Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Can you guess where I'm going?

Two Hints...



and



A special gift of a note to the person who can correctly identify the place from these pictures (that means if you already know, and I know who you are, you may not make a guess).

Go.

xo,
Kimberley

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Japan and a Tin Cup in Kuala Lumpur

There is so much I want to write to you guys now. I want to write about the feelings of travel, jet lag and the thoughts I have about doing this better next time. I want to write about how it feels to be back home. I want to write about how much you all improved my trip by commenting, emailing and checking in with me in the various ways that you did. But today, I am thinking about Japan and the poor, blind man I passed in the center of a street in Kuala Lumpur.

I passed many people in the streets in Malaysia who needed money. I gave it when I had it. I broke big bills so that it was easier to put something into the cups I passed. I did this without thinking really. People need our help. We should give it to them. People.

On my last evening in KL, as I was walking through the Indian street market, I bent down to put some ringgits into a man’s cup who was clearly blind. He was quite skinny, wearing dirty old clothing and his cup was tin and beaten up. He was not that different from others I had passed…or had seen in pictures from the comfort of my home in the United States. But something struck me that night that struck me again this morning as I was watching the news pouring out of Japan this morning…news about numbers confirmed dead, numbers in shelters and the impact on the stock market. Squeezed into the news stories are single line quotes about actual people in the shelters. For the most part, I note the tragedy and don’t really feel connected to it. It’s not human.

The news helps disconnect us from the tragedy. It reduces it to statistics and facts, peppered with single lines of human interest. We feel compassion, but not connection. As I watched the news it occurred to me that I have dropped money in Haiti’s cup and walked away. I have dropped money in New Zealand’s cup and walked away. As I plan to give to the Japan relief effort, I already know that I will be walking away from their tragedy too. Their tragedy continues…I move on.

Today, one of the single lines in one of the stories was about a woman in a shelter in Japan, one of 450,000 currently living in shelters. She cried because someone she barely knew gave her water and shelter. She cried because there was humanity in the middle of chaos.

This is what is missing in all of this for me…the humanity. The 450,000 in shelters have stories. They are human. For them, the devastation is far from over. The nuclear plants alone leave this country in horrific limbo. But even if this was not the case, what do they have to look forward to when they leave the shelter? And what are the stories of courage, hope and community. They are there and it is in those stories that we feel our connection to people we have never met.

The press is not charged with connecting us to each other, of course. They are delivering the news, in the most sensational way possible. They have a business to run, which is why they move on to the next tragedy. That is why the earthquake in New Zealand, tiny by comparison, but enormous to the people impacted, has fallen off the radar in all major news outlets. The news is not about people, it is about what is the most dramatic right now.

The man on the street in Kuala Lumpur has stayed with me. I don’t know his story, and for some reason that matters to me now. I think it is a mistake to allow the news agencies to hold the stories for us of these tragedies.

We need our storytellers.

xo,
Kimberley

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

Мне нужно практиковаться в русском

I am sitting in the Moscow airport. Had no intention of blogging from here as I am really just in transit and am not really seeing Moscow. But...

I am not sure which is weirder...the fact that for the past week I have been immediately pegged as a tourist everywhere I am or the fact that every single person in this airport thinks I am russian. It is seriously strange. When I go into a shop, they address me in rapid russian. When I go through security, they speak to everyone else in english, and to me in russian. A russian woman stopped me to ask me a question, yep...in russian. An American woman apologetically asked if I spoke english so I could direct her to the business lounge. A child asked me a question in russian as we were waiting in line. And in the business lounge, where virtually everyone is in transit, the women at the front desk spoke to me in russian and handed me the russian version of the pamphlet describing how to connect to wifi. Seriously? I look that russian?

Interestingly, I am reluctanct to speak at all. A flight to Houston takes off from here very soon and there are literally men in here wearing UT baseball caps and talking loudly about oil fields. I can only hope that they also think I am russian and that keeps them from addressing me.

I wish I knew even two words in russian. I would totally work them here.

Just eight hours ago I was thinking how nice it would be to not stand out somewhere again. Maybe I am just enjoying the fact that I don't stand out so much here and want to suspend the illusion.

I wonder how long it will be before I am, again, frustrated by my generic American look when I am back home. :-)

К сожалению, я пока не говорю по-русски,

Kimberley

Porn's Elephant Butt

I am already thinking I need to write a follow up blog for the entire trip. I have lots of scattered thoughts I would love to process with you. But that will come once I have a few days to make sense of them. For now I have a few leftovers that have not fit neatly into any of the other blogs. I am just gonna stick them in here beause they are are worth mentioning, but I am truly too tired to write anything really interesting here.
I had dinner at Porn’s tonight.

How do you not try a place that is this bold in its branding?

I am not sure the thai food was really sexy, but it was seriously the very best pad thai I have ever had the pleasure of eating. I did not know Pad Thai was meant to be spicy. It is so much better that way. Oh, and I had Thai tea with I think is iced tea with sweetened condensed milk in it. Yum.



Someone want to tell me what an elephant’s rear has to do with the name of the restaurant or with anything at all actually?

I love the badge they gave me at BP.



I wanted to bring it home and wear it to work every day, but it ripped when I took it off the wall.

I love you guys. Can’t wait to get home.

I’m out. See you in H Town.

Kimberley

Singapore, David Hasslehoff and John Denver

I am in the Changi airport in Singapore waiting for my flight. That John Denver song about “You fill up my senses…like a something something something” (my brain is dead) is playing on the speakers…well, at least the Muzak version. Something about that feels a little surreal to me. Particularly when I factor in the music I have been hearing my entire time in Singapore.
Singapore has a definite soundtrack. This did not occur to me until I heard the John Denver Muzak track. I have heard the same music everywhere I go. In every cab…blasting out of every store (except in China Town)…through all the markets. It is the same music, everywhere.

Pop music. Not American Top 40 music, this music that I have been hearing all around me is along those same lines, but not good enough to have made it into the Top 40 somehow. It makes me think of that “we are really big in Asia” joke. I wonder if anything I heard was a David Hasselhoff hit.

This ubiquitous night-club dance beat is what hastened my departure from the walk along the river in Clark’s Quay in fact. It did not break my heart though. Clark’s Quay is really nice in a Disney World kind of way. But I have been to Disney World.

I did see this:

Yep, That is a Burger King Bar.

Now THAT is cool. From an advertising/branding perspective, this makes me giggle. We just don’t cross concepts like this in the states. They are playing loose and fast with their brand here and I kinda dig their moxie. I like how cheeky The Burger King is turning out to be. But that is another story for another day.

Today, once we had finished the video shoot, I took off for Haji Lane near Arab Street. I keep reading everywhere about how this little street is the funky side of Singapore. The second hand shops and alternative styles are supposed to be here. It’s also in a funky district…worth the trip to check it out. And here’s the deal, I am spoiled.

I live in a city with some serious funk in it. Not that Houston is known for its funky edge, but if you walk the curve in Montrose, you know you are on the edge. If you stroll down 19th street in the Heights, the funky vibe, while not as funky as Montrose, has enough going on in their second hand shops alone to qualify the street as a funktion.

We’ve got shops and restaurants in the museum district, the theater district and Washington Avenue that bring a little somethin somethin to Houston, and totally PWN Haji Lane. All this to say that Haji Lane is cute, but I could make a fortune there by just copying a single store along the Westheimer curve and dropping it down right there on Haji Street. If anyone wants to do this, I am willing to sell you my idea for 25% of the profits. I will even help you scout which store in Montrose to steal the concept from.

I don’t like how I think, frankly. Too many years of marketing and advertising. This city is actually quite young as cities go and I can see that in its advertising. I can read their age by their marketing skills like you can read the age of a tree by the circles in the trunk.

But there is plenty they kick our butts in. Plenty. I decided to go into KL right away because I had assumed from what I read and saw that Singapore was going to be antiseptic and boring…or at least, just like Houston. I was wrong.

My favorite thing about this city is its love affair with aesthetic. Our cities look so incredibly utilitarian compared to theirs. Beautiful, dramatic and well cared for trees line the streets. Vines crawl all over the overpasses that are clearly cared for lovingly. So many of the buildings could have easily been constructed in a MUCH more rudimentary way, saving money, but losing the heart of Singapore in the process.

I hope western culture does not overtake this child of a city. Wouldn’t it be cool if this city was allowed to grow up with its imagination and sense of wonder in design intact?


Xo,

Kimberley

Snow Ice, Khulfi and Sexy Walnut Paste

In about four hours, I will be getting on a plane, leaving Singapore for home. I am tired and ready to be some place again where people ask me all the time if maybe they know me because I blend so much. That does not happen here.


The past two days have been work heavy, so my whirlwind tour hit the wall. Which is ok, because I crammed as much into the few hours I had in order to be able to say I saw a lot of this country. I wanted to have a good sense of it. I think I do.

After going to Buddha’s Tooth temple on Monday, I walked around China Town. But Frankly, I don’t remember much of it. I was in something of a daze. OK, so that isn’t really true. I remember it. It just doesn’t realize stand out. Sweet vendors selling pretty much the same thing you can buy at the other markets. The music was different.

As I was walking down one small street I stopped at a really small restaurant squashed between two shops. Most of the little restaurants in the places I walked were completely open to the street, so it was easy to see what people were eating. And in this place a woman was eating a mountain of beautiful ice cream like I had never seen. It was quite beautiful. I was hanging back a bit, trying to figure out how to get a picture of it without looking like a total idiot (I have been trying to figure that one out for the past week) when an older asian woman, clearly a regular customer of the restaurant, asked me where I was from. I hadn’t uttered a word, but it’s pretty clear that I am a tourist…of course. After exchanging some pleasantries, she asked what I was looking at. I pointed to the towers of ice cream and she said “Oh, No. You eat the walnut paste! It is hot. You will like. We eat it all the time. That is why we are so sexy.” The women she had been chatting with laughed wildly. So, duh, I ordered the walnut paste immediately, of course. I actually ended up ordering both that and the “Snow Ice.” Ridiculously too much food, but it was too fun to not have both. I considered it dinner.

The soup was actually quite good. I was expecting it to taste a little like soupy peanut butter…so I was understandably nervous. It was quite a large bowl and very rich and very sweet, that and the fact that the taste was unfamiliar to me meant that I could only actually eat a little bit of it. Same for the Snow Ice, which was strange and delicious. The Snow Ice was actually not as sweet as regular ice cream, which I liked oddly. But I think what I enjoyed most about it was the texture. You know those places on ice cream sometimes where it is very icy from the difference between the freezer and the bowl? Or that crunchy texture of the edges of the ice cream in a really cold root beer float? It was like that, all the way through. I enjoyed that immensely.


OK, tell me seriously. Could you have resisted that?
Oh, and that is the sexy walnut paste in the background.

Tuesday, after work, I headed over to Little India here. I had a mission in mind. I wanted to try Khulfi. I had never heard of Khulfi before this trip. It is a “traditional Indian ice cream” and it seriously rocks. I had no idea ice cream had so many variations.

There is a Khulfi bar in Little India, called, um, Khulfi Bar. And it got rave reviews in a magazine I read in the airplane. I headed straight for it.

Little India is a little, um, more dicey than the other places I had been in Singapore. Streets feel a little rougher…attitude is a little more aggressive…the alleys are a little narrower. There is an edge here. Which was a bit nerve-wracking in moments, but I have to say I was THRILLED to see that there was an edge somewhere in Singapore.

The Khulfi Bar was on one of these little streets. I passed some restaurants with serious character as I made my way to the ice cream shop, wondering all the time how a place like this could make money, tucked away as it is. I am so American.

This is it from the outside.

This is the shop from the inside.

Many of the shops in this part of Singapore have decorative things hanging from the ceiling and things to sell stuffed into every corner. The saris I passed along the way here were so beautiful that it was very hard not to buy one. Every time I stopped, I imagined how ridiculous I would look in a sari and kept walking. I don’t wanna be that girl. The one who thinks she looks cool in ethnic clothes, but really looks like some completely out of touch tourist character in a National Lampoon movie. I kept walking past.

So, I ordered mango Khulfi with Lychee (I LOVE lychee nuts) and a lemongrass frizz. Still not clear on what a frizz is, but it was so fun to just order something like that.

This is my Khulfi.

This is my Lemongrass Frizz.

I love Khulfi. It is much more dense than American ice cream and the kind I had was in little discs, about an inch in diameter. It was truly incredible. The lemongrass frizz was interesting, tasting good, had some interesting seed like stuff floating around in it that was cool. I felt very cool and adventury here, the sole diner in what was reviewed as the most exciting thing to happen in Little India in a very long time. Maybe it was the time of day.

The rest of my trip to Little India was really challenging. Nothing bad happened. I was just tired and so were the people who were working there and shopping there. The place is supposed to be really hopping on Sundays, when the laborers have the day off.

I accidently ended up finding the subway station and decided to hop on and try and navigate my own way back to the hotel. I had never really explored Clarks Quay, where I was staying, but it was early and I had plenty of daylight to get lost in. I actually really enjoyed this little journey back to my room. I will write some about that next.

Xo,

Kimberley



Monday, March 07, 2011

A Miraculous Shift in Perception

I sat on one of thirty or so hard gray plastic stools at the back of the temple meant to catch the overflow of the faithful. I knew the minute I stood on the outside of the door to this sanctuary that I would join them, though no westerner appeared to be among the worshipping. I still do not know where this bravery is coming from. I keep wondering if it has something to do with all the times when I was little and chickened out when dared to do something…like I am making up for all those dares now. Brian McElroy, if you are reading this, I would totally swing on that rope swing over that mean old man’s backyard ditch if you dared me today. No way would I let you tease me about chickening out for an entire two years that followed that little incident.


But this does not feel like something I am daring myself to do. Not like the zip lining in Belize. Not like the drive to get on the White House Staff during the Economic Summit when it came to Houston. Not like buying a bus ticket in Singapore to go into Kuala Lumpur all by myself. I felt pulled into this place. This place on Waterloo street, in Singapore that houses the holy relic of one of Buddha’s teeth.

This place is considered one of the holiest places in the world, let alone Singapore. Tourists pace around the courtyard, not daring to go in, but wanting to take pictures of getting close to it…of the colorful and ornate interior that is easy enough to capture without actually entering. They will let you take pictures anywhere in here, but I store my camera as I light a joss stick, pray for peace and place it reverently in the sand outside the temple door…I know how to do this now.

Inside there is a sign indicating that it is proper, but certainly not required, to make an offering of a candle and/or flowers to the Buddha. I make my way to the stand at the side where a gentle lady takes my money and hands me a candle wrapped in flowers…assuming I know what to do with it. I do actually, but only because I just saw someone else make her offering before taking her seat amongst the faithful.

This building has five stories, the top four house museums, a gift shop, gardens, a tea shop and the golden protected sanctuary where the sacred relic is kept. But for now, the chanting draws me to the wildly ornate inner chamber…to the chanting of the monks.

Todays’ recitation comes from the Sutra, verses 33-36. I don’t know this at the time, of course. It is only later, when I wonder what it was that moved me so much, that I decided to look it up. The appropriateness of this message to me right now, in this moment is not lost on me. The universe is divine and there are many paths to God. Here are the verses, translated:

33. If you want to completely liberate yourself from fear and end all internal formations and doubts, You must know that if you haven’t pulled out the arrow of desire, then you haven’t understood yet that this body is suffering.

34. Among the highest things that people call the most divine Nirvana is the highest. You must cut off all ideas and attachments and do not be deceived by words.

35. Knowing how to refrain or not to refrain that is the highest practice of letting go. If in our heart there are thoughts of practice the shell will be cracked.

36. Of all offerings, that of the Dharma is the most precious. Of all kinds of happiness, that happiness based on the Dharma is the greatest. Of all strengths, patience is the most powerful because it can put an end to attachment and bring the happiness of Nirvana.

Pulling out the arrow of desire…patience putting an end to attachment…my western mind struggles with these concepts, even though I feel the truth of it in my heart. But I don’t know any of this message as I sit in the middle of people who, like me, are sitting on small gray overflow stools. But who, unlike me, are following along in their own book of the Sutra (at least that I what I am guessing they were as it was all in Chinese characters) and sing-songing along with the orange robed monks who floated through the room at intervals delivering critical components to the service that I did not understand, as they chanted. I bowed when everyone else did. I turned to face another direction when everyone else did. But mostly, I closed my eyes and let the sounds of the hour and a half service pour over me and then through me. My heart understood something my mind could not.

And after twenty minutes or so, my mind rested and stopped trying to figure out if I was in the right place. I stopped worrying that I did not really belong there. I stopped wondering if the people there judged me for intruding on their sacred service. I know so little about Buddha, but what I felt in there was acceptance. I was creating my own separation, my own doubt, my own judgment. And I stopped.

And when I did, I could hear the chanting differently. What had frankly always felt sleep inducing and a little like droning to me, suddenly held passion and fire. What had felt cold and emotionless, now had life, warmth, intensity. How had I missed this? How is it possible that I had shut myself off from the experience of this with my own restrictive perspective?

The entire temple was stunning. In total, I spent more than three hours there, yet it felt like almost no time had passed. I walked through the gardens. I explored the museum. I turned the prayer wheel and I meditated before the Buddha’s tooth. But nothing could touch the experience of just being part of a flow I have been a part of that evening. Once again, my experience of a temple in Singapore defies my expectations and opens space in me that I didn’t know was there.


Taken long after the service ended, as I was leaving.

Xo,

Kimberley

Sunday, March 06, 2011

Running into Kuan Yin

Yesterday afternoon, as I was waiting for my luggage to arrive, I scouted online for some things to see in Singapore. I ran across a very brief comment about a temple here that was on someone’s MUST DO WHILE YOU ARE IN SINGAPORE lists. It was the Kwan Im Thong Hood Cho temple on Waterloo street. It was mentioned that wishing something in here makes the wish come true and that there is a fairly complicated process for paying your respects here (at least complicated for the uninitiated, like me). I made a mental note to check it out at some point and then called a cab to take me to Bugis Village.
After walking through the mosh pit market I found myself on, what I thought to be, a quieter, but still quite populated, part of the market. And then I literally looked up and discovered I was right in the presence of the temple I had just read about. I sat and watched what people did on the outside of the temple for a while before deciding I would go in myself. I did not see a single other westerner approach the temple at any time…but something inside me was dying to go in and see for myself. I went to a woman selling lotus flowers nearby and purchased one that I assumed would be an offering of some sort. The flower was so beautiful that I wanted to take it home. I have never seen a lotus flower in person before.



As I entered the outer vestibule of the temple, I followed everyone else in picking up joss sticks (an incense stick) and walking over to the fire to light them. A kind man there, who was lighting his own sticks) literally lifted mine away from the fire and told me in the sweetest voice that I needed three, not two. That only three would bring me the luck I needed. I thanked him and brought a third back and he showed me the correct way to light them and, once they lit, told me to hold them and how to pray and place them before entering the temple. Which I did. I did not realize at the time that I was praying to Quan Yin.

Once I had placed the burning joss sticks into the sand in front of the temple, I entered tentatively. The place had hundreds of people, inside and out. A stunning golden statue of Quan Yin stood at the back of this temple behind a wooden counter filled with flower pots. I followed everyone else to the front, bypassing the large red carpet positioned in front of the goddess on the floor…filled with prostrate worshippers.

At the front, I noticed a donation box and put in my donation as I placed the lotus flower in one of the pots nearest to me. I then did as everyone else did and walked over to men behind another counter with brass containers holding maybe 100 wooden divinations sticks and red divination stones of some kind. Then I turned and walked over the carpet, on a side just a little less populated than the one I had entered on. I stood and watched what the people did and almost decided to return the sticks and red stones, when a female official of some kind approached me and said “I will help you.”

Here I am. Clearly a clueless westerner, and this kind woman offer to teach me what to do. I remove my shoes and kneel as she instructs in broken English. “Now you pray, in your heart, to her. Tell her what you want and what you want to know. She will answer you.” And pray I did.

Being in a room with so many clearly faithful people fills you with a reverence that is hard to define. Their prayer was intense and focused. Their hearts were reaching out to this goddess of mercy. I felt her there. I did not have a problem praying to her.

Once I felt sufficiently connected, my guide in the process instructed me to shake the box until only one of the sticks fell from it. This is more difficult than it sounds and, while other more accomplished worshippers completed the task in moments, it took me some time. Finally I felt the motion and a stick dropped out on the floor before me.

I gathered my things, as instructed and headed to the same counter where I had picked up the sticks in the first place. I handed them the stick that had dropped before me and they handed me a piece of paper with the goddesses words for me. The counsel I got was perfect, but less important than the entire process had been for me.

I walked out and crossed the street to sit on a wall and witness the people coming out. I had stumbled into another world and I was not quite ready to return to the bustling mayhem of Bugis Village. I took the only picture you are allowed to take of the temple, which is outside…but the statue of Quan Yin is etched in my brain. She was that beautiful… infused with the wishes and dreams of millions of devoted who had bowed before her.



I felt lucky to have been a part of this. The details I share here are really not sufficient to deliver the impact of the experience of entering a place of mercy, a place packed with the faithful and being gently guided through the process of seeking your own answers. I believe I got mine in the faces and love shown to me in the process.

I am blessed.

Xo,

Kimberley

Bugis Village Market - Singapore

Um. Wow.

This market made the Pasar Malam in KL look like a Sunday stroll through the park. The clerk at the front desk of the hotel in Singapore told me to go there if I wanted to really see a market in Singapore. I lost all the feeling in my body when I got there. It was that overstimulating.


I was in constant contact with some other body at all times. A shopping mosh pit.


I bought things, though at the moment, I can’t remember what they were. I am most fascinated by the watches and t-shirts though. There are so many that just do not make any sense whatsoever. I know I bought myself a killer watch that is bizarre for just $3. I will have to check at some point what else I got. Rest assured, I am getting souvenirs for you guys who have given me advice. They are silly and small…but I am braving these markets for you and with you.


 
This is my favorite picture. I am hiding upstairs in the only corner I could find that was not absolutely teeming with people. You can see the huge television screen that hangs above the market flashing advertisements and show segments from what appears to be a show on the market itself, highlighting particular stalls. You can’t hear it anything said on the TV though, as each stall is blasting out their own music. It is hilarious…hypnotic…dissonant. A crazy mash up of sites, smells and touch.

There is a food court here, but I cannot feel my legs, much less my stomach, so getting food would have been a nightmare, even if I could have read the signs. To be fair, it is more common here to see the signs translated into English as well. More common, but not ubiquitous. And I am still one of a handful of people that are not speaking in one of the Asian languages spoken in Singapore.

I had a surreal experience as I accidentally bumbled outside the market for a few blocks (it tapers down and does not end abruptly). But it is too surreal to include in a post about the market, so I will write a separate one on that next. As a teaser, it includes lotus flowers and praying.

I am considering diving back into the Bugis street mosh pit tomorrow (Monday) when perhaps it is a teensy less crowded. I have to work, but I may knock off early and see how different the experience is on a Monday afternoon.

I love you all for commenting and being “with me” while I am here. It is making all the difference in the world. You have no idea.

Xo,

Kimberley

The Pasar Malam

The hotel in which I stayed during my weekend in KL was one block from one of the two most favored night markets in all of Kuala Lumpur. I did not know this until the German girl showed me the section on night markets in the travel guide she was referring to in planning what she wanted to see. Bob had also nearly lost his mind when he saw how close my hotel was to the Lorong Tuanku Abdul Rahman pasar malam. "Oh, it is only one block from you! You must go! The whole street is taken up with vendors and lights. It is really something!" The torrential rains from the afternoon had stopped by evening and so walking through a street filled with tented stalls and stringed lighting was too incredible to pass up, even though I was so tired I could have slept standing up. I grabbed my camera and some money and went in search of food, treasure and mostly just to experience what Pasar Malam means in KL.


Bob was right about the vendors and the lights, but he had not mentioned the crowds...though I imagine that was to be expected. The atmosphere is like a party, the vendors know each other and are shouting to each other back and forth and laughing so that the whole thing seems like a massive party, where you just happen to buy things. The stalls are about half food related with the rest selling clothing, toys, bags, electronics and other various things. I did not notice anything handmade there, besides the food, and did not end up purchasing anything. Well, I did purchase food. A lot of it. But the quantity was more about self defense than about my hunger level.

This was a fairly typical layout...impossible to tell what anything is, but beautiful.

Once again, I could identify nothing. I even ventured to ask on multiple occasions…not complex questions about what something was…just basic questions “Meat? Vegetables?” A phrase book would have been helpful. Several times, as I asked the questions, a few young Malaysians nearby leaned in, roguish smiles on their faces, to hear how it went for me, as if perhaps they would have a story to tell their friends later about the crazy woman in the bazaar who did not even know what a “Popia” was or "Tamil Nadu." In the end, I just bought things that looked interesting and looked like there was no meat involved. My hands hurt carrying them back to the hotel.

Here is what I brought back:

This is as glamorous as I could stage the meal without plates or anything...
It all looked so much more beautiful in the market

You will note that this time, I went for the red drink. There is also a chocolate cake in there, which was iced and had sprinkles added. I didn’t even really want this, but the woman was so sweet and focused in her work that I wanted to watch her put one together:


It was just a normal cake…so I did not end up eating it.

One thing was spiral cut potatoes, fried and seasoned. I like that, of course. There were various preparations of rice in banana leaf packets, some sweet, some savory. I did manage to avoid meat altogether, which was good. But the Indian food here was MUCH sweeter than I had tasted it anywhere else. It was filled with sugar cane juice (which I saw them squeezing and numerous stands), sugar and coconut milk. Even the dinner dishes. In fairness, I did not try any of the meat, so I can’t speak to how that is prepared…and my veggie selection was limited. But I could not take more than one or two bites of anything I got because of the sweetness. Well, except the potatoes. But that was no matter. What an incredible adventure to be trying all kinds of dishes I could not recognize in a hotel room in KL. No plates…no fork…no napkins,  Just bags, one spoon and a couple of sharp sticks to poke at my food…oh, and some tissue. I am figuring I am going to need to pack a little camping kit in my suitcase next time I am traveling like this. If for no other reason, for the pictures.

The food was good for the most part, and probably delicious warml. I am off to sleep feeling cozy and well fed. Because even two bites of a selection of food that varied, is plenty for a dinner.

Good night.

Xo,

Kimberley

Bob in Malaysia

This is a picture of the guy who saved Kuala Lumpur for me. Bob.



Bob used to do safety training for Oil and Gas companies. Offshore training. He taught water evacuation and water survival mostly. And he loved it. Not long ago, he injured his shoulder badly and now can no longer do this training. He drives a cab now in KL.

He was born and raised in KL, and he clearly loves the city. He is very proud of it. There was a call to prayer when we were on our way back to the hotel and I asked him if that was what that was. He replied that it was, and that it was hard to answer that call when you drive a cab for a living. He was quick to add, with a sad face, that his religion does not condone violence of any kind and the things of the world now make him very sad. Bob has the kind of face that you believe. I told him there were extremists in all kinds of religions and they do not account for the rest of us. I can tell Bob is an interesting and complex guy, but for me, it is his kindness and humanity that changed the way I think about Kuala Lumpur.

As I sat with my face in my hands, in the back seat of his cab, Bob asked me how it was that I had come to be in that area of town. I told him what I had been looking for and it appeared to confuse him as well. Then he asked why I was going back to the hotel. I told him that I was tired and I really did not want to try and figure out where to go next and what to do. That it had been too hard. Then he asked if I was too tired to try one more place…Central Market. He assured me I would not be disappointed. He even said he would give me his phone number, and I could call him when I was finished and he would fetch me. With that, I agreed to try it. On the way, he told me that it was a big market, to just go slow and not get overwhelmed. That there were many traditional artists in there, if only I would be patient. He asked me about my kids…about what I was doing in KL…and how long I had been there. It was a real conversation. I asked about him too and found out about his children, his divorce and his true love of a career that he could no longer perform in. But he said all this without any heaviness. He did not try and make it a sob story for me…the American tourist with dollars.

The market was everything he said. I could have easily spent hours and hours in there. But it was late, and I really was tired. I spent almost two hours walking around and then called Bob. He came quickly and drove me back to my hotel. As we approached, he told me I should rest and then walk one block to the Pasar Malam that night, that operated on the entire street right one block from my hotel. The food was great, he said and the sights even better.

As I got out of the taxi, I asked him if he would consider coming to get me in the morning to take me to place where I had to meet the bus in the morning. He agreed and told me when to be downstairs to ensure I got there in time.

As I walked into the hotel, I realized that I was happy and not just because I had gone somewhere cool and had plans for the evening. I was happy because one person was not just nice to me…he was kind and honest. He represented something I had not seen yet in KL, someone who genuinely cared about my experience there.

If you are going to KL, or know someone who is, let me know. I have Bob’s cell number and will give it to the you, provided I have assurance that whoever calls him will be kind and generous to him. He saved me. I owe him that much.

Thanks, Bob.

Xo,

Kimberley

Blink. Blink. Blink.

KL Sentral Station is insane. It feels like a giant market area with the transportation aspect of it an after-thought in the design. If you do not know where you are going, there is no way to find it easily. I finally found an information counter and was told that the line I was looking for, the one I had determined would take me the closest to the Malaysian Craft and Cultural Center, did not leave from this building and that I had to go outside, go down to the lower street level, and the cross the street to the other station. Doesn’t that sound easy? Ha.


Descending those particular stairs, the ones that take you to the lower street level, take you directly into hell. Or, at least, that is the way it felt to me at the time. Dark, insanely crowded and noisy, large buses everywhere, construction retaining walls line the other side of the street for as far as I can see. This is a place for locals who know exactly where they are going, not for pale faced, disheveled tourists like me. And I was getting paler by the minute. I stood at the bottom of the steps for too long. You know those shots in the movies where the camera pans around at the chaos and then stops on the stunned face of the main character? There you go. Now you know what I looked like. Someone finally asked me to move along, so I chose a direction and just started moving. Nothing made any more sense to me as I moved down the walk, trying to squeeze me, the camera hanging from my neck, and the backpack on my back, through the crowds…hoping something would make sense in a moment.

Then the skies opened up, even though I was underground, and a halo formed around a small shack of a building ahead of me. “Taxi tickets. No haggling.” was the sign on the building. At this moment, I would have seriously considered a 400RM fare to anywhere frankly, but here was a place that controlled the metered price to anywhere. I stepped up the counter, accompanied by angels singing in my ears, and asked how much it would cost to get me to the Malaysian Craft and Cultural Center. “14rm” I handed the money through the window, was directed to a waiting cab and I was whisked out of that place and into the world again.

Then the driver told me he had no idea where this place was. Did not even know it existed. Still, I was out of the underground. I did not care where I was going. When we stopped at a light, I showed him the place on a map, and it still confused him. As the conversation continued, I tired of trying to explain where I thought it was and the landmarks around it. I told him to just drop me close by and I would find it myself. He seemed relieved, and sped off before I even made it to a sheltered area. It was raining cats and dogs at this point.

I went into the nearest building to look at my map and get my bearings. The sky had opened up and walking around felt challenging, considering I really had no idea where I was. I put my map away and decided to walk until I could find a cab, and then get them to take me back to the hotel where I could take a shower and just disappear into my bed for the 18 more hours left in my stay in KL. It just seemed too hard.

A taxi was sitting just outside the building I had escaped into. The driver agreed to take me to the hotel, even though he was unfamiliar with it. I showed him on the map and he immediately knew where it was and how to get me there. I sank back into the seat and put my head in my hands. Then Bob, the driver, started talking to me. And the whole day changed for me. More on Bob in the next post.

Xo,

Kimberley

And Batu Caves are Worth the Trouble

The caves were strange, funny, interesting, and magnificent. (WARNING: this is picture heavy.)
This is the first thing you see as you enter the side gate:


This is Hanuman. You see him first as you enter from the station. Another very good reason to not take the taxi. You could easily miss him altogether and that would be a shame. He is worth seeing.

I think I took nearly 100 pictures here, I will only put a few. But it is a shame to see it piece meal like this.

Here are some pictures of the characters in the epic battle told here.



 
Here are the 272 steps, straight up, to the caves.


The giant golden statue to the right of the steps is Lord Murugan, the Hindu Diety, proudly standing guard to the temples dedicated to him. And the pictures do not do him justice, of course. He is so imposing that I did not notice the shrine to the left of the entrance until we descended from the caves.

I’m not gonna lie. The walk up was intense. These are not gentle slopping stairs and the hike up is not for the delicate. I went anyway. :-) But at the top is an impressive cave, with ceilings 100 meters high and temples and shrines scattered about. There is also, oddly, a substantial souvenir stand. Selling all kinds of shrine souvenirs as well as general KL souvenirs. In this moment, I am kicking myself for not having purchased one of the insane pieces of wall art, featuring any one of the deities represented in the shrine in a plastic frame with lightning bolt lights blinking around them. What was I thinking?

I took lots of pictures. Here are two of them.




I am dying to know if this is Kali. If she is, she looks quite different than I have seen her represented. But she is clearly standing on a man...

It was at the top of the stairs that I felt a twinge of disappointment. All these beautiful, reverent pieces around and still I am disappointed. Because there were no monkeys. Not one. Perhaps I had come at the wrong time of the day…but I read nothing of this in the descriptions of the place. Perhaps they had been chased away. Perhaps what I had read was old. In any case, I looked and looked and did not see a single one.


Here is what the cave looked like

We descended and at the bottom, it began to sprinkle just a bit and we were about to leave when I decided I wanted just one more shot of Lord Murugan. As I began snapping shots, Dorothea, the German student I was exploring with, whispered, “the monkeys.”
I looked up and there they were. Bananas in hand, they sat among the shrines that told the stories and scouted the crowd to see who was the most likely “mark.” I was mesmerized.


Right above our heads on the entrance to the shrine
At Lord Murugan's Feet, eating a banana
This guy is the madman. Totally bared teeth and went all postal on some poor woman.
The baby was teeny and the mom was very protective. Very sweet.
Another tough guy...seconds away from stealing someone's peanuts.

The trip was full, more than I could have anticipated really. So I was ready to go. The sky had become more threatening, and, to be frank, as cool as it sounded, I was not that excited about going to the bird sanctuary as I had planned. I scoured the map the hotel had given me and found a place called the “Malaysian Craft Cultural Center” which was described as a recreation of a traditional Malaysian village with traditional Malaysian crafts being demonstrated and sold. Why had no one told me of this? I changed my plans. I would head over to this place, despite the threatening weather. I said goodbye to Dorothea, who was heading off to kaoroke with her friends, and set off on my next adventure. Starting in KL Sentral Station.

Xo,

Kimberley

My Own Personal Pilgrimage in Malaysia

You know those “last straw” moments in movies where the main character has had enough and starts kicking butt? The Batu Caves were my “Hulking out” moment…without the picking up cars part.


Going to the Batu Caves was one of the main reasons I wanted to come to KL in the first place. These are actual caves in the suburbs of KL that were long ago made home to Hindu shrines to the victory of Lord Murugan over the demon Soorapadam. It is a place of Hindu pilgrimage for worshippers in Malaysia, India, Australia and Singapore. Once a year the faithful journey to the shrine in an eight hour arduous procession, climbing the 272 stairs at the end to deliver an offering to Lord Murugan. The beautiful shrine is housed in a cavernous…um…cavern, in a hill. I was dying to see this.

Plus, there are monkeys.

I had read that monkeys are everywhere on the premises. And that, if you are not careful, they will pick your pockets…bare their teeth at you…jump on you…steal things right out of your hands. Goodness, who doesn’t want to see that?

So, my first day here, I began asking how I could get to these caves. I asked several people and they all insisted that a cab ride was required. I really had absolutely no idea where these caves were, so when people started talking money, I have no reason to doubt them…but at 400 ringgits for the trip there and back (that is about $130 American), it was something I had to really think about. As a marker, My beautiful room at the hotel cost less than this for two nights stay. Before spending that kind of money, I decided to explore KL a little bit first, as mentioned in an earlier post.

It is confusing, no doubt. Even getting to the train station is wildly confusing. The maps don’t make sense to me and nothing is very clearly marked. I finally reach the station by listening for the sound of trains and heading in that direction. I go to the booth to get my ticket to the convention center area and then head down to the platform that was pointed out to me. While waiting for the train, I casually look over at the map of all the different lines in the LRT. They have several:



Then I notice this:


Check what it says at the top of the red train line...Batu Caves.

OK, so I am simultaneously excited and hurt. Not one person I talked to mentioned that the train went to the Batu Caves…not one. So, it appears I can get there easily enough, which is awesome. But now I feel hurt and defensive about all these people who seemed so nice to me.

I know this is crazy. The people I have asked about the caves don’t know me. I am just the latest in a long stream of people from all over the world who have taken holiday from their lives of abundance to tour around the place the place where they live out their lives. I have money, riches in their eyes, and they want it. I get it. I really do. But I still feel hurt. Even as I know it is ridiculous, it makes me sad.

So, as I sit in the KFC train on my way to the KLCC (the entire train is bathed in advertisements for KFC. I do not use the term ‘bathed’ lightly. There is not a surface inside or outside this train that is touting the pleasures of KFC chicken) I begin restructuring my day.

By the time I got to the towers, I was really done with it. Funny that. It was kind of a defiant feeling “oh sure, you want me to go there cause I am a tourist. NO DICE!” After a half-hearted attempt at finding the ticket book…and getting the fish to eat my feet…I was out of there and on my way to the caves.

Ah, but to navigate the trains, that is an adventure unto itself. Multiple lines…transfer stations where different lines come to the same tracks alternately…little clear signage to give you any idea what you are doing…its tricky. I spent the better part of an hour realizing I had, once again, gotten on the wrong train and had to go back to the original station and try again. I asked several times where I was supposed to go and still had trouble. I also asked at these stations if, once I had gotten to Batu Caves station, if I would still need a taxi to get to the caves. For the third time since I discovered there was a station, I was told that, yes, a taxi would be required but that there were plenty at the station. OK, so surely it would be a shorter ride once I got there. Little did I know how short a ride it would be.

Half way through my bumbling through the trip, I noticed a young German girl having a similarly frustrating time. I asked if she was going to Batu Caves and she replied that she was trying. Third time’s the charm and we both found the right train together. We chatted for a bit. She was on an internship in the legal department of some large corporation here. She had just arrived this week. This was her first day out on her own. Then something wonderful happened. Two Iranian students seated behind us began talking with us. They had been there for eight months and had, of course, been to the caves. When I asked how much a cab fare should cost us from the station to the caves, one of them laughed out loud. “Who told you you needed a taxi? The caves are about 50 feet from the station. I think you can probably walk that distance.” Another blow to my trust muscles. She said I should not take it personally. No way to disguise the fact that I am not from around here and many are nice, but ruthless with the tourists when it comes to money.

The station at Batu Caves is tricky, if you are not paying attention, which I was by now. When you disembark, there is a circular drive in front of you, filled with taxis. But, if you walk past them, there is a little hidden gate that walks you straight into the temple area. A five minute walk past stunning icons, statues and devotional monuments gets you to the front gate of the caves, which I imagine…after quite the round about trip, is where you arrive should you hire one of the taxis outside the station.

At this point, I am getting more defiant by the minute. And less trusting. I am not crazy about this development, but I am not all that savvy in places where no one is trying to take advantage of you. I feel increasingly helpless here. And helpless makes me Hulk up. I am not even making friendly eye contact anymore at this point. I am on my own in this city…and it is not going to get the best of me.

Sorry this is so long. I am heart broken at this point. The caves are next…lots of pictures.

Stay Tuned.

Xo,

Kimberley

Saturday, March 05, 2011

Return of...MY DAY IN MALAYSIA

There is only one thing you can do to detox from an experience like the Petronus Towers/shopping mall experience…I went straight to the KL aquarium to get some fish to eat my feet.

Minna (Tina’s cousin) actually sent me this recommendation before I left. It is that thing where you stick your feet into a tank with certain kinds of “therapeutic” fish in it, who enjoy eating feet. I didn’t end up going to the one she sent to me, because this one came insanely highly recommended by some Malaysian blogger I cannot find now. It is called the AQUA SPA and is in the KL Aquarium. They make everyone wash their feet thoroughly first, they change the water multiple times a day and they are trained to look at feet and detect problems to keep bad things out of the tank.

Anyway, after I washed my feet, the woman led me to a tank with the little fish first so I could get used to it…here are my feet getting eaten.

I am glad these are not piranha.

Man, I wish I could say that I found the whole thing obnoxious. It did feel freaky at first, but then I got used to it and found it incredibly relaxing. I actually liked it. I had this weird moment of feeling like part of the food chain…like I was bonding with these little fishies (cue Snow White music). They started me in the “Small Fish” pool, then I switched to the tank with the BIG FISH. These guys had a good bit more suction and they tickled. They also seemed to prefer the bottoms of my feet. But I liked them as much if not better than the teeny ones.

I swear, it all felt so good that I think if they had had another pool with catfish in it, I might have stuck my feet in there as well. I need to check out the Aquarium restaurants in Houston again…maybe they have a tank I can sneak my feet into.

Next, the Batu Caves or “how I got one over on all those people trying to trick me because I am clearly not from around here.”

Dang, that is a long title.

Xo,

Kimberley



My Day in Malaysia...Taking the LRT to the KLCC

Today is not over, but I thought I would post DAY IN MALAYSIA and do sequels later.
So, I decided to begin my morning by freaking myself out. This is my sweet spot really, working myself into a “worst case scenario” lather. And, I was in the zone this morning…big time.

I read on the internets that the scam artists and pick pockets prey on tourists. They look for people with cameras and backpacks and make a bee line for them. So, as I began preparing to go out for the day, I began checking out the gear I am planning to haul around the city…basically, a camera and a small backpack. I fretted over the large lens on the camera I brought and the fact that I have no idea how to hide it other than in a backpack. I thought about maybe going a full day in this country, my only one, without a camera so that I would not stand out so much. Then I laughed and laughed and laughed.



I could not stand out more if I dressed like the Statue of Liberty and wore the American flag like a cape. Even in an anglo country, I look quintessentially American. The camera and backpack are the least of my worries.

I decided to really go nuts and try to get my way around on the KL train network (Light Rail Train or LRT). At this point, I have only been in the country twelve hours and I am tired of being told by everyone that I have to pay a taxi driver the equivalent of twenty American dollars for a ten minute cab ride. I decide to hoof it.

As I got to the train station, I saw two men in full camo fatigue uniforms, carrying bagpipes. They looked incredibly tough…desert boots and all…and they were carrying bagpipes. They were a little scary looking, even with the bagpipes, so I fixed the settings on my camera and tried to catch up with them. Every time they would look around, I would pretend I was fascinated with the Hello Kitty watch selection, or the extensive Indian CD choices available in the market. Finally I was in the perfect position to shoot a few inconspicuous pics… and that is when I realized that I had left my camera’s memory card in my computer. And this is why you do not have a picture of those guys. This is my saddest moment of the day. Which is pretty cool actually.

After retrieving my card from the hotel, I headed for the Petronus Twin Towers (which are in the KL Convention Center area, or KLCC). The towers are like the second or maybe third tallest something, something blah blah blah in the world…something like that. These things are on every t-shirt in town and I did not see a single souvenir shop anywhere that did not prominently feature a selection of Petronus Tower statuary. There is a bridge that connects them that you have to get a ticket to go up and see and it is supposed to be a really incredible view. I didn’t end up going. The Petronus Towers house a pretty shi shi shopping mall. Somewhere in that maze of Chanel, Tiffany and Bvlgari…I lost my will to live and left the premises without ever having found the elusive ticket counter.

Hey, I saw ‘em. That’s enough.


Next installment…man eating fish.

xo,
Kimberley

Friday, March 04, 2011

A bus ride, a cab ride and a face plant

The bus ride to KL was surprisingly lovely and restful. While I did not actually sleep, I was whisked by all kinds of rural scenery on the way to KL while I listened to Corinne Bailey Rae on my iPod. Here are some highlights of the bus trip.

Along the side of the expressway

 
OK, this is not actually a picture I took myself…but I coulda if
  1. I had had any idea whatsoever that this was possible, and would have, therefore, had my camera ready to shoot. 
  2. Had a slightly more powerful telephoto lens
  3. It had not been raining
But there were truly monkeys in the grass alongside the highway. I yelped when I saw them, as if I am not conspicuous enough. I yelped the entire rest of the trip so that everyone just thought I was crazy instead of retarded. OK, not really…but I wish I had thought of it.

I yelped again when we stopped at a rest stop and I saw this when I went into a stall

 

Ummmmm, what?
I am not going to go into the details about how this is supposed to work. Let’s just say that I got it wrong…at least I think I did. Wow, TMI even for me. Let’s move along.

 
By this time, I am feeling MUCH better. I feel calm and ready for the adventure. We had a light rain…lunch on the bus was actually pretty good…I have everything I need…I am off to adventure…PLUS MONKEYS! Right? Then we hit KL.

 
Culture shock. Big time.

 
OK, I truly saw only about 30 minutes worth of the city…so I am SSSSSSSOOOOOOOOO not qualified to say what I am about to say. But, dude, I am pretty much a loose cannon, so here it goes.

 
Kuala Lumpur is not a happy city.

 
So, I am sure your mouth just fell open, not from the brilliant and insightful revelation, but from the fact that this should have been patently obvious to me YEARS ago. And, on some level, it was. But the city hit me hard as we drove into it. It is not the clothes hanging out of the windows in virtually every high rise apartment building…it is not the smog that obscures the skyline…it is not even the dour faces. I did not really feel the city until I stepped off the bus. I was happily snapping away bad picture after bad picture. Adjusting F stops and white balance, trying to get a picture of the towers (more on that later). But I stepped off the bus and into a feeding frenzy. Cab drivers and hawkers vying for my attention, and every single one of them, at least the ones located at the intersection where the bus dumped us out, had an intense, hard look in their eyes. I did not select the cab as much as the driver took out the competition by grabbing my bag and piling me into his car.

 
The driver, whose name I still do not know, even though he told me several times, talked to me constantly…mostly about what a good and reliable driver he is. He showed me pages and pages of his guest book where there were stories of him hunting down a fare and returning the guy’s passport, his wife’s wedding ring and 2,000 lbs. His English is better than my Malay, but only by about ten sentences, and those were wildly difficult to make out. I gave him the paper with the address of my hotel (Frenz Hotel) on it.

 
By the time we got to the hotel, I was completely over-stimulated. I checked in to the tiny tiny hotel, followed the guy at the desk to my tiny tiny room and face planted right into the bed. Here is my room:

 


 

 It is tiny, no windows, paper thin walls…and I could not be happier because the bed is ridiculously soft and it feels like a cocoon. Plus, the shower is warm. I got showered and ready to go exploring and could not reach escape velocity. “just a quick little nap” turned into four hours…and I am about to go back down again. It is 10pm here. The adventure will have to begin again in the morning. I have fallen asleep four times while writing this.

 
Night,

 
me

 
P.S. Now it has been nine times. I need to wrap this up. Dang.

I am a Weenie

I am in Singapore now. Specifically, I am in the office of the bus terminal at the cruise center…waiting three hours for my bus to leave for Kuala Lumpur. I love how dramatic and adventurous that sounds, but the truth is that I am tired and overwhelmed. I am not feeling adventurous at all, in fact part of me is screaming out to check into the nearest hotel and hide. What I did instead was buy a round trip ticket to KL, sit alone and cry quietly in the bus office and then go downstairs to the food court here to get something to eat. It has been a while since I ate.

Everything smelled delicious…and I recognized almost nothing. Here is what I ended up eating as my first meal in Singapore…in the bus station.

Um, I'll have rice...okra and green stuff and that stuff that looks spicy and those pastry things and the green colored drink, please.

I recognize the rice and the okra. Even the drink was the “green” one of four different choices, so I don’t know what that was either. As I ate, I begun to relax a little.

I am so conspicuous here. I am completely unaccustomed to standing out so much. This cruise and bus terminal is filled with hundreds of people, and I am the only non-asian person I have seen. Even in the airport, I saw only a handful of people who were anglo. And they are noticing me…big time. I am stared at where ever I go. On a shuttle bus to from terminal 3 to terminal some-other-number in the Changi airport, I was the only one on a bus full of more than fifty people who was not asian. As each person got on, they literally did a double take as they saw me. I had a surreal moment when “Eye of the Tiger” came on the radio and a few of the people looked over at me, like maybe they thought I would start singing or something. Children stare the longest…or at least the most openly. They are adorable, but it is still a very strange feeling.

The plan from here is to get on the bus and ride for five hours to get to KL. There, I will check into the hotel, take a shower for the first time in over two days, and then suck it up and get out there. I may go to the night market (or Pasar Malam) tonight.

I will take pictures and notes along the way. I am bringing you with me.

More later.

Xo,

Kimberley

Flying Into the Future

The screen showing our flight path shows that we are flying over Oslo now. In about two hours we will touch down in Moscow. Tina and the kids are fast asleep (at least, I hope they are), as it is around 1am at home. I have entered a timeless zone, losing time that I will awkwardly regain a week from now on my trip back.


My sleep turned into more of a long nap, unfortunately. I know I will suffer for this later and wish I had brought melatonin or something to ensure more than four hours of sleep on this leg of the flight. There is no point in being awake now.

For seven grand, you can either buy a fairly decent used car or this seat for eighteen hours:



Hard to justify. Fortunately, it is not me paying.

*********************************************************************

The airport in Moscow surprised me in how well it was cast. If I had been a Hollywood set designer, I would have thought the steel grey and blue décor and dim fluorescent bulbs a little too predictable and 1950s American propaganda filmish. Turns out I had to walk through most of the airport to get to my gate. However, near my gate was, astonishingly, an Irish pub. It was the sole warm and welcoming spot in the otherwise strange surroundings. Here is a shot of my oasis amongst the “Joe Versus the Volcano” surroundings…



Note the perfectly poured Kilkenny…



400 rubles later, I was in better shape to board. I didn’t really need a beer, frankly. But drinking a perfectly poured, perfect-temperature ale was a small price to pay to sit amongst warm light and deep brown wood.

Then I woke Tina.

I didn’t mean to. I just texted her so when she woke up in the morning, she would know I was safe. She is apparently a much lighter sleeper when I am not there. :-)

We texted for a bit while I walked back to my gate. I pulled my camera back out when I saw this magnetic child.



I don’t think this picture does him justice. He was spectacular, frankly. Happy and beautiful.

Next stop is Singapore…then a five hour bus ride to Kuala Lumpur. More from the bus.

Xo,

Kimberley

P.S. I am working on my photography, bear with me.