UNESCO Conference in Bangkok, Thailand and Visit to Education International Regional Office
in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
December 3 – December 15, 2006
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Sunday, December 3
I am starting this journal about five hours out of Vancouver, somewhere over the vast north Pacific Ocean. My route is to Hong Kong and then on to Bangkok, Thailand. Already, I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, flying from Edmonton to Vancouver this morning.
This flight is on an Air Canada A340 and it seems like we are flying very high—36,000 feet, the in-charge said. We are over a high blanket of cloud, chasing the sun westward. There have been a couple of surprises out of the window so far, one being the appearance of a full moon just to the rear of the starboard wingtip. Just now, I opened my window shade and there below are ranges of rugged snow-capped mountains. I think we might be over Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula or perhaps the bulge of Russia that ends at Vladivostok. I watch as we fly on and soon a shoreline and the ocean appears. I can see a city or town at the very tip of the land and then mountainous islands appear off the tip for a few miles. Our flightway takes us over open water again and then clouds obscure the ground below. In all the vast land area in my view, I saw only the one small settlement on the shore and one airport, no doubt a remnant of the Cold War. As we have been travelling for about seven hours at just under 600 mph, we should be nearly 4,000 miles along.
My seat partner is Mrs Mui Vong. I was assigned the isle seat and she had the window seat. “Mister have window seat and me there?” she asks and so we switch. She needs frequent access to the WC, apparently, and I’m enjoying the discoveries I find in my view beyond the wing.
Aircrew come by with cards to be filled in by passengers staying in Hong Kong, the destination of Mrs Vong. She asks me to help her fill out the form and by doing so, I discover we were both born in 1944—she in October and me in March. “Very good luck,” exclaims Mrs Vong. Mui was born in Vietnam under what would have been Japanese occupation and grew up under French colonial rule. She moved to Canada, probably near the end of the Viet Nam War, and now lives in Edmonton. She is on her way to visit her daughter and son-in-law who reside in Hong Kong.
Service on the big Airbus is reasonable, about what we used to get on longer flights within Canada.
After a good sleep, we are close to Hong Kong and soon making our approach over little islands known as The Two Brothers. I watch the flashing approach lights lined for the parallel runway out in the water as we settle and soon we are taxing in to the terminal at Chek Lak Kok, the new Hong Kong international airport, as it is better known.
I have a two-hour layover here and so I explore the terminal and find Gate 42 for my Thai Air flight to Bangkok. A 747 flies a full load to Bangkok in about two and a half hours and I find myself in a middle seat in the rear cabin, seated between two women. On my right is Dr Pantipa Wiwattanakajornsuk, a medical doctor and member of the Malaysian armed forces, and on my left is Valerie Forbes, a photographer from Surrey in England. We have a great chat about places and interests. Pantipa is returning from a medical conference in Hong Kong. Her husband is a munitions specialist in the Malaysian Air Force. Valerie is on her way home to England after visiting Bangkok and Hong Kong. Good travel companions and I enjoy their company immensely. Valerie manages to cadge a couple of small bottles of wine from the cabin attendant as well as decks of cards from Thai Air for the three of us. (I visited Valerie’s website on return home and quite liked her work—all black and white photography of families and children).
My luggage drops off the Thai Air carousel, safe from its trip from Edmonton, and I clear customs and immigration to find a cab. The trick for cabs (thanks to Ralph Klintberg) is to go to the outside taxi kiosk, ask for a cab, and ignore the touts inside the terminal who “would like to take you for a ride.” 250 Bhat (and 2 tollbooths) later and we arrive at the Imperial Queen’s Park Hotel. The ride in has been rapid and quiet, with very little traffic near midnight. Check in is straightforward and I’m shown to room 1472, my home in Bangkok. There is marble, teak and stone everywhere and this is quite a lovely hotel. I phone home to report my arrival and talk to Harley for a little while. I shower, have a beer in bed and drift off to sleep. I’ll be sorted out in the morning.
Tuesday, December 5 (?)
No, I didn’t miss a day’s entry. Crossing the International Date Line has put me forward a day and some convoluted watch adjusting now takes place to get me onto the right day and time. Today is the King of Thailand’s birthday and he is celebrating his 79th anniversary as well as the 60th year of his reign. I try to get my life organized and on track and start by sending clothes for the laundry, checking on my complimentary breakfast vouchers (which arrive under the door) and reviewing my hotel departure date. My plan on making travel arrangements was to fly to Bangkok, travel by train to Kuala Lumpur and on to Singapore and then depart for home from Singapore. The Bangkok and Singapore bits are fixed but transportation in between still has to be arranged. After a good breakfast, I walk the neighbourhood a bit, then register for the conference, and work on this journal. The latter is completed over coffee in the hotel lobby.
The king is a beloved and respected monarch. In his honour, today is a national holiday and I learn that, as a result, the offices of the Thai National Railway are closed. So, no booking of train rides today. I wander the hotel, checking the price of trinkets and suits in various shops. A custom-made sports jacket would cost about $120 Canadian and I consider this seriously. It could be ready for my Saturday departure, I’m told. I consult my calendar and see that there is no way I can use the train to get from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. On-line, I make a booking with Singapore Airlines for the connecting flight that costs about $120 Canadian. I will still need overnight accommodation in Singapore but I decide to book that while in Kuala Lumpur. So now, I only need passage by train from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur, leaving on Saturday. I will book that trip tomorrow before the start of the conference.
I walk out again crossing through Benjasiri Park, located behind the hotel. The park is filled with tents in which all manner of food and other items can be purchased. It is also full of families out celebrating the King’s birthday. Everyone is wearing yellow golf shirts, the King’s colour, with the royal emblem stitched onto the pocket. I ask some women vendors what it all means and a passer-by confirms all for me in English. I buy a large size shirt for myself, although the sales woman thinks I need a larger size. And she is right. Back at the hotel, I try on the shirt and find it just a bit snug. Back to her kiosk I go where I am warmly welcomed yet again. “I want to come to Canada,” she tells me after learning of my homeland.
An enormous buffet is available at the hotel and the dining room is full of people—families, mostly—all in yellow shirts and all in a celebratory mood. I feel quite proud to be wearing my yellow shirt and sharing in the celebration of this auspicious event. I have a short nap (catching up on Alberta time) and then head out on the streets once again for some photography with the F100. Back in my room, I find an invitation from the hotel manager to attend the celebration of the King’s birthday in Benjasiri Park, starting at 1929 “to wish His Majesty the King a long life, good health and happiness, together with the whole Kingdom.” Should be fun. On further reading, I find that today is also Father’s Day in Thailand. I guess I qualify.
My photography session started in Benjasiri Park and the first few frames feature the hotel as it dominates one side of the park boundary. I also walked a number of streets in the neighbourhood, surrounded by a lot of folk in yellow shirts. A tuktuk driver offers to take me on a tour for an hour for 200 Baht and I hop in. I have been thinking about traveling in one of these in order to take pictures of the city. What I find, however, is that the roof of the tuktuk comes down so low that it is hard to see out of and quite unsuitable for photography. We drive about five blocks, and then the driver pulls over and stops beside another tuktuk. He wants to have another driver take me, one who can speak English and who can talk to me about what might be interesting to see. I use the opportunity to pay for the short ride, thank my host and explain that I cannot see from the vehicle. All is well and I walk back the few blocks toward the hotel.
Stopping at the 7-11 convenience store across the street, I buy some fruit drinks and a couple cans of beer. As I step outside again, a man approaches and opens a large colour pamphlet in which the unclothed charms of several women are displayed. He wonders if I might be interested in a “closer look, perhaps in your room?” I’m not. The juice and beer are about 20 Baht each, considerably less than the ones in the refrigerator in my room.
I sleep for awhile and am awakened by the sound of fireworks at exactly 1929. I see the reflections of some of these in the windows of the tower building across the street from the hotel. Down I go to mingle with Bangkok’s families and to watch and listen to what appears to be a fairly good amateur presentation. A live band—high school students, perhaps—and very pretty girls perform an interesting mixture of Thai dancing and Disco, all in marvellous showgirl costumes, as backup for two star female singers and one male singer. The audience, all in yellow shirts (including me) sit beneath the park’s trees, most of which have yellow streamers floating from their branches.
I circle the park, observing folk relaxing on this national holiday, and then visit a few shops in the hotel. By 2300, I’m in bed, writing up today’s journal entry and getting ready for sleep. Tomorrow, I register for the conference at 0700, have breakfast and then go back up to the meeting rooms for the conference commencement at 0900. Train reservations for Kuala Lumpur and Singapore need to be made tomorrow as well.
Wednesday, December 6
A restful but somewhat fitful sleep, finally getting up at 0630 in order to get to the registration desk by 0700. And that’s when I arrive. I’m treated quite special, I think, my name tag is brought to me while I wait to pay, as is a selection of conference bags. I am the first to register with a credit card and it takes a few minutes while the machine is plugged in and connected to the bank. The young woman is as efficient as can be but the technology gives her a few problems. She seems rather apologetic but a smile to her from me allays all concerns. “The Land of Smiles” is the unofficial slogan of the country and smiles are evident everywhere and very well received.
After registration, I go for breakfast, handing over my chit for complimentary vittles. A man from Pakistan joins me at my table—a UN Agency for Refugees worker—here attending yet another conference. In the main meeting room, as I wait for the opening session to begin, a woman across the isle turns to me and says, “You’re Tim Johnston, aren’t you. I know all about you!” and comes over. She is an Indian woman who teaches in Ontario and who went on two Project Overseas teams as a representative of the Elementary Teachers’ Federation of Ontario. She knows what I do and of my involvement in CTF development programs through CTF staff, I guess, and perhaps through Mary Morrison, the staff officer at ETFO who manages their international programs. Her name is Anita Dhawan and she is a teacher at Lord Roberts Public School in Toronto. She won the Toronto Region Labour Council Women in Labour Award last year and this year she is on leave and travelling in Asia. She is at the conference with her sister, the headmistress of the school in their home village in India. It was quite fun to be recognized so far from home and by a complete stranger.
The opening session with guest speakers proceeds in order, and we hear from the Thailand minister of education, Mr H E Wichit Srisa-an and the UNESCO Asia and Pacific Bureau of Education director Sheldon Shaeffer, a Canadian. Afterward, the first of many breakout sessions commences and I get to hear four university professors present extracts of papers they have written on education for sustainable development, surely one of the dreariest presentations I have ever sat through. The last presenter is Australian and, as he reads his notes while seated in front of his laptop computer (while the same notes appear on the screen), Monty Python’s skit about Australian philosophy professors comes unbidden to mind.
Lunch redeems all, however, after which I take a cab downtown to the train station to book travel to Kuala Lumpur. The driver doesn’t take me to the office of Thai Rail but instead to a very busy travel agent located just next door. The agent there talks me out of the train because she doesn’t feel I have enough time to travel to Kuala Lumpur, stay for a few days and get to Singapore by Friday. Instead, she books me on Air Asia flight (Now Everyone Can Fly!) leaving Bangkok late Saturday afternoon. The taxi driver has waited for me, having a quick lunch at a food stand outside the travel office, and he takes me back to the hotel. I spend a few minutes on the hotel’s internet sending messages home and then I head in for the last breakout session of the day. A much better session, populated with animated and engaging speakers.
When the session finishes, I head up to my room to change for the reception at 1830, passing by the Air China staff lounge that is at the foyer end of my hallway. I have had all of my shirts and slacks pressed by the hotel staff and put on hangars. Tonight I choose a sports jacket, slacks, and Rebecca’s Versace tie that she bought for me in London. The reception doubles as dinner and I sit with a gaggle of Australian university types. At the end of the reception, I visit with my Ontario Indian colleague Anita and her sister who knows Soulabha Donde, my dear friend in Bombay. It’s interesting to me the kinds of connections that occur in my life because of where I have travelled and who I have come to know.
After the reception, I have a coffee in the lobby and then head out for some fresh, warm air. I am approached to see if I need a cab, no thanks, how about a full body massage up in your room, no thanks, that’s a full nude-body-to-nude-body massage, no thanks. Instead, I walk to the back of the hotel and out into Benjasiri Park. Here I encounter three young men are playing a remarkable game. It looks a bit like volleyball but hands are not allowed after the service of the ball. The ball itself looks to be made of open woven strands of reed and perhaps the original ones were. All plays are by foot and head strikes and it is a remarkably skilful game. At service, the player kicks the ball high in the air, goes inverted and lands on his hands with his feet following. The return spike is delivered in much the same way. Back in my hotel room, I turn on the television and flip through the channels stopping at an event taking place at the Asian Games—sepaktakraw—the very game I watched the local boys playing in the park. This is a team sport, three players (women play as well) per side. Thailand is playing Malaysia and the home team wins. That’s my day for today.
Thursday, December 7
Sessions start at 0830 this morning and I arrive on time for a presentation of different technologies and how these are being applied, mainly in Korea. Without fail, the technical wizards presenting seem incapable of coordinating their computers, software and projectors and we bumble along for a while until the technology decides to cooperate with the technician. The first three presenters are reasonably interesting but the fourth, mumbling into the computer screen, is simply intolerable. I give him ten minutes, then quietly get up and leave the room. I want to get out and see a bit of the city today and so I book a “temples” tour for the afternoon at the kiosk in the hotel lobby. Returning to the sessions, I take in the morning plenary session after which I leave rather hurriedly to catch the tour minibus waiting at the front of the hotel.
The tour system is quite interesting. A small van takes two women and me from the conference (we vow an oath of silence) to the tour bus terminal. Here, larger 20 to 40 passenger buses wait for their collected passengers from the many hotels across the city, gathered by the vans. A staff member in the waiting area greets us, checks the tours we wish to take part in and provides me with a sticker for my shirt with a 3 printed on it. Bus number 3 will tour me and three other passengers to the three main temple locations within the city.
My companions on the tour include a black man from Texas who works for the Bank of America credit card division and a young couple from New Castle, England. Our guide is most knowledgeable and the driver is patient and skilled. We drive to each of the three main temple sites but I’m really not feeling particularly well. Many pictures are made, nevertheless, both at the temples and in travels between. At the temple of the reclining Buddha, an enormous brick and mortar construction covered with gold leaf, I hear the tinkle of coins being dropped into metal containers. Rounding the foot of the Buddha, I encounter a table where women are selling dishes of Thai coins for 20 Baht. The coins are to be dropped into little metal vases along the returning wall with wishes for the welfare of those we love. I buy a dish of coin, turn to walk to the vases and encounter two beautiful Thai children who are visiting the Buddha as well. I give my coins to the girls and they happily go along dropping the coins into the wishing vases.
One of the principles of Buddhism, I learn from our guide, is the concept of gathering merit in this life for a better placement in the next. This is accomplished by doing good deeds and living well. “You have just gained merit,” the guide tells me, by giving the coins to the children.
The gold Buddha at Traimitwitthayaram Temple has quite a story behind it. Thailand makes a concerted effort to move statues from isolated or deserted areas into cities for protection and restoration. This Buddha was moved into Bangkok in 1955 and while it was being unloaded in the city, a large piece of it broke off. The piece was made of a material like cement and it was thought that the entire statue was made of the same material. Imagine the wonder when it was found that under a three inch thick layer of cement was a 5 tonne solid gold sculpture, just waiting to be discovered. Apparently, the original statue had been coated long ago to make it unattractive to marauding Burmese armies. This was one of the first of the country statues collected through the efforts of the King to be moved and preserved in Bangkok.
The tour ends when the bus pulls into the Royal Lapidary Factory and sales building. We are welcomed in and offered cool drinks at the reception desk. I opt for a small glass of beer and then we are taken into a small theatre for a presentation on why rubies and sapphires appear in Thailand. We are toured around the workshops where craftspeople shape the precious stones and make gold and silver settings, after which we enter the show room where purchases are encouraged. Lots to look at but I’m not in a buying mood.
By this time of the day, I am really not feeling well and my Texas friend and I ask that a small van take us back to our respective hotels. It has been an interesting day but I’m looking forward to getting back to the hotel. The city traffic has been heavy all afternoon but at 1700 it is intense and our return journey seems to take forever. I finally get to the Queen’s Park and cross the street to the neighbourhood 711 store for fruit drinks and potato chips. In my room, I have a mild bout of traveller’s tummy after which I replenish my depleted electrolytes with salty chips and sugary orange drink. By 1800, I’m in bed asleep. And so, for today, I have had only breakfast and no lunch or supper but I did have an interesting and enjoyable day visiting the temples.
Friday, December 8
I get up at seven, shave and shower and have another dose of orange juice and potato chips. After my shower, I can’t find my aluminium comb and I get quite upset. I’ve had the comb for ages, having bought it in a factory outlet store in California. Besides, how else am I to tame my silver locks? I finally locate the comb on a shelf near the sink and my little world returns to synchronization. I’m feeling better this morning but still a bit off and sweating profusely.
I go for breakfast (hair nicely combed!) and stop at the hotel shop to buy a strip of Tylenol tables, two of which accompany my breakfast. Afterward, I stop to check my email but there is no reply to my earlier message to Rebecca. This is rather disappointing and I resolve to try phoning this afternoon.
This entry and yesterday’s is being written during the first breakout session which is, thankfully, quite informative. The presentations from the Chinese woman on the Radio and Television University of China is most worthwhile and reminds me of my own “Homework Hotline” on the Access Network in days gone by. We had a delegation of Koreans visit that program to see how it worked and how it might have been used in that country. The presenter from China is one of the people who spoke with me earlier and who asked me to photograph her and her colleagues at the opening session.
I stay for the plenary and listen to a Laotian man talk about how poor teachers contribute to poor development. I’d like to have a word with him about his outlook and his crappy Power Point presentation. A light lunch wraps up the morning, after which I get in touch with the Federal Hotel in Kuala Lumpur. They arrange some extra days for me and that sets my mind at ease, at least for the next leg of my journey.
Returning to the wrap-up plenary session, we hear many thank you speeches from the UNESCO Bangkok staff for our attendance. The Canadian chief of the education sector gave the best of the impromptu speeches. We then all trooped down to the registration desk to pick up CDs containing all of the session presentations and our certificates of attendance. I got the CD but not the certificate, as one had not been prepared for me. One of the staff promised to send one along in the mail (and it actually appeared in my office in January).
Late afternoon sees me in the hotel business office checking and sending email home, after which I take an extended walk through the park and go on to The Emporium on the other side. Here I find simply the best consumer products that the world has to offer, laid out in gorgeous stores. I carry on with an extended walk circling back behind the park into the small streets of the neighbourhood watching people starting to prepare for the evening. Supper later on is fish and chips at the hotel. I would like to try eating elsewhere but I want to make sure my systems are all stabilized before venturing out. I will be more adventuresome in Kuala Lumpur.
An evening constitutional takes me across the street to the 7-11 for more fruit drinks and then down the street to a collection of little shops, most of which turn out to be bars and pool halls. The spaces between have many beautiful women sitting languorously, as though they have been there all along as part of the décor.
Some television in my room, accompanied by half of the chocolate bar I have been keeping in the minibar, and I’m asleep at 1030. The phone rings and it’s Rebecca, calling from home.
What a welcome voice. I think because I haven’t been working with colleagues on this trip I’ve gotten a bit lonesome—no one to really be around and to do things with. All is well at home and Rebecca tells me she did receive my email messages after all. She wonders who the woman was who answered my phone when she called earlier today and I am at a loss to provide an answer. I’m guessing it was one of the cleaning ladies who usually arrive at around 1400 each day.
My sleep is sound now, knowing that all is well at home, that my onward flight is booked and that I have a good hotel at a reasonable rate waiting for me in Kuala Lumpur. Rebecca told me she had Kalie and Wendy over for a girl’s evening and I wonder if she might miss me just a bit as well. At least Rebecca has the constant company of Major and Charlie.
Saturday, December 9
This is my last wakeup on this trip in room 1472 of the Imperial Queen’s Park Hotel. I get up just after 0700 and watch some television and think about the day ahead. Ablutions, breakfast, checkout and airport departure are the marching orders for the day.
While watching television in my early morning daze, I place the remaining half of my chocolate bar on the bed, break off a strip and absently munch away. When I put the remaining chocolate away, I notice lots of tiny pieces of chocolate on the sheet. The tiny pieces are moving and are not chocolate at all but rather very tiny ants. Into the garbage can it all goes, where my little friends undoubtedly feasted the day away on Cadbury.
After showering, and while the ants continued their breakfast, I have mine. Then I pack, always conscious of the 15 KG limit on luggage that my Air Asia ticket says will be allowed. Everything is finally stowed away in two bags and I take a walk around Benjasiri Park one last time. On Sukhumwit road, the street that borders one side of the park, I sit for awhile in a bus stop shelter and just watch the city flow by—cars of all makes, trucks, vans, busses, scooters, tuktuks and one solitary three-wheeled bicycle proceeding along at its own pace, the rider’s tools and shop wares in the bike box preceeding him.
Checkout follows, all very straightforward and most happy, and then a metered cab takes me to the airport. I had been been given lots of warning to be at the check-in early. I am so early, in fact, that the agent won’t let me check in until 1600. I go for a coffee and Danish, watch planes come and go, and visit with Norman, a Scottish architect who has lived out east for over 20 years. He tells me a bit about Kuala Lumpur, the high-speed train into town, and that the city has lots of oriental charm, more so than Bankok.
I go back to the Air Asia check-in at 1600 and find myself first in line. Everything works out fine. The bag goes down the luggage chute without extra charge and my boarding pass is issued. I pay the 500 Baht exit tax, enter passport control and choose the line being controlled by a trainee. Once the passport is stamped, I move to the departure area, looking for a money exchange where I can pick up some Malaysian currency. No one has Malay money, so I carry a pocketful of Thai currency through the security gate and down to departure gate D1 for my 1800 departure. I am now well past all of the food kiosks, where I had hoped to be able to get something to eat post-security, and there is now nothing to be had for munching. An announcement is made that our flight is now delayed one hour, which just spikes up the imagined need for food. Next to me, a family waits for the flight but the mother, clearly familiar with flying in these parts, has brought food for her brood. Included are sandwiches (with the crusts cut off!), sliced cucumber, cookies, sweets and lots of water. I wonder if she might be persuaded to adopt me, just long enough for dinner.
The Air Asia B320 arrives and the polite collection of passengers who have been waiting becomes a herd pressing forward to be the first to board. Air Asia has no assigned seating and boarding therefore is something of a free-for-all. I stand my ground and in so doing get passed by some passengers who seek new territory ahead. On board, I find a seat about half way down the cabin and end up with the row of three leather-covered seats all to myself—what luxury. The plane has a very nice one-class interior, no television, and food service at cost. I don’t miss the former but take advantage of the latter, buying a chicken and rice dish, a package of Oreo cookies and a cup of tea. I have a good sleep for the next hour, stretched out in my leather couch, and Kuala Lumpur’s airport soon welcomes me to Malaysia.
Our arrival is at the old International Airport. Like many low-fare airlines, Air Asia is based at the smaller KL airport, just a bit further out of town. A young Moslem woman stamps my passport, I collect my luggage and clear customs in a nod. A taxi centre sells me a ride to the Federal Hotel for about $20 US and into town we go.
My driver is a Chinese gentleman and he has driven taxi in KL for ten years. His car is brand new, being a “Proton” manufactured locally. A nice visit passes the hour drive into the city, taking us along a beautiful freeway that is bordered by oil palms and bushes, rather reminiscent of some of the lush areas of California. The street on which the hotel is located, Jalan Bukit Bintang, is full of nightclubs and at midnight, when we arrive, the whole neighbourhood is rocking. I check in, head up to my room and drift off to sleep at about 0200.
Sunday, December 10
The phone rings at 0700 and Rebecca welcomes me to Malaysia. Miss Kalie, as usual, wants to know where her father is and has pestered Rebecca to call me for an update. She can now report that I am safely ensconced in Kuala Lumpur. I sleep for another hour, then get up, ready for the day. “I would be out and looking everywhere,” Rebecca had said in our telephone call, and I need to take her advice and get a move on.
Taking the Nikon, I head out and, again, follow Rebecca’s idea of going down one street and then returning, then going down a second street, and so on. I discover the overhead monorail transportation system and come across a gigantic shopping mall. After wandering and exploring for the morning, I return to the Federal for lunch. I sit at the back of the restaurant with a nice outside view of the hotel’s courtyard and swimming pool. Chinese and Russian languages being spoken by other diners surround me and, in this interesting setting, I enjoy a hamburger complete with a fried egg. I also enjoy the chilli sauce that is served instead of ketchup.
Not much doing today. I wander and explore, take photographs, look in shops and buy some food for my room. A cup of noodle soup, heated with water from my room’s kettle, serves a supper. My nightcap is a Tiger beer in the hotel’s pub.
Monday, December 11
The plan today is to walk to the Petronas Twin Towers building in the morning and then take a tour of rural KL in the afternoon. I paid for the tour at the kiosk in the hotel yesterday evening and hope to see some of the area’s less urban areas. A fair bit of time is spent just organizing events in my ATA diary up until Friday, making sure that travel times and flight numbers are listed in one convenient place. Then, I have a late breakfast followed by a walk to the Twin Towers.
This turns out to be a bit of a hike but at each intersection of the winding roads, a little more of this amazing structure reveals itself. The towers gleam in their silver cladding and the elaborate design elements become more distinct as I come closer. I stop at an apartment building along the way and speak with the doorman who makes a picture of me at my request. “You were very small in the viewfinder,” he cautions. That’s okay, as the tower is really what I wanted to capture.
And then, there it is! I spend about an hour photographing some of the wonderful detail and examining its beautiful skin. The skeleton of the building is of poured concrete but this is clad in glass and stainless steel panel. The steel panels have been embossed with very tiny rectangles and are attached to the skeleton in some invisible fashion. Each tower is a series of circles and right-angled sections, stacked skyward with an ever-decreasing circumference. Tours are available each weekday but one must be in the queue by 0800 when tickets are distributed. I am happy to have had some time just to be around the building and to explore some of its environs and interior shopping areas, its opera house and its convention centre.
Having visited the Taj Mahal, I have seen the most beautiful building in the world. The Petronas Twin Towers are in second place, in my estimation.
I return to the hotel and spend an hour just cooling off, drinking green iced tea and resting. At 1430, I present myself at the tour desk only to be told that I am an hour late for my booked expedition. “We waited for you,” the bellman said. I feel very stupid, as this was obviously my fault. He very kindly arranges for me to take the tour on Tuesday morning. He could just as easily have said, “Too bad.”
My plan now changes from touring to shopping and I walk out to the Kompleks Budaya Kraf where I have been told Malaysian artefacts can be purchased at reasonable prices. All around my hotel are giant shopping complexes that offer for sale every conceivable consumer product. Plaza Low Yat must have nearly 100 stores and kiosks selling cellular phones and associated gadgets. Digital cameras, PDA’s, every kind of computer and accessory are available by the truckload. Every big brand name of clothing has its own store, jewellery is abundant, watches and cosmetics of every type are available. Something a little less commercial and a little more artisan-generated is what interests me.
My map shows me the way to the Kompleks but I ask for advice along the way and finally enter the park-like setting of the Kraf complex. The area contains beautiful gardens, cottages for individual artists and a main showroom and museum of mainly textiles. I visit every corner of the place and take a good look at the items in the shops. For four of the kids, I purchase little framed images made of wood veneer that illustrate eastern life. For the fifth, Kalie, I purchase a little porcelain tray that has a painting of one of the many Malay traditional costumes, something that I think may appeal to her interest in fashion and design.
When I’m ready to leave, the sky opens for the afternoon deluge. The sales lady has placed all my items in a lovely paper shopping bag but, when I ask, she places that inside a plastic bag and puts lots of tape on to make sure no rain water gets inside to the contents. Away I go, into the warm downpour, back toward the Federal Hotel. Within a minute, I am completely soaked with the exception of parts of my Marks Work Wearhouse khaki pants and my shoes, which, as advertised, remain dry inside. It was an interesting and not at all uncomfortable sensation to be so thoroughly soaked and splashing along in the heavy, warm rain.
At the hotel, I strip down, have a shower, and hang everything up to dry. A bit of a rest and, when the rain finally tapers off, back out onto the street for an evening coffee and a walk through “Hawker’s Paradise,” a night market selling mostly food items but lots of souvenirs and knock-off clothing as well. A nice day, wrapped up by the writing of this entry. The alarm is set for 0700 for the morning and I want to be away on the rural tour by 0830.
Tuesday, December 12
I have breakfast (included in my room rate, I discover) at 0730 and then head down to the lower foyer to wait for the tour company to arrive. This morning I am taking the KL rural tour that I missed yesterday. A family of four from Saudi Arabia (he works for ARAMCO) joins me in the tour van and then we drive to the craft centre I visited yesterday to pick up additional passengers. We then head out in our Toyota van with Sobra as our driver and commentator. We head into the suburbs and toward our first stop, the Royal Selangor Pewter factory. “We will tour the factory and then you will have time to visit the gift shop,” Sobra tells us. The place is fascinating and the range of products is quite incredible. There is no lead used in modern pewter, we learn, and the artefacts really are splendid. Pewter making was brought to Malay by the Chinese hundreds of years ago.
In the showroom, a very nice woman takes charge of me and explains the details of several of the items that interest me. Rebecca’s gift is selected, a highly polished vase with 24 karat gold plating on a band of relief sculpture near the bottom. A vase for my flower, I think, wondering how this will look on Rebecca’s walnut table. I also buy a pewter picture frame and my sales person adds a free teddy bear “for Christmas.” I ask her if she will be in a photograph with me, she agrees, and Sobra does the honours.
Outside, I talk with one of the passengers, a young Australian girl who organizes conferences for the Sydney Convention Centre. She’s here on a five day vacation because she says she just had to get away from her work. She makes a photograph of me standing beside the giant pewter beer stein located near the factory front door.
Our little caravan then moves on to one of the remnants in the city of Malaysia’s prosperous rubber industry. Rubber is still one of the country’s biggest exports but our halt at a little grove of rubber trees doesn’t really do justice to the industry. We pull to a stop on the edge of the highway, climb out and come face-to-bark with three rubber trees. Sobra demonstrates how the tree’s bark is cut with a special knife to induce the flow of latex. And flow it does. Interesting to see and to feel the rubbery texture of this natural material.
We travel on to a batik factory where the process is demonstrated and where batik and other goods are offered for sale. At the entrance to the property, we find a little Buddhist shrine set up under a shading tree. I photograph this and a family of baby puppies that lives and plays on the verge of the factory property where a heavy fringe of forest begins. My Australian companion finds a wooden horse as a Christmas present for her father who is, she tells me, an equestrian fancier.
The fourth and final stop on our little excursion is at the Baht Cave, located in an escarpment of land that runs parallel to our route of travel. To enter the cave, one needs to scale an incredible set of stairs, rising perhaps 300 feet above the level of the parking lot. At the foot of the stairs is an enormous statue and along the staircase, in the natural rock beside it, are little Hindu temples and shrines, decorated with beautiful figures of people and animals. I start the climb, rather reluctantly, but as I travel upward the skyline changes and the view alters. Living along the staircase are families of monkeys, members of whom sit on the railings eating tourist trash and watch the flow of humanity up and down the stairs. I pause as I go along, partly to catch my breath, but also to observe and photograph the monkeys and their interaction with each other. This is a remarkable place, provided by Mother Nature, with free access provided by the Malaysian government. At the top of the stairs, one enters the cave proper and it is wondrous, with water dripping from the ceiling, which in much of the cave is open to the sky. I photograph here for awhile then return down the many steps to the parking lot.
While waiting there for others to arrive, I notice the number on the licence plate of Sobra’s van—6969. I point this out to one of his fellow drivers who, in turn, points it out to Sobra. He catches on right away, turns, makes a pious gesture to one of the Hindu shrines in the cave above, and laughs. “Such a lucky man. I am doubly blessed!” He then takes my camera once more and makes a picture of me and his double-lucky licence plate.
Shortly after 1200, we return to the hotel. Two of the passengers in the van, it turns out, are English tourists on an extended holiday. He works in the IT section of Rolls Royce jet engines and we have a great chat about airplanes and jet engines along the way.
I cool off at the hotel for a while and then phone the Education International office. I learn that Aloysius Mathews, chief coordinator of the office, will be in shortly after 1400. I head out for lunch and have fish and chips followed by a scrumptious chocolate brownie and real lemon tea at an open patio restaurant near the monorail. Here I write most of today’s entry and then return to the Federal. I get in touch with Aloysius by phone and he gives me instructions to meet him at the EI office at 1830. We will go together to the wedding reception of Ms Saraswathy Vanchilingam Pillai, one of the EI secretaries, which will be held at a neighbourhood YMCA facility. When planning this trip, Aloysius asked me to attend this event and I have really been looking forward to it. I didn’t bring a gift but planned to take a lot of photographs at the reception and send them back to Saraswathy in an album from Canada.
I ask a taxi driver for the rate to the address of the EI office and it is quite a bit higher than I anticipated. The rate of 25 Rupees is due, apparently, because of the heavy traffic and the heavy rain, both of which will slow our progress. I agree and away we go. Aloysius meets me at the curb out in front of his office and seems quietly miffed by the rate the driver charged me. “I really should report him,” Aloysius says, but I dissuade him because the driver and I agreed beforehand.
Up to the third floor of the building we go and into the EI office. I have now been in two EI regional offices, one in Lomé, Togo and this one and quite close to the one in the Caribbean. We do not stay long as the accountant, Raju Santhanam, is ready to drive us to the Y. First, we stop at the house of Ms Chusnal Savitri to pick her up as well. Chusnal is one of the new coordinators and has been in KL only a short time. She is from Indonesia and her children still live there with her husband. She is actually under care at a local hospital but checked herself out for this evening’s event and to honour her colleague’s big day. Chusnal is a beautiful woman and is dressed in a flower print skirt and jacket and she smells heavenly. “You make my car so much fresher,” Raju observes. Aloysius confides that Chusnal’s medical condition has to do with stress and depression, brought on by the separation from her family.
At the Y, we get parked and then enter the reception. I am introduced to the bride and groom and then we are taken to a table near where the bride and groom will sit where we settle in with other people from the EI office. With us are Kiran Chabra, another secretary, and her husband and three children. The daughter is 13 years of age (going on 21!) and is a bright and engaging child. She sits beside me and we talk about the music she likes and I like. Meanwhile, the wedding singer is giving quiet renditions of Kenny Rogers songs and I sing along with some of them. On my right sits Shashi Bala Singh and her husband Abhay Singh, an industrial engineer and a very nice man. Aloysius is next to him, completing our little circle of guests.
It is most enjoyable, just visiting in this special gathering of two families and their friends. The bride and groom are called to the stage to cut the wedding cake and then the bride gives greetings. Among those thanked for coming are Aloysius Mathews and “Mr Tim Johnston from Canada,” quite an honour for me, I must say. The wedding singer’s wife then joins him on stage and delivers a great rendition of Tammy Wynett’s song “Stand by Your Man.” Quite unexpected in the setting of an Indian wedding in Kuala Lumpur but pretty good advice is offered in the song none-the-less.
Young Chetna then gets up and does a Bollywood dance to a popular local hit song. I’m rather astonished by the suggestive undulations of this 13 year old but the audience just loves her. Dinner is announced none too soon and a buffet with a wonderful selection of food is offered. There is quite a bit of concern for me, “It’s not too hot, is it Tim?” but really unnecessary. It is a wonderful meal.
I start photographing afterward and this becomes a great way to visit and have some fun with nearly everyone in the room. I am welcomed at every table with smiles and hellos and lots of help grouping family and friends for photographs. At around 2200, folk start leaving and our little band of four heads for home in Raju’s Proton. He drops off Aloysius and Chusnal at the EI parkade and then drives me across town to the Federal Hotel. He lives nearby and I am not taking him too far out of his way. We talk about cars as we drive along. “You like cars, don’t you,” I ask. “Oh yes,” and Raju smiles. And so ends Tuesday.
Wednesday, December 13
Today and tonight will wrap up my stay at the Federal Hotel in Kuala Lumpur. The hotel is quite historic, I have learned. It was the first “big hotel” in KL and has been added to and modernized since it was built in 1950. Tan Sri Datuk Low Yat was its founder and builder and it has been operated by succeeding generations of Low Yats ever since. There is a wall of historical photographs, letters and charters in the lobby which I have enjoyed studying. Muhammad Ali (Cassius Clay) stayed here when fighting Joe Bogner in 1972.
I have just finished breakfast and I’m sitting in the lobby writing the entry for yesterday evening. I will leave for the EI office at 1030 for a visit and lunch and return later to get organized for tomorrow’s travel to Singapore.
Rebecca phoned this morning with news from home and asking about my adventure. I can’t express how nice it is to hear her and to listen to news at home – Galien getting wonderful reviews in Spokane and Kalie marching through exams and assignments, Rebecca’s conversation with Seth concerning the arrival of the newest Johnston. Now, I am going to the hotel travel agent to get information on my accommodation in Singapore. There isn’t much selection in rooms, it seems, but a small hotel with a room has been found, about 30 minutes from the airport. I’m hoping for the best, and, since it is Singapore, probably with some justification.
I catch a cab for the EI office at 1030 and pay a modest 10 R for the ride. The driver last night charged 25 R. I have a nice visit with the office staff and then join Shashi in her office. We talk of her work and our history together and I ask if there may be some joint ventures we can start, perhaps in support of the ASEAN Women’s Network. Shashi tells me that two representatives from the countries involved (Malaysia, Philippines, Cambodia, Indonesia and Thailand) want to set up a website for the network. I agree to see if CTF will help on this one and to find a resource person. I’m thinking that part of the money not being spent on CUT could be applied here with a small reserve for Mozambique. I will discuss all of this with CTF on my return home.
Aloysius and I then have a visit in his office. I am moved by what EI is doing in support of students, teachers and schools in the Indonesian province of Aceh, one of the areas most damaged by the Tsunami of 2004. EI is using money contributed by teacher organizations around the world to build 28 schools. Local workers and resources are being employed. More than 20,000 children were lost in the flood. As the schools were completed, it was difficult to find enough children to fill them. For orphaned children who want to attend, a $15 monthly scholarship is provided for a two-year period. Because more than 2,000 teachers were lost, a crash program is in place to train up 1,500 new teachers through a “model school, model teacher” program. As well, 520 new and experienced teachers are being trained as counsellors for children traumatized by the tsunami. EI has had a regional coordinator on site to oversee the program and to maximize the effectiveness of aid money and support. This has been a very emotional experience for Aloysius and tears come into his eyes as he talks about the death of so many children, their families and teachers. I think that this part of my visit could be the subject of the Editor’s Notebook for the spring issue of The ATA Magazine.
After the office visits, several of the staff and I head to a nearby restaurant, The Lanna, for a slow-to-arrive but very delicious lunch. I have lots of fun talking, visiting and adding just a bit of levity while interacting with my rather serious companions. Afterward, back at the office, I photograph all of us, hand over the ATA cheque for the East Timor teachers and, amid fond farewells, take my leave.
The rest of the afternoon is spent packing and arranging clothes for the morning. The hotel travel agent has a room for me in Singapore—the Fragrance Hotel on Upper Sarangoon Road. I hope for the best, pay the agent in cash and take a final stroll around the neighbourhood. I also buy tee shirts for Tristan and MacKenzie.
Just after 1900, Shashi calls up from the lobby. She and her husband Abbay are here to collect me for our evening dinner together. In the lobby, they have “a little gift” for me—two pieces of beautiful batik material, one pure wool and the other cotton. Shashi and Abbay are a beautiful couple, very supportive of each other and close. We walk to an Indian restaurant, although I’m given lots of alternatives, and I suggest I will join them for a vegetarian Indian dinner. This is agreed and the ordering begins. Shashi, however, wants me to have some meat and so I receive a small order of chicken and a dish of cubed fish. Of course, I have what they have as well. Two King beer for Abbay and me complete our menu.
This is a wonderful moment, spent getting to know Abbay and reminiscing with Shashi about all of the teacher leaders we know in common. Shashi will visit with Soulabha Donde at the end of December in India. “We often talk of you, Tim,” Shashi tells me, and promises to convey my best wishes and greetings to Soulabha when they meet. We talk of a number of people and Abbay talks about how he has supported Shashi in her work. I tell him the story of my first meeting with Shashi when she told me she could develop and Indian women’s teacher network because she had the support of her husband. Abbay was a successful civil engineer and had worked on projects in Tanzania, Saudi Arabia and India for many years. About 15 years ago, he fell from a structure he was working on, falling more than 50 feet to the ground. He suffered life-threatening injuries but managed to survive and to rehabilitate himself physically but he has not worked since. He came to KL when Shashi was appointed to the staff of EI. They had to leave their daughters in India because they had no knowledge of the Malaysian language, a requirement for post-secondary education in Malaysia.
Now, Abbay plays cricket “very well” and leads an active and healthy life, travelling on some missions with Shashi. Our evening ends and I walk with this delightful couple to the monorail station for their return home. We say our farewells and I turn toward the Federal Hotel, walking down Jalan Bukit Bintang, now getting busy as usual for the evening’s events.
At the hotel, I pay my bill and pack a bit more. I’ll be up at 0530 tomorrow morning to get ready for the day’s travel to Singapore. Then I catch up on the journal for today and turn in for my last sleep in Malaysia for this trip.
Thursday, December 14
The phone rings at 0530 followed immediately by my trusty alarm radio. I dress and go down for breakfast at 0600, being the only person in the dining room. Afterward, its back to room 1305 for final packing and departure.
I checked out and paid my bill last night and so I simply drop off my key to the porter, say farewell and take a cab to Kuala Lumpur’s International Airport. This is not the airport I arrived at. The ride costs 75 Ringgit, more than the inbound ride but I learn that in and out fares are controlled. KLI is a beautiful airport and, as there is only one other passenger at the Singapore Airlines counter, check-in is quick. I also confirm my flight from Singapore tomorrow at the same time.
Some juice is purchased and then I sit and wait after changing my remaining Ringgit to Singapore dollars. This nets me about $126 new dollars, an exchange rate of about 80 cents to the US dollar. There is a gate change for my flight but this doesn’t cause any problems. I pass through the security check and take a seat in the boarding lounge. Very soon, a Singapore Airlines 777 coasts up to the ramp and stops, the brakes on its 14 wheels locking it in position. I have a window seat for this short flight and I keep the big Nikon handy, shooting planes on the ground, planes landing, cloud formations and, after takeoff, the incredible flow of ships up and down the Strait of Malacca.
Singapore is reached quickly—only time for a cup of tea on its own little tray—and we taxi in. Immigration is pleasant. “Would you care for a sweet, Sir?” is the way the immigration officer sends me away. My luggage arrives and I leave the terminal.
At this airport, people que up for cabs that pull in and parallel park beside each other. About 12 cabs can load at once and be off on their way while other cabs and other passengers take their place. The cabs are a special model made by Toyota, quite basic but with very spacious cabins—kind of like an Asian version of the old Checker cab cars. My fare to the Fragrance Hotel is $14, nearly an exact Canadian dollar equivalent. The driver and I find the address and I offload, but it takes me a few tries to actually find the hotel.
It was with some trepidation that I booked this place but guess what—it really is kind of cool. The hotel is an old building with probably no more than 30 feet of street frontage that has been completely renovated with good quality materials and it’s quite nice. My room is very small and has no windows, the only real drawback. The entire bathroom is tiled and serves as toilet and shower stall, all in one. I can’t find much hanger space, which is okay as I’m not staying long. A modern flat screen television is mounted on the brightly panelled wall opposite the bed.
I don’t spend much time in the room and instead, head out to see the neighbourhood. At about the same time, a torrential rain begins. “First rain in a week,” I’m told. I use the time for a short nap and then I go to the street to see where one of the many double-decker busses might take me. I notice that number 80 leaves from one side of the street while another number 80 returns on the opposite side. This bus goes to the harbour front, the driver tells me, and for a fare of $2, I’m on my way.
The front seat over the driver on the upper deck is free and so I settle in, Nikon at the ready. The ride down takes about 45 minutes and follows expressways as well as winding streets in the old part of the city. Two-story structures that have retained their colonial embellishments crowd the sidewalks. At the harbour front station, I walk across the overpass to reach the harbour, view the cable car system and stroll through another gigantic shopping plaza. Nothing much of interest in the stores, just more and more of the electronics genius of Asia.
I return to the bus station, find another double-decker parked in the route 80 stall, and climb aboard to my lofty top deck seat. I’m mildly concerned about the return trip as it is quickly getting dark and I’m not sure I will remember where to get off. Familiar landmarks keep appearing, however, including other route 80 double-deckers heading in the opposite direction to the harbour. I find my stop quite easily and, an hour and a half after leaving the harbour terminal, I step off the bus across from the Fragrance Hotel.
Stowing my camera, I head out looking for somewhere to have dinner. I walk for about ten minutes along Upper Serangoon Road to a subway station. I use the underground passage to safely reach the Heartland Shopping Centre on the opposite side of the road. For supper, I have baked spaghetti with a pork chop, along with a Tiger beer, while sitting outside on the patio of a restaurant. I write most of today’s entry while waiting for my meal to arrive. Afterward, I walk back to the Fragrance, shower in the all-inclusive shower bathroom, and complete this journal entry in bed. I have to get up at 0500 tomorrow morning, hopefully hail a passing cab on the street, and be at the airport by 0600. A few minutes of flat screen television, then off to sleep at 2230.
Friday, December 15
I am awake at 0430 but drift in and out of sleep until 0500 when the phone rings and my alarm radio goes off, summoning me to another day of travel, this time a long journey to home. Up for a shower, dressing and final packing in my little room 312 and down with the suitcase to the curb outside the Fragrance Hotel. I try flagging down some passing taxis but all have the hired sign lit up. The man at the front desk phones for a cab for me but as I return outdoors, two available cabs suddenly arrive. The one I take is driven by a man who is not Singapore’s best driver and he charges me an additional $6S to boot, some form of tax, he tells me.
I’m at the airport in jig time, nevertheless, and a nice young agent at the first class counter at Singapore Airlines checks me in, issues boarding passes for here and Hong Kong and updates my Aeroplan miles. Immigration welcomes me and the agent places an exit stamp in my new passport, the last one for this trip. I have bacon and eggs for breakfast, a reward for my early morning start, then board my flight to Hong Kong at gate 60. Another Boeing 777 takes my fellow passengers and me on a straight-line flight northeast to Hong Kong, travelling at nearly 900 kph at an altitude of 11,582 meters.
It’s a good flight with excellent service. The cabin crew are mainly young (and very attractive) Oriental women. The only problem is with the passenger in front of me who insists on fully reclining his chair, even during meal service. When he leaves for a potty visit, I lean forward and snap the chair back up. When he returns and tries to fully recline the chair, I lock my legs in place and prevent a full recline. He tries bouncing the back several times, all to no avail, except to piss me off even more. He then asks one of the cabin crew why the chair won’t recline. She looks past him to me and I mouth to her “NO.” She assures the man the seat is as far back as it will go. I’m always amazed by this kind of rude behaviour when I infrequently encounter it as I believe it is impolite, just bad manners and not apt to gain merit for the person who so behaves.
Transfer in Hong Kong is quick but allowing me a few minutes to update the journal during a brief wait at gate 43. Air Canada’s Airbus 340 waits outside with its maple leaf tail rather prominent in the forest of Cathay Pacific “splash” tailfins that populate the apron.
It’s a tired looking A340 that launches us into the air over Hong Kong for the flight to Vancouver. The captain comes on and tells us that he is going to cycle the landing gear and not to be alarmed by the noise that will result. Our national airline certainly needs the new Boeing 777s and 787s it has on order to rejuvenate its fleet. The Pacific is crossed once again, then the Canadian Rockies on the way to Edmonton and home.
International journey number eleven comes to a satisfying close.
in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
December 3 – December 15, 2006
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Sunday, December 3
I am starting this journal about five hours out of Vancouver, somewhere over the vast north Pacific Ocean. My route is to Hong Kong and then on to Bangkok, Thailand. Already, I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, flying from Edmonton to Vancouver this morning.
This flight is on an Air Canada A340 and it seems like we are flying very high—36,000 feet, the in-charge said. We are over a high blanket of cloud, chasing the sun westward. There have been a couple of surprises out of the window so far, one being the appearance of a full moon just to the rear of the starboard wingtip. Just now, I opened my window shade and there below are ranges of rugged snow-capped mountains. I think we might be over Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula or perhaps the bulge of Russia that ends at Vladivostok. I watch as we fly on and soon a shoreline and the ocean appears. I can see a city or town at the very tip of the land and then mountainous islands appear off the tip for a few miles. Our flightway takes us over open water again and then clouds obscure the ground below. In all the vast land area in my view, I saw only the one small settlement on the shore and one airport, no doubt a remnant of the Cold War. As we have been travelling for about seven hours at just under 600 mph, we should be nearly 4,000 miles along.
My seat partner is Mrs Mui Vong. I was assigned the isle seat and she had the window seat. “Mister have window seat and me there?” she asks and so we switch. She needs frequent access to the WC, apparently, and I’m enjoying the discoveries I find in my view beyond the wing.
Aircrew come by with cards to be filled in by passengers staying in Hong Kong, the destination of Mrs Vong. She asks me to help her fill out the form and by doing so, I discover we were both born in 1944—she in October and me in March. “Very good luck,” exclaims Mrs Vong. Mui was born in Vietnam under what would have been Japanese occupation and grew up under French colonial rule. She moved to Canada, probably near the end of the Viet Nam War, and now lives in Edmonton. She is on her way to visit her daughter and son-in-law who reside in Hong Kong.
Service on the big Airbus is reasonable, about what we used to get on longer flights within Canada.
After a good sleep, we are close to Hong Kong and soon making our approach over little islands known as The Two Brothers. I watch the flashing approach lights lined for the parallel runway out in the water as we settle and soon we are taxing in to the terminal at Chek Lak Kok, the new Hong Kong international airport, as it is better known.
I have a two-hour layover here and so I explore the terminal and find Gate 42 for my Thai Air flight to Bangkok. A 747 flies a full load to Bangkok in about two and a half hours and I find myself in a middle seat in the rear cabin, seated between two women. On my right is Dr Pantipa Wiwattanakajornsuk, a medical doctor and member of the Malaysian armed forces, and on my left is Valerie Forbes, a photographer from Surrey in England. We have a great chat about places and interests. Pantipa is returning from a medical conference in Hong Kong. Her husband is a munitions specialist in the Malaysian Air Force. Valerie is on her way home to England after visiting Bangkok and Hong Kong. Good travel companions and I enjoy their company immensely. Valerie manages to cadge a couple of small bottles of wine from the cabin attendant as well as decks of cards from Thai Air for the three of us. (I visited Valerie’s website on return home and quite liked her work—all black and white photography of families and children).
My luggage drops off the Thai Air carousel, safe from its trip from Edmonton, and I clear customs and immigration to find a cab. The trick for cabs (thanks to Ralph Klintberg) is to go to the outside taxi kiosk, ask for a cab, and ignore the touts inside the terminal who “would like to take you for a ride.” 250 Bhat (and 2 tollbooths) later and we arrive at the Imperial Queen’s Park Hotel. The ride in has been rapid and quiet, with very little traffic near midnight. Check in is straightforward and I’m shown to room 1472, my home in Bangkok. There is marble, teak and stone everywhere and this is quite a lovely hotel. I phone home to report my arrival and talk to Harley for a little while. I shower, have a beer in bed and drift off to sleep. I’ll be sorted out in the morning.
Tuesday, December 5 (?)
No, I didn’t miss a day’s entry. Crossing the International Date Line has put me forward a day and some convoluted watch adjusting now takes place to get me onto the right day and time. Today is the King of Thailand’s birthday and he is celebrating his 79th anniversary as well as the 60th year of his reign. I try to get my life organized and on track and start by sending clothes for the laundry, checking on my complimentary breakfast vouchers (which arrive under the door) and reviewing my hotel departure date. My plan on making travel arrangements was to fly to Bangkok, travel by train to Kuala Lumpur and on to Singapore and then depart for home from Singapore. The Bangkok and Singapore bits are fixed but transportation in between still has to be arranged. After a good breakfast, I walk the neighbourhood a bit, then register for the conference, and work on this journal. The latter is completed over coffee in the hotel lobby.
The king is a beloved and respected monarch. In his honour, today is a national holiday and I learn that, as a result, the offices of the Thai National Railway are closed. So, no booking of train rides today. I wander the hotel, checking the price of trinkets and suits in various shops. A custom-made sports jacket would cost about $120 Canadian and I consider this seriously. It could be ready for my Saturday departure, I’m told. I consult my calendar and see that there is no way I can use the train to get from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. On-line, I make a booking with Singapore Airlines for the connecting flight that costs about $120 Canadian. I will still need overnight accommodation in Singapore but I decide to book that while in Kuala Lumpur. So now, I only need passage by train from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur, leaving on Saturday. I will book that trip tomorrow before the start of the conference.
I walk out again crossing through Benjasiri Park, located behind the hotel. The park is filled with tents in which all manner of food and other items can be purchased. It is also full of families out celebrating the King’s birthday. Everyone is wearing yellow golf shirts, the King’s colour, with the royal emblem stitched onto the pocket. I ask some women vendors what it all means and a passer-by confirms all for me in English. I buy a large size shirt for myself, although the sales woman thinks I need a larger size. And she is right. Back at the hotel, I try on the shirt and find it just a bit snug. Back to her kiosk I go where I am warmly welcomed yet again. “I want to come to Canada,” she tells me after learning of my homeland.
An enormous buffet is available at the hotel and the dining room is full of people—families, mostly—all in yellow shirts and all in a celebratory mood. I feel quite proud to be wearing my yellow shirt and sharing in the celebration of this auspicious event. I have a short nap (catching up on Alberta time) and then head out on the streets once again for some photography with the F100. Back in my room, I find an invitation from the hotel manager to attend the celebration of the King’s birthday in Benjasiri Park, starting at 1929 “to wish His Majesty the King a long life, good health and happiness, together with the whole Kingdom.” Should be fun. On further reading, I find that today is also Father’s Day in Thailand. I guess I qualify.
My photography session started in Benjasiri Park and the first few frames feature the hotel as it dominates one side of the park boundary. I also walked a number of streets in the neighbourhood, surrounded by a lot of folk in yellow shirts. A tuktuk driver offers to take me on a tour for an hour for 200 Baht and I hop in. I have been thinking about traveling in one of these in order to take pictures of the city. What I find, however, is that the roof of the tuktuk comes down so low that it is hard to see out of and quite unsuitable for photography. We drive about five blocks, and then the driver pulls over and stops beside another tuktuk. He wants to have another driver take me, one who can speak English and who can talk to me about what might be interesting to see. I use the opportunity to pay for the short ride, thank my host and explain that I cannot see from the vehicle. All is well and I walk back the few blocks toward the hotel.
Stopping at the 7-11 convenience store across the street, I buy some fruit drinks and a couple cans of beer. As I step outside again, a man approaches and opens a large colour pamphlet in which the unclothed charms of several women are displayed. He wonders if I might be interested in a “closer look, perhaps in your room?” I’m not. The juice and beer are about 20 Baht each, considerably less than the ones in the refrigerator in my room.
I sleep for awhile and am awakened by the sound of fireworks at exactly 1929. I see the reflections of some of these in the windows of the tower building across the street from the hotel. Down I go to mingle with Bangkok’s families and to watch and listen to what appears to be a fairly good amateur presentation. A live band—high school students, perhaps—and very pretty girls perform an interesting mixture of Thai dancing and Disco, all in marvellous showgirl costumes, as backup for two star female singers and one male singer. The audience, all in yellow shirts (including me) sit beneath the park’s trees, most of which have yellow streamers floating from their branches.
I circle the park, observing folk relaxing on this national holiday, and then visit a few shops in the hotel. By 2300, I’m in bed, writing up today’s journal entry and getting ready for sleep. Tomorrow, I register for the conference at 0700, have breakfast and then go back up to the meeting rooms for the conference commencement at 0900. Train reservations for Kuala Lumpur and Singapore need to be made tomorrow as well.
Wednesday, December 6
A restful but somewhat fitful sleep, finally getting up at 0630 in order to get to the registration desk by 0700. And that’s when I arrive. I’m treated quite special, I think, my name tag is brought to me while I wait to pay, as is a selection of conference bags. I am the first to register with a credit card and it takes a few minutes while the machine is plugged in and connected to the bank. The young woman is as efficient as can be but the technology gives her a few problems. She seems rather apologetic but a smile to her from me allays all concerns. “The Land of Smiles” is the unofficial slogan of the country and smiles are evident everywhere and very well received.
After registration, I go for breakfast, handing over my chit for complimentary vittles. A man from Pakistan joins me at my table—a UN Agency for Refugees worker—here attending yet another conference. In the main meeting room, as I wait for the opening session to begin, a woman across the isle turns to me and says, “You’re Tim Johnston, aren’t you. I know all about you!” and comes over. She is an Indian woman who teaches in Ontario and who went on two Project Overseas teams as a representative of the Elementary Teachers’ Federation of Ontario. She knows what I do and of my involvement in CTF development programs through CTF staff, I guess, and perhaps through Mary Morrison, the staff officer at ETFO who manages their international programs. Her name is Anita Dhawan and she is a teacher at Lord Roberts Public School in Toronto. She won the Toronto Region Labour Council Women in Labour Award last year and this year she is on leave and travelling in Asia. She is at the conference with her sister, the headmistress of the school in their home village in India. It was quite fun to be recognized so far from home and by a complete stranger.
The opening session with guest speakers proceeds in order, and we hear from the Thailand minister of education, Mr H E Wichit Srisa-an and the UNESCO Asia and Pacific Bureau of Education director Sheldon Shaeffer, a Canadian. Afterward, the first of many breakout sessions commences and I get to hear four university professors present extracts of papers they have written on education for sustainable development, surely one of the dreariest presentations I have ever sat through. The last presenter is Australian and, as he reads his notes while seated in front of his laptop computer (while the same notes appear on the screen), Monty Python’s skit about Australian philosophy professors comes unbidden to mind.
Lunch redeems all, however, after which I take a cab downtown to the train station to book travel to Kuala Lumpur. The driver doesn’t take me to the office of Thai Rail but instead to a very busy travel agent located just next door. The agent there talks me out of the train because she doesn’t feel I have enough time to travel to Kuala Lumpur, stay for a few days and get to Singapore by Friday. Instead, she books me on Air Asia flight (Now Everyone Can Fly!) leaving Bangkok late Saturday afternoon. The taxi driver has waited for me, having a quick lunch at a food stand outside the travel office, and he takes me back to the hotel. I spend a few minutes on the hotel’s internet sending messages home and then I head in for the last breakout session of the day. A much better session, populated with animated and engaging speakers.
When the session finishes, I head up to my room to change for the reception at 1830, passing by the Air China staff lounge that is at the foyer end of my hallway. I have had all of my shirts and slacks pressed by the hotel staff and put on hangars. Tonight I choose a sports jacket, slacks, and Rebecca’s Versace tie that she bought for me in London. The reception doubles as dinner and I sit with a gaggle of Australian university types. At the end of the reception, I visit with my Ontario Indian colleague Anita and her sister who knows Soulabha Donde, my dear friend in Bombay. It’s interesting to me the kinds of connections that occur in my life because of where I have travelled and who I have come to know.
After the reception, I have a coffee in the lobby and then head out for some fresh, warm air. I am approached to see if I need a cab, no thanks, how about a full body massage up in your room, no thanks, that’s a full nude-body-to-nude-body massage, no thanks. Instead, I walk to the back of the hotel and out into Benjasiri Park. Here I encounter three young men are playing a remarkable game. It looks a bit like volleyball but hands are not allowed after the service of the ball. The ball itself looks to be made of open woven strands of reed and perhaps the original ones were. All plays are by foot and head strikes and it is a remarkably skilful game. At service, the player kicks the ball high in the air, goes inverted and lands on his hands with his feet following. The return spike is delivered in much the same way. Back in my hotel room, I turn on the television and flip through the channels stopping at an event taking place at the Asian Games—sepaktakraw—the very game I watched the local boys playing in the park. This is a team sport, three players (women play as well) per side. Thailand is playing Malaysia and the home team wins. That’s my day for today.
Thursday, December 7
Sessions start at 0830 this morning and I arrive on time for a presentation of different technologies and how these are being applied, mainly in Korea. Without fail, the technical wizards presenting seem incapable of coordinating their computers, software and projectors and we bumble along for a while until the technology decides to cooperate with the technician. The first three presenters are reasonably interesting but the fourth, mumbling into the computer screen, is simply intolerable. I give him ten minutes, then quietly get up and leave the room. I want to get out and see a bit of the city today and so I book a “temples” tour for the afternoon at the kiosk in the hotel lobby. Returning to the sessions, I take in the morning plenary session after which I leave rather hurriedly to catch the tour minibus waiting at the front of the hotel.
The tour system is quite interesting. A small van takes two women and me from the conference (we vow an oath of silence) to the tour bus terminal. Here, larger 20 to 40 passenger buses wait for their collected passengers from the many hotels across the city, gathered by the vans. A staff member in the waiting area greets us, checks the tours we wish to take part in and provides me with a sticker for my shirt with a 3 printed on it. Bus number 3 will tour me and three other passengers to the three main temple locations within the city.
My companions on the tour include a black man from Texas who works for the Bank of America credit card division and a young couple from New Castle, England. Our guide is most knowledgeable and the driver is patient and skilled. We drive to each of the three main temple sites but I’m really not feeling particularly well. Many pictures are made, nevertheless, both at the temples and in travels between. At the temple of the reclining Buddha, an enormous brick and mortar construction covered with gold leaf, I hear the tinkle of coins being dropped into metal containers. Rounding the foot of the Buddha, I encounter a table where women are selling dishes of Thai coins for 20 Baht. The coins are to be dropped into little metal vases along the returning wall with wishes for the welfare of those we love. I buy a dish of coin, turn to walk to the vases and encounter two beautiful Thai children who are visiting the Buddha as well. I give my coins to the girls and they happily go along dropping the coins into the wishing vases.
One of the principles of Buddhism, I learn from our guide, is the concept of gathering merit in this life for a better placement in the next. This is accomplished by doing good deeds and living well. “You have just gained merit,” the guide tells me, by giving the coins to the children.
The gold Buddha at Traimitwitthayaram Temple has quite a story behind it. Thailand makes a concerted effort to move statues from isolated or deserted areas into cities for protection and restoration. This Buddha was moved into Bangkok in 1955 and while it was being unloaded in the city, a large piece of it broke off. The piece was made of a material like cement and it was thought that the entire statue was made of the same material. Imagine the wonder when it was found that under a three inch thick layer of cement was a 5 tonne solid gold sculpture, just waiting to be discovered. Apparently, the original statue had been coated long ago to make it unattractive to marauding Burmese armies. This was one of the first of the country statues collected through the efforts of the King to be moved and preserved in Bangkok.
The tour ends when the bus pulls into the Royal Lapidary Factory and sales building. We are welcomed in and offered cool drinks at the reception desk. I opt for a small glass of beer and then we are taken into a small theatre for a presentation on why rubies and sapphires appear in Thailand. We are toured around the workshops where craftspeople shape the precious stones and make gold and silver settings, after which we enter the show room where purchases are encouraged. Lots to look at but I’m not in a buying mood.
By this time of the day, I am really not feeling well and my Texas friend and I ask that a small van take us back to our respective hotels. It has been an interesting day but I’m looking forward to getting back to the hotel. The city traffic has been heavy all afternoon but at 1700 it is intense and our return journey seems to take forever. I finally get to the Queen’s Park and cross the street to the neighbourhood 711 store for fruit drinks and potato chips. In my room, I have a mild bout of traveller’s tummy after which I replenish my depleted electrolytes with salty chips and sugary orange drink. By 1800, I’m in bed asleep. And so, for today, I have had only breakfast and no lunch or supper but I did have an interesting and enjoyable day visiting the temples.
Friday, December 8
I get up at seven, shave and shower and have another dose of orange juice and potato chips. After my shower, I can’t find my aluminium comb and I get quite upset. I’ve had the comb for ages, having bought it in a factory outlet store in California. Besides, how else am I to tame my silver locks? I finally locate the comb on a shelf near the sink and my little world returns to synchronization. I’m feeling better this morning but still a bit off and sweating profusely.
I go for breakfast (hair nicely combed!) and stop at the hotel shop to buy a strip of Tylenol tables, two of which accompany my breakfast. Afterward, I stop to check my email but there is no reply to my earlier message to Rebecca. This is rather disappointing and I resolve to try phoning this afternoon.
This entry and yesterday’s is being written during the first breakout session which is, thankfully, quite informative. The presentations from the Chinese woman on the Radio and Television University of China is most worthwhile and reminds me of my own “Homework Hotline” on the Access Network in days gone by. We had a delegation of Koreans visit that program to see how it worked and how it might have been used in that country. The presenter from China is one of the people who spoke with me earlier and who asked me to photograph her and her colleagues at the opening session.
I stay for the plenary and listen to a Laotian man talk about how poor teachers contribute to poor development. I’d like to have a word with him about his outlook and his crappy Power Point presentation. A light lunch wraps up the morning, after which I get in touch with the Federal Hotel in Kuala Lumpur. They arrange some extra days for me and that sets my mind at ease, at least for the next leg of my journey.
Returning to the wrap-up plenary session, we hear many thank you speeches from the UNESCO Bangkok staff for our attendance. The Canadian chief of the education sector gave the best of the impromptu speeches. We then all trooped down to the registration desk to pick up CDs containing all of the session presentations and our certificates of attendance. I got the CD but not the certificate, as one had not been prepared for me. One of the staff promised to send one along in the mail (and it actually appeared in my office in January).
Late afternoon sees me in the hotel business office checking and sending email home, after which I take an extended walk through the park and go on to The Emporium on the other side. Here I find simply the best consumer products that the world has to offer, laid out in gorgeous stores. I carry on with an extended walk circling back behind the park into the small streets of the neighbourhood watching people starting to prepare for the evening. Supper later on is fish and chips at the hotel. I would like to try eating elsewhere but I want to make sure my systems are all stabilized before venturing out. I will be more adventuresome in Kuala Lumpur.
An evening constitutional takes me across the street to the 7-11 for more fruit drinks and then down the street to a collection of little shops, most of which turn out to be bars and pool halls. The spaces between have many beautiful women sitting languorously, as though they have been there all along as part of the décor.
Some television in my room, accompanied by half of the chocolate bar I have been keeping in the minibar, and I’m asleep at 1030. The phone rings and it’s Rebecca, calling from home.
What a welcome voice. I think because I haven’t been working with colleagues on this trip I’ve gotten a bit lonesome—no one to really be around and to do things with. All is well at home and Rebecca tells me she did receive my email messages after all. She wonders who the woman was who answered my phone when she called earlier today and I am at a loss to provide an answer. I’m guessing it was one of the cleaning ladies who usually arrive at around 1400 each day.
My sleep is sound now, knowing that all is well at home, that my onward flight is booked and that I have a good hotel at a reasonable rate waiting for me in Kuala Lumpur. Rebecca told me she had Kalie and Wendy over for a girl’s evening and I wonder if she might miss me just a bit as well. At least Rebecca has the constant company of Major and Charlie.
Saturday, December 9
This is my last wakeup on this trip in room 1472 of the Imperial Queen’s Park Hotel. I get up just after 0700 and watch some television and think about the day ahead. Ablutions, breakfast, checkout and airport departure are the marching orders for the day.
While watching television in my early morning daze, I place the remaining half of my chocolate bar on the bed, break off a strip and absently munch away. When I put the remaining chocolate away, I notice lots of tiny pieces of chocolate on the sheet. The tiny pieces are moving and are not chocolate at all but rather very tiny ants. Into the garbage can it all goes, where my little friends undoubtedly feasted the day away on Cadbury.
After showering, and while the ants continued their breakfast, I have mine. Then I pack, always conscious of the 15 KG limit on luggage that my Air Asia ticket says will be allowed. Everything is finally stowed away in two bags and I take a walk around Benjasiri Park one last time. On Sukhumwit road, the street that borders one side of the park, I sit for awhile in a bus stop shelter and just watch the city flow by—cars of all makes, trucks, vans, busses, scooters, tuktuks and one solitary three-wheeled bicycle proceeding along at its own pace, the rider’s tools and shop wares in the bike box preceeding him.
Checkout follows, all very straightforward and most happy, and then a metered cab takes me to the airport. I had been been given lots of warning to be at the check-in early. I am so early, in fact, that the agent won’t let me check in until 1600. I go for a coffee and Danish, watch planes come and go, and visit with Norman, a Scottish architect who has lived out east for over 20 years. He tells me a bit about Kuala Lumpur, the high-speed train into town, and that the city has lots of oriental charm, more so than Bankok.
I go back to the Air Asia check-in at 1600 and find myself first in line. Everything works out fine. The bag goes down the luggage chute without extra charge and my boarding pass is issued. I pay the 500 Baht exit tax, enter passport control and choose the line being controlled by a trainee. Once the passport is stamped, I move to the departure area, looking for a money exchange where I can pick up some Malaysian currency. No one has Malay money, so I carry a pocketful of Thai currency through the security gate and down to departure gate D1 for my 1800 departure. I am now well past all of the food kiosks, where I had hoped to be able to get something to eat post-security, and there is now nothing to be had for munching. An announcement is made that our flight is now delayed one hour, which just spikes up the imagined need for food. Next to me, a family waits for the flight but the mother, clearly familiar with flying in these parts, has brought food for her brood. Included are sandwiches (with the crusts cut off!), sliced cucumber, cookies, sweets and lots of water. I wonder if she might be persuaded to adopt me, just long enough for dinner.
The Air Asia B320 arrives and the polite collection of passengers who have been waiting becomes a herd pressing forward to be the first to board. Air Asia has no assigned seating and boarding therefore is something of a free-for-all. I stand my ground and in so doing get passed by some passengers who seek new territory ahead. On board, I find a seat about half way down the cabin and end up with the row of three leather-covered seats all to myself—what luxury. The plane has a very nice one-class interior, no television, and food service at cost. I don’t miss the former but take advantage of the latter, buying a chicken and rice dish, a package of Oreo cookies and a cup of tea. I have a good sleep for the next hour, stretched out in my leather couch, and Kuala Lumpur’s airport soon welcomes me to Malaysia.
Our arrival is at the old International Airport. Like many low-fare airlines, Air Asia is based at the smaller KL airport, just a bit further out of town. A young Moslem woman stamps my passport, I collect my luggage and clear customs in a nod. A taxi centre sells me a ride to the Federal Hotel for about $20 US and into town we go.
My driver is a Chinese gentleman and he has driven taxi in KL for ten years. His car is brand new, being a “Proton” manufactured locally. A nice visit passes the hour drive into the city, taking us along a beautiful freeway that is bordered by oil palms and bushes, rather reminiscent of some of the lush areas of California. The street on which the hotel is located, Jalan Bukit Bintang, is full of nightclubs and at midnight, when we arrive, the whole neighbourhood is rocking. I check in, head up to my room and drift off to sleep at about 0200.
Sunday, December 10
The phone rings at 0700 and Rebecca welcomes me to Malaysia. Miss Kalie, as usual, wants to know where her father is and has pestered Rebecca to call me for an update. She can now report that I am safely ensconced in Kuala Lumpur. I sleep for another hour, then get up, ready for the day. “I would be out and looking everywhere,” Rebecca had said in our telephone call, and I need to take her advice and get a move on.
Taking the Nikon, I head out and, again, follow Rebecca’s idea of going down one street and then returning, then going down a second street, and so on. I discover the overhead monorail transportation system and come across a gigantic shopping mall. After wandering and exploring for the morning, I return to the Federal for lunch. I sit at the back of the restaurant with a nice outside view of the hotel’s courtyard and swimming pool. Chinese and Russian languages being spoken by other diners surround me and, in this interesting setting, I enjoy a hamburger complete with a fried egg. I also enjoy the chilli sauce that is served instead of ketchup.
Not much doing today. I wander and explore, take photographs, look in shops and buy some food for my room. A cup of noodle soup, heated with water from my room’s kettle, serves a supper. My nightcap is a Tiger beer in the hotel’s pub.
Monday, December 11
The plan today is to walk to the Petronas Twin Towers building in the morning and then take a tour of rural KL in the afternoon. I paid for the tour at the kiosk in the hotel yesterday evening and hope to see some of the area’s less urban areas. A fair bit of time is spent just organizing events in my ATA diary up until Friday, making sure that travel times and flight numbers are listed in one convenient place. Then, I have a late breakfast followed by a walk to the Twin Towers.
This turns out to be a bit of a hike but at each intersection of the winding roads, a little more of this amazing structure reveals itself. The towers gleam in their silver cladding and the elaborate design elements become more distinct as I come closer. I stop at an apartment building along the way and speak with the doorman who makes a picture of me at my request. “You were very small in the viewfinder,” he cautions. That’s okay, as the tower is really what I wanted to capture.
And then, there it is! I spend about an hour photographing some of the wonderful detail and examining its beautiful skin. The skeleton of the building is of poured concrete but this is clad in glass and stainless steel panel. The steel panels have been embossed with very tiny rectangles and are attached to the skeleton in some invisible fashion. Each tower is a series of circles and right-angled sections, stacked skyward with an ever-decreasing circumference. Tours are available each weekday but one must be in the queue by 0800 when tickets are distributed. I am happy to have had some time just to be around the building and to explore some of its environs and interior shopping areas, its opera house and its convention centre.
Having visited the Taj Mahal, I have seen the most beautiful building in the world. The Petronas Twin Towers are in second place, in my estimation.
I return to the hotel and spend an hour just cooling off, drinking green iced tea and resting. At 1430, I present myself at the tour desk only to be told that I am an hour late for my booked expedition. “We waited for you,” the bellman said. I feel very stupid, as this was obviously my fault. He very kindly arranges for me to take the tour on Tuesday morning. He could just as easily have said, “Too bad.”
My plan now changes from touring to shopping and I walk out to the Kompleks Budaya Kraf where I have been told Malaysian artefacts can be purchased at reasonable prices. All around my hotel are giant shopping complexes that offer for sale every conceivable consumer product. Plaza Low Yat must have nearly 100 stores and kiosks selling cellular phones and associated gadgets. Digital cameras, PDA’s, every kind of computer and accessory are available by the truckload. Every big brand name of clothing has its own store, jewellery is abundant, watches and cosmetics of every type are available. Something a little less commercial and a little more artisan-generated is what interests me.
My map shows me the way to the Kompleks but I ask for advice along the way and finally enter the park-like setting of the Kraf complex. The area contains beautiful gardens, cottages for individual artists and a main showroom and museum of mainly textiles. I visit every corner of the place and take a good look at the items in the shops. For four of the kids, I purchase little framed images made of wood veneer that illustrate eastern life. For the fifth, Kalie, I purchase a little porcelain tray that has a painting of one of the many Malay traditional costumes, something that I think may appeal to her interest in fashion and design.
When I’m ready to leave, the sky opens for the afternoon deluge. The sales lady has placed all my items in a lovely paper shopping bag but, when I ask, she places that inside a plastic bag and puts lots of tape on to make sure no rain water gets inside to the contents. Away I go, into the warm downpour, back toward the Federal Hotel. Within a minute, I am completely soaked with the exception of parts of my Marks Work Wearhouse khaki pants and my shoes, which, as advertised, remain dry inside. It was an interesting and not at all uncomfortable sensation to be so thoroughly soaked and splashing along in the heavy, warm rain.
At the hotel, I strip down, have a shower, and hang everything up to dry. A bit of a rest and, when the rain finally tapers off, back out onto the street for an evening coffee and a walk through “Hawker’s Paradise,” a night market selling mostly food items but lots of souvenirs and knock-off clothing as well. A nice day, wrapped up by the writing of this entry. The alarm is set for 0700 for the morning and I want to be away on the rural tour by 0830.
Tuesday, December 12
I have breakfast (included in my room rate, I discover) at 0730 and then head down to the lower foyer to wait for the tour company to arrive. This morning I am taking the KL rural tour that I missed yesterday. A family of four from Saudi Arabia (he works for ARAMCO) joins me in the tour van and then we drive to the craft centre I visited yesterday to pick up additional passengers. We then head out in our Toyota van with Sobra as our driver and commentator. We head into the suburbs and toward our first stop, the Royal Selangor Pewter factory. “We will tour the factory and then you will have time to visit the gift shop,” Sobra tells us. The place is fascinating and the range of products is quite incredible. There is no lead used in modern pewter, we learn, and the artefacts really are splendid. Pewter making was brought to Malay by the Chinese hundreds of years ago.
In the showroom, a very nice woman takes charge of me and explains the details of several of the items that interest me. Rebecca’s gift is selected, a highly polished vase with 24 karat gold plating on a band of relief sculpture near the bottom. A vase for my flower, I think, wondering how this will look on Rebecca’s walnut table. I also buy a pewter picture frame and my sales person adds a free teddy bear “for Christmas.” I ask her if she will be in a photograph with me, she agrees, and Sobra does the honours.
Outside, I talk with one of the passengers, a young Australian girl who organizes conferences for the Sydney Convention Centre. She’s here on a five day vacation because she says she just had to get away from her work. She makes a photograph of me standing beside the giant pewter beer stein located near the factory front door.
Our little caravan then moves on to one of the remnants in the city of Malaysia’s prosperous rubber industry. Rubber is still one of the country’s biggest exports but our halt at a little grove of rubber trees doesn’t really do justice to the industry. We pull to a stop on the edge of the highway, climb out and come face-to-bark with three rubber trees. Sobra demonstrates how the tree’s bark is cut with a special knife to induce the flow of latex. And flow it does. Interesting to see and to feel the rubbery texture of this natural material.
We travel on to a batik factory where the process is demonstrated and where batik and other goods are offered for sale. At the entrance to the property, we find a little Buddhist shrine set up under a shading tree. I photograph this and a family of baby puppies that lives and plays on the verge of the factory property where a heavy fringe of forest begins. My Australian companion finds a wooden horse as a Christmas present for her father who is, she tells me, an equestrian fancier.
The fourth and final stop on our little excursion is at the Baht Cave, located in an escarpment of land that runs parallel to our route of travel. To enter the cave, one needs to scale an incredible set of stairs, rising perhaps 300 feet above the level of the parking lot. At the foot of the stairs is an enormous statue and along the staircase, in the natural rock beside it, are little Hindu temples and shrines, decorated with beautiful figures of people and animals. I start the climb, rather reluctantly, but as I travel upward the skyline changes and the view alters. Living along the staircase are families of monkeys, members of whom sit on the railings eating tourist trash and watch the flow of humanity up and down the stairs. I pause as I go along, partly to catch my breath, but also to observe and photograph the monkeys and their interaction with each other. This is a remarkable place, provided by Mother Nature, with free access provided by the Malaysian government. At the top of the stairs, one enters the cave proper and it is wondrous, with water dripping from the ceiling, which in much of the cave is open to the sky. I photograph here for awhile then return down the many steps to the parking lot.
While waiting there for others to arrive, I notice the number on the licence plate of Sobra’s van—6969. I point this out to one of his fellow drivers who, in turn, points it out to Sobra. He catches on right away, turns, makes a pious gesture to one of the Hindu shrines in the cave above, and laughs. “Such a lucky man. I am doubly blessed!” He then takes my camera once more and makes a picture of me and his double-lucky licence plate.
Shortly after 1200, we return to the hotel. Two of the passengers in the van, it turns out, are English tourists on an extended holiday. He works in the IT section of Rolls Royce jet engines and we have a great chat about airplanes and jet engines along the way.
I cool off at the hotel for a while and then phone the Education International office. I learn that Aloysius Mathews, chief coordinator of the office, will be in shortly after 1400. I head out for lunch and have fish and chips followed by a scrumptious chocolate brownie and real lemon tea at an open patio restaurant near the monorail. Here I write most of today’s entry and then return to the Federal. I get in touch with Aloysius by phone and he gives me instructions to meet him at the EI office at 1830. We will go together to the wedding reception of Ms Saraswathy Vanchilingam Pillai, one of the EI secretaries, which will be held at a neighbourhood YMCA facility. When planning this trip, Aloysius asked me to attend this event and I have really been looking forward to it. I didn’t bring a gift but planned to take a lot of photographs at the reception and send them back to Saraswathy in an album from Canada.
I ask a taxi driver for the rate to the address of the EI office and it is quite a bit higher than I anticipated. The rate of 25 Rupees is due, apparently, because of the heavy traffic and the heavy rain, both of which will slow our progress. I agree and away we go. Aloysius meets me at the curb out in front of his office and seems quietly miffed by the rate the driver charged me. “I really should report him,” Aloysius says, but I dissuade him because the driver and I agreed beforehand.
Up to the third floor of the building we go and into the EI office. I have now been in two EI regional offices, one in Lomé, Togo and this one and quite close to the one in the Caribbean. We do not stay long as the accountant, Raju Santhanam, is ready to drive us to the Y. First, we stop at the house of Ms Chusnal Savitri to pick her up as well. Chusnal is one of the new coordinators and has been in KL only a short time. She is from Indonesia and her children still live there with her husband. She is actually under care at a local hospital but checked herself out for this evening’s event and to honour her colleague’s big day. Chusnal is a beautiful woman and is dressed in a flower print skirt and jacket and she smells heavenly. “You make my car so much fresher,” Raju observes. Aloysius confides that Chusnal’s medical condition has to do with stress and depression, brought on by the separation from her family.
At the Y, we get parked and then enter the reception. I am introduced to the bride and groom and then we are taken to a table near where the bride and groom will sit where we settle in with other people from the EI office. With us are Kiran Chabra, another secretary, and her husband and three children. The daughter is 13 years of age (going on 21!) and is a bright and engaging child. She sits beside me and we talk about the music she likes and I like. Meanwhile, the wedding singer is giving quiet renditions of Kenny Rogers songs and I sing along with some of them. On my right sits Shashi Bala Singh and her husband Abhay Singh, an industrial engineer and a very nice man. Aloysius is next to him, completing our little circle of guests.
It is most enjoyable, just visiting in this special gathering of two families and their friends. The bride and groom are called to the stage to cut the wedding cake and then the bride gives greetings. Among those thanked for coming are Aloysius Mathews and “Mr Tim Johnston from Canada,” quite an honour for me, I must say. The wedding singer’s wife then joins him on stage and delivers a great rendition of Tammy Wynett’s song “Stand by Your Man.” Quite unexpected in the setting of an Indian wedding in Kuala Lumpur but pretty good advice is offered in the song none-the-less.
Young Chetna then gets up and does a Bollywood dance to a popular local hit song. I’m rather astonished by the suggestive undulations of this 13 year old but the audience just loves her. Dinner is announced none too soon and a buffet with a wonderful selection of food is offered. There is quite a bit of concern for me, “It’s not too hot, is it Tim?” but really unnecessary. It is a wonderful meal.
I start photographing afterward and this becomes a great way to visit and have some fun with nearly everyone in the room. I am welcomed at every table with smiles and hellos and lots of help grouping family and friends for photographs. At around 2200, folk start leaving and our little band of four heads for home in Raju’s Proton. He drops off Aloysius and Chusnal at the EI parkade and then drives me across town to the Federal Hotel. He lives nearby and I am not taking him too far out of his way. We talk about cars as we drive along. “You like cars, don’t you,” I ask. “Oh yes,” and Raju smiles. And so ends Tuesday.
Wednesday, December 13
Today and tonight will wrap up my stay at the Federal Hotel in Kuala Lumpur. The hotel is quite historic, I have learned. It was the first “big hotel” in KL and has been added to and modernized since it was built in 1950. Tan Sri Datuk Low Yat was its founder and builder and it has been operated by succeeding generations of Low Yats ever since. There is a wall of historical photographs, letters and charters in the lobby which I have enjoyed studying. Muhammad Ali (Cassius Clay) stayed here when fighting Joe Bogner in 1972.
I have just finished breakfast and I’m sitting in the lobby writing the entry for yesterday evening. I will leave for the EI office at 1030 for a visit and lunch and return later to get organized for tomorrow’s travel to Singapore.
Rebecca phoned this morning with news from home and asking about my adventure. I can’t express how nice it is to hear her and to listen to news at home – Galien getting wonderful reviews in Spokane and Kalie marching through exams and assignments, Rebecca’s conversation with Seth concerning the arrival of the newest Johnston. Now, I am going to the hotel travel agent to get information on my accommodation in Singapore. There isn’t much selection in rooms, it seems, but a small hotel with a room has been found, about 30 minutes from the airport. I’m hoping for the best, and, since it is Singapore, probably with some justification.
I catch a cab for the EI office at 1030 and pay a modest 10 R for the ride. The driver last night charged 25 R. I have a nice visit with the office staff and then join Shashi in her office. We talk of her work and our history together and I ask if there may be some joint ventures we can start, perhaps in support of the ASEAN Women’s Network. Shashi tells me that two representatives from the countries involved (Malaysia, Philippines, Cambodia, Indonesia and Thailand) want to set up a website for the network. I agree to see if CTF will help on this one and to find a resource person. I’m thinking that part of the money not being spent on CUT could be applied here with a small reserve for Mozambique. I will discuss all of this with CTF on my return home.
Aloysius and I then have a visit in his office. I am moved by what EI is doing in support of students, teachers and schools in the Indonesian province of Aceh, one of the areas most damaged by the Tsunami of 2004. EI is using money contributed by teacher organizations around the world to build 28 schools. Local workers and resources are being employed. More than 20,000 children were lost in the flood. As the schools were completed, it was difficult to find enough children to fill them. For orphaned children who want to attend, a $15 monthly scholarship is provided for a two-year period. Because more than 2,000 teachers were lost, a crash program is in place to train up 1,500 new teachers through a “model school, model teacher” program. As well, 520 new and experienced teachers are being trained as counsellors for children traumatized by the tsunami. EI has had a regional coordinator on site to oversee the program and to maximize the effectiveness of aid money and support. This has been a very emotional experience for Aloysius and tears come into his eyes as he talks about the death of so many children, their families and teachers. I think that this part of my visit could be the subject of the Editor’s Notebook for the spring issue of The ATA Magazine.
After the office visits, several of the staff and I head to a nearby restaurant, The Lanna, for a slow-to-arrive but very delicious lunch. I have lots of fun talking, visiting and adding just a bit of levity while interacting with my rather serious companions. Afterward, back at the office, I photograph all of us, hand over the ATA cheque for the East Timor teachers and, amid fond farewells, take my leave.
The rest of the afternoon is spent packing and arranging clothes for the morning. The hotel travel agent has a room for me in Singapore—the Fragrance Hotel on Upper Sarangoon Road. I hope for the best, pay the agent in cash and take a final stroll around the neighbourhood. I also buy tee shirts for Tristan and MacKenzie.
Just after 1900, Shashi calls up from the lobby. She and her husband Abbay are here to collect me for our evening dinner together. In the lobby, they have “a little gift” for me—two pieces of beautiful batik material, one pure wool and the other cotton. Shashi and Abbay are a beautiful couple, very supportive of each other and close. We walk to an Indian restaurant, although I’m given lots of alternatives, and I suggest I will join them for a vegetarian Indian dinner. This is agreed and the ordering begins. Shashi, however, wants me to have some meat and so I receive a small order of chicken and a dish of cubed fish. Of course, I have what they have as well. Two King beer for Abbay and me complete our menu.
This is a wonderful moment, spent getting to know Abbay and reminiscing with Shashi about all of the teacher leaders we know in common. Shashi will visit with Soulabha Donde at the end of December in India. “We often talk of you, Tim,” Shashi tells me, and promises to convey my best wishes and greetings to Soulabha when they meet. We talk of a number of people and Abbay talks about how he has supported Shashi in her work. I tell him the story of my first meeting with Shashi when she told me she could develop and Indian women’s teacher network because she had the support of her husband. Abbay was a successful civil engineer and had worked on projects in Tanzania, Saudi Arabia and India for many years. About 15 years ago, he fell from a structure he was working on, falling more than 50 feet to the ground. He suffered life-threatening injuries but managed to survive and to rehabilitate himself physically but he has not worked since. He came to KL when Shashi was appointed to the staff of EI. They had to leave their daughters in India because they had no knowledge of the Malaysian language, a requirement for post-secondary education in Malaysia.
Now, Abbay plays cricket “very well” and leads an active and healthy life, travelling on some missions with Shashi. Our evening ends and I walk with this delightful couple to the monorail station for their return home. We say our farewells and I turn toward the Federal Hotel, walking down Jalan Bukit Bintang, now getting busy as usual for the evening’s events.
At the hotel, I pay my bill and pack a bit more. I’ll be up at 0530 tomorrow morning to get ready for the day’s travel to Singapore. Then I catch up on the journal for today and turn in for my last sleep in Malaysia for this trip.
Thursday, December 14
The phone rings at 0530 followed immediately by my trusty alarm radio. I dress and go down for breakfast at 0600, being the only person in the dining room. Afterward, its back to room 1305 for final packing and departure.
I checked out and paid my bill last night and so I simply drop off my key to the porter, say farewell and take a cab to Kuala Lumpur’s International Airport. This is not the airport I arrived at. The ride costs 75 Ringgit, more than the inbound ride but I learn that in and out fares are controlled. KLI is a beautiful airport and, as there is only one other passenger at the Singapore Airlines counter, check-in is quick. I also confirm my flight from Singapore tomorrow at the same time.
Some juice is purchased and then I sit and wait after changing my remaining Ringgit to Singapore dollars. This nets me about $126 new dollars, an exchange rate of about 80 cents to the US dollar. There is a gate change for my flight but this doesn’t cause any problems. I pass through the security check and take a seat in the boarding lounge. Very soon, a Singapore Airlines 777 coasts up to the ramp and stops, the brakes on its 14 wheels locking it in position. I have a window seat for this short flight and I keep the big Nikon handy, shooting planes on the ground, planes landing, cloud formations and, after takeoff, the incredible flow of ships up and down the Strait of Malacca.
Singapore is reached quickly—only time for a cup of tea on its own little tray—and we taxi in. Immigration is pleasant. “Would you care for a sweet, Sir?” is the way the immigration officer sends me away. My luggage arrives and I leave the terminal.
At this airport, people que up for cabs that pull in and parallel park beside each other. About 12 cabs can load at once and be off on their way while other cabs and other passengers take their place. The cabs are a special model made by Toyota, quite basic but with very spacious cabins—kind of like an Asian version of the old Checker cab cars. My fare to the Fragrance Hotel is $14, nearly an exact Canadian dollar equivalent. The driver and I find the address and I offload, but it takes me a few tries to actually find the hotel.
It was with some trepidation that I booked this place but guess what—it really is kind of cool. The hotel is an old building with probably no more than 30 feet of street frontage that has been completely renovated with good quality materials and it’s quite nice. My room is very small and has no windows, the only real drawback. The entire bathroom is tiled and serves as toilet and shower stall, all in one. I can’t find much hanger space, which is okay as I’m not staying long. A modern flat screen television is mounted on the brightly panelled wall opposite the bed.
I don’t spend much time in the room and instead, head out to see the neighbourhood. At about the same time, a torrential rain begins. “First rain in a week,” I’m told. I use the time for a short nap and then I go to the street to see where one of the many double-decker busses might take me. I notice that number 80 leaves from one side of the street while another number 80 returns on the opposite side. This bus goes to the harbour front, the driver tells me, and for a fare of $2, I’m on my way.
The front seat over the driver on the upper deck is free and so I settle in, Nikon at the ready. The ride down takes about 45 minutes and follows expressways as well as winding streets in the old part of the city. Two-story structures that have retained their colonial embellishments crowd the sidewalks. At the harbour front station, I walk across the overpass to reach the harbour, view the cable car system and stroll through another gigantic shopping plaza. Nothing much of interest in the stores, just more and more of the electronics genius of Asia.
I return to the bus station, find another double-decker parked in the route 80 stall, and climb aboard to my lofty top deck seat. I’m mildly concerned about the return trip as it is quickly getting dark and I’m not sure I will remember where to get off. Familiar landmarks keep appearing, however, including other route 80 double-deckers heading in the opposite direction to the harbour. I find my stop quite easily and, an hour and a half after leaving the harbour terminal, I step off the bus across from the Fragrance Hotel.
Stowing my camera, I head out looking for somewhere to have dinner. I walk for about ten minutes along Upper Serangoon Road to a subway station. I use the underground passage to safely reach the Heartland Shopping Centre on the opposite side of the road. For supper, I have baked spaghetti with a pork chop, along with a Tiger beer, while sitting outside on the patio of a restaurant. I write most of today’s entry while waiting for my meal to arrive. Afterward, I walk back to the Fragrance, shower in the all-inclusive shower bathroom, and complete this journal entry in bed. I have to get up at 0500 tomorrow morning, hopefully hail a passing cab on the street, and be at the airport by 0600. A few minutes of flat screen television, then off to sleep at 2230.
Friday, December 15
I am awake at 0430 but drift in and out of sleep until 0500 when the phone rings and my alarm radio goes off, summoning me to another day of travel, this time a long journey to home. Up for a shower, dressing and final packing in my little room 312 and down with the suitcase to the curb outside the Fragrance Hotel. I try flagging down some passing taxis but all have the hired sign lit up. The man at the front desk phones for a cab for me but as I return outdoors, two available cabs suddenly arrive. The one I take is driven by a man who is not Singapore’s best driver and he charges me an additional $6S to boot, some form of tax, he tells me.
I’m at the airport in jig time, nevertheless, and a nice young agent at the first class counter at Singapore Airlines checks me in, issues boarding passes for here and Hong Kong and updates my Aeroplan miles. Immigration welcomes me and the agent places an exit stamp in my new passport, the last one for this trip. I have bacon and eggs for breakfast, a reward for my early morning start, then board my flight to Hong Kong at gate 60. Another Boeing 777 takes my fellow passengers and me on a straight-line flight northeast to Hong Kong, travelling at nearly 900 kph at an altitude of 11,582 meters.
It’s a good flight with excellent service. The cabin crew are mainly young (and very attractive) Oriental women. The only problem is with the passenger in front of me who insists on fully reclining his chair, even during meal service. When he leaves for a potty visit, I lean forward and snap the chair back up. When he returns and tries to fully recline the chair, I lock my legs in place and prevent a full recline. He tries bouncing the back several times, all to no avail, except to piss me off even more. He then asks one of the cabin crew why the chair won’t recline. She looks past him to me and I mouth to her “NO.” She assures the man the seat is as far back as it will go. I’m always amazed by this kind of rude behaviour when I infrequently encounter it as I believe it is impolite, just bad manners and not apt to gain merit for the person who so behaves.
Transfer in Hong Kong is quick but allowing me a few minutes to update the journal during a brief wait at gate 43. Air Canada’s Airbus 340 waits outside with its maple leaf tail rather prominent in the forest of Cathay Pacific “splash” tailfins that populate the apron.
It’s a tired looking A340 that launches us into the air over Hong Kong for the flight to Vancouver. The captain comes on and tells us that he is going to cycle the landing gear and not to be alarmed by the noise that will result. Our national airline certainly needs the new Boeing 777s and 787s it has on order to rejuvenate its fleet. The Pacific is crossed once again, then the Canadian Rockies on the way to Edmonton and home.
International journey number eleven comes to a satisfying close.