heretosay

Drinks at Houz!

Authors Note: Not as much as one of the characters in the following paragraphs are fictitious. Any character resemblance to individuals within my social circle is completely intended. 😛

Interesting bit of social last night. Got invited to a few drinks at Houz. Eagle and Flamingo were going to be there and Toucan would pick me up to take me there in her car. For a drink with Flamingo I thought I would be able to put up with a car ride from Toucan. She was late picking me up and when I asked her what happened to make her late she reported that she couldn’t decide what to wear. I wound the window down to vomit but managed to hold back. Instead I just commented that the deliberation wasn’t worth it and she still looked like a Nag. Nah just joking. Anyway..pleasant car ride with Toucan where the conversation went along the lines ‘so Graham you live in Ipoh Garden East?’ ; ‘Yes Toucan.’; And that’s the house you live in?’; ‘Yes Toucan.’ ; ‘ I seeee’ ; by which time I was asleep.
After a remarkable hunt for a car park space which contained missed turnings, missed spaces and, thankfully, a few missed pedestrians I was tasked with slithering out of a three and a quarter inch door opening, a biproduct of Toucan’s act of wedging the Myvi into a space that, in a previous life, had been a concrete anchor for the ubiquitous 1980’s style public phone kiosk (and still retained some of the bolt studs and wire ends that serve to mark Malaysians keen desire to minimise their expense on honorary tributes to 20th century technology).
In a feeble attempt to escape her presence for a few seconds I ran to the Pub from the parking space. I fumbled at the doorway with some frustrated pushes on pull signed glass entrance doors and the beaky presence of Toucan once more besieged me. We walked in together and I felt a warm flood of sweat engulf me as I realised the street wise Houz croud had clocked me and I had within seconds fallen from attractive, stylish, desirable bachelor, in their lofty esteem, to desperado of the month, possibly the year or even decade.
I was lifted by the smile and charismatic presence of Flamingo opposite Eagle perched on stools at a corner table. As I approached the table our eyes met and my hand went to her elbow. We conducted the cheek to cheek ritual that signifies the warm hello exchanged by those with a hope for more than just a drink together. Wicked. OMG.. dream on Graham!
Then the evening collapsed, again. Flamingo’s husband arrived. There was an evacuation event that would have earnt medals of decoration for bravery and dedication to underhand activities for all involved had we been attached to any military organisation.
Within a few meagre minutes of arriving at the evening of my dreams I’d somehow been herded into the consolation position of one table, one bucket, one glass and one freedom.

C’est La Vie!!!!

Jon, Minx and Me.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

An introduction from a friend called Bronwyn, some brief email exchanges and two phone calls heralded the most exciting suggestion befallen me in years. I’d nothing more to do than pack a bag and ride a bus to Singapore.

My companions for the next two weeks were holed up in Raffles Marina. They’d both travelled from Mooloolaba in Queensland, Australia, over recent months and were taking some time to recuperate in the southern extremes of the Malacca Straights.
Their passage had been via Darwin, North Australia and on through some of the more remote Islands of Indonesia, one of which had left it’s indelible marks on this remarkable pair.
The younger of my two future companions was no more than 18 months in age. Her name is Minx. Many of her assets were presented in pairs. Her form was sleek and refined and many would use the term sexy to help create an accurate image of her lines.
The elder of my two future companions I found in sunglasses, t shirt and shorts enjoying a healthy fruit and nut breakfast tucked up in Minx’s lap on the Sunday morning of my arrival.
He is vibrant and flamboyant. His name is Jon..
Visually they complemented each other admirably, or should that be admirally!
Minx is a 38ft state of the art, cruising catamaran.
Jon is a state of the art, flamboyant, entrepreneur.
I was introduced to both by Jon over the ensuing few hours. Histories, both recent and beyond were exchanged in an easy flow of conversation that signalled a healthy respect and friendly future for us as friends and team mates in our adventure ahead.

We needed to be as confident as we could that Minx was ready for the passage in front of us. We were going to head out from Singapore to Langkawi, a distance of about 500 nautical miles up through the Malacca Straights between Malaysia and Indonesia. I was to be Captain Jon’s single crew member.

Minx held some concerns for us, an on board toilet malfunction, a battery charger that had failed, an outboard engine that wouldn’t start and a starboard engine that had just been refitted after some repairs at an adjacent dockyard. We attended to items with our combined knowledge and resourcefulness, slowly bringing ourselves to a point of sufficient confidence. In the course of these activities I was provided with a handsome understanding of the many facets of Minx’s character and build.
This work was interspersed with introductions to Jon’s recently made friends and acquaintances on and off boats at the marina. Tom and Witney made contrasting impressions on my conscious person during those few days. Both were engineers; Tom of marine diesels and Witney of attraction.

It was Wednesday before we had Minx properly prepared. Thursday mid morning saw us maneuvre gingerly out of the berth and into the channel between the Jurong side of Singapore and Malaysia. Jon, Minx and Me. The emotion was elation. The mood excited apprehension. Within the hour we were to have our first taste of the sensitive Singapore, Malaysia relationship. We were flying the Singapore flag. Replacing it with the Malaysian flag was the least of our concerns as we made our way into Malaysian waters. A Malaysian coastal marine patrol saw it differently. We spotted the officious looking vessel approaching from our stern at 12 to 15 knots. It was at least 35’, steel and stoutly. Through binoculars I recognized the Malay inscription indicating a government maritime vessel. It’s heading was clearly our direction. Within twenty seconds of its arrival at our stern it moved to a parallel heading and passed within 20 feet of Minx. We rocked violently in the wash. Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez. ‘What was that all about?’ I enquired of Jon as he spun the helm wheel to bring the nose of Minx across the sizeable bow waves. ‘I guess we’d better exchange that Singaporean flag for the Malaysian flag.’ was Jon’s cool response.
The following days brought a multitude of new and breathtaking experiences to my 55 plus years on this planet. We were at sea and at one with the elements. Weather, wind, waves, tides, the sun, the moon were all both our allies and our enemies. We were in their hands yet in control. We learnt the weather patterns and sailed well in the late morning and afternoons. The main sail and genoa often pushed us toward 10 knots in the north westerly’s of the late day. We experimented with the screecher but the main and genoa produced a nice balance.
We were at anchor overnight for the first three nights. The first two being at Pulau Pisang and then at Muar.

The third wasn’t planned. Melacca looked attractive as we approached the city from the murky out waters during the late afternoon of the third day. It felt attractive too, after two nights at anchor. We could almost hear the Melaccan Tiger roaring on our approach. We were running only the port engine. The starboard engine had begun limping on the second day and we were only running it when absolutely necessary. We’d furled the genoa and the brought down the mainsail. Our speed would have been less than 5 knots. We’d had to maintain a constant watch for fishing nets, usually marked with white buoys… irritatingly, often disguised by the late afternoon white caps. There had been a sampang off our port bow with a couple of busy fisherman hauling nets up. After careful inspection of their activity through the binoculars we chose to keep them on our port side. The dull klunk from the port prop was our only indication of the mistake. Jon was quick to throw the engine into neutral and we spent 10 to 15 minutes hoping that we’d escaped with a mere collision on the buoy. We daren’t run the engine until we understood the situation fully. The fishermen continued to gather their net. We dropped anchor. The fishermen continued to gather their net. The sampang edged its way toward Minx. We realized the worst. The elder of the two fishermen demanded RM200 as the sampang bobbed up and down perilously close to Minx’s pristine body work. Negotiations were heated but oddly enough perforated with the occasional Malay chuckle. We finally parted with 50, 000 IR and a handful of Singapore coins before the nets were cut and the Malay fishermen departed into the dusk presumably to treat themselves to a KFC, via a money changer, courtesy of Graham and Jon. An unsuccessful attempt to get under the boat and free the prop from a mass of net and chord preceded a third night at anchor. During calmer waters at first light the following morning I managed to get below the boat armed with gulps of air and a knife. Within 30 minutes we were free of net and chord and on our way.

Jon, Minx and I arrived at Port Dixon, Admiral Marina on the evening of Sunday the 1st of March. Entry to the marina was simple. However it was the first time that Jon and I had worked that exercise together and as with many of the boaty operations that we have had to conduct together, we still have to refine the initially discussed process to have it run really smoothly.
Chandran was at the wharf to help us tie up.
David and Bronwyn were at Blitz just a few berths away to help us relax.
Blitz lubrication was gin and tonics mixed in generous proportions by Bronwyn. The bite of the quinine and the buzz of the gin encouraged a chattery hour of status updates and adventure exchanges before David needed to leave for the airport and a hospital appointment in England the following day!
Jon and I retired to the bar to allow the love birds a peaceful cooing of goodbyes. Food at the bar had not received any rewarding accolades from the Blitz crew so we ordered cautiously and bade our time with a couple of beers and a game of pool at the toytown pool table. I must have been over ginned. I lost at pool and the beer tasted as though it had been pulled direct from the Marina. We tried not to complain but it was impossible. There was a rumour that a barrel was being changed somewhere; our expectations were lifted and relaxed smiles replaced disappointed frowns as mental pictures of Tiger barrels being rolled and taps being loosened lifted and re-applied submerged the taste of pee from the Marina.
I would like to think that the exercise with the beer caused some extra care with meal preparation and presentation. It tasted better than the beer anyway.
A further two nights at Port Dixon allowed Jon and I to say goodbyes to Bronwyn, explore local stores and restaurants, and enjoy a ‘finale’ evening of dance and song with a Philippino band at an otherwise deathly quiet hotel on the Port Dixon run in. I’ll remember how well Chris sang ‘Bleeding Love’ and ‘Better in Time’ for years to come!

We were moving again early the following morning. It was half a days sailing to Port Klang’s Selangor Yacht club. The mooring process left us in less than joyous cheer. There was a very strong current that hindered a remote mooring to a pontoon that was losing its mooring stays to rust and general dilapidation. Later in the evening Mr. Maney (pronounced Money) a local haulage businessmen with endless enthusiasm for everything turned the evening around. Pool and beer amongst his troupe in the clubhouse closed with a drive into Klang town to consume late night oxtail soup and kway teow. Mr Maney courteously drove us back to the marina and tipped the night watchman to ferry us to the remote pontoon mooring. Look after yourself Mr. Maney.

There was nothing to keep us at Port Klang. We departed early afternoon the following day and endured one further overnight anchorage before a pre dawn departure to make the long sail to Lumut.

Sadly I had run out of time and I felt more than a little sad to leave Jon with his task of boat preparation for the onward journey and the sourcing of a replacement crew member. I am looking forward to crew for Jon again at some time in the future.

I enjoyed every minute of the whole journey, learnt a tremendous amount about myself, sailing and Minx, and made a fantastic friend in Jon Hope. I would like to end this chronological text with a big thank-you to Jon for allowing me the opportunity to join him and for making it a resounding success in so many ways. A fantastic fellow!

A Variety of Incidents, Java

2nd February 09
Bali struck my pleasure chords more harmoniously than Jojga. I decided to add another 5 days to the Bali stay. I had booked a round flight from Jogja to Denpasar on Mandala Air. Cost about 760 000 IR. When I phoned the Mandala Air Denpasar office to change the return flight date I was surprised how easy it was. I could hear the Mandala travel clerk and she could hear me. She could understand my English and I could understand hers. It was no trouble getting the flight changed. I was so pleased that it was simple and straightforward that the significance of the final sentences of the conversation only struck home when I walked away from the phone booth. I was now booked onto a Monday morning flight instead of one the preceeding Wednesday. All I would have to do is pay the penalty fee of 560 000 IR. I’d even asked if I could pay that when I arrived for the flight on the Monday morning. Yes, that would be fine; the assistant told me. I reflected on the conversation and properly registered the penalty against the cost of the return flight itself. It was over 75% of the original cost of the round trip. As I thought about it the cost became more crazy. In addition, I was led to believe throughout the conversation that this was a simple flight adjustment. Jeeeeez. I estimated that there was cause for complaint. The following day I phoned again and managed to speak to Daisy, a very pleasant lady ….. another one (!), who listened carefully to my story. I told her I found it difficult to accept that I would have to pay an additional sum that is 75% of the original return trip cost just to get on a flight five days later than the original schedule. A sum that was sprung on me at the end of a conversation that never hinted at any penalty charge until I could not turn back. She was sympathetic but unwavering, possibly because she could not be anything but unwavering within the guidelines of her work. She said that she would consult with her manager. I told her that I would be taking my friend to the airport the next day and that I would try to come to the office to see her. It turns out that her office was not at the airport but the staff at the airport office were kind enough to connect me to the Denpasar office and I spoke to Daisy again. I apologised for the confusion about the office location. Daisy had some news for me. Unfortunately the office manager had not been forthcoming of a solution to my concerns. So the two ladies, Daisy and the lady that had made the original change to my flight schedule, had got together and decided that they would help me by paying the balance of the penalty between them if I paid 200 000 IR. I felt overawed by their kindness.

During this visit to Indonesia and Jogja I have spent most of my relaxing time in the area of Jalan Prawirotaman and Jalan Perengtritis. I regularly frequented the Banana Cafe. It is an odd place! The staff consist of two gay guys Peter and Krishna. Krishna’s gay drama is sickly humorous. There are two female staff Julie and her neice. There is much encouragement to drink beer against a running tab. With large bottles of Bintang at 22 000 IR a throw its not such a bad deal.. until you get to the end of the evening. On receipt of the bill I have never once NOT had the thought…’OMG have I drunk that much?’. My nature is to assign a little uncertainty to accounting after a couple of bottles of Bintang and hence take the inferior position in any suspected billing error and just pay up. It’s usually gone from my mind after not more than the first couple of giddy paces up the street toward my hotel.
However when it happened a third(!)time I began to re asses.
My friend, Barry at Rumah Eyang laughed when I mentioned it. Are you naive, stupid or both? He asked. he had worked out a long time ago that this happened at many places where you could drink on a running bill. He won’t drink on a running bill and asks to pay for each bottle as it is brought to his table.
Last night I was a little bored and ended up walking the five minutes to Banana Cafe for a late evening beer. They were pleased to see me! Of course they were …..Grahams back! I sat at the bar and made a little regular conversation about my drinking progess. This is my first bottle. Gosh I am still drinking my first bottle. Look I have this much still left in my FIRST BOTTLE! I only did one more bottle and remarked several times that I was enjoying a second bottle. I felt it was quite fun. A little like a party game! How could they catch me out tonight. Two thirds of the way through the second bottle and I was well into my fourth card trick. Peter is behind the bar paying an increasing interest in my entertainment as his incredulity at my magic grows. Then it happens. He just walked over to the refrigerator, pulled a small Bintang and announced that I was buying it for him. It was my turn to feel astounded. Before you could say ‘grab that cobra’ the top was off and the bottle was at his mouth. I shook my head. There it was! No room for an underhand swindle so he went for the public announcement. I put the cards away and sulked a little. Jeeez. I didn’t argue. I was speechless. I’m still speechless now when I re read this text. An opportunity to swindle was more important than a happy customer at the Banana Cafe.

I have done my best to keep a balance by relaying the Mandala Air story but unexpected disappointment makes more of a mark than expected pleasure.
Art promoted in some of the outlets in Bali displayed a primitive and often tribal character. It attracted me immensely. Owning any of the pieces would be impractical during this nomadic period of life. I would photograph some of the work though. My thoughts evolved through stages of wanting to share this art with people to the less artistic and more commercial thoughts of… would people for which this art had some attraction be willing to pay more than I could purchase these pieces for? I had the internet at my disposal after all! I knew that most of these operations were not promoting their goods on the internet at all. So I took a step forward and visited the shops that had the most attractive pieces and the most friendly of assistants and explained to them what I would like to do. In every case in Bali the outlets were pleased I was helping them to achieve improved sales. Considerable help was offered in the undertaking of my task. The initial results of my experiment can be seen at http://www.diversah.com/art.htm
Then I came to Jogja. Jogja appears to be less of a showcase for the primitive art that attracted me so much and has a greater leaning towards antiques of not only Indonesian heritage but also of European heritage. For a reason that I still don’t understand red pvc and chrome barbers chairs appeared to figure strongly in the offerings. The outlets frequently hosted a mish mash of goods that hung precariously one rung above throw on the throw or stow assessment ladder that I would have applied. I have been known to stow some real junk in my time too! The outlets showed little creativity in their organisation or flair in their presentation, putting one in mind of a cross between a pawn shop and, what during my youth was called a second hand shop. One example of the glorified junk shop that I describe was an outlet called Moesson Antik. I found a couple of items in amongst the hilarious line up of barbers chairs and wanky mid 20th century Pathe News cinema projectors that got close to my interest in primitive and/or tribal art. Moesson Antik in Jalan Prawirotaman was just twenty yards from my accomodation and on my second visit into this outlet I explained my intentions to the shop assistant who seemed happy to work with me in an effort to increase sales of her extensive collection of items that have appear to have been the subject of the discard button in others objective assessments. Cool.
Later social chit chat led me to believe that there were outlets of lesser tourist dress located in other parts of the city that may serve my interests more effectively. West Imogiri? I decided to employ the help of Alice, a graduate from the Rumah Eyang school of tour guides to help me winkle out these less touristy and potentially more(?) ‘discard button’ oriented operations. More of Alice later! West Imogiri didn’t have a great deal to offer me. There was a heavy bias toward furniture. After a couple of hours around the West Imogiri region of Jogja we chose to head back in toward the city for the purpose of taking a bite to eat and a review of status on my art exploration day. We had just headed back in from the South end of the outer circular road into Jalan Parangtritis and what should appear on the nearside of the road but a Moesson Antik shop. I asked Alice to pull over and I wandered into the shop to meet one of the assistants that I had met in my first visit to Moesson Antik in Jalan Prawirotaman. Her name was Famah. A pleasant and attractive young lady. I wandered round the shop noticing a couple of items that interested me. I explained that I would like to take some photo’s and proposed to meet her asking price on the items if I could find a buyer. At this point Famah became heated! It was clear that there had been some Moesson internal debate on my ideas and something of a turnaround in their thinking and resulting policy. She would allow me to take photos but forbade me any action beyond that to find a buyer. Mmmm… a photos is ok but the rest is out of order…an odd approach that reflects the flawed Moesson thinking rather perfectly I thought. In her fluster and at my suggestion that it was irrational of her to make such a suggestion, Famah described my proposed action as cheating. As I conducted some of my own internal debate on that topic a colleague of Famah’s appeared from behind a nearby wanky Pathe News cinema projector to explain that they were just messengers and that this was the decision of her boss. Of course he didn’t then appear from behind the wanky Pathe News cinema projector and I was deprived of a character of substance with whom I could debate the rationale for such a suggestion. How could this be anything but positive based on the increased potential for the shop to sell at their asking price. However I could see that Famah felt that she was more than just a messenger and had taken the sentiment of the manager and his message to heart, believing with some sincerity that this was in fact cheating! I didn’t want to upset her further and left. I liked Famah. She was responsible and passionate about her work, evident from the great show of upholding company policy made in the face of my daunting presence! Maybe I should have explained that I didn’t think I would get much of a result from my efforts… it was more of something to do than anything else. Famah..you are sweet! Mr Moesson..I describe the Pathe News cinema projectors in your shops and your thinking by the same adjective.

Famous in Bali

The wheels of the A320 touched the Bali tarmac during the 2nd half of the last hour of the 14th January 09 day. Bali time. Five hours late. I’d booked no accomodation and now had the masochistic pleasure of trying to find a room during the early hours of the morning when, in Southern Bali if one is not asleep, then one is probably drunk.
With an apparently undamaged backpack retrieved and a pleasurable absence of third world immigration officers who see their role only as an opportunity to poke back at members of the 1st world for simply existing, I headed for the exit of the arrival lounge.
Am I famous here? It felt like the obvious question with so many waving hands and voices greeting me as I came out onto the walkway beyond the arrival concourse. Within seconds fame and recognition had faded to irritation and annoyance along with the realisation that these fans were in fact desperate taxi drivers. If there is one thing that suggests to me these guys have cottoned on to a get rich quick scheme it is their sheer desperation to take your fare. The scene is reminiscent of the 1st day of the January sales at large department stores. I rebel. For one I don’t want to be one of the suckers that is duped by anothers get rich quick scheme and two I have never done the January sales and didn’t intend to start now.
During the ensuing ten minutes and a leisurely amble through the car park I barked at enough taxi drivers to earn me the td cross. Where are you going? was responded to honestly with my destination name, Seminyak. The price always volunteered was 70,000IR. My response everytime was 45,000. Their response was usually..walk then. I had moved through the throng and into quiet ground on the exit side of the car park and was just beginning to wonder if I had burnt my boat as it were and would end up walking more than I really wanted to when a voice in the darkness enquired….taxi…meter? Yes please, I said and within seconds the bag was in the boot and and I was chatting to a pleasant Balinese guy about weather and it’s effect on tourism in Bali.
At Neds Hideaway in Seminyak and 45,000 showing on the meter I was informed that all rooms were taken. No. 9 down the road was the response to my question about another nearby hotel. When I finally roused somebody at No. 9 the response was the same. Gang Bima was the road name. I am sure it translates to small gangway minimal gauge. The car would only just go round the corners. However my driver clearly didn’t own this car and any mark on mirror, hub cap, wing or door was obviously going to be charged heavily. At one sharp left turn I swear we reversed at least five times in order to get the same space between diagonally opposite ends of the car and their nearest wall before the car was allowed free passage through the complete corner. I couldn’t work out whether this guy was genuinely anxious, taking the piss or just resorting to preplanned subversion in order to hike the meter reading.
But I shouldn’t knock Maddi too hard. The intentions he displayed were, on the whole, honorable. After both Neds Hideaway and No.9 had both advised me that they were full Maddi took up the situation with an assertive air of authority. ‘Leave it to me!’ He announced. We trundled gently along another section of Gang Bima and arrived at some large iron gates that Maddi had given encouraging and satisfied ‘Here’ type of acclaim towards. I couldn’t see any guesthouse or accomodation signs but Maddi was already out of the car and at the gates with his hand through some kind of manipulation hole. The gates would swing inwards 6″ and back 6″ but, no matter how much he fiddled with things in the manipulation hole, the gates would go no further. I hopped out and had a fiddle also. Same result. This level of success after I’d ‘left it to Maddi’ was disappointing. But he was not deterred. I was signaled back into the car and we headed for the main road. I was still hoping my blind confidence in this man was not too misplaced and he would surprise me. As we moved toward the light of the main road it became apparent a car had parked half across the exit onto the main road. Maddi stopped the car and made noises of frustrated uncertainty. We were not really close enought to assess the extent of the blockage. GO (you idiot..thought but not said), I ordered him. As we got closer it was apparent that we could easily swerve right of the parked car and out into the bright lights of the main road. Maddi made relieved noises followed by ‘I know’ happy like sounds. I felt my confidence was ebbing away but I clung onto the edge of hope. Not more than 50 meters down the street he made noises of frustrated doom. ‘Gates closed’ was his announced observation as we veered past grounds with closed gates in front of them; but oddly, no evidence of guest house signs. I began to get the feeling that Maddi was creating a story to entertain his friends at the local temple the following morning. I saw an image of them falling onto their sides as they prayed, shedding tears of laughter and holding aching sides as Maddi was relaying the story and kept adding that line…’and he still believed me!’. I needed to abort this exercise and do something new and wonderful and hopeful when Maddi swung the car into a security monitored hotel car park. OK I, announced, I’ll take the bags and pay you. He seemed pleased with that and I could see him wondering why I didn’t just order him to a similar main road, brightly lit 4 star hotel in the first place. His bill was 56,000IR! I cant say I was enamored with his performance so he got 56,000IR. The 4 star hotel was beachfront, I realised as I walked into the lobby and witnessed the rolling waves and the silver greyness of the sand in the dark night beyond the far side of the lobby. It was light years beyond my budget at 65usd per night. I hung the backpacks about my shoulders and walked back the way Maddi had brought me. Farther up the same street I was jeered and cajouled by locals and tourists alike from their happy havens of streetside clubs and bars. I smiled and waved and marched by. Maddi’s departure had lit new energy and direction in me. I was in a mess but in control. Two enquiries en route along what I now know is called Jalan Abymanu at after 12.30am at night produced a ‘sorry, full’ at the Green Rooms and a 200,000IR per night room that I didn’t even want to look at at the Galaxy Hotel. For some reason the name Galaxy Hotel suggests scuffed, grubby, grey and bugs. I may be wrong I didn’t look at the room. At the top of the road I turned left along Jalan Seminyak. Within 50 paces a lone motorcylcist had acknowledged me as prey! He knew rooms for 100,000IR per night and it would cost me 20,000IR to get there on his bike as pillion. Thats two grown men, my 70 litre backpack and a full 15 litre backpack on a Honda 125 heading toward Kuta along Jalan Seminyak. 15 mins and two enquiries later I have a 70,000IR /night room secured, bags in the room, motorcyclist paid and a glass of Bintang in my hand at a bar across from the rooms. YES. YES YES YES!

No Register On The Richter Scale

15th January 09
My second arrival in Bali in just over 12 months is as demanding of some words of record as the first. The departure from Jogja was something of a signal that destiny itself was contriving to create a Bali welcome of some significance..
The simple airport at Jogja, called the Adi Sucipto airport, on one hand aligns with all the expecTations of such an establishment in this leisurely paced city and on the other hand defies many of the other expectations one is ushered toward by even a short stay in this gentle, art oriented, haven of Central Java.
The check in process was manual. Bag weighing equipment displayed the result of it’s assessment through the 1970’s medium of gas filled neon style seven segment alpha numeric displays! Alignment with expectations.
I was advised that the flight was expected to depart 3 hours later than scheduled. No register on the Richter scale.
I was entertained by a check in officer and baggage handler making such a mess of the check in process that it was only my amused vigilance that allowed me to advise them that they had given the prior passengers my baggage tag receipt. Less of a quake more of a Two Ronnies sketch.
The departure ‘lounge’ presented another side of the Javanese culture. The Malioboro Cafe charged me 30,000IR, the equivalent of 2UKP for a bowl of noodle soup that would of cost me 5,000IR the equivalent of 30p back in Jogja city. A bar of chocolate easily cost me the same as it would have back in the UK. Some gentle questioning brought apologies from the staff..sorry ya, sorry ya and almost embarrassed smiles. Of course it’s a overhead thing. An opportunity for the single party oriented government to seize on the monopolistic status of the airport and further line the pockets of those in authority at no greivance to the locals. Cynicism sneaks in a poke.
However it was well air conditioned. So well air conditioned in fact that after four hours in the place I may well have pushed out my sell by date by a not insignificant period.
At a point around 3 hours into my wait I began to notice a spattering of small bright green boxes lying listlessly and discardedly on the lounge furniture. I suspected that they may have been food hampers offered to delayed customers of one of the five or so airlines operating from this gilded government revenue centre. In a state of free food bravado I ventured toward a gate official with my question prepared. My suspicion was confirmed. Garuda passengers evidently have a late departure hamper cost built into their cost structure. My airline didn’t. C’est la vie.
As time ‘flew’ by and the rescheduled departure time for my flight became history I listened calmly to the apologies for delays over the sound system transgress to cancellations and instructions for the aggrieved passengers to report back to a check in counter…where one would presumably be warmly greeted by a ‘Closed – All flights Cancelled’ sign. A second poke from cynicism.
However the cancellations appeared to work in favour for some. When I began to think that most of the people left in the departure lounge were probably only there because they were asleep the public announcement system was cranked into action again. As usual the initial words of the announcement were spoken in Bahasa. At probably the third word in this particular diatribe there was an eruption from the far end of the lounge that would have put Chelsea supporters cheering an away goal at White Hart Lane to shame. I guess they were either going to get a free night in a hotel or minimum half day off work tomorrow.
I eventually departed amongst other listless examples of holidayees at around 10.30pm.

The Perwita Sari Hotel

14th January 2009
The Perwita Sari Hotel… during the 1 minute 4 second earthquake of May 27 2006 the pool developed waves that were estimated to be 6 foot in height. It’s all quiet at the moment!

The earthquake occurred at 05:54 local time on 27th May 2006 in the Indian Ocean around 25 km south-southwest of the Indonesian city of Yogyakarta, near Galur, on the southern side of the island of Java, 17.1 km below the seabed. Jakarta’s Meteorology and Geophysics Agency determined the hypocentre to be about 37 km south of Yogyakarta, 33 km below the seabed. The earthquake had a magnitude of 6.3. Two aftershocks, measured at 4.8 and 4.6, occurred between 4 and 6 hours later.

Four More Nights

13th January 2009

Tonight will be my fourth night at the Perwita Sari Hotel in Jalan Prawirotaman in the South of Jogjarkata. I have a basic room with fan, no airconditioning, a clean and comfortable bed, a tv that I haven’t felt the least inclined to watch ( I suspect all of the programs are in Bahasa Indonesia anyway), and an attached bathroom that has hot water but no place to hang the shower head (?!). With a basic Indonesian fried rice breakfast this little number is costing me 99,000 Indonesian Rupiah a night which is around 6 UKP. Oh yes..there is a swimming pool and the place is very friendly. It is about 10 minutes walk from my 1st room in Jogja on this trip at Rumah Eyang. Atik at Rumah Eyang was charging me a similar amount for similar accomodation but I felt that the rooms location within the grounds of the house were a little dismal. However I am going back there for a couple of hours each day to catch up with the friends that I have made there and enjoy the friendly rapport between guests who are mostly connected to the art scene that is very dominant in this area of Jogja.

One artist that I have chatted to most days is Barry! Although Barry’s art tends to be rather liquid oriented he is a leader in his field particularly in this relatively muslim region. Today he wanted to show me around a little. We got lost! Barry is seventy one and as with it as they come until directions and names are concerned. However we did ultimately make it to a McDonalds which I had already indicated to Barry was placed rather firmly near the top of my agenda. We rode the regular bus into the Malioboro area which appears to be a single fare operation no matter where you get on or off. 2500 I R felt like a bargain for a 15 minute ride in heat that would have made what was probably a 40 minute walk an exhausting affair.

I haven’t felt challenged or discovered a great deal in the last couple of days. This often tends to produce a little agitation within me. However I am treating this as a break from what has been a period of intense marketing and business development activity for me around the semiconductor related affair that I have been trying to establish. So a period free of challenge and discovery is allowing me to ‘breathe’ a little.

I have to admit the subject of earthquakes hovers in the wings of my mind. Today they ventured toward centre stage for a few minutes. I talked to a hotel guest that was here during the massive quake of 2006 that hit the Jogja region badly. He was staying in this hotel then also. The pool managed to develop waves of over 6′ in the 1 minute 4 secs that the earth moved here. His first floor room collapsed and he was pretty lucky to escape with his life he believes. He will only ever stay in ground floor accomodation near the road now!

Tomorrow I have a 1 hour domestic flight to Bali. There my intention is to take a taxi to the Seminyak region. I have no accomodation booked but I think during this quiet period there I should have no difficulty finding accomodation on arrival.

Alcohol Breeze

I have arrived safely in Java. I am back in Jogyakarta to be precise. I have some nice new friends already….amazing what a cheek to cheek, toothy, smile does for ones reception! One of the nice new friends is an oldish loner guy from Perth who has befriended me. He seems to drink beer from the morning through to the mid evening when he finally signs off. This I know because he occupies the room next to me and everytime I get near the room I am invited to have a glass of beer with him! He swears like a trooper and is critical of everything within sight and he doesn’t care if it or they are within earshot also. It made me laugh last night when he said he was going to join me for a bite to eat. I approved of this as he knew the area and I didn’t. Anyhow he guided us to a small restaurant that did a burger and chips in the basket for 75p! and it smelt and looked really good. That was his experienced choice and I joined with an equally delicious chicken curry for about 85p. Whilst we were waiting for the food to be served a nearby table became occupied with a Western looking couple that I soon got chatting too. The 30’ish year old lady who was showing about 3-4 months of pregnancy was very pleasant and was busy explaining that she’d got the sack from her ‘PR’ job back in London. With a smile she adjusted that description to ‘well…laid off anyway’ to which my Australian friend, who is called Barry (aren’t they all?!), commented loudly to me, in a vaporous alcohol breeze: ‘Well…she got laid anyway!’..I sat rigid with shock and waited briefly for some irritated or even angry response from her guy at least.. but they both fell back in their seats laughing. Barry you old bugger. Hey…he is from Perth!
However the place that I have stayed the first night are charging me too much and after the burger and chips lunch I will shortly eat at Barry’s restaurant choice of last night I am going to head back there and do a little negotiating. Jeeez I have just been to a hotel down the road with a swimming pool that will give me a room for about 4uk pounds a night but my present hosts want to charge me 5uk pounds a night for a run down room, Barry next door and no swimming pool.. but so friendly!
Oh yeah…on the health risk front everything is fine. No indication or suggestion that there is an issue here. I think the biggest issue is going to be losing Barry!
Life is great! Everywhere has rooms, the prices are good, the weather is hot, there are no queues and everyone is friendly!
I am sending this mail from a cooooool cafe called the Ministry of Coffee…art deco interior and furnishings, cobbled patios hosting chic table, chair n umbrella sets hidden amongst ferns and other shady plants rustling in the light breeze around the external perimeter; inside the ground floor can be observed from a 2nd floor that ponders above the ground floor in the shape of a circular internal balcony. Cool style!

Jogja breeze

Jogja breeze 10th October 2008

After nearly two months of wrestling with the ideas and non ideas of business possibilities in Malaysia. I took a break.

Jogja. Indonesia. On the map you would probably have to look for Jogjakarta, Java, Indonesia. I had booked an economical Air Asia return flight from Kuala Lumpur to Jogja departing on Wed 8th October 2008. I’d two objectives in mind. To discover a little more of Indonesia and test the property investment water. However I wouldn’t seriously attend to the second unless I found the first exciting and invigorating. How long does it take to understand how one feels about a region or location? The feelings unfold as one discovers more about surroundings and the people. I have mixed feelings about the surroundings. The centre of Jogja are pretty typical of most Asian city centres. Busy, hot and someone at every turn wanting to take some dosh from you for something or other. I fell on my feet with an internet hotel booking at a ’boutique’ hotel well out of the city centre to the north in a region that is called Palagan. It’s got a wicked bed and aircon that have promoted such glorious slumber that I am now reluctant to move on. The operation boasts a mix of Balinese styling and Javanese hospitality which were the only things that I really knew about it when I was making the internet booking. Both promote that smug, comfortable feeling and the fact that most of the furniture, apart from the bed, is creaking and wincing after less than a year of use just serves to remind me that looks aren’t everything (ladies take note)! I’ve walked the hastily and sometimes rather too economically metalled roads around this little suburb of Jogja during the heat of the past two days and met happy souls everywhere. I’ve discovered a restaurant that tempts one easily into a 160, 000 rupiah dinner that can be very seafood oriented or backed off a little from the seafood with a options of chicken or duck. I hit the ten pound mark, yes my UK friends 160, 000 rupiah sounds like a fortune doesn’t it…well I think it is for the locals!!, with a 1st class mix of Ikan Bakar (bbq fish) and Crispy Duck plus a little of my favorite veggy – kangkong in belachan. Mmmm, I agree, an odd combination but I am not an avid seafood consumer and I started the order with the Crispy Duck but felt that I had to at least tickle the seafood thing, especially as the joyous little place deemed to call itself Restaurant Jimbaran, one of the more famous Bali regions for taking good quality seafood. That was on my first evening here. An evening of torrential rain, lightning and a lengthy power outage to the whole of the suburb. The friendly Javanese thing displayed itself like a proud national flag that night. It was no issue to borrow a brolly at the Jimbaran establishment. In the black night and the torrential rain I wandered away from the restaurant in what I thought was the approximate direction of my ’boutique’ accomodation. I do have to admit that I felt a lot of eyes on me as I departed the restaurant. Eyes full of surprise and wonder tempered with that ‘yep, he’s odd, well he is European’ sort of acceptance. I got it roughly right. About thirty yards down the only turn that I needed to make from the restaurant exit road there was a budding warung operation surviving under a few timber poles, canvas and candlelight. I stopped and vocalised my accomodation’s name at a human looking outline behind the candle. I saw his arm go round in the direction I was heading and I responded with a Melayu thankyou which brought a grunt of acknowledgement. Another five minutes of trudging down the road brought nothing but a sound of running behind me. I’d aquiesced to a probable mugging and had already started to curse myself for being such a mug. I turned round as the footfalls were upon me to discover that it was the warung outline himself this time waving his arm in the opposite direction. Bless him! I’d walked past my boutique 4 minutes back and he’d run all the way down the road in the rain to haul me back. I held the umbrella over him as we started back and I offered more thanks. The umbrella thing seemed so pointless on reflection as he was already drenched and now I was getting drenched too.
I do like the people and although the city does nothing much for me yet I like this suburb thing with it’s friendly villagy feel and the farmlike activities that thrive behind the economically metalled routes and the sometimes not so twee roadside abodes.

A Salute to My Dear Dear Circle Back Home

23rd May to 12th Aug 08

Haaaappppy! UK p l e a s u r e amongst honorable friends and deep, loving family.

Two trips to London to visit Paul and T taking in, on the first excursion, memorable visits to the Orange Tree, Alexander Palace (Ice Rink), and a Polish oriented Fish and Chip diner at the Southern end of Finchley High Street for healthy portions of both that the skaters deserved much more than the spectators! And, on the second excursion, leisurely visits to a High Street pub, Tesco’s and The Flat for a post beer, home grown, sleep inducing curry.

A visit to Portsmouth over a wet, windy and then sunny weekend for special time with Rachel

A Rach and Stu chaperoned introduction to the Wii Fit at a unique dinner evening presented by Mark and Hanna at their house in the Old Town.

Four meetings with Solicitors and FA’s between Drakes Way and The Holiday Inn

A Stroud exploration day kicked off with a visit to the Noahs Ark ‘avant garde’ bike shop, thereafter taking in such Stroud hotspots as the Greyhound and Subway topped off with a walk over Birdlip Hill all in the effervescent company of Rach and Stu

Numerous bike ride Monday evenings scouring the remainder of pub life in and around Swindon under the amicable guidance of Dave P

Salad starter? You bet! Mother Son and Daughter in cascade just leave enough room for a maincourse and still manage to squeeze in a sweet on a wet Saturday night at the Grove

A family day at Lydiard on what must have been the most glorious day during my whole stay there.. good food, good fun, family and sun.

A barbeque evening, followed by a thumping rugby morning at a little cottage near Cirencester courtesy of the Good Family.

Two further evenings of walk talk and beer with one half of the Good family including on one occaision, former employer staff of the newer generation.

One of those evenings was followed with an impromptu trip to Portsmouth for lunchtime beer, fish and chips in the C air.

A value beer night out culminating in dinner at The Rendezvous courtesy of a former employer with Richard P

Fun hours aided and abetted by the patient and resourceful Mr John Lane rebuilding the software on my computer after the hard disk failed

A barbeque evening in the garden of Eastern with our woollens, wine, a happy daughter and her man

A duck watching, wine drinking and pizza consuming evening at the abode of the ever friendly couple, Claire and Nathan

Numerous squash games with Stu, Mark and Richard B marked indelibly by my improving game and disapproving knee(s)

A memorable evening visit to Mr Bull’s residence, complemented sumptuously by a quality dinner at the nearby Butchers Arms at Sheepscombe, with a relaxed, harmonious and frequently humorous following day at a country auction and a shop tour of Cheltenham that took in a future toy shop!

Gardening, comprising principally of lawn care in Beckhampton and Eastern Gardens

Bicycle rides to Coate and beyond in relatively successful attempts to satisfy an inner desire for Mountain Bike exposure with Stu

A pleasurable re connection with Ian ‘Bud’ Badham exploring lap top capabilites and pub dimensions

Meals, wine evenings, walks into town and life, washing machine and slow cooker discussions with my dear Mother

A simply idyllic visit to the picturesque county of Suffolk and it’s seaside towns at the hands of the inimitable Richard B and his dear wife Vicky with Ellouise and Charles representing the new generation

A country bus ride to Bath to take in Sarah’s perception of the city and cast a discerning eye over her posh shared abode..cooo!

Three visits to Molly who redefines the term mentally agile!

Numerous brolly donning jaunts to local establishments such as Rudi’s, The Grove and The Merlin to make liquid quality comparisons at the bequest of an endlessly energetic daughter

A musically fluid evening courtesy of the Vic and a band that ‘covered’ the 70’s and 80’s the star of which had to be the drummer who beat a rythm around the whole room on everything from beer pumps to spirit bottles..Stu decides to take guitar lessons..did you Stu?

A birthday carvery Sunday lunch… Smiley photos, beer and Yorkshire puddings hit the right spots

Chippenham travellers arriving casually at the weekends to do ‘tea’ with, on one occaision a joyous neice bearing news of forthcoming marine travel

A final evening of beer and curry enjoyed by a family oriented trio who have no reluctance in eating and drinking for pleasure!