From Russia with Love

So, it's been a week already in Russia and I haven't yet touched a QWERTY keyboard.  This is partly due to laziness, but also due to a distinct lack of internet  cafes.

Anyway, here we are in Vladisvostok, in Russia's Far East.  This is a grey city (inhabitants c.600,000); a military port town surrounded by exotically named bays (Golden Bay, Ulysses etc) which are filled with warships.  

We arrived on the 3rd August after a long night flight from Moscow.  The Russian airline (Transaero) was filled with Russians - Muscovites?  We were not sure. It is certainly interesting to ponder why people come here...  

A jolly taxi driver took us to our hotel.  The drive was long (about an hour and a half) and bumpy (most of the roads are still under construction).  He delighted in teaching us the Russian word for everything we passed.  We did our best to be jolly back, but in reality we just wanted to sleep.  

He even made a detour to show us the sea (Sarah was convinced he was driving us to be robbed, but I tried to take the positive view, for once!).  

It then rained incessantly for around 48 hours.  We tried manfully to stomp around the city in our waterproofs but they were sopping in 20 minutes.  Our spirits were low and not really lifted by Soviet-block style Hotel Vladisvotok, the base for our stay.  It was hot as hell in the room and our 'sea view' was spoilt somewhat by the neon flashing 'STRIP' signs tempting us down to the swimming pool and sauna, a modern annexe to our hotel.  Sarah got all excited when she heard there was a swimming pool, only to be told that  'it is not for you'...

Today, we woke and NO RAIN.  Our excitement was palpable, sullied only by the inch thick sea fog.  Clearly today was the perfect day for a ferry ride.

We went to Russky Island, a famous military island about thirty minutes ride away.  It's popular with fort fans.  We elected just to stay on.  

Luckily the mist lifted and we were rewarded with occasional views of the hilly city.  It's definitely industrial and not really that pretty, but it has some sort of charm none-the-less.  

It must get so cold I cannot imagine living here in winter when the sea partially freezes.  

Mockba or Moscow was different.  We stayed in a bustling, central neighbourhood to the north-east of the main centre within what is known as the 'Golden Ring' - basically the main metro line (like the circle line in London).  We arrived on Sunday, hot and tired after our first experience of a night-train from St Petersburg.  We boarded at 10.45pm and got excited as the minutes ticked by... we were not going to have to share our 4-berth cabin.  That is until we were joined by two Russians - a Professor of Physics, Vladimir, from the Russian Academy of Science (part of Moscow State University) and Jane a business lady and trained geneticist also from Moscow.  Both had been to conferences (although not the same one as it turned out) and both spoke perfect English.  I was touched by their friendliness and tips for our impending train journey.  

In the morning we woke (well, I say woke but that there wasn't much sleeping).  Vladimir likened it to being rocked to sleep like a baby, my experience was more like a constant jarring through my body all night.  I'm sure I'll get used to it!!

Vladimir was a gentleman.  He took us to the Metro, bought our tickets and then took us to the nearest Metro station for our hostel.  What a kind man and most welcome after our long trip.  

I'm going to sign off now, as time is up and we have to prepare for the next leg - Vladivostok to Khabarvosk tonight.  

Bye for now.  

The Bookshop

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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!