Author Archives: John

Letter from George Town

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The tide has turned.
Up until now it’s been all one-way traffic.

Today the score is:  Mosquitos – 983  / John – 1 .

Admittedly the poor thing was so full of my blood it could hardly fly.
I raised its crumpled body aloft on the tip of my index finger and performed a little victory dance.

The neighbour peered over the back wall wondering what the strange white man was up to now. At the same time I caught sight of my deranged face in the bathroom mirror and realised we were definitely back in the tropics.

Nobody is totally normal in the tropics, at least not here in Penang. The Chinese, the Indian, the Malays, they’re all a bit oval on the axil. Of course the strangest people of all are the Westerners, just ask my neighbour.
Expats, hippies and retirees. Misfits from another world exported here to further confuse Asian sensibilities.

While I’m engaged in a losing battle with a desperate and virulent enemy – the mosquito, Veronica is locked into a cold war with her nemesis – the cockroach.
I’m in the trenches getting shot at while she sits in the home office trembling over a perceived threat.  Seriously, what harm can a cockroach do?  It can’t suck your blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Last night I woke up at 2 am and Veronica was gone.
I saw a light on down stairs , slipped out of bed and peered down through the air-well.
My girlie was poised in a fight or flight posture. A can of Mortein in one hand, a broom in the other and that crazy look of engagement with the enemy in her eyes.
She had been to war. It was big apparently, half the size of your hand. It took half a can of Mortein in its stride.

In the morning we found it. Veronica did the little victory dance with the deranged face. We are holding our own against the forces of evil.

Veronica loves cakes. She can locate all the best cake and pastry shops in any city within hours. She’s like one of those airport sniffer dogs.
We are almost at the bottom of an escalator in one of KL’s major shopping centres.
A Famous Amos cart comes into view.
Veronica lets out a little sob and this teary voice tells me that she’s not feeling well.
I’m worried.
“Why, what’s the matter? Do you want to sit down for a minute”?
“No but I’m really scared”.
“Scared”?
“John, I must be sick. I honestly couldn’t smell Famous Amos, what’s wrong with me”?
Fortunately she has now made a full recovery.

We sleep on a thin mattress on the floor under a rectangular mosquito net suspended from the roof by a network of strings. The day dawns through the gaps in 19th century wooden shutters. The sound of the mosque filters in through those same gaps as the Malay men are drawn to duty.
The Chinese kick start their motorbikes and hurry off to work to make more money.
Every morning I reenact my birth scene.
The mosquito net is tucked in at the base between the mattress and the floor. I begin by prising a small gap in the net and poking my head through. Then I literally slide out naked onto the floor boards. I lie there waiting for morning to slap my ass.

Mosquitos 984 / John 1  :  Mosquitos 985 / John 1  :  Mosquitos 986 / John 1.

A giant mosquito breakfast rises and staggers downstairs.
There’s a newspaper on the kitchen table open to a page encouraging Penangites to give blood.
Haven’t I given enough?

Our house in Penang is lovely but so was my Great Grandmother.
We are beginning to feel like full-time carers.
The old girl put on a pretty new dress last year and her bones are good but she is incontinent and moody.

All of George Town is built on a swamp. After heavy rain or a high tide the water starts rising and soaking up into the floor and walls. Internal pipes divert tropical down-pours from the roof and terrace area. Rain water courses through the house like blood pulsing through a living organism.
This house is alive. Everyday we mop the floors to remove the build up of salt.

The forces of nature are strong here. These 19th century Chinese Shophouses are built to last but, if neglected for even a short period, nature starts to reclaim her ground.
The termites move in, trees grow in ever widening cracks in the roof and walls. The traditional roof tiles eventually succumb to years of pounding rain and hot sun as they slide from their battens.
In less than 12 months our wooden shutters and front door are peeling. Mould is growing up the back wall and salt is building up on the internal walls. Several cracks are appearing and white ants have paid us a couple of visits.

If responsibility was the enemy of happiness we wouldn’t have kids or pets or houses that require a lot of maintenance. I guess you only get out what you put in and we are really savouring the opportunity to be part of the history of this wonderful old house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A conversation in a coffee shop last night:

“Can I please have a white coffee”?

“No sir, only black coffee”.

“Then can I get milk with that”?

“Yes sir”.

“OK, can I have a black coffee with milk”?

“Yes sir, one black coffee with milk, ok”.

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The Legacy of Lim

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I first meet Lim Lai Leong in November of 1997.
I was returning from the world championships in Italy and had elected to stop off in Penang, West Malaysia, for 5 nights of R & R.

It was a strange time. I had been selected to represent my country in Tai Chi and everyone was full of praise but I felt completely empty and inadequate. The movements may have looked ok but the art of Tai Chi was technically beyond me. I didn’t really know what to do about it because my Instructor at the time, despite his high profile, was either unwilling or unable to teach with any depth.

The Penang Esplanade was one place the local Chinese people would gather in the morning to practice Tai Chi. On the 3rd morning I decided to go down and join in. The locals always love it when a Westerner can do Tai Chi and they were almost overwhelming with their adulations. One lady said that I must meet her Master and that he would be amazed to see a white man in Penang who can do such good tai chi.

Master Lim
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She asked me to come back the next morning and she would get her Master to come down and meet me.

The next morning I could see him watching me from the shade of a tree. After completing a form I was introduced to Master Lim Lai Leong. He looked stern and aloof. He shook his head.
“There are lots of things not quite properly. You are not very good”, he told me.
I felt like screaming out Hallelujah, tell me something I don’t know. I knew at that moment that this was the start of something. I asked him if he would be willing to teach me.
He told me to come to his house at 9 am and we would start training.
I did and we trained all day until 6 pm in 33 degree heat with 100% humidity. It was wonderful. It was real. I came back for more training the next morning but had to fly out that afternoon. All I thought about on the flight back to Australia was how quickly I could get back to Penang.

In 1998 I took Veronica and we went 3 times. Lim methodically deconstructed our empty techniques and replaced them with foundation and knowledge.

For the next ten years we visited Penang as often as possible and we also brought many students from Melbourne to be taught by Master Lim.

We look back over those years with great fondness. Apart from the quality tai chi tuition from Lim, there were some wonderful times we had with fellow students and our tour groups. Of course everything we did was made all the more special by being in one of the most unique and historic cities in Asia – George Town, Penang. Everyday was like walking around on a movie set and we fell hopelessly in love with the place and its people.

We trained in a neglected old Chinese Shophouse on Hutton Lane that Lim rented for a song. The Penang rent act forbid landlords charging more than a pittance, which in turn allowed the local people to live and work in the inner city. I recall the hundreds of hours we spent training barefoot on the 100 year old concrete tiles that graced the shophouse floor. The sweat would pour down our arms and drip off our elbows and wrists onto the tiles. Every half hour we’d take a break to drink a bottle of water and mop the puddles of sweat from the floor.

Rio, Lim & Veronica – 2007

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There are many great memories of Lim too. Some funny, some serious and some sad.
Lim didn’t drink. He believed every man should leave at least one vice alone. He was a fighter and often talked about wiping the floor of several opponents at a time. It would be a brave man to dispute the validity of any of his stories. He mellowed with age and channeled all his fighting knowledge into the internal arts. He approached Tai Chi with a fanatical zeal. He would stand in the Zhan Zhuang stance for hours or sit for half a day in the lotus position. Lim expected his students to have the same dedication. The local Chinese were a big disappointment to him. They wouldn’t train hard enough. It was only the ‘Foreigners’ who were willing to practice for hours on end and pay him a fair wage for his knowledge.

Lim taught with enthusiasm and honesty. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that you were lazy or fat. He loved detail. Refining one move could take days. He was inventive too. I remember him grabbing a towel from a wall hook, excitedly wrapping it around Veronica’s neck and pulling both ends tightly while explaining how ‘anything’ could be used as a weapon. Veronica’s look of utter surprise turned to horror as she slowly turned blue. I had to explain to Lim that choking my partner to death was probably not in the best interests of any of us. He realised what he was doing and let go.

Lim smoked. He was typical of the old Chinese Masters. They spend their lives honing their bodies and yet appear oblivious to the horrendous affect smoking will have on them. We were forever berating him for his filthy habit.
One year, after we arrived in Penang, Lim was so proud of himself telling us he had given up smoking. We were delighted and made a huge effort to praise him.
We went back to his place and as we were talking he started packing a pipe. When we tackled him he continued to assert that he had given up smoking, this was only a pipe. He lit it up and puffed away for the whole time we sat there.

Material possessions meant nothing to Lim. He really was a man of simple pleasures. We learned that the hard way.
In 1998 we brought him a gift. It was a souvenir Australian plate with indigenous animals glazed onto the rim. We later heard that he threw it out the window the next day. In 1999 we brought him a cigarette lighter with his name engraved on the side. He opened the box, uttered the words ‘Ronson’ and then tossed it on the floor. He gave it away to a student. In 2000 we brought him an envelope with money in it.

Going out to dinner with Lim was always an anti-social event. He loved Winston Coffee Garden. It was a Chinese hawker area on Anson Rd. where young female singers would wail away on a stage set up in front of the tables. Lim would sit down, pull out a Chinese newspaper and spend the evening catching up on local and foreign events. When he had finished the paper, he would just get up and go.

He was a loveable rat-bag and a rattling good teacher. All of us foreign students accepted him unconditionally. Underneath the tough, often tactless exterior was a man who lived for tai chi and gave all that he knew to his trusted students. We were always grateful to be in his presence.

In 2007, Lim’s years of smoking cigarettes finally caught up with him. He developed throat cancer. He stopped teaching and we watched the disease shake his spirit.  He had moved to a dingy dwelling in a side street off Hutton Lane. He refused to be operated on. He coughed a lot and spat the sins of his past into a ceramic spittoon. He breathed through a hole they’d drilled in his neck.
The last time we saw him was standing in his doorway to wave us goodbye. He still looked proud as he gently rotated his naked wiry upper body over solid hips. He never stopped practicing. After all the years we spent with Lim, my most enduring memory of him is watching him still moving like a tai chi Master in that doorway as we rode away.

We never saw him again. He simply disappeared. Nobody knew where he went. There were strong rumours about a long lost son taking him to Singapore for surgery.

Lim Lai Leong had a profound affect upon us and on our school. His style of Tai Chi is our lineage. We want to believe he is still alive somewhere and continuing to perfect the art he loved so much.

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Freak Accident

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Veronica and I have recently returned from a successful visa-run to Indonesia.

Our 90 day visa was due to expire and Medan seemed like a good idea.

Unfortunately Veronica’s passport had no available space for a visa upon arrival and we refused to pay the US$500 surcharge required to ‘make it all happen’.

So,  Veronica’s papers were stamped officially as deported, we were escorted immediately to the departure lounge and spent the next 8 hours looking for anything that resembled food before our flight back to Penang.
Penang Immigration were happy to see us and reward us with another 90 day visa. Bless them.

I wish we could stay for another 90 days. Our house restoration is almost complete but the money has run out.
I return to Australia on the 16th and Veronica on the 25th. I can’t cook, so all offers of a free feed until the maid returns will be gladly accepted.

It is always so hard to leave here.

I remember reading about a chicken in the US who lived for 18 months without a head.
The would-be killer made a fortune out of carting the headless chook to every sideshow and carnival around and people flocked to watch the bird running about unbothered by its lack of a cranial appendage.

So it is in Malaysia, there are fully functioning human beings who live their lives without any vestige of brain activity.
Even more incredible, they allow these people to ride motorbikes and drive cars.
When they have an accident, because they drove down the wrong side of the road at 100 km an hour in a built up street, the newspapers report it as a ‘freak accident’.

If it’s a tourist who dies, the pain leaves no stain as the grief quickly moves off-shore.
If it’s a local, it’s the will of God or Allah or whatever deity is assigned to accept responsibility for acts of gross stupidity.

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The Convent Light Street

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I remember a time when we came to Malaysia for a holiday.
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I’m sure that some of our friends have restored houses before.
Why did nobody warn us that it’s easier to plan an assault on the summit of Everest?
Our task has been made all the more difficult by being in Malaysia.
It’s taken us 3 weeks to achieve what we would do in 3 days in Melbourne.
Nothing is simple, nothing is logical and nobody does what you would expect.
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Our days are at least 12 hours long. They begin and end with a one hour ride on the
dodgems with half a million inmates of the Penang lunatic asylum.
Our lives have become fully consumed by this 1876 money pit that threatens our sanity
daily.
Are we having fun?     You bet.
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We left Melbourne a month ago.
Our Air Asia flight had a new ‘special’ on the menu. A fancy fruit platter called the ‘F’ Cup.
Should have seen it as a sign of things to come.
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We spent a few days in Melaka before going to Penang and met some really nice guys there, Johnni, Leonard and Raymond, who helped make our time there very special.
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One of the bonuses of living with Lotus Bud ( my girlie ) is being privy to a range of great
one liners and astute observations.
Standing on the banks of the Melaka River.
” Why is it that everyone on a boat has to wave at everyone not on the boat. “
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Looking at a very ornate, gold-leaf Chinese screen in a Melaka shophouse.
”  I couldn’t live with all that guild. “
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Travelling home in our car which was running low on petrol.
” I won’t turn on the air-con so we won’t drain any more petrol than necessary. “
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Yes, we have a car. It’s actually ‘my’ car, Veronica hasn’t yet come to terms with it.
Our friend Appu organised its acquisition. It was a Mazda 626 but when we went to pick
it up it was heavily disguised as a Toyota Corolla. This is quite common in Malaysia.
Assume nothing and expect anything.
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Have been recently inspired by the entrepreneurial skills of an Indian gentleman who
sits at a bus stop on Penang Rd. and sells little piles of grated carrot laid out on the footpath.
Why didn’t I think of that?
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Lotus Bud went for a health check yesterday. The Doctor felt her pulse, looked at her tongue and took her blood pressure. After much consideration, her diagnosis was:
” You cannot take Durian. “
Now if you went for your annual medical check-up expecting some feedback on your
cholesterol, blood sugar levels, heart, liver etc  and instead you were only told that you
probably shouldn’t eat Scotch Finger biscuits ….
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Our friend April has a blind dog. I mean the dog is blind. We now call her a seeing eye person.
She doesn’t get it.
She is gorgeous. Her life is devoted to saving stray dogs.
Veronica volunteered some time to give a talk at Speaker’s Corner in support of April’s
campaign to save stray animals.
For the last two nights we have been woken up by dogs barking and cats fighting.
At 6 am this morning, Lotus Bud sits up in bed and yells out.
” F***in’ dogs and cats, I hate them, ” and then she goes straight back to sleep.
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Despite the house restoration, we have been able to catch up with most of our closest
friends over lunch or dinner during the past 3 weeks.
A lovely Malay friend, Nazlina, is a very liberal and progressive thinking Moslem. Her daughter has a scholarship to the Convent Light School ( a Catholic girl’s school ).
Over lunch I happened to mention how much I’ve always wanted to see inside this grand
old dame with its colourful history, almost as long as Penang itself. We have been walking
the streets of George Town for 14 years now and throughout that time it is one of the few
places that has escaped us. You can’t just walk in, it is strictly policed for the protection of
its students.
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Nazlina suggested that she could get us into the school. Ten minutes later we slipped through the maze of guards at the gate and entered one of Penang’s most beautiful colonial icons.
The buildings are majestic and the grounds stately. Ghosts of countless generations traced our intrusion down the long wooden corridors and out onto the padang.
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Lost in a frenzy of clicking cameras, we could hear Naz’s voice echoing down one of the wooden verandahs.
” Quick, quick, we can sneak into the Church, there’s no one in there. I don’t want anyone to see me because they’ll think I want to convert.”
The Church was beautiful and , like so much of our time in Penang, the visit to the Convent
Light School was unexpected and fascinating.
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Letter from China

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We have been in China for almost 6 weeks now.

Only 3 more days before our return to Malaysia – REAL food, genuine smiles and the English language.
Not that we don’t like China, it’s just that we’ve had enough.
The food, the people, language difficulties, cigarette smoking, all eventually wear you down.

We are currently in Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province. Everyone should come here at least once in their lifetime – it’s like wandering around in a classic Chinese painting.

The place is quite beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are always on the lookout for new ideas or themes for future tours. The latest concept on the drawing board is to plan a Hospital Tour of Mainland China. This would involve tour members being admitted to as many hospitals as practicable within a two or three week period.

The experience could be life-changing.  Anyone interested?

Veronica and I have done extensive research in this area over the past 10 years.
We have an intimate knowledge of the hospitals in most major centres throughout China.
Our latest project involved Veronica being admitted to the Hangzhou General Hospital with Pneumonia.

Despite the dower nature of her research the entertainment meter just kept banging off the scale.
In short, their hospital system works. How it works, God only knows.
We spent a whole day being shunted from one floor to another, one counter to another. Pay money, blood test, pay money, x-ray, pay money, medicine.

While we’re standing in Radiology, which more closely resembled the graphics department of a fashion magazine, a typhoon struck.
It was like a bewitching scene from Mary Poppins with papers flying everywhere and the world outside appearing to swirl around like the inside of a washing machine. The noise beating at the window was some kind of sinister howling. Veronica slapped her boobs against a board and smiled for the x-ray.

After every hospital manoeuvre you have to consult the Oracle.
The Oracle is a little buck-teethed girl wearing thick glasses and a stethoscope for decoration.
She was apparently the only doctor who could speak ‘any’ English, so we were sent to her.

Her consulting room was annexed to a huge Railway Station and was over-run by patients milling around trying to be assessed. You just have to push in. If it’s your card she takes next, then everyone stands around and listens to your problem. The Doctor makes her comments and then everyone joins in with their opinion. Once everyone has had their say, the patient leaves with a prescription created by concensus and then the masses start jostling for position, and on it goes.

Of course the biggest problem in China is that they haven’t yet figured out that smoking is bad for you.
It’s OK to smoke in Restaurants.  Infact it’s almost compulsory.
The world has woken up to the dangers of unprotected sex and now the Inventor in me wants to design condoms for cigarettes. This would help protect us all from the disgusting habit and hopefully, by some deftly designed implosion technique, help to remove offenders from the gene pool even sooner than usual.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Chinese Government should be doing a lot more to protect the health of its citizens.
I envisage millions of little Death Rooms being set up all over China for the 99.9% of Chinese males to go and suck toxic fumes into their decaying bodies and spare the precious lungs of women, children and Australian tourists.

So that’s about it. We saunter around beautiful West Lake in the morning and Veronica spends the afternoon hooked up to a drip at the Zhejiang Hospital.
Beer is really cheap.

 

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Tai Chi is not Funny

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I have had the pleasure of meeting some witty ‘tai chi’ people over the years.
Joe Sweeney, Gary Jackson, Liu De Ming and Don Gray are four who readily spring to mind.
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An hour at the Cove Hotel with the Patterson Lakes tai chi crew can be very amusing. Listening to the likes of Robyn , Jen or Peter the Magnificent will almost certainly guarantee you the hiccups.
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Tai chi attracts humourous people but tai chi itself is not funny.
When practising tai chi you need to maintain a serious disposition.
I have seen a few people over the years who can smile as they do their forms.
I’m not sure if they realise that they’re breaking the important 11th principal of tai chi.
I am jealous though, I would love to be able to smile and not lose my balance.
So now I’m thinking, there must have been some funny moments in my tai chi life.
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Many years ago I do recall doing Qi Gong in a beautiful Melbourne park with one of the most famous tai chi masters in the world. He shall remain nameless but a private lesson with this gentleman would set you back a cool $500.
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We stood with hands on dan tien, eyes closed, postures adjusted in turn by said master. He articulated our good fortune to be standing in a beautiful place surrounded by trees, the birds singing, the sun’s rays caressing our relaxed bodies. It was a perfect setting and Master X continued to highlight the verdant setting and soothing birdsong.
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Eventually the session came to an end and we opened our eyes just in time to see Master X pick up a rock and hurl it at two birds on a nearby bough. The little birds didn’t budge so he bent over to pick up another missile. A loud ripping noise ensued as Master X’s fine silk pants split from ipod to mingmen.
We almost died laughing as we watched him scurry off to find some new daks.
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As a tour leader on the RAT 2004 China Tour I continually reiterated the need for punctuality. All tour members must be on time for the bus. It’s only courtesy toward your fellow travellers.
As always, this group were great and everything went smoothly.
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We visited the Shanghai museum.
‘Everybody must be back on the bus by 4pm’, I decreed.
Don Gray and I ( they nick-named us the Prostate Brothers ) went looking for a toilet as usual.
Mission accomplished we wondered through the extensive halls of the famous museum……….
When God was handing out the ‘funny genes’ his hand must have slipped as Don went past and literally showered him with comical DNA. He is an entertainment complex on legs. I found myself spending as much time as possible in his company. Partly because he’s just a great bloke but also because he’s so funny.
Don talks to everyone. One day he held up about 1000 Chinese tourists while he tried to close the gates to the Forbidden City.
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On another occasion the tour group visited a Beijing house to meet a local resident and learn about his life. We got mobbed by street hawkers trying to sell their wares as we wound our way through the Hutongs to get to this house. We entered the house courtyard and realised that Don was no longer with us. No matter, he often disappeared and finished up being invited home by a local Chinese family. Language differences didn’t seem to matter, the Chinese loved him.
We sat quietly listening to an elderly gentleman relating his life story through an interpreter. Fifteen minutes later the door to the courtyard swings open and in walks Don carrying about 30 boxes of Chinese Calligraphy sets.
“I know they ripped me off but they were such nice people.”
We laughed until we were nearly sick.
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After visiting a few cities in China we sailed down the Li River to Yangshuo. As we approached the town you could see people herding cattle, harvesting rice, wheeling carts and fishing with cormorants. Don walked over to me on the boat deck and said.
“This is fair dinkum China. They’re not muckin’ around here”.
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………… Back to the museum. I lost Don, it doesn’t take much. He just wonders off and talks to people.
I found him in the Bronze age chatting away to a well dressed gentleman.
“This is blah blah blah, Curator of the museum”, he said, introducing me.
“He does tai chi”.
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So here we are, in the middle of the most famous Museum in China, doing the Beijing 24 Forms with the ‘Manager’ , as Don called him. We went through several other forms followed by a round robin pushing hands tournament that attracted quite a crowd. We were having a great time until I heard Veronica screaming my name from somewhere.
“What the hell are you doing? We’ve been sitting on the bus for over half an hour waiting for you”.
We got marched out of there and back onto a very cold bus. Fortunately Don had them all laughing again within minutes.
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My favourite tai chi story concerns my son.
He’s now 24 years old but at the tender age of 6 he used to watch his old man practising tai chi.
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When I first started teaching tai chi I would stand in front of the mirror and talk as though I was in front of a class.
My son Eamon would come into the room and play with his toys while I practised.
I would perform the Lotus Relaxation exercise while vocalising each move.
Turtle treads water, white crane spreads wings, lotus turns to face the wind etc.
Eamon would be engrossed in his toys and apparently ignoring me.
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One day I came home from work a bit earlier than usual. I walked toward the bedroom and stopped short of walking in.
I could here Eamon in there talking. I crept closer and peered around the corner.
Eamon was standing in front of the mirror going through the Lotus. His little mate Brian Murphy was following him through the form.
I was staggered to hear him calling out the names of each move exactly in the right order.
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Things suddenly went a bit pear shaped around the middle of the form.
There’s a move where you have to get into a half squat position and circle your hands. It’s called Snow Rabbit Sits on Haunches.
Eamon got to that part of the form and it came out of his little 6 year old mouth as:
Snow Rabbit Shits Unconscious.
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From that moment forth the move has been called Gathering the Qi.
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I think tai chi can be a little bit funny.
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Tai Chi or Chai Tea?

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“I thought Tai Chi was a spiritual thing, like Yoga”

“Isn’t Tai Chi just for health?”
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“A martial art? How can you fight in slow motion?”
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What is synchronised swimming doing at the Olympics?
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Swimming against the tide
The wave of people washing blind
They are just a ripple
The real rip is caused by the storm of converted souls
The Tai Chi enthusiasts
Yesterday’s students
Today’s teachers
Passing on the diluted piddle they should rename – Chai Tea.
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Why can I not defend myself using Tai Chi?
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A: Because you are not prepared to stand in the Zhang Zhuang for 1 hour a day.
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A: Because you don’t practise stepping for 1 hour per day.
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A: Because you don’t travel to China and stay there for 5 years studying every day for 6 hours with a Master.
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A: Because you don’t train the applications over and over and over again with a partner.
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A: Because you don’t know what ‘Duifang’ means.
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A: Because you are SOFT. Because you are not soft.
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A: Because you haven’t done 10,000 hours.
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These Masters, these Chinese men and women who breathe Tai Chi from childhood
Unhitched by ego
Pure power
Pure physics
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I also like watching Tai Chi gymnastics
Pure Chai Tea
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Some relevant quotes:
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Courage first; power second; technique third.
 ~ Author unknown

Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.
~ Napoleon Bonaparte

I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.
~ Bruce Lee

Don’t hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit softly.
~ Theodore Roosevelt

“Persistence is the twin sister of excellence.
 One is a matter of quality; the other a matter of time.”

“There is no superiority or inferiority of style, only the distinctions between the practitioners.”

“The one who has conquered himself is a far greater hero than he who has defeated a thousand times a thousand men.” – The Dhammapada

“You’ve got to learn your instrument. Then, you practice, practice, practice. And then, when you finally get up there on the bandstand, forget all that and just wail.” – Charlie Parker

“First you have to be hit to know how to defend.”- unknown

Last Days in Penang

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Dajia Hao,
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Let’s jump in the deep end.
I have always believed in the theory of evolution but it has to be a free kick for goal, into the wind, for the Creationists when you consider that people living here don’t have heads shaped like umbrellas.
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Hang on .. our Indonesian maid has just thrown her full support behind Charles Darwin and reminded me that it never usually rains like this.
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Rare sighting of a wild albino Proboscus Monkey at Titi Kerawang
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We drove to Titi Kerawang waterfall for a swim.
The Big Tit, as I call it, is usually dried to a trickle but now it’s a raging torrent.
The serene rock-pool we’ve bathed in over the years now resembles a giant washing machine. I jumped in and clung to a jungle vine as the river literally exploded all around me.
Yes, it’s the Wet Season.
When it rains for more than 3 days in a row the locals call it the wet season.
When it rains for 3 weeks in a row… it’s just crap.
Lotus Bud is losing her tan and her sense of humour.
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Having the use of a car this year has enabled us to get out more in the rain.
We do miss the freedom of the bike but motor cyclists in Penang are known as TMCs ( Temporary Malaysian Citizens ) for good reason.
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Stats:
Road deaths per annum ( 2007 ) in Malaysia – 6,282 ( can you believe that ? ), 3,963 were motor cyclists or pillion riders.
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It’s Ramadan now and the Moslems have to fast.
I think some of the young Malays have completely misinterpreted the word’s of Allah and thought he meant for them to drive fast. We have witnessed incredible acts of stupidity on the roads that utterly defy logic and will almost certainly grant them an early entre to paradise. Penang has a lot of ambulances.
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On friday night we attended a benefit dinner for the Little Penang Street Market. This is a concept created by several of our friends to promote Penang Heritage and local trades.
The dinner was a formal affair held in the Grand Ballroom of the G-Hotel on Gurney Drive. It’s affectionately known as the G-Spot and I must confess to having some trouble finding it.
The evening’s highlight was a world fusion band from KL called AkashA.
Great band, worth the Google search.
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Our days here are full, despite the ubiquitous rain.
So many friends, festivals, parties, markets, the incredible city of George Town, amazing food, vibrant culture, etc etc …. oh and Durian.
It breaks our hearts every year to leave.
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We have less than a week left. If it wasn’t for our wonderful family and friends ( and my beautiful little dog Ska, who turned 15 last month ) we would probably stay here.
The fact is, Melbourne is a great place to call home and we are learning to appreciate it more each year.
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Appu, Manjula & Pooja at our apartment
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We are looking forward to seeing everyone at Tobin’s Tai Chi Academy next Wednesday.
On the 18th of October we get to catch up with the great group of people we had the pleasure of travelling through China with last year.
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I so want to finish this post by writing “Go Lions!” …… but I won’t. Too many injuries I believe.
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We don’t really have an Indonesian maid.
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Letter from Penang

Posted on by
Dajia Hao,
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Only 2 weeks left of our annual pilgrimage and we’re starting to panic.
I can’t imagine leaving here despite the persistent rain.
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The weekend after we returned from Borneo was a lot of fun.
A group of us spent time cooking up some local curries at the Spice Garden followed by a website building seminar.
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The next day we took a boat to Monkey Beach and then trekked up to the lighthouse at Muka Head. After exploring the lighthouse with its spectacular views over the north-west corner of Penang island, we continued on by boat to Pantai Kerachut to view the turtle breeding sanctuary and meromictic lake.
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Nazlina, Johanna & Johan
at the turtle hatchery
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Trekking in the Malaysian jungle is a wonderful experience. But, if confronted by a tiger it is important to stand perfectly still and sing.
The Malaysian National Anthem works best. If the tiger still wants to attack then try the Singaporean or Thai National Anthems. It may be an over-the-border tiger.
Generally they don’t like eating people. Of course, if they’re really hungry and there’s nothing else to eat, the familiar ‘Macca’s effect’ comes in to play. We start looking like a cheeseburger with fries.
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Over the weekend we met a really nice Texan who writes articles and takes wildlife pics for ecology magazines and websites.
He married a Malay girl and they’ve lived in KL for the past 20 years. He converted to Islam as a matter of course and was asked to select a Moslem name. He chose Razlee Dazlee much to the chagrin of his adopted family.
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Enjoyed a funny night out with Jamal ( a Malay friend ) and his wife.
His latest saying is “never late than better”. His tales about Arab tourists are priceless. Ramadan has just started so the Arabs have gone back to the desert.
Everybody here is breathing a sigh of relief.
It’s holiday time. Appu and a couple of drivers who work with him, their wives, a tribe of kids, Lotus Bud and I, all crammed in a bus and headed for the Genting Highlands.
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If you enjoy smoke filled casinos, lots of expensive franchised fast food outlets and soulless Malaysian versions of crass American culture, then the Genting Highlands could be just the place for you.
On the upside, it is cooler if you need a break from the tropical heat and there are some fun rides in the Theme Park for kids of all ages.
Genting is where the Malaysians come en masse to play. It’s like a religious pilgrimage. Like doing Haj. They come from every Kampong on the peninsula at least once in their lives.
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During a two night stay we didn’t spy a single western face.
We stayed in room 929, one of 11,000 rooms that make up the largest hotel on the planet. The whole place looks like the departure lounge of an airport. There is not a single vacant room. Why?
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The Malaysian mind is essentially unfathomable.
They’re all wearing masks to guard against the media-hyped up H1N1 virus but they are happy to share food and drink bottles, leave stagnant water to attract dengue, smoke themselves stupid into burgeoning cancer wards and never use
soap to wash their hands. I love them but they are a people who have massively embraced 21st century technology only minutes after evolving from jellyfish.
Issues such as caring for the environment, racial equality, women’s rights, health and safety have not even blipped on the radar yet.
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We are going to Thailand tomorrow for a couple of days for some trekking.
I have to go and learn the Thai National Anthem.
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Letter from Kuching

Posted on by
Dajia Hao,
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After 2 weeks in Penang, Lotus Bud and I decided we needed a holiday.The local Chinese doctor strongly advised that I convalesce somewhere far away from Durian. Six nights in Borneo should do the trick.

Durian stall at Balik Pulau
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I needed a small backpack, so, while driving around the Kampongs of Balik Pulau looking for ‘Red Prawn’ Durian ( I would inject that stuff ), we found a cheap bag shop. I bought a really cheap pack – I thought, if it lasts the 6 nights in Borneo it will owe me nothing.
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Next day we left our apartment, said goodbye to our neighbour, ‘ Bama ‘ ( I call her the President ), picked up my pack and it literally fell to pieces.
We had a harrowing drive to the airport racing with the clock, found a park and then ran to the Check-in Counter like contestants on the Amazing Race.
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“Sorry Sir, your flight departure has been delayed by one hour”.While Veronica sat sipping her Cafe Latte at Coffee Bean, I sewed my bag back together.
We passed through Airport security like the Invisible Man and his imaginary wife. The dude on the x-ray machine was so engrossed in telling a pretty wanita about the great nasi lemak he had that morning that he didn’t notice us, our bags or the 2 litres of nitro-glycerine we smuggled through in our water bottles.
Welcome to Malaysia.
This is a very laconic country.
When we arrived here from Australia over a month ago, I found the padlock was missing from my suitcase when I took it off the carousel.
Not wanting to be the next Shappelle Corby, I immediately notified the nearest Security Guard. He just waved me on. I persisted.
“My padlock is gone, anything could have been planted in my case.”
He looked at me like I was beginning to cause him grief. He eventually motioned toward the Lost Property counter and suggested I go and report the theft of my padlock.
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So we are back in Borneo after 7 years.
What a wonderful city Kuching is. The Sarawak River snakes through the city with the Old Chinatown on one bank and the majestic Mosque and Palace of the White Rajahs on the other. An evening spent down at the waterfront sipping rice wine and eating fine Malay food is almost perfect.We’re staying at an Iban operated hotel. 70 years ago the Iban were still Headhunters but nowadays they prefer to take our money and let us go.
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Manager of the Iban Hotel
asking a guest to leave.
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We shared breakfast with a group of loud Americans. One guy was telling everyone about a recent trip to Kazakstan where he saw a family drive by with a cow in the car. He said he didn’t know how they got it in there with all the kids but it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.No trip to Borneo is complete without staying at a Longhouse.
We chose a Bidayuh village called Annah Rais, up in the mountains near the Kalamantan ( Indonesian ) border.
On the drive there from Kuching we passed a shop with two signs out the front. One said ‘Pet Rabbit For Sale’ and the other said ‘Fresh Rabbit Meat’.
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The Longhouse has almost 200 doors. An entire community effectively living under one continuous stretch of roofing with a bamboo verandah connecting the houses.
After settling in, we opted for a 3 hour jungle walk from the Longhouse to a beautiful three tier waterfall. The walk was hot and sweaty but very spectacular. At one point we walked within metres of a slash and burn area. The sound of the exploding bamboo and raging flames was quite frightening. We couldn’t help but get a small sense of how
overwhelming the horror of Victoria’s bushfires must have been for many.At the waterfall we ate rice and chicken cooked in bamboo before swimming in a rock pool at the base of the falls.
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Our fellow travellers were 4 Singaporeans and a Japanese girl we named YoYo because she couldn’t stand still. Our night at the Longhouse included a cultural show that made tai chi look like a Bullfight.
Our MC, fat Mr. Edward, introduced each performance with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a beer in his hand. Each dance was performed by his Grandmother dressed in feathers and fighting to stay alive. Twice she fell asleep in the middle of a ‘dance’ and fat Mr. Edward had to come out and give her a prod.
The ‘guests’ were required to join in the last dance. We waved our hands from side to side as we took turns in holding Granny up. We swayed to the rhythm as the Bidayuh warriors sat around in their AC/DC and Slipknot T-shirts, texting their mates on their iphones.
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Back in Kuching, we caught a local bus out to Semingoh Orangutan Sanctuary. It’s worth coming to Borneo if for no other reason than to spend time with these awesome creatures.
Spent a night at Bako in a wooden hut.
Close to Kuching and accessible only by boat, this National Park is arguably the best wildlife experience short of an African safari.
At Bako, the ubiquitous and strangely proportioned Proboscus Monkeys look uncannily like me – according to several of my Malaysian ex-friends.
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We arrived back in Penang at midnight last night. Our holiday is over and, perhaps mercifully, so too the Durian season.
Malaysia is a culinary heaven.
This year we have a great kitchen in our apartment and Veronica has cooked up some smart local curries. The best part has been exploring our favourite markets for fresh vegetables and buying different spices in Little India.
On the other hand, China ( if you’re not on an organised tour ), can be a culinary nightmare. It can be so bad that even McDonalds seems like a good option.
We got chatting to a Chinese guy lately who told us he loved visiting Australia but he couldn’t find anything to eat. He added – “Thank God for McDonalds”.
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