Can...can...cannot

Being a fifty something year old means that I feel entitled to grumble and mumble sometimes. I notice the long hours my husband puts in at work, the haze, the traffic, our condo building which seems to empty early in the morning. Language differences crop up when I try to organise a car wash.

My regular trips to Bangsar (expat land) are beginning to irritate, as I wait for another taxi. My never ending search for something useful to do and adapting to the forward planning needed to get across the city.

We drive up to Ipoh and view the limestone cave temples. Just as we are leaving, I hear the high pitched sound of a gang of motorcycles approaching. Having received warnings about bag snatchers, I hurriedly cling to my bag and run to put a fence between myself and newcomers. They circle and look menacingly at me. I stare back and after split second they leave going back from whence they came. 

Lying on our beds back at the hotel, we try to ignore the hammering which continues above us for an hour before complaining to reception. Tired, we traipse across the steamy road to try the open air 'food court.' All manner of foods is served here and we enjoy our first bit of R&R in Ipoh feeling very like the newcomers we are.

Later that day we frequent a popular western pub on the other side of town while we plan our escape home. Arriving at breakfast the next morning to squealing children, food fights, queues of people waiting for food, we realise we have made the right decision.

Me and my coconut

Ever since my older daughter told me that coconuts have anti ageing qualities, I have felt drawn to them. Whether or not this is true is not important. When I see a coconut, I just have to have it.

I remember times when we lived in Dar es Salem, how coconuts were retrieved by a brave person who would scurry up vertically. The sights and sounds of my childhood. Prayer calling, spicy food, fresh seafood...and coconuts.

Finding a quiet restaurant overlooking the ocean, I settle again for a coconut to drink while I take photographs of Bruce and the said coconuts. The caption under the photograph of Bruce will read 'Me and my coconut' and I laugh thinking this is not a respectful (unintended) way to describe my husband. Now you know why I seldom caption my photographs. Apparently being tactful is too hard and keeping quiet is a characteristic I am still learning.

Plentiful Phuket

'A conference in Phuket,' I say blissfully planning our sojourn.

Bruce books our flights, while I get onto trip advisor. The resort we are staying at looks luxurious and stretches out to the hillside on the side of Patong Beach.
On the flight I am fascinated to watch the islands below us rising up from the sea, dense green jungle contrasting against the crystal blue sea. White sands and frothy seas outline paradise.

'Phuket is very hilly,' I say in between the bumps of the aircraft. Bruce smiles and repeats what Hugh Grant says in one of his movies. 'Hilly' he says, in a high pitched voice and we both laugh at each other.
At the resort we have a plentiful lunch and crash on the bed to get ourselves ready for the evening's activities.
Refreshed we catch a shuttle to the shopping centre and then onto Bangla Road. I am unprepared for the craziness of the scenes. Blaring neon taxis, beautiful ladyboys, touting, bars, restaurants and little shops line the pavements. Delicate Thai cooking smells permeate everywhere as the heat and dust take hold. Stray dogs take a dislike to each other as we buy a fresh coconut to eat on the beach.
I find it difficult to believe I had watched a Tsunami ravage the coastline years ago, not realising that I would visit one day. It is a sobering thought as we head back by open air taxi to our hotel. I am a bit disappointed that we have picked a taxi that has no blaring music or neon lights.

The importance of a calender

In expat life, I am growing to appreciate the importance of a calendar. Months and years must be mapped out so that important holidays back home in Australia are not missed.
We book our flights for Christmas as we juggle work commitments, conferences away, touring and holidays in Australia with our family.  I am also looking forward to showing my two daughters and son in law around KL when they visit next year. Accommodation is booked for a resort on the East coast as bookings fill up. I am adapting to life being organised so far in advance. I am not a natural at this, generally not being a person who likes routine, I prefer to be surprised by the day and any chores to be as unplanned as possible!
I continue being a FB fiend, enjoying my daily link ups, so important for the expat. I admire my photographs and try to make as few comments as I can. I am not the most tactful person and sometimes my honesty is not appreciated.

Cheeky foreigners

Stepping out into the hotel dining room, there is a feast of wonders. Western and local offerings that prove hard to resist. The novelty of being in Asia has not worn off and the chicken porridge with all the condiments proves a popular dish. I opt for steam buns and noodles and Bruce looks on in amusement, used to me enjoying Western breakfasts.

We walk around Melacca in the steamy heat, bumping into people and admiring the trishaws, each adorned with individual designs. National day sees us lining the streets with colourful parades marching past. Happily exhausted we walk up to an old fort on a hilltop and admire the view. Below us we see a majestic Malay building and we walk down to the back of it.

We are puzzled that the building is deserted and wait to see if the building is accessible for tourists. I answer comes soon when we see signs of visitors with cameras who enter the building. With anticipation we follow and find ourselves inside a palace, a replica of one that was burnt down. Fascinated we wonder around taking note of the Portuguese, Dutch and British history of Melacca  to present day.

We exit having been educated about Malay customs and culture and walk in the opposite direction from whence we came. Perplexed we see a long line of visitors waiting to pay to go into the building. Not being able to speak the local language we fervently make a quick exit.

We are not game to try and explain to the guards at the entrance gate how we obtained access, never mind that we had already visited the palace. Imagining we might be arrested, we quickly walk away down a side street making sure no one is following.

I really need to get my act together if I am to keep my nose clean!

Travel abounds

Our vow to travel around Malaysia is taking shape as we plan our weekends. Ipoh is first on our list as we tell our colleagues where we are going. A short while after our announcement, we hear that some young people from Bruce's' office are going too - all 10 of them to the same place. Communal holidays, lovely, I say to myself.

We wake up to heavy rains and with trepidation start our journey. In the haze, heavy rains and traffic we last 30 minutes before we return home defeated. When we are feeling braver we will continue. 'Where are you boss,' one of the young things text. We are not ready to admit defeat to anyone else, not yet anyway, and make a feeble excuse.

Six weeks pass before we venture out again and fervently hope that our trip to Melacca will be more successful. Bruce has just had a stint visiting our nearest hospital and is still in pain. He insists we still go and I spend the night before preparing myself for my first drive out of KL.

We have a practise run down to our local shops. I decide to drive in the same manner as I have been shown which is a cross between the local taxi drivers, experienced expats and what I have observed on my rounds. Bruce shows how impressed he is with a low and then hearty chuckle before saying, 'You drive like a Malaysian.' I am unsure whether to take this as a complement or to be offended.

Encouraged we leave early with 'Waze' being our new best friend. We make record time to Melacca and negotiate the narrow and congested streets before leaving our car at the hotel. We are check in early before taking a walk around the pretty and historical town that is Melacca.
Tomorrow is nog a dag. (Tomorrow is another day!)

Crazy Friendly Malaysians

Early one Sunday morning, I hear sounds from the park across from our condominium.  Grabbing a cup of tea, I look down and see billows of smoke hovering above the trees. The mechanical sounds remind me of fogging which is done regularly to curb Dengue Fever outbreaks.
Marquees are set up and at 7 am pronto, there is the explosive sound of a very friendly person announcing over the loudspeaker that 'we should come down to family fun day and to help ourselves to breakfast, before exploring the games on offer.' Music blares forth to the sounds of Queen 'We will rock you.' This is going to be a fun day.

It is Father's Day in Australia as we hurriedly talk to our daughter before heading off to the park.  As we approach, we are cornered by a super friendly gentleman who tells us that breakfast is served and to help ourselves. There is Nasi lemak and chicken burgers and while we help ourselves, I try to find someone to pay for our goods. When I ask, the waiters look a little confused and unfazed we sit down happily munching our breakfasts assuming this is a sponsored day out.

'Gosh, these Malaysians are generous,' I enthusiastically comment and Bruce nods while he munches away. We get up and walk towards the assortment of games and again one of the organisors comments that we need to try the burgers but to register first.
We are unsure of what to register for but line up and give our names dutifully. We are looked at curiously as they cannot find our names and add to their list 'Bruce and Susan.'  Despite not being on the original list, we are given gifts of beautiful thermos water bottles to take home which has a sponsor written on them so we are not too concerned.
 Although I have a twinge of discomfort at us being here, we continue to enjoy the games and line up for a chicken burger and then ice creams.

we are rounded up with everyone else we sit and listen to speeches. Cameras are in all directions while our photographs are taken. Professional photographers line the stage.
We are thanked for our supportive roles in taking care of our 'family members' when we realise we have gate crashed a function. Mortified and trying to make a dignified exit, we duck around the back of the marquees scurrying away. Heading home we laugh wondering how long before our photos will be in the newspapers. You see we have crashed a function for family members of a newspaper we know is widely read by expats!