zero way of telling the time. So, lucky me I had a nice chat and got woken up.
I got to Santubong about 10am. I think I was a bit ill-prepared again. I've been quite blase travelling this time, but occasionally I get a wake-up call like I did today. Anyway I was wearing trekking sandals and had sufficient water so thought I would be ok.
You have to register at the start so they know who is on the mountain and ideally they take a mobile number, but obviously mine is on the blink. So, I off I went into the jungle enjoying the sounds again and the rich plant life. After twenty minutes or so I was soaked in sweat and realised this trek was going to be harder than I thought. I passed some workers mending a bridge and I forded a river next to them. I fell in, much to their amusement. I passed on, ego bruised a little.
The path started to get steeper and there were frayed ropes and tree trunks to hold on to at some points. Everywhere was slippy and I was getting a little nervous. The worst bit was a vertical drop. The rope was frayed and the rocks looked treacherous. I threw my bags down and then gingerly made my own way down. I worried about my ability to get back up again. I felt fear at this point. It's that sort of gut wrenching, throat gripping fear which only happens once or twice. The last time was on a trek on my own in Peru.
Anyway, ever the bloody-minded one I carried on.
And then the rain started. It's a rainforest. It rains a lot. It comes down in torrents and I was soaked through in minutes. There is absolutely no point in wearing waterproofs. It was weirdly calming and I was suddenly aware of the overwhelming, pungent smell of wild garlic.
I continued with water pouring off me, treading ever more carefully as the path turned to river. I saw an opening (if you've ever spent long periods in a jungle you'll know how inviting a open glade appears). I made for it and had reached a junction - the summit 2.5 hours or the easy(!) route down, 45 minutes. I thought I would continue up.
I saw a sprightly young guy coming down towards me who informed me that he had made it to the top, but that it was even harder than the way I had come. He talked of more frayed ropes and slippery rope ladders. Alarms bells started to ring.
So, the mountain or the rain or a combination of the two defeated me and I continued back down, sopping. Eventually it stopped and I sunned myself on a rock, drying out myself and all my soaked flight e-tickets and ho hum passport!
From the bottom I walked 2.5km back to my original start point to sign out.
The afternoon was spent in Damai Beach Resort; actually a horrible self-contained resort. The only saving grace was the beach which was stunning, looking out to Malaysian hilltops. Oh and they served food and beer.
Notes on food and drink:
I'm inadvertently eating like a Muslim at present (it's Ramadan) i.e. little during daylight, mainly because the heat kills my appetite and then several meals in the evening.
I had a Malaysian fried rice dish the other day - made with vegetables and pieces of chicken and prawn.
Today I ate Sarawak (the region I'm in) Laksa - basically a soup made with fish curry sauce, filled with noodles, chicken pieces, prawn, raw vegetables and sliced omelette. Very hot, but delicious.
Drinking is a must. Isotonic drinks are a favourite here and I've been enjoying several cans a day of '100 plus' - 'helps you maintain an active lifestyle', probably similar to the role that lucozade plays in treating diarrhoea!.
Top traveller tip
Internet places are few and far between in Kuching, but there is a Hilton hotel. The last couple of days I've been pretending to be a guest and have been getting unlimited access for free. Love it.
Tomorrow I spend a night in Kubah National Park and will hopefully see some tree frogs. On Monday/Tuesday I stay in Bako National Park, where I might finally get to meet a loris. We are similar in many ways..
Today my plan was to climb mount Santubong (c.810m), between the village of Santubong and Damai beach resort. I was woken at 8am to my hostel room phone ringing. Sarah managed to somehow get through from Canada. We spoke for about 45 minutes which was very nice despite the 15 hour time difference which meant I had literally woken up.. Anyway, too much information, but it has a point - my room is quite cell-like - there are no windows and a small bed in one corner, a small desk in another and much welcome air con. But, the lack of light means I won't wake up. I currently have no watch and mobile is kapoot so zero way of telling the time. So, lucky me I had a nice chat and got woken up.
I got to Santubong about 10am. I think I was a bit ill-prepared again. I've been quite blase travelling this time, but occasionally I get a wake-up call like I did today. Anyway I was wearing trekking sandals and had sufficient water so thought I would be ok.
You have to register at the start so they know who is on the mountain and ideally they take a mobile number, but obviously mine is on the blink. So, I off I went into the jungle enjoying the sounds again and the rich plant life. After twenty minutes or so I was soaked in sweat and realised this trek was going to be harder than I thought. I passed some workers mending a bridge and I forded a river next to them. I fell in, much to their amusement. I passed on, ego bruised a little.
The path started to get steeper and there were frayed ropes and tree trunks to hold on to at some points. Everywhere was slippy and I was getting a little nervous. The worst bit was a vertical drop. The rope was frayed and the rocks looked treacherous. I threw my bags down and then gingerly made my own way down. I worried about my ability to get back up again. I felt fear at this point. It's that sort of gut wrenching, throat gripping fear which only happens once or twice. The last time was on a trek on my own in Peru.
Anyway, ever the bloody-minded one I carried on.
And then the rain started. It's a rainforest. It rains a lot. It comes down in torrents and I was soaked through in minutes. There is absolutely no point in wearing waterproofs. It was weirdly calming and I was suddenly aware of the overwhelming, pungent smell of wild garlic.
I continued with water pouring off me, treading ever more carefully as the path turned to river. I saw an opening (if you've ever spent long periods in a jungle you'll know how inviting a open glade appears). I made for it and had reached a junction - the summit 2.5 hours or the easy(!) route down, 45 minutes. I thought I would continue up.
I saw a sprightly young guy coming down towards me who informed me that he had made it to the top, but that it was even harder than the way I had come. He talked of more frayed ropes and slippery rope ladders. Alarms bells started to ring.
So, the mountain or the rain or a combination of the two defeated me and I continued back down, sopping. Eventually it stopped and I sunned myself on a rock, drying out myself and all my soaked flight e-tickets and ho hum passport!
From the bottom I walked 2.5km back to my original start point to sign out.
The afternoon was spent in Damai Beach Resort; actually a horrible self-contained resort. The only saving grace was the beach which was stunning, looking out to Malaysian hilltops. Oh and they served food and beer.
Notes on food and drink:
I'm inadvertently eating like a Muslim at present (it's Ramadan) i.e. little during daylight, mainly because the heat kills my appetite and then several meals in the evening.
I had a Malaysian fried rice dish the other day - made with vegetables and pieces of chicken and prawn.
Today I ate Sarawak (the region I'm in) Laksa - basically a soup made with fish curry sauce, filled with noodles, chicken pieces, prawn, raw vegetables and sliced omelette. Very hot, but delicious.
Drinking is a must. Isotonic drinks are a favourite here and I've been enjoying several cans a day of '100 plus' - 'helps you maintain an active lifestyle', probably similar to the role that lucozade plays in treating diarrhoea!.
Top traveller tip
Internet places are few and far between in Kuching, but there is a Hilton hotel. The last couple of days I've been pretending to be a guest and have been getting unlimited access for free. Love it.
Tomorrow I spend a night in Kubah National Park and will hopefully see some tree frogs. On Monday/Tuesday I stay in Bako National Park, where I might finally get to meet a loris. We are similar in many ways..
Friday, 13 August 2010
Jungle Trek
Kabu National Park, near Kuching, Sarawak, Malaysian Borneo, Friday 13th (!) August 2010
So, today i got out of the city. I was eager to get to the jungle which is one of the main reasons I came here. I was up at 6.30am - yes I'm on holiday - mainly so I could get breakfast and catch the earliest bus to the Park and avoid trekking in the heat.
The bus was due to leave at 7.30am and I stood at what I thought was the correct bus stop for a good 40 minutes, occasionally asking locals if I was in the right place. Ninety percent of responses were affirmative. Then I asked some old bloke and he directed to a place that I did think might be a bus terminal as buses moved freely in and out! My bus had long gone so I commandeered a mini-bus from a random who took me direct to the park for a fee (bartered down from what could have been excessive).
I was the first in the park and the ranger Dominic (!) was keen to tell me all about it, devise me an ideal route and make sure I was properly equipped. I was wearing board shorts and trainers, but before you laugh I was told this was sensible as I would be able to see and feel any leeches crawling up my legs.
So armed with litres of water and other rations I headed into the jungle. I did not meet anyone for 3 hours. It was so great to be back in the forest. It's a sensory overload with birds and insects calling, the increasingly frenetic screams of monkeys and the rich plant life from massive fig trees to tiny orchids. The heat was breathtaking; I was soaked in sweat in minutes. I love it though. Feeling truly at one with nature and yourself and noticing every tread, every breath and every beadlet of sweat that trickles.
I finished up at a treetop viewpoint looking north towards Bako National Park where I'll be heading in a few days. Bako has animals on tap - apparently long-tailed macaques and lemurs will literally come up to you. You can also see proboscis monkeys, bearded pigs and a wealth of bird life.
Kabu is more secluded and the animals are more shy, but I think it's more appealing for that i.e. it does not attract many visitors. I'm going back tomorrow night to complete the summit trek and to spend the night in one of the rainforest lodges. You can go out to a pond (which began as a scrape created by bearded pigs) and see tree frogs by torchlight.
I took the bus back this afternoon. It was 15 x cheaper and took twice as long. I was surrounded by school kids going home for the day.
A few things to note (mainly for dad) -
- I didn't get a single mosquito bite, so either the jungle formula I'm using is super strong or the bugs are less imposing than those in the Amazon.... famous last words.
- Despite my inappropriate attire, I didn't get a single leech or tick on me!
- The mosquito hairnet was not worn. But, it may be one for the evening trek.
ps Dad when are we writing our travel book??
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Three Days Three Countries
So, I'm now in Borneo at one of the only internet points in Kuching, a city in the east. There is also a queue and I have been waiting one hour, so this won't be the long prose I intended.
It is Thursday night at 21:45 and I thought the title was appropriate as I have indeed crossed into three countries in the last three days.
I will write more later but my reflections on all three are as follows:
Mumbai, India (Monday 10th August 2010; c.12 hours).
1. It helps to have a good, local guide. My guide was called Freni, incredibly well-informed and she took me to a myriad of places in the short time we had - Gandhi's sometime residence, the place where the Dhobi washermen wash clothes outdoors - this includes a hot and cold wash and ironing spot, the gateway to Mumbai, a large fort entrance at the South of the city built for British Royalty, a huge variety of architectural styles courtesy of the many occupants and two groundwater fed gardens at the highest point of the city.
2. The international airport is new and does not represent any of external Mumbai; even the arrivals area is muted and controlled by soldiers, not the baying masses I expected to see.
3. The city proper is hot as hell, visceral and in your face on all levels.
4. There is a real spirit of endeavour and enterprise in all the people. We could learn a lot from their aspirational desires and will to work.
5. Small idiosyncratic things that become apparent to you like the universal rolling of the head when things don't quite go the way they should.
Singapore, Wednesday 11th August.
Singapore is about everything Mumbai is not. From the moment you arrive in the airport you can then carry on with the minimum of thought or worry. I did feel a bit like a robot with a constant presence and guiding arm around me. I can imagine that if I spent a lot of time there the urge to rebel would be massive.
What I sampled of the food though is amazing. My friend Sam took me to a local restaurant called Longhouse and we ate like Kings sampling a vast array of food types - indian, malay, chinese, whatever dish you fancied.
Kuching, Borneo, Thursday 12th August.
On the flight over I could see the patches of slash and burn and smoke rising from cleared virgin forest. A sign of our global demand to consume and quite stark when seen from above.
Kuching is a large city, although sleepier than I imagined. I spent the day strolling around, then took a boat across the Sarawak River (I'm staying on the south side) to walk around. There is an orchid garden, an amazing array of flowers but the most interesting bit was the 'rehabilitation centre'. Lots of poor, wilting plants taken away for tlc. Cute.
I took a small boat down the river at sundown and had some stunning views of the Sarawak mountains as the sun set. Simply stunning.
Tomorrow I'm going to a nearby National Park to get a taster for the hardcore jungle trekking I'm planning later in the week.
Malaysian are very kind and hospitable. I have already experienced this on numerous occasions.
The heat is enduring. It makes me wilt, but it also slows everything down which is nice.
Finally, after 2.5 years of flight abstinence I did not enjoy my longhaul, 2 night flights in a row experience. There is only so many ways you can bend your legs on an economy flight and it doesn't help that you are fed curry and beer at 12.30am. Of course I didn't have to eat it, but it seemed rude not too!
It is Thursday night at 21:45 and I thought the title was appropriate as I have indeed crossed into three countries in the last three days.
I will write more later but my reflections on all three are as follows:
Mumbai, India (Monday 10th August 2010; c.12 hours).
1. It helps to have a good, local guide. My guide was called Freni, incredibly well-informed and she took me to a myriad of places in the short time we had - Gandhi's sometime residence, the place where the Dhobi washermen wash clothes outdoors - this includes a hot and cold wash and ironing spot, the gateway to Mumbai, a large fort entrance at the South of the city built for British Royalty, a huge variety of architectural styles courtesy of the many occupants and two groundwater fed gardens at the highest point of the city.
2. The international airport is new and does not represent any of external Mumbai; even the arrivals area is muted and controlled by soldiers, not the baying masses I expected to see.
3. The city proper is hot as hell, visceral and in your face on all levels.
4. There is a real spirit of endeavour and enterprise in all the people. We could learn a lot from their aspirational desires and will to work.
5. Small idiosyncratic things that become apparent to you like the universal rolling of the head when things don't quite go the way they should.
Singapore, Wednesday 11th August.
Singapore is about everything Mumbai is not. From the moment you arrive in the airport you can then carry on with the minimum of thought or worry. I did feel a bit like a robot with a constant presence and guiding arm around me. I can imagine that if I spent a lot of time there the urge to rebel would be massive.
What I sampled of the food though is amazing. My friend Sam took me to a local restaurant called Longhouse and we ate like Kings sampling a vast array of food types - indian, malay, chinese, whatever dish you fancied.
Kuching, Borneo, Thursday 12th August.
On the flight over I could see the patches of slash and burn and smoke rising from cleared virgin forest. A sign of our global demand to consume and quite stark when seen from above.
Kuching is a large city, although sleepier than I imagined. I spent the day strolling around, then took a boat across the Sarawak River (I'm staying on the south side) to walk around. There is an orchid garden, an amazing array of flowers but the most interesting bit was the 'rehabilitation centre'. Lots of poor, wilting plants taken away for tlc. Cute.
I took a small boat down the river at sundown and had some stunning views of the Sarawak mountains as the sun set. Simply stunning.
Tomorrow I'm going to a nearby National Park to get a taster for the hardcore jungle trekking I'm planning later in the week.
Malaysian are very kind and hospitable. I have already experienced this on numerous occasions.
The heat is enduring. It makes me wilt, but it also slows everything down which is nice.
Finally, after 2.5 years of flight abstinence I did not enjoy my longhaul, 2 night flights in a row experience. There is only so many ways you can bend your legs on an economy flight and it doesn't help that you are fed curry and beer at 12.30am. Of course I didn't have to eat it, but it seemed rude not too!
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Monsoon
Monsoon.
Rain like bullets.
Firing down from a leaden sky.
Bouncing off pavements.
Penetrating layers
Seeping through soles.
Seeking the earth the drops
skid along roads
Down roof tops and drain pipes
Urban trees
Dusty soldiers of cities
Relish the wet wash.
Grass bent and brown
from blazing hot days and summer tread
Go green from the first moisture touches.
People stand.
bedraggled
wet t-shirts out.
Monsoon.
Short
Sharp
Wet
Rain like bullets.
Firing down from a leaden sky.
Bouncing off pavements.
Penetrating layers
Seeping through soles.
Seeking the earth the drops
skid along roads
Down roof tops and drain pipes
Urban trees
Dusty soldiers of cities
Relish the wet wash.
Grass bent and brown
from blazing hot days and summer tread
Go green from the first moisture touches.
People stand.
bedraggled
wet t-shirts out.
Monsoon.
Short
Sharp
Wet
Sunday, 25 July 2010
The Wedding
I have returned from my brother's wedding. Three days of emotion - intimacy, colour and genuine people.
Nick, my brother has also been particularly special to me. He is my big brother and we are close, people are always surprised how close, but it is a strong bond.
Nick has been with his partner Sally for ten years and they have two lovely daughters, Isla and Erin. Sally proposed in January and my brother accepted. The organisation began.
As close family we attended the legal ceremony on Friday, at a registry office. An off-shoot of Manchester Town Hall. There were anxious moments in the 'holding room'. My niece, Isla, felt the weight of her responsibility - holding the rings and was too afraid to play.
The legal bit was short, but emotionally charged. I've been on the cusp of tears for weeks. I can honestly say there is nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you love dearly express their love for someone else.
Saturday was the main event. Sally had arranged to have a humanist ceremony in Mottram-St-Andrew, a small village outside Manchester. We took over the village hall and surrounding green for the day.
The ceremony was conducted by Lara, Sally's best friend of old. She lead us through the vows (hand-written by the couple) with poise. The ceremony included music by Sally's brother Joe and partner Polly and a couple of readings by me. I chose two Robert Burns poems. I wanted to accentuate my brother's Scottishness (he wore a kilt on the day).
There were more tears and afterwards we mingled on the lawn drinking cava until we were called to dinner. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet put together by a family friend. Lines and lines of adults and children snaked around the food.
My brother and Sally said their thank yous before the cake was cut. My brother broke down when presenting me with my thank you gift. I was touched and had tears again. Not a good way to start my own speech.
The speech for my brother was the most important thing I have ever said. It meant so much that I chose the right words for him. I wanted to express how much I admire, appreciate and love him. It was nerve-wracking and I shook but somehow I got through it. I felt I had done him justice.
The rest of the evening was fun! I could relax. We danced our socks off at the ceilidh and then a hardcore few stayed on for Nick and Sally's music mix. Nick, Sally, me and one very tired 5 year old niece headed home about midnight.
I've put the transcript of the speech below. I gave my brother the original for posterity.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brother the hero
Speaking on behalf of my brother, Nick is an honour. Particularly at his wedding ceremony. I'm
not intending that this follow any sort of tried and tested format, I haven't included any jokes or cribbed any words from the internet, but what I'm going to say is from the heart and based on knowing my brother for the last 32 years and Sally for the past 10.
I want to start by paying a bit of a tribute to Nick. Nick is one of those people who lives life under the radar and out of the spotlight. I can honestly say (and yes I am biased) that he is the most caring, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate person I know. There are so many instances of this I can recall, ever since we were kids:
1) Nick fed me sweets when I cried as a baby (he learned very quickly that I had a sweet tooth and this would shut me up).
2) Nick invited me down to London when I was 16 to a party at his flat. This was one of the main reasons why I moved down to London. Nick spent most of the night getting pissed off with any guy who tried to chat me up.
3) Nick took me to my first ever gay club when I was 21. How many straight men do you know who would do that? And, he got more interest than I did!
4) Taking me out for meals when I was an impoverished student, even though he didn't have much money himself. I'll always remember the Spaghetti House in Leicester Square with fond regard, not least because we both fancied the Italian waitress!
5) Nick is the one person I know I can call in my time of need.
There are many more examples I could cite and many are deeply personal, but I'll stop here. Suffice to say, Nick is a very special man and Nick I love you very much.
So, what is Nick like and what does he like?
Nick is sporty and hugely competitive, a family trait (or some might say affliction). Nick has always been a mountaineer. He has our dad to thank for that obsession. He loves cycling and hint hint he really needs a new bike! I remember he had all the gear when we were kids. He took a while to grow when he was a teenager and did look slightly ridiculous in all the Tour de France gear, but I think cycling gave him freedom to get out and away, much like moutain climbing does and now, latterly, running. Nick regularly runs 10k in under 45 minutes. For those of you who aren't sport freaks, that is a very good time!
Nick completed his bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award when he was 16 with a little bit of help from dad who built a rabbit hutch on his behalf. He did the rest himself.
Nick loves football. His playing days are pretty much over, but I believe that he was one of the first ever wing backs when he played in orange for Kenwood Boys Club in Louisiana aged 6. His team is Machester City and Rangers (he doesn't like to admit that, but once a blue nose always a blue nose).
Nick is no dancer, but he's not afraid to post a few letters on the dancefloor. His music tastes have changed over time (he has always had slightly alternative tastes). In his teenage years he spent a lot of time in his room listening to Metallica and Iron Maiden. I think I was one of the few 10 year olds singing 'Harvest of Sorrow' (Metallica tune by the way). He had his dance era, acid house, club anthems and lots of nights out in clubs dabbling in a bit of this and a bit of that. Indie came and Nick came into his own. Oasis were a favourite and various other bands I forget or had never heard of (I was never quite 'cool' enough). Nick has always had a taste for 70's and soul and funk and enjoyed dressing up in big wigs and flares. These days he's quite into soul and funk and fittingly Northern soul given that he now lives in Manchester. But, he always loves getting his kilt on and dancing to some Scottish music.
Nick has always been particular about personal hygiene. I'm not sure how many Dove deodorants he gets through a month, but I'm sure they contribute fairly significantly to the weekly shopping bill.
Nick is quite a fine cook. He does a mean curry and is always handy with a bit of fish. Most recently he has turned his hand to baking. Some of you might have sampled the birthday cakes he made for Isla and Erin in the style of a dinosaur. Aesthetically pleasing and tasty too.
What about girls? Well, Nick was always popular with the ladies, well once he grew. Nick was 5ft until the age of 16. He blamed it on his genes. It gave me cause to endlessly tease him about! I didn't realise how popular he was until I went to see him in London when I was 16. There were women all over him. But, Nick was never the arrogant type. He always had a girlfriend or some love interest but he never crowed about it. And they came and went, came and went.. until one day when Nick was about 26 he mentioned a girl called Sally. Nick was working for Mencap at the time as a manager. It was a stressful position and drinking post-work was a big part of the culture. It was through Mencap that he met another manager, Sally Francis.
Nick always had girlfriends so I didn't think too much about it when he said he wanted me to meet her. I think I was tired and didn't make too much of an effort, but I wasn't prepared for the rebuke I got the next day. 'I can't believe you didn't make any effort' he said as well as some other phrases which I can't repeat... I realised she was pretty special to him.
Sally or 'Frank' or 'Franco' as Nick calls her had arrived. I remember the first time Frank met my mum. She had had one too many Stellas and decided it would be a good idea to perform some acrobatics on the tube. Nick looked on in horror, my mum was silently bemused. The Frank and Stella show was one to behold. These days Stella stays firmly in the off licence.
Within one year they were living together in Tottenham. It didn't get much more glamorous than that. Six months travelling followed. Nick's sense of adventure was tested to the limit on sky dives and bungee jumps, as well as traveller's diarrhoea which succeeded in reducing the man to half his normal size.
But, they survived and within three years Isla was born in West Norwood, a South London suburb town, near leafy Dulwich, but not quite as posh. Isla was born at home in West Norwood on a pond liner. An important detail. I believe Nick dealt with the afterbirth. And a couple of years later Erin was born at home in Manchester, delivered by Nick.
They are both very happy in Manchester. I think the more laidback pace of life suits them. I find it hard to believe that it really has been 10 years, but that is testament to the strength of their relationship. Time flies and all that.
I want to finish with a list of my favourite Nick and Sally memories:
a) Going to see John play at UCL and meeting Noel Gallagher from Oasis. We were all awestruck except Frank who nonchalently asked him for a cigarette.
b) Going for an Indian on Brick Lane, drinking one too many Stellas and arguing about the Iraq war. This culminated in my then girlfriend storming off, closely followed by Nick. Frank and I stayed on chatting and finishing off our beers.
c) Meeting Nick and Sally at the end of their travels in Chicago. We swam in Lake Michigan and had a dance-off at a street party in the evening.
d) When Nick, Sally and baby Isla met me off the plane after my own 9 month world trip.
e) Holidaying in Kefalonia with Nick, Sally, Isla, Erin and my dad.
There are many more memories and there will be more to come in the future.
You are a lovely couple, welcoming and so easy to be around.
You have two beautiful daughters.
And I wish you all the happiness for the future. I love you both very much.
Nick, my brother has also been particularly special to me. He is my big brother and we are close, people are always surprised how close, but it is a strong bond.
Nick has been with his partner Sally for ten years and they have two lovely daughters, Isla and Erin. Sally proposed in January and my brother accepted. The organisation began.
As close family we attended the legal ceremony on Friday, at a registry office. An off-shoot of Manchester Town Hall. There were anxious moments in the 'holding room'. My niece, Isla, felt the weight of her responsibility - holding the rings and was too afraid to play.
The legal bit was short, but emotionally charged. I've been on the cusp of tears for weeks. I can honestly say there is nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you love dearly express their love for someone else.
Saturday was the main event. Sally had arranged to have a humanist ceremony in Mottram-St-Andrew, a small village outside Manchester. We took over the village hall and surrounding green for the day.
The ceremony was conducted by Lara, Sally's best friend of old. She lead us through the vows (hand-written by the couple) with poise. The ceremony included music by Sally's brother Joe and partner Polly and a couple of readings by me. I chose two Robert Burns poems. I wanted to accentuate my brother's Scottishness (he wore a kilt on the day).
There were more tears and afterwards we mingled on the lawn drinking cava until we were called to dinner. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet put together by a family friend. Lines and lines of adults and children snaked around the food.
My brother and Sally said their thank yous before the cake was cut. My brother broke down when presenting me with my thank you gift. I was touched and had tears again. Not a good way to start my own speech.
The speech for my brother was the most important thing I have ever said. It meant so much that I chose the right words for him. I wanted to express how much I admire, appreciate and love him. It was nerve-wracking and I shook but somehow I got through it. I felt I had done him justice.
The rest of the evening was fun! I could relax. We danced our socks off at the ceilidh and then a hardcore few stayed on for Nick and Sally's music mix. Nick, Sally, me and one very tired 5 year old niece headed home about midnight.
I've put the transcript of the speech below. I gave my brother the original for posterity.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My brother the hero
Speaking on behalf of my brother, Nick is an honour. Particularly at his wedding ceremony. I'm
not intending that this follow any sort of tried and tested format, I haven't included any jokes or cribbed any words from the internet, but what I'm going to say is from the heart and based on knowing my brother for the last 32 years and Sally for the past 10.
I want to start by paying a bit of a tribute to Nick. Nick is one of those people who lives life under the radar and out of the spotlight. I can honestly say (and yes I am biased) that he is the most caring, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate person I know. There are so many instances of this I can recall, ever since we were kids:
1) Nick fed me sweets when I cried as a baby (he learned very quickly that I had a sweet tooth and this would shut me up).
2) Nick invited me down to London when I was 16 to a party at his flat. This was one of the main reasons why I moved down to London. Nick spent most of the night getting pissed off with any guy who tried to chat me up.
3) Nick took me to my first ever gay club when I was 21. How many straight men do you know who would do that? And, he got more interest than I did!
4) Taking me out for meals when I was an impoverished student, even though he didn't have much money himself. I'll always remember the Spaghetti House in Leicester Square with fond regard, not least because we both fancied the Italian waitress!
5) Nick is the one person I know I can call in my time of need.
There are many more examples I could cite and many are deeply personal, but I'll stop here. Suffice to say, Nick is a very special man and Nick I love you very much.
So, what is Nick like and what does he like?
Nick is sporty and hugely competitive, a family trait (or some might say affliction). Nick has always been a mountaineer. He has our dad to thank for that obsession. He loves cycling and hint hint he really needs a new bike! I remember he had all the gear when we were kids. He took a while to grow when he was a teenager and did look slightly ridiculous in all the Tour de France gear, but I think cycling gave him freedom to get out and away, much like moutain climbing does and now, latterly, running. Nick regularly runs 10k in under 45 minutes. For those of you who aren't sport freaks, that is a very good time!
Nick completed his bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award when he was 16 with a little bit of help from dad who built a rabbit hutch on his behalf. He did the rest himself.
Nick loves football. His playing days are pretty much over, but I believe that he was one of the first ever wing backs when he played in orange for Kenwood Boys Club in Louisiana aged 6. His team is Machester City and Rangers (he doesn't like to admit that, but once a blue nose always a blue nose).
Nick is no dancer, but he's not afraid to post a few letters on the dancefloor. His music tastes have changed over time (he has always had slightly alternative tastes). In his teenage years he spent a lot of time in his room listening to Metallica and Iron Maiden. I think I was one of the few 10 year olds singing 'Harvest of Sorrow' (Metallica tune by the way). He had his dance era, acid house, club anthems and lots of nights out in clubs dabbling in a bit of this and a bit of that. Indie came and Nick came into his own. Oasis were a favourite and various other bands I forget or had never heard of (I was never quite 'cool' enough). Nick has always had a taste for 70's and soul and funk and enjoyed dressing up in big wigs and flares. These days he's quite into soul and funk and fittingly Northern soul given that he now lives in Manchester. But, he always loves getting his kilt on and dancing to some Scottish music.
Nick has always been particular about personal hygiene. I'm not sure how many Dove deodorants he gets through a month, but I'm sure they contribute fairly significantly to the weekly shopping bill.
Nick is quite a fine cook. He does a mean curry and is always handy with a bit of fish. Most recently he has turned his hand to baking. Some of you might have sampled the birthday cakes he made for Isla and Erin in the style of a dinosaur. Aesthetically pleasing and tasty too.
What about girls? Well, Nick was always popular with the ladies, well once he grew. Nick was 5ft until the age of 16. He blamed it on his genes. It gave me cause to endlessly tease him about! I didn't realise how popular he was until I went to see him in London when I was 16. There were women all over him. But, Nick was never the arrogant type. He always had a girlfriend or some love interest but he never crowed about it. And they came and went, came and went.. until one day when Nick was about 26 he mentioned a girl called Sally. Nick was working for Mencap at the time as a manager. It was a stressful position and drinking post-work was a big part of the culture. It was through Mencap that he met another manager, Sally Francis.
Nick always had girlfriends so I didn't think too much about it when he said he wanted me to meet her. I think I was tired and didn't make too much of an effort, but I wasn't prepared for the rebuke I got the next day. 'I can't believe you didn't make any effort' he said as well as some other phrases which I can't repeat... I realised she was pretty special to him.
Sally or 'Frank' or 'Franco' as Nick calls her had arrived. I remember the first time Frank met my mum. She had had one too many Stellas and decided it would be a good idea to perform some acrobatics on the tube. Nick looked on in horror, my mum was silently bemused. The Frank and Stella show was one to behold. These days Stella stays firmly in the off licence.
Within one year they were living together in Tottenham. It didn't get much more glamorous than that. Six months travelling followed. Nick's sense of adventure was tested to the limit on sky dives and bungee jumps, as well as traveller's diarrhoea which succeeded in reducing the man to half his normal size.
But, they survived and within three years Isla was born in West Norwood, a South London suburb town, near leafy Dulwich, but not quite as posh. Isla was born at home in West Norwood on a pond liner. An important detail. I believe Nick dealt with the afterbirth. And a couple of years later Erin was born at home in Manchester, delivered by Nick.
They are both very happy in Manchester. I think the more laidback pace of life suits them. I find it hard to believe that it really has been 10 years, but that is testament to the strength of their relationship. Time flies and all that.
I want to finish with a list of my favourite Nick and Sally memories:
a) Going to see John play at UCL and meeting Noel Gallagher from Oasis. We were all awestruck except Frank who nonchalently asked him for a cigarette.
b) Going for an Indian on Brick Lane, drinking one too many Stellas and arguing about the Iraq war. This culminated in my then girlfriend storming off, closely followed by Nick. Frank and I stayed on chatting and finishing off our beers.
c) Meeting Nick and Sally at the end of their travels in Chicago. We swam in Lake Michigan and had a dance-off at a street party in the evening.
d) When Nick, Sally and baby Isla met me off the plane after my own 9 month world trip.
e) Holidaying in Kefalonia with Nick, Sally, Isla, Erin and my dad.
There are many more memories and there will be more to come in the future.
You are a lovely couple, welcoming and so easy to be around.
You have two beautiful daughters.
And I wish you all the happiness for the future. I love you both very much.
Monday, 28 June 2010
The Gite
No dog days.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.
Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.
A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.
Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.
Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.
A grassy bank made good in tartan.
Breakfast al fresco.
Fish cooked on charcoal.
Rich reds in our living room.
A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.
Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.
Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.
You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.
Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.
A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.
A smile when you wake and before you sleep.
Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.
Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.
A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.
Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.
Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.
A grassy bank made good in tartan.
Breakfast al fresco.
Fish cooked on charcoal.
Rich reds in our living room.
A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.
Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.
Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.
You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.
Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.
A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.
A smile when you wake and before you sleep.
Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.
Friday, 25 June 2010
Poem Friday #15
Quite how it got to #15 I don't know, but summer is most definitely upon us and there are multiple distractions from blogging... sun, football, tennis, outdoor swimming etc etc.
There is a guide to London's great trees which we now own and we have been two see two so far - a beautiful 300 year old London Plane in Brunswick Square (part of the grounds owned by Foundling the 18th century philanthropist) and Hardy's Ash in the cemetery of Old St Pancras Church. It is also several hundred years old. The young Thomas Hardy worked in the cemetery before his literary fame and left around 40 -.50? gravestones stacked against a young ash tree. The tree grew around them, and the stones have become part of it's form. Quite lovely really... We saw the ash tree as the sun set. The orange glow was beautiful.
Trees
Admire the pillars of our space
Quietly respiring
in parks
on roadsides
and gardens.
Shielding cemeteries,
As old as graves
they stand.
Lie under the bough
of a London Plane
Look up and see
the sun shimmer through
green-hued veins.
Touch the bark of an ancient Ash
Texture rough
Protecting a hollow core.
Stand on a hilltop and look upon
the weighty form
of a great oak.
Deep in a pine forest
Inhale the fragrant scent
and listen
as the wind whistles
through sharp needles.
Red berries in winter
on the holly bush
Fruit for all seasons.
Admire the trees
as they stand
tall
quietly
observing
the changes we make.
There is a guide to London's great trees which we now own and we have been two see two so far - a beautiful 300 year old London Plane in Brunswick Square (part of the grounds owned by Foundling the 18th century philanthropist) and Hardy's Ash in the cemetery of Old St Pancras Church. It is also several hundred years old. The young Thomas Hardy worked in the cemetery before his literary fame and left around 40 -.50? gravestones stacked against a young ash tree. The tree grew around them, and the stones have become part of it's form. Quite lovely really... We saw the ash tree as the sun set. The orange glow was beautiful.
Trees
Admire the pillars of our space
Quietly respiring
in parks
on roadsides
and gardens.
Shielding cemeteries,
As old as graves
they stand.
Lie under the bough
of a London Plane
Look up and see
the sun shimmer through
green-hued veins.
Touch the bark of an ancient Ash
Texture rough
Protecting a hollow core.
Stand on a hilltop and look upon
the weighty form
of a great oak.
Deep in a pine forest
Inhale the fragrant scent
and listen
as the wind whistles
through sharp needles.
Red berries in winter
on the holly bush
Fruit for all seasons.
Admire the trees
as they stand
tall
quietly
observing
the changes we make.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Poem Friday catch-up
Poem Friday #10
Election 2010
Good morning Britain.
Today well-hung.
Not drawn
or
quartered.
Two halves might make a whole.
Just don't be conservative.
The counting continues.
Fascists out.
Greens are go.
One solitary independent stands out from the crowd.
Scotland the brave
Defeats the auld enemy
again.
Swingers are in
we hope.
But regardless,
Change is a-coming.
-----------------------
Aah the glorious days of election fever. We are now faced with a Conservative-Liberal coalition and two men who have morphed into one another. Who knew that Mr Clegg would sell out on such a monumental scale.
--------------------
The Psyche and the 25 mile walk.
[If you walk too far you risk losing your mind]
I was psyched up for 5 miles.
10 was achievable.
15 became a curse.
20 and my vessel wasn't functioning quite so well.
21 and my psyche was lying face down on the grass.
22 and my limbs shook like jelly.
23 and my eyes were flickering open-shut; open-shut.
24 and my psyche came back for the finish.
24 and a quarter - when a quarter becomes a lifetime.
24 and a half - each stile feels like a mountain.
24 and three quarters - I can see the end.
25 - Done
in.
A pint in hand.
A medal round my neck.
Mind and body at peace.
[til I stand up anyway and realise nothing works anymore]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dorset Circular Coastal Challenge - 25 miles in 10 hours. We completed in 7.5. It's the closest I've come to breaking point. And all in the name of fun.
Election 2010
Good morning Britain.
Today well-hung.
Not drawn
or
quartered.
Two halves might make a whole.
Just don't be conservative.
The counting continues.
Fascists out.
Greens are go.
One solitary independent stands out from the crowd.
Scotland the brave
Defeats the auld enemy
again.
Swingers are in
we hope.
But regardless,
Change is a-coming.
-----------------------
Aah the glorious days of election fever. We are now faced with a Conservative-Liberal coalition and two men who have morphed into one another. Who knew that Mr Clegg would sell out on such a monumental scale.
--------------------
The Psyche and the 25 mile walk.
[If you walk too far you risk losing your mind]
I was psyched up for 5 miles.
10 was achievable.
15 became a curse.
20 and my vessel wasn't functioning quite so well.
21 and my psyche was lying face down on the grass.
22 and my limbs shook like jelly.
23 and my eyes were flickering open-shut; open-shut.
24 and my psyche came back for the finish.
24 and a quarter - when a quarter becomes a lifetime.
24 and a half - each stile feels like a mountain.
24 and three quarters - I can see the end.
25 - Done
in.
A pint in hand.
A medal round my neck.
Mind and body at peace.
[til I stand up anyway and realise nothing works anymore]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dorset Circular Coastal Challenge - 25 miles in 10 hours. We completed in 7.5. It's the closest I've come to breaking point. And all in the name of fun.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Astral Showers
A thousand glittering stars rained down from the sky.
The night lit up.
Celestial powers enlightening the unloved.
Channels of energy propping up limbs.
A manic force field from heaven.
Sparking up the ignition.
The night lit up.
Celestial powers enlightening the unloved.
Channels of energy propping up limbs.
A manic force field from heaven.
Sparking up the ignition.
The Zombie
Looks just like me and you.
a head,
2 arms,
2 legs,
a mouth a nose and 2 eyes.
Walking like you
to an office somewhere in a city
to sit at desk like you do.
To punch at the keys for 8 hours a day.
Then retire
to a home cooked meal
and a glass of full-bodied red.
Moving, seeing, doing,
just like all the other humans
but feeling nothing
No connection
no sorrow
no euphoria
no black days
no anxiety nor mania.
Just a flat line
Undetected by modern medicine.
Unexplained.
------------------
Modern day philosophers are undecided as to whether 'zombies' exist. By zombies they mean hypothetical beings who are physically indistinguishable from 'normal' people but are not conscious.
It seems a crazy thought and yet perhaps not too alien when you get to thinking about it. Consciousness is about being, feeling, making connections. Connections, real connections are so hard to come by; mental states can be explained if you seek the explanation. So what is real? I know what makes me feel real and it's not conversations or substances or things or shaky mental states; it's intimacy and it's hard to come by. But when you find it, even for just a moment, it's glorious.
a head,
2 arms,
2 legs,
a mouth a nose and 2 eyes.
Walking like you
to an office somewhere in a city
to sit at desk like you do.
To punch at the keys for 8 hours a day.
Then retire
to a home cooked meal
and a glass of full-bodied red.
Moving, seeing, doing,
just like all the other humans
but feeling nothing
No connection
no sorrow
no euphoria
no black days
no anxiety nor mania.
Just a flat line
Undetected by modern medicine.
Unexplained.
------------------
Modern day philosophers are undecided as to whether 'zombies' exist. By zombies they mean hypothetical beings who are physically indistinguishable from 'normal' people but are not conscious.
It seems a crazy thought and yet perhaps not too alien when you get to thinking about it. Consciousness is about being, feeling, making connections. Connections, real connections are so hard to come by; mental states can be explained if you seek the explanation. So what is real? I know what makes me feel real and it's not conversations or substances or things or shaky mental states; it's intimacy and it's hard to come by. But when you find it, even for just a moment, it's glorious.
Thursday, 13 May 2010
The Psyche and the 25 mile Walk
Last Saturday I completed a 25 mile walk in 7.5 hours (it was an event - the Dorset Circular Challenge run by the Dorset Fire and Rescue Service). We had to complete in 10 hours and the route was circular starting and finishing at the Square and Compass in Worth Travers.
I didn't have time to fully process the challenge this might pose physically - busy week and the election was taking up a lot of my mental faculties.
Anyway I travelled down on the train on Friday. Several beers, a Cornish pasty and a curry later (ideal preparation for an endurance event) and we were holed up in Swanage YHA. Six in the dorm, zero sleep (there is something distracting about the incontinence sheets that crackle every time someone turns and the light blazing through whenever anyone makes a nocturnal trip to the toilet) and up at 6.30am.
We started at 8 and our group was being led by a very fit woman (I'm still not convinced she is entirely human). The pace was blistering. I had not prepared for that or the sheer cliff faces we stormed up and down for the first 14 miles.
They say that when you run the marathon you hit a wall. I definitely hit a wall on that walk. From about miles 18/19, but especially 21 onwards I was well out of it. It is not something I have ever experienced, the feeling of my psyche leaving my body, ostensibly giving up, whilst I looked down on myself putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again. My mind kept saying 'I will just lie down on the grass. Go to sleep', my body continued. It was a battle to keep the two connected, but my desire to complete seemed to overpower the other thoughts. Crazy. I guess that is partly how it feels when you're training for the SAS or something. Anyway it adds fuel to my ideas on the psyche as being separate to the vessel (body).
We finished.
And I'm now contemplating a 48 mile walk in 18 hours. Is this possible? Am I mad? Time will tell.
I didn't have time to fully process the challenge this might pose physically - busy week and the election was taking up a lot of my mental faculties.
Anyway I travelled down on the train on Friday. Several beers, a Cornish pasty and a curry later (ideal preparation for an endurance event) and we were holed up in Swanage YHA. Six in the dorm, zero sleep (there is something distracting about the incontinence sheets that crackle every time someone turns and the light blazing through whenever anyone makes a nocturnal trip to the toilet) and up at 6.30am.
We started at 8 and our group was being led by a very fit woman (I'm still not convinced she is entirely human). The pace was blistering. I had not prepared for that or the sheer cliff faces we stormed up and down for the first 14 miles.
They say that when you run the marathon you hit a wall. I definitely hit a wall on that walk. From about miles 18/19, but especially 21 onwards I was well out of it. It is not something I have ever experienced, the feeling of my psyche leaving my body, ostensibly giving up, whilst I looked down on myself putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again. My mind kept saying 'I will just lie down on the grass. Go to sleep', my body continued. It was a battle to keep the two connected, but my desire to complete seemed to overpower the other thoughts. Crazy. I guess that is partly how it feels when you're training for the SAS or something. Anyway it adds fuel to my ideas on the psyche as being separate to the vessel (body).
We finished.
And I'm now contemplating a 48 mile walk in 18 hours. Is this possible? Am I mad? Time will tell.
Sunday, 2 May 2010
In Amsterdam
Amsterdam: Fragments of Freedom
An overnight boat, a cabin for two.
Bunk beds, a shower and a little sofa;
Luxury in miniature.
Beer and a book unravels the disguise of a solitary traveller.
Emerge at dawn:
The Hook of Hollandica.
Scrabble for tickets, for change.
Make friends over coffee.
Embark on a train
to Rotterdam.
CHANGE
then onwards to Amsterdam.
A city of canals,
of bikes,
of charm,
of grime.
Well-connected waterways, a map-maker's dream.
Admire Van Gogh,
Dutch Master,
A deft painter.
Textured brushstrokes
Placemaker,
A troubled man.
Wander slowly to Vondelpark,
A linear greenspace.
City dwellers on mass:
Bikes on parade.
Stop for beer,
a smoke,
then eat-a-plenty.
An evening stroll back through sex streets.
SEX SELLS
Faded glamour.
Fake love in bad lighting
Sleep on a ship,
That doesn't move anymore.
Awake in a red bed,
With a dry mouth
and a head full of ideas.
The Dancer
She snakes to the music.
A faded princess.
The light hides the lines, the scars,
the broken dreams.
Dance for your supper,
Entice, invite,
them in.
Money spins
It sucks her in
Happiness will follow.
You can be a star,
seize your moment
And enjoy.
But the eyes belie
a spirit in decline.
a jaded one with surface shine.
Tulips
Geometric lines
of colour
in square fields.
--------------------------
I travelled on my own to Amsterdam. It's been a while since I travelled solo. I needed to recapture the freedom that comes from lone trips; the trepidation, the sense of adventure, the openness, the self-knowledge you acquire.
I took an overnight ferry from Harwich in Essex to the Hook of Hollandica. It takes roughly 7 hours. The boat left at 11.15pm. I was as excited about the journey as the destination.
We were woken to an announcement inviting us to breakfast one hour before we embarked. And so it was we arrived in Holland.
In the spirit of adventure I got chatting to a random in the complex quest for train tickets and we ended up taking the train together; suddenly we were travel buddies. I love the immediate intimacy that comes with such meetings.
Amsterdam was sunny, gritty, charming, little fragments jarring together to make a whole city. We walked for hours along the canals right to the southern end of the city. Despite the sunshine, I wanted to hit my original objective and we went to the Van Gogh museum. Such an interesting man - he only practiced for ten years and didn't begin painting til he was 28. I like the idea that talent need not be fixed. It always seems like such brilliance comes at a cost and he had his dark days. Eventually they subsumed him and he ended it at the tender age of 38. A shame indeed.
After our cultural overload we went to Vondelpark, a mass of people with a park on the side. It was Sunday and it seemed like the whole city (and their bikes) had spilled out into the park. Lovely. As was the afternoon nap.
We smoked a joint in a little cafe looking outside at the people looking in on us. It reminded me of a peep show. After that we were hungry so we ate an Indonesian banquet. Twenty five dishes in all!
It was a whirlwind that ended with a walk through the red light district. Aggressive energy, harsh lights and discomfort. We didn't hang about.
I slept in a permanently moored former freight ship and had breakfast with the brusque German owner, who scared me a lot initially, but warmed up.
It was then time to head back to port and the ferry home. Tired, but happy.
An overnight boat, a cabin for two.
Bunk beds, a shower and a little sofa;
Luxury in miniature.
Beer and a book unravels the disguise of a solitary traveller.
Emerge at dawn:
The Hook of Hollandica.
Scrabble for tickets, for change.
Make friends over coffee.
Embark on a train
to Rotterdam.
CHANGE
then onwards to Amsterdam.
A city of canals,
of bikes,
of charm,
of grime.
Well-connected waterways, a map-maker's dream.
Admire Van Gogh,
Dutch Master,
A deft painter.
Textured brushstrokes
Placemaker,
A troubled man.
Wander slowly to Vondelpark,
A linear greenspace.
City dwellers on mass:
Bikes on parade.
Stop for beer,
a smoke,
then eat-a-plenty.
An evening stroll back through sex streets.
SEX SELLS
Faded glamour.
Fake love in bad lighting
Sleep on a ship,
That doesn't move anymore.
Awake in a red bed,
With a dry mouth
and a head full of ideas.
The Dancer
She snakes to the music.
A faded princess.
The light hides the lines, the scars,
the broken dreams.
Dance for your supper,
Entice, invite,
them in.
Money spins
It sucks her in
Happiness will follow.
You can be a star,
seize your moment
And enjoy.
But the eyes belie
a spirit in decline.
a jaded one with surface shine.
Tulips
Geometric lines
of colour
in square fields.
--------------------------
I travelled on my own to Amsterdam. It's been a while since I travelled solo. I needed to recapture the freedom that comes from lone trips; the trepidation, the sense of adventure, the openness, the self-knowledge you acquire.
I took an overnight ferry from Harwich in Essex to the Hook of Hollandica. It takes roughly 7 hours. The boat left at 11.15pm. I was as excited about the journey as the destination.
We were woken to an announcement inviting us to breakfast one hour before we embarked. And so it was we arrived in Holland.
In the spirit of adventure I got chatting to a random in the complex quest for train tickets and we ended up taking the train together; suddenly we were travel buddies. I love the immediate intimacy that comes with such meetings.
Amsterdam was sunny, gritty, charming, little fragments jarring together to make a whole city. We walked for hours along the canals right to the southern end of the city. Despite the sunshine, I wanted to hit my original objective and we went to the Van Gogh museum. Such an interesting man - he only practiced for ten years and didn't begin painting til he was 28. I like the idea that talent need not be fixed. It always seems like such brilliance comes at a cost and he had his dark days. Eventually they subsumed him and he ended it at the tender age of 38. A shame indeed.
After our cultural overload we went to Vondelpark, a mass of people with a park on the side. It was Sunday and it seemed like the whole city (and their bikes) had spilled out into the park. Lovely. As was the afternoon nap.
We smoked a joint in a little cafe looking outside at the people looking in on us. It reminded me of a peep show. After that we were hungry so we ate an Indonesian banquet. Twenty five dishes in all!
It was a whirlwind that ended with a walk through the red light district. Aggressive energy, harsh lights and discomfort. We didn't hang about.
I slept in a permanently moored former freight ship and had breakfast with the brusque German owner, who scared me a lot initially, but warmed up.
It was then time to head back to port and the ferry home. Tired, but happy.
Friday, 23 April 2010
The Sea
Listen:
The sea is calling.
The lure of the deep.
The thrill of the blue.
The roar of the waves.
Frenzied froth churning.
Salt in the air.
Sharp winds smart the cheek.
The sea
The sea is calling.
Follow the sweet sound of the sirens.
The sea is calling.
The lure of the deep.
The thrill of the blue.
The roar of the waves.
Frenzied froth churning.
Salt in the air.
Sharp winds smart the cheek.
The sea
The sea is calling.
Follow the sweet sound of the sirens.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Iceland
Island of ice and fire.
Interminable summer light.
Winters that seep into an abyss.
The Northern lights: dancing rays of colour.
A country that fell under the weight of capitalist dreams.
A global lesson learned.
And in the spring of 2010 Gaia reigned supreme in this country:
Volcanic ash polluting the skies
Skies which have borne the burden of plane trails, semi-permanent scars of the air.
Dust and ash have created worldwide meltdown.
Blurred our feverish desire to travel.
It began from dust and from ash something new stirs; something mysterious and unknown.
---------------------------------
Iceland is all over the news at the moment. I do find something comforting in all of this though - the thought that for the first time in decades we have air-free space. I hope the atmosphere enjoys the break.
I read a Borges poem called 'Iceland' on Saturday. I came across it randomly and it seemed somehow prophetic.
Iceland (by Jorge Luis Borges)
Iceland of the seas,
how lucky all men are that you exist.
Iceland of the silent snow and the fervent water.
Iceland of the night that overarches
our wakefulness and sleep.
Island of the white returning day,
young and mortal as Balder,.
Icy rose, secret island,
you were Germania's memory;
you saved for us
her snuffed-out, buried myths:
the ring that sires nine rings more,
the giant wolves from iron woods
that will devour sun and moon,
the ship Someone or Something builds
with the fingernails of the dead.
Iceland of craters that bide their time,
and of quiet flocks of sheep.
Iceland of still afternoons
and stalwart men
who are sailors now and boatmen and parishioners,
and who yesterday unearthed a continent.
Island of long-maned horses
that beget on lava beds and grass,
island of water filled with coins
and unquenched hope.
Iceland of the sword and of the rune,
Iceland of the great doomed memory
that knows no longing for the past.
Interminable summer light.
Winters that seep into an abyss.
The Northern lights: dancing rays of colour.
A country that fell under the weight of capitalist dreams.
A global lesson learned.
And in the spring of 2010 Gaia reigned supreme in this country:
Volcanic ash polluting the skies
Skies which have borne the burden of plane trails, semi-permanent scars of the air.
Dust and ash have created worldwide meltdown.
Blurred our feverish desire to travel.
It began from dust and from ash something new stirs; something mysterious and unknown.
---------------------------------
Iceland is all over the news at the moment. I do find something comforting in all of this though - the thought that for the first time in decades we have air-free space. I hope the atmosphere enjoys the break.
I read a Borges poem called 'Iceland' on Saturday. I came across it randomly and it seemed somehow prophetic.
Iceland (by Jorge Luis Borges)
Iceland of the seas,
how lucky all men are that you exist.
Iceland of the silent snow and the fervent water.
Iceland of the night that overarches
our wakefulness and sleep.
Island of the white returning day,
young and mortal as Balder,.
Icy rose, secret island,
you were Germania's memory;
you saved for us
her snuffed-out, buried myths:
the ring that sires nine rings more,
the giant wolves from iron woods
that will devour sun and moon,
the ship Someone or Something builds
with the fingernails of the dead.
Iceland of craters that bide their time,
and of quiet flocks of sheep.
Iceland of still afternoons
and stalwart men
who are sailors now and boatmen and parishioners,
and who yesterday unearthed a continent.
Island of long-maned horses
that beget on lava beds and grass,
island of water filled with coins
and unquenched hope.
Iceland of the sword and of the rune,
Iceland of the great doomed memory
that knows no longing for the past.
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