The Perhentian Paradise

After thoroughly enjoying ourselves in the Cameron Highlands, we were really beginning to enjoy Malaysia, so we had high expectations for our next stop the Perhentian Islands. With the east coast monsoon just finishing, we were going to be amongst the first visitors of the new season. In fact when, Jay, one of the ladies who worked at our guest house in the Cameron Highlands had made reservations at a guest house they recommended, she revealed that that we’d be arriving on their opening day.

To get there involved a six hour journey by minibus to take a “ferry” that ran to the “big” and “small” island. Our guest house, D’Lagoon, was located by itself on a small beach cove of the small island and the only access was by boat. When we arrived at docks on the mainland around 6pm there were a couple of surprises waiting for us. The first surprise was our mode of transport. As we were ushered towards the jetty, the large ferry we might have imagined turned out to be a number of small 12 seater speed boats waiting to whisk us across the sea. The second surprise was the weather, more specifically the stiff sea breeze that was blowing. As a result the boat men were saying they wouldn’t be making any drops through the choppy waters between the two islands. Whilst the main beach affected by this, Long Beach, could be reached by taking a 10 minute walk along a jungle path from Coral Bay on the other side of the island, D’Lagoon was an hour’s walk across the length of the island and not practical with heavy back packs. After pleading with the boat men to take us to D’Lagoon they directed us to board one of the boats and instructed us to put our belongings in bin liners before stowing them towards the front of the boat. As we departed the harbour we soon understood why as our driver struggled to negotiate a path through the swell that I would guess was well over a meter. The front of the boat rose high into the air and the propellers of the outboard motors struggled to stay in the water as we rode over the top of the large waves at speed. The hull of the boat slapped the water hard again and again with salty spray constantly washing over us. With the sun low in the sky, the wind in our hair I felt like I was in a scene from Miami Vice as we raced across the water to the islands and was thoroughly enjoying the joy ride. The same could not be said for the little boy being clutched in the arms of his dad, who was screaming in fear until he was finally so exhausted he fell asleep, with his mother fretting the entire journey. As we approached our first stop, hugging the coastline of the small island the waters were far calmer and we arrived at an oasis of tranquillity and stunning beauty, Coral Bay. At this point our driver informed us that he wouldn’t be going to D’Lagoon after all and we’d have to get off here. After being dumped, we phoned through to D’Lagoon who told us our driver was being lazy and advised us to walk over to Long Beach to find a water taxi to complete our journey. We made the final part of our journey in an even smaller boat and as I held on to either side of the boat I thought there was a high chance of being thrown overboard if we caught a wave the wrong way. By the time we arrived at D’Lagoon we were drenched, so it didn’t matter much when both of us fell over into water getting off the boat at the shore. Our spirits were far from dampened though as we looked at where we’d be staying for the next couple of days. It was a stunning location, and once we got the key to our room Maren had a grin on her face from one ear to the other as she opened our window looking right onto the beach.

The weather however was still an issue. Whilst it was warm and sunny, the blustery conditions continued to whip up the surf and the snorkelling we hoped to do during our stay was impossible here. As a result on our first day we took a short walk to a beach on the calmer side of the island. It was even more beautiful here and we found ourselves alone as we dived of the rocks and watched the sunset. Unfortunately, back at D’Lagoon things were not getting any better, in fact the wind had strengthened and the sea seemed even rougher. The staff, whom had just finished fixing up all the damage done during the monsoon, were having to batten down the hatches to stop all their repairs being undone. At night it was far from peaceful with the wind howling through the huts so we made plans to go back to the two beaches we’d passed through on arrival to see if things were any better.

The following day we set off early to make the hour walk south through the jungle. We struggled to follow the trail but eventually made it back to Coral Bay where we’d first been dropped off by the ferry. The conditions here were in complete contrast to D’Lagoon, with little wind and small waves lapping the shore. We quickly went about securing a good room at a guest house before the start of the holiday weekend and then found what looked to be diving school to get our diving license. Unfortunately, this would involve another wet boat ride to transport us and our belonging. It was worth it though. We had a lovely room a stone’s throw from the beach, a choice of new places to eat at night and we’d be starting our diving course in two days.

After moving and settling in it was time to start our course. Predictably, the first day began with a lot of theory, involving watching naff instructional videos that mirrored the material in our new diving manuals which we’d been given on signing up. Scuba diving certainly has plenty of technical aspects most of which are vitally important to be able to dive safely. Pressure, nitrogen absorption, scuba equipment and buoyancy control are just some of the subjects that you need to learn about to minimise the dangers of diving. Our instructor, Simon (surely not his real name being Chinese-Malay) was keen to get the theory out of the way as quickly as possible and I feared that we wouldn’t even get in the water on the first day. However, after lunch it was time to assemble our scuba equipment (air regulator, air cylinder and BCD - Buoyancy Control Device), and suit up (wetsuit, weight belt, mask and flippers) to do our first confined water dive and breath under water for the very first time.

Despite how comfortable I am in the water and having done plenty of snorkelling in the past my first dive was still a completely new and alien experience. Diving, as I quickly found out, is all about breathing. The first aspect of breathing is learning to breathe in long, slow deep breaths, since breathing in a normal way is neither efficient nor effective, especially once your air begins to compress under pressure. It’s harder than it sounds. Breathing is something that you normally do so subconsciously. It’s hard to override your natural instincts and when you start becoming breathless, even under just a couple of metres of water it’s easy to start panicking. The second aspect is breathing is your primary way making yourself go up or down, something I hadn’t really considered before. In a nutshell, you will go up as you your lungs fill with air and down as they empty. By biasing the length of time you spend breathing in or out allows you to go up or down respectively. Again, this is not as easy as it sounds, especially if you are struggling to get your head around the first aspect to breathing. For Maren this was her biggest challenge (I’d soon be struggling with other skills), but it wasn’t too long though before both of us were sitting on the sea bed and we could start to take in our new underwater world.

Diving is something I’ve dreamed about doing since I’ve been swimming in the sea and it was everything I imagined and more. Just being able to hang out underwater knowing that you don’t have to worry about getting back to the surface anytime soon is cool enough, but it’s a more than that as it transforms your physical world. You are now for all intents weightless and your motion is slowed down by the all the water you are surrounded by. Your eyes see the world differently with colours changed by the effect of water absorbing different spectrums of light at different rates and object appearing a third bigger than their usual size. Your ears hear strange new sounds, the loudest generally being that of the bubbles being constantly released by your breathing equipment and with sound travelling several times faster underwater it’s very difficult to determine the direction any sound is coming from.

All of this takes a little getting used to and as we swam to a deeper location to continue our exercises we could spare little time to look around though I still managed to spot a Barracuda cruising nearby. Having completely some basic skills, like clearing our mask of water whilst submerged, we headed back to shore. After disassembling our equipment (something we’d be very familiar with doing over the next few days) Simon told us to take a break and surprisingly told us we’d be doing our first open water dive later that afternoon. Aside from going over procedures before descent and ascent, this would primarily be a recreational dive and our first chance to look around our new underwater world. It wasn’t long before we were kitted up again and back in the water. We’d not be going far. With our control of buoyancy just developing we’d be staying away from the big coral reefs that could easily be damaged by our clumsiness so we’d just be making our way out to deeper waters near the jetty. They’d still be plenty to keep us occupied though.

Our first challenge was to simply descend around 8 metres to the sea bed where we’d have our first real experience of pressure. In a reverse of the effect of flying at altitude, the air in your lungs, sinuses and ears is compressed as you descend leading to what diver call a “pinch” which can be very painful and cause physical damage. The key to prevent a pinch is to keep equalising the pressure of the air in your cavities to that of the surrounding water. The air in your lungs takes care of itself as you breathe in air from your tank which is always at the correct pressure, however getting more air into your ears and sinuses doesn’t always happen naturally. Instead the most common way to do this is by holding your nose and attempting to blow through it every few metres as you make your way down to the bottom.

I was first to descend whilst Maren waited on the surface. As I went down I struggled to equalise and experienced horrible pain across one side of my face. It’s a bit like having sinus cold headache, only much worse. After repeatedly having problems as I went deeper, I gave up and let Maren have a go whilst I waited on the surface. As she disappeared below me, I worried that I might have some sort of problem with my sinuses, but thankfully on my second attempt I realised that a little more brute force was required to equalise all of my sinus cavities.

Once we were both safely down we began to explore. Despite being one of the more lifeless areas being close to the jetty there was still plenty to see, from a variety of fish, sea slugs and clams. The highlight for me was to see a family of Clown fish (made famous by the film Finding Nemo) who initially disappeared into safety of their seaweed home as we approached. They soon reappeared however, seemingly as interested in looking at us as we were them. They would become a common sight during our dives but their behaviour never ceased to raise a smile which surely is how they got their name and why the animators at Pixar made them the stars of their underwater film. We looked forward to what else we might see during our dives, with any kind of shark high on my wish list and Maren hoping to see a string ray in the wild after touching one at the Underwater World in Singapore.

The next four days passed quickly. The theory felt like being back at school, but fortunately there wasn’t too much to stress over and we both made the pass mark on the final exam. The dives were more challenging. It was on my third confined water dive that I realised just how important our training was. One exercise involved taking off our masks and continuing to breathe underwater for a minute. I found this difficult, being somewhat sensitive about my eyes and I struggled to deal having to open them underwater whilst the bubbles from my respirator went over my face and up my nose. One trick is to breath out through your nose whilst breathing in through your mouth to avoid water going up your nose. However as natural instincts kicked in I ended up trying to breathe in through my nose resulting in dose sea water going down my throat. Coughing up sea water whilst trying to catch your breath with a respirator in your mouth isn’t easy and I found myself panicking. When this happens it’s difficult to control your urge to head straight back to the surface which is exactly what I ended up doing the first couple of times. This isn’t a problem when you are just under the surface, but swimming straight up to the surface when diving at depth can be extremely dangerous. It was a sobering lesson and I realised how important it was to be become comfortable and familiar with being under the water so that you react in the right way to common accidents like your mask being knocked off.

On my next open water dive I had a renewed respect for what we were doing, however our confidence was also growing. I was happy when I had no problems swimming in tandem with Simon without my mask and opening my eyes to see where I was going. I’d overcome my problems the previous day. Maren was also finding it easier and easier to control her depth through breathing and quickly got rid of the extra weighting she’d required on the first day. All that now remained was our final open water dive which promised to be the best yet, requiring a ride in boat round the island to a coral reef in War Bay. It would also be our deepest dive which would be in excess of 15 metres. Visibility had been disappointing on our previous dive around coral, but conditions were improving all the time and hoped we’d see something special.

We weren’t disappointed. Seeing the landscape of coral formations alone is magical, with all varieties of colours, shapes and structures. Massive, bulbous coral some as big as a small car with a surface etched in fluorescent green which made it look like a giant brain. Tree like coral, with branch after branch of rich reds and oranges. Huge disc like coral, stacked on top of each other like floors in some futuristic multi-levelled building. But these corals also team with life with all sorts of fish to be found swimming in and around taking advantage of the shelter they provide. The most common, were often the most colourful, such as parrot which display a rainbow of colours. We also saw a couple of much bigger and rarer fish. The weirdest was a puffer fish, with their strange box like bodies and their odd propelling fins which were arranged vertically, rather than at the side like the vast majority of the fish we saw. However it was right at the end of the dive when Maren had her wish come true as she spotted String Ray flapping its “wings” gliding effortlessly through the waters. With that final sight it was time to make our way up to the surface and once we were safely floating on top of the water again Simon congratulated us. We had completed our course and we were qualified divers.

I felt like a diver now as well. As we waited for the boat to pick us up I was unconcerned when one of the tubes on my regulator burst open and started venting out air. I knew exactly what I would have done had it happened underwater just a few minutes earlier. I’d experienced what it was like to run out of air under the water, having being through a simulation earlier in the course where our tanks were shut off. Even as the air rapidly left my tank I’d probably be able to breathe for a couple of minutes anyway. This would give me plenty of time to get attention and use signals to tell my “dive buddy” that I needed to share air. I would have then made my way over to Maren to breathe from her alternate air source and we would have made a slow controlled ascent to the surface just as we had practiced during the last few days. This is exactly what we had trained for.

Back at shore we logged our dive and reflected what had been the best dive yet. It’s hard not to be moved when visiting this underwater world. Your breath is taken away as you marvel at sheer variety, density and beauty of the life that has evolved here. There seems to be so much going on in these colourful, inventive and complex eco-systems. The pace at which you explore though is a gentle one, as you take care to not to disturb the inhabitants whilst also saving energy and air allowing you to extend your stay. It’s this combination that makes diving relaxing and exhilarating at the same time and is truly unique experience. What’s more, you are truly a guest, just a temporary visitor to this otherworld with your time limited by the air you carry. Even when we’ve trekked through what is largely pristine jungle, the well worn trails scar the forest floor and clearly mark where others have gone before. This human presence is much harder to detect when diving which makes it even more special.

That’s not to say humanity is not having its impact on the sea world, in fact it is perhaps here that it is at its worst. As we walked along the beach that night we could see the lights from the large fleet of fishing boats on the horizon plundering the ocean, as they do every night, and it was almost uncomfortable to see String Ray amongst the display of freshly caught sea food on offer at one of the restaurants along the beach. Anyone that knows me well knows how much I love eating seafood, especially sushi. I’ve been trying to ignore some uncomfortable facts about my favourite food for a while now but with this experience it’s now impossible. I sure that Maren and I will be trying to reform many of our eating habits when we return home (Maren has already felt the need to stop eating meat) and our sea food consumption will definitely be scrutinised. Fishing however is just one aspect of the damage being done to the oceans. We’ve been using it as one massive dumping ground for some time. Whether it be the poisonous metals from industrial processes, our own effluence or simply rubbish we can’t be bothered to depose of correctly we seem to think that the oceans also have an infinite capacity to absorb our waste, along with providing a never ending supply of food. If I had a symbol of this disregard for the sea or perhaps the environment as a whole then it would be the humble plastic bottle something that is sadly an all too common sight along the beaches I have visited during my trip. Some of the most beautiful places I have seen have been have been spoiled with bottles washed up along the shore, but that is almost literally the tip of the iceberg. When I see these bottles I always think about a story I saw on the news at home about the vast floating islands that you can find in the Pacific Ocean. These huge floating masses can be several kilometres across and are primarily made of plastic bottles that have been gathered by ocean currents. It will be just one of the many reasons that I’ll be re-doubling my efforts to live in a more environmentally friendly way when I get home.

Fortunately there are still places in the world that are as beautiful and as unspoilt as the Perhentians to remind us of our relationship with the environment and the way it should be. The Malaysian government has committed many crimes against its environment in the past, but its acting with more wisdom these days and it looks like the Perhentians will be afforded its protection. It was nice to see that a wind turbine (which we saw as we trekked across the island) will one day provide some of the electricity here. It’s also nice to be somewhere where the only mode of transport on land is by foot. So after completing our diving course there was nothing else to do but continue to appreciate where we were and decide where to go next. We did this by spending most of our time lazing around on the beach with a good book and breaking up the day with an hour or two snorkelling around the reefs (where I got to see some sharks!). It was a perfect end to our last few days in Malaysia.

All the pictures at http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/ThePerhentianIslands

The Cameron Highlands are cool

We were on the move once again. Having somewhat ridiculously got ourselves stressed out in KL we were glad as our bus left the city and began its four hour climb into the Cameron Highlands. Almost as soon as we were surrounded by green again we felt relieved. By the time the roads began to wind and our altitude began to rise city living was quickly forgotten and replaced by the anticipation of stepping out in the clean mountain air. As we got closer to our destination we got a brief preview of the beautiful tea plantation vistas we’d soon be seeing on mountain treks and we were excited. As we approached the town itself, buildings that wouldn’t seem out of place in the European Alps began to appear. There was something strangely familiar and distinctly non-Asian about this place. When was got off at Tanah Rata the bus it felt like we’d been transported home as we inhaled temperate mountain air. We couldn’t wait to check in and have afternoon tea, hoping to also find the scones, butter and strawberry jam we’d seen advertised along the road.

Checking in however ended up taking a little longer than we would have liked. We’d made friends with a fellow bus passenger on the bus, Heidger, who like most of the people we’d encountered had a reservation at Father’s Guest House, the most popular room in town. We also tried to book ahead, but having only tried the night before and with it being the start of a Malaysian holiday we were out of luck so we’d decided to chance turning up and looking around. After making our way to every guest house, we were fortunate to find a room for two people, never mind something to our liking. However, tomorrow would be the end of the weekend and we’d be able to upgrade from our room with two single beds to a double and a guest house with a little more appeal. First though we sat down for some fresh local tea, along with freshly baked scones, butter and locally made strawberry jam. We almost had to pinch ourselves. It was all very British, though that isn’t so surprising given the history here.

The Cameron Highlands are a throwback to British colonialism where the tea loving Brits had taken advantage of the highlands to grow altitude-loving tea plantations in the hills. Naturally they’d brought other cultural influences from home with them as well and whilst the British may have left, the Cameron Highlands haven’t changed much since. Aside from the tea and strawberries, many other crops are grown here which you wouldn’t normally find in this part of the world and the locals have preserved the British customs around our favourite beverage. It’s unique and unusual place, which is just as popular with Malaysians wanting to get away from it all as it is with backpackers.

Dinner soon followed after our tea, and with night time temperatures well below twenty degrees, I was looking forward to my first decent sleep (requiring the use of a cover!) in days. After moving over to Father’s Guest House the following morning we had a lazy day simply happy to enjoy the climate and tranquillity, whilst orientating ourselves and planning our first trek. It wasn’t long before we bumped into Heidger, who we’d seen the night before stocking up on supplies for his first trek with a Spanish traveller, Eneko who he’d met at his (and now our) guest house. They we raving about their day in the jungle and the view of the tea plantations at the top and were keen to follow up with another trek tomorrow. We wanted to tackle the highest peak on the map, which naturally meant taking “jungle trek No. 1” a climb of over 1200 metres to reach a peak of just over 2000 metres. We weren’t alone this desire and it wasn’t long before our group increased in size. By breakfast there were eight of us ready to go. With Germany, Britain, Spain and Norway all represented Maren christened the group using a word that I’d just recently explained to her and so “Euro-rabble” was born.

After a short local bus to the start of the trail we began our assent. Despite it being much cooler than KL the steep climb up soon got our hearts pumping and the sweat pouring off us. Whilst the path was well trodden, it required some concentration to negotiate the natural steps made of exposed tree roots and the obstacles in our path. Which also made it a lot of fun. As we went up we increasingly noticed the plant life, some of which is quite unusual. The wildlife we saw however was fairly benign, with butterflies, spiders and birds the only inhabitants we spotted along the way. Despite needing to stop for regular water breaks and some minor scrapes (especially with overhead branches - see pics for the blood running down Maren’s face) it wasn’t long before we reached the top where we climbed up a watch tower to get above the tree line for a panoramic view of the highlands. After resting up we were keen for another challenge and decided to take another trail off the road back down to town that we hoped would lead to another nearby peak. This was even more demanding and amusingly two of the group (Mirage and Eneko) managed to end up knee deep in mud. However after realising just how far we had to go and with our supplies of water quickly running out we decided to turn back. It was simply going to take too long. We returned to the road and started to make our way home. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves surrounded by neatly trimmed tea plants, which when viewed from a distance look a little like someone has created a massive garden maze onto the hills. The contrast of the rich deep greens and the blue skies with fluffy white clouds make for a pretty picture. After making our way a little further along the road we came to a strawberry farm which had a cafe for visitors. We were all in need of refreshment and were beginning to get tired, so it wasn’t hard to convince the group to stop for a break, especially with the prospect of some fresh strawberries. The home made strawberries ice lollies were the choice for those seeking instant gratification (like me), with the others in the group (like Maren) having to wait a little longer for their strawberries and ice cream. My strawberry lolly has to be the best lolly I’ve ever had. When we were back on the move it was clear that fatigue was setting in and it wasn’t long before we were trying to hitch a ride back to town. Fortunately is very easy to do in these parts with those who have space in their car happy to pick people up. The first person who stopped did so after his young daughter had took pity on us apparently saying “poor them” as they passed. We were grateful to the little girl and his kind father who gave us a ride all the way back to town. The others had little trouble either and it wasn’t long before we were all back at our guest house ready for a good meal and a beer after our exploits.

The following day Maren and I got up to hike again, but this time following the trail Heidger and Eneko had taken a couple of days previously. Whilst it wasn’t quite the same jungle experience on the way up the views of the farms and tea plantations on the way down were even more picturesque. After we’d made it back down into the valley we ended up at tea plantation cafe, cooling off with a long glass of iced tea. Refreshed, we headed to the nearby town of Brinchang to visit a butterfly farm which also had displays of some of the other forms of wildlife you might find in Malaysia, with insects and reptiles making up the bulk of the display. It was the butterflies that were the star attraction though with some beautiful species some of which were as wide as my hand. It was another great day and having worked up another big appetite we thoroughly enjoyed our dinner at back at our guest house. We were joined for dinner by Heidger who shared a final beer with us. All of the Euro-rabble were leaving in the morning to popular destinations on the back backpacker circuit. Heidger was off to Thailand to meet up with his girlfriend, the lads (Mike, Mirage, Eneko and Sam) off for more jungle experiences in Taman Negara and ourselves along with Vaira heading to the Perinethin Islands. We were looking forward to being at the sea again and from what we’d seen of the pictures the Perenthin Islands looked amazing. We’d read that they were one of the best diving and snorkelling locations in this part of the world, so what better place to learn to scuba dive and get our open water diving license? We simply couldn’t wait to get there.

All the pictures for Cameron Highlands at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/CameronHighlands

All City-ed Out

Our first stop in Malaysia took us to the coastal town of Melaka. With a two hour bus journey from the border required to get us there and still south of KL (Kular Lumpa), it seemed like a good place start our Malaysian experience. It was recommended to us by Kirsten and featured in our brand new Lonely Planet guide that we’d bought for south east Asia. Neither of us were sure of what to expect once we crossed the border from Singapore since neither Maren or I had been to Malaysia before. Nevertheless, having negotiated the bamboozling India I was quietly confident we’d manage. In fact as we changed bus at the border things were almost as organised and straightforward as they were in Singapore, albeit with a little more dirt. Our “express” bus from Johur Bahru was modern, air-conditioned and had huge comfortable seats with a surprising amount of leg room that easily accommodated our long legs. As we have since found the bus services here are well organised, cheap and comfortable. We also quickly found that it was easy to communicate with the locals, with many of them speaking very good English. So far, so good.

Things didn’t get much harder once we got to Melaka, however it wasn’t quite how we’d imagined. We were looking forward come time near the sea and perhaps a day on the beach, but it quickly became apparent that this isn’t a really sea-side town. Melaka one of the largest cities in the Malaysian Peninsular with around three-quarters of a million people living there and tourism is far from the biggest generator of income. It has a long and rich history with it being a major trading port in the past and has been ruled by several different empires in the past, notably Indian, Portuguese and British. As a result there is melting pot of cultures and Melaka has its own unique Eurasian cuisine. Due to its unique past, Melaka has recently been listed as a world heritage site and there were still signs around town advertising the party that was thrown to celebrate its new status. The Lonely Planet recommended that we made our way to the China Town for cheap backpacker friendly accommodation. Once we got there it was easy to find a guest house, with the standard of rooms high and reasonably priced. Whilst it might not be the most charming of places, for £8 a night we had a large clean room with the luxury of air-conditioning which made it good value, even when compared to India. The eating options were as varied and thus as baffling as in Singapore. We struggled to decide on anything, from where to eat and what to eat. Our first breakfast was particularly difficult and unfamiliar. In both Chinese and Malay cooking a rice and meat dish is just as normal for breakfast as it is for dinner and when we were unable to find anywhere serving anything close to eggs and toast, we ended up at a local place eating chopped chicken with plain rice at 10am.
With Maren not feeling 100% we limited ourselves to spending most of the day looking around China Town. It’s definitely the most charming part of Melaka we saw and many of the buildings date back hundreds of years. There are lots of shops selling all sorts of things, from cheap tourist gifts to Chinese antiques, art and curiosities. The Chinese Taoist and Buddhist temples were the most attention-grabbing places though from the colourful paintwork of the building to the holy shrines inside. Interestingly however, even in China Town, there was still a Hindu temple and Mosque as well. Cultures seem to mix well in this part of the world. That even we went out for dinner in the porteguese area of the town to try one local fusion specialities, devil’s curry. On our ride over in a ricksaw it seemed that there wasn’t much anything we want to see that warranted another full day here so we planned to take the bus to KL (Kuala Lumpur) the following morning.

The next day, after another comfortable bus ride we were dropped off at KL’s main bus station in the heart of the city. Again China Town was the place to head to for backpacker accommodation. It was mid afternoon and with our heavy backpacks we walk across town in the humid stifling conditions. Daytime averages at this time of year are rarely below 35 degrees and with it being at the tail of the monsoon humidity was always close to one hundred percent. Fortunately after a somewhat arduous walk we had little trouble in finding a guest house, but unsurprisingly, space was at a premium and the prices a little more expensive.

It wasn’t long before we were out exploring the city. My first impression was that we were no longer in a utopian city like Singapore. There was a little more dirt around for starters, with more rough edges giving the streets a grittier feel. Cafes and restaurants spilled on the pavements where they could get away with it, the traffic was more chaotic and there noise and buzz that was missing in Singapore. I also felt the need to be just a little more alert and wary. This instinct that was later proved correct when a girl sitting at a table next to us had her bag stolen as she ate. That said we felt far from unsafe. This somehow made it seem a bit more familiar and reminded me of London. There are of course huge differences as well. The skyline is unique being home to several unusual and tall buildings which pop in and out of view as you walk around the dense city centre. The two most famous of these are the KL Tower and the twin Petronas Towers, which have both held the world record as the world’s tallest buildings. In fact Malaysia is a country that is obsessed with world records; the weirder the better. You’ll often find a copy of the Guinness Book of World Records on a table in a guest house or hotel. They even have their own version specifically for Malaysian records. However, these aren’t the only interesting building in KL, with an eclectic mix of architecture present around the city centre. The country’s Islamic influence is well represented with the national mosque looming over one side of the city. However, it was the Masjid Jamek mosque close to the centre of the city that was particularly beautiful. Not far away one of the taller skyscrapers in the city seemed to be inspired by Islamic art which we thought looked particularly cool. However, with a sizable Chinese and Indian population there are plenty of other religions and cultures represented. Walking round Little India we soon found a local Hindu temple, cafes full of Indian men drinking Chai and the local bazaar featuring all the usual Indian wares. China Town was a bigger and badder version of one in Melaka and whilst it had plenty of character it didn’t have the quite the same charm. Again there seemed to be a thriving mix of cultures and we liked KL.

That said we were finding it difficult to relax. With alcohol relatively expensive here spending time at a bar was disconcertingly expensive and our guest was not a great place to relax. When we got back to our room, whose only window was into the dark hall, it was positively claustrophobic. This wasn’t the only thing that was bothering us. Having spent over a week in Singapore, a couple of days in Melaka and now KL city living, especially as back packers, was beginning to wear thin. The heat wasn’t helping either with the torrential downpours in the afternoon only seeming to make matters worse. Since we didn’t have AC sleep had been almost impossible. Eating was also becoming a source of stress, especially breakfast. On our final day in KL we found ourselves in McDonald’s (wrong!) getting a coffee to go with the donuts we’d purchased in a supermarket as we were unable to face chicken and rice in the middle of the morning again. We were over being in the city, any city and it was time to do something a little more unusual and perhaps a little more meaningful. Looking at the options on the backpacker circuit one destination immediately stood out. The Cameron Highlands. Promising treks in the jungle to get to panoramic views of its famous tea plantations and average temperatures ten degrees lower than KL it was an easy decision. Despite thinking highly of the city we couldn’t wait to get out of KL and get back to more natural surroundings.

Check out all the pictures

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/Melaka

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/kris.lander/KuluaLumpa

Spotless Singapore

The moment we walked into Bangalore International airport it already felt like we were in a different country, but the contrast on arriving in Singapore after our three and half hour flight could not have been greater. Singapore wasn’t originally on my list of places that I’d like to visit having spent nearly two weeks here back at the turn of the millennium. I knew what the pros and cons of the place were but after coming from India the pros were all the sweeter and we wouldn’t be around long enough to worry about the cons.

We arrived early in the morning having barely slept on the plane and we were looking forward to the fresh European style coffee that Maren’s friend Kirsten had promised us. Kirsten is another friend Maren made during her time at the Sivananda Ashram. She’d given Maren an open invite to stay at her apartment should we come to Singapore, so here we were. Kirsten is a fellow German like Maren who has been teaching at one of Singapore’s many international who cater for the large ex-pat population that is present here. One of the perks of her job is a generous allowance for renting an apartment and we were so grateful that she was sharing her beautiful home with us. When we arrived she was as good as her word and it wasn’t long before the promised coffee was brewed, along with some European cheese and bread. We felt at home straight away.

After recovering from our flight it wasn’t long before we were taking the bus into town to see the city. Singapore is an ultra-modern city which feels both Asian and European at the same time, which influences coming from its neighbours and its colonial past. The first thing that you notice is how clean the place is. Singapore is almost unnaturally immaculate, largely thanks to draconian laws that severely punish those who drop litter with huge fines. It’s rare to see any litter anywhere and it makes London, which isn’t the cleanest place, looks positively filthy by comparison. Once we got off the bus at Orchard Road, the heart of shopping in Singapore, it was hard to find much dust anywhere, never mind litter. We quickly made our way to China Town on the MRT keen to see an area of town that would reflect the main Asian influence in Singapore with some seventy percent of the population having Chinese roots. With the two celebration for Chinese New Year almost half way through decorations were up all around the city but none more so than in China town. We were hungry, so before we’d had a chance to sit down we’d already been coaxed into sitting down at a local eatery and were quickly served an ice cold bottle of one of Singapore’s most famous exports, Tiger beer. Now we just had to choose what to eat and we were faced with another huge contrast, with a bewildering number of dishes to choose from and a menu that ran to several pages. We felt like fish out of water having eaten largely vegetarian Indian food for weeks. Now we were presented with numerous fried rice, noodle and soup dishes that all invariably involved meat or seafood. Thankfully this menu at least had pictures of each dish (something that would be a luxury elsewhere during our stay) but it took us a good twenty minutes to decide what to eat. This somewhat frustrated our waitress who seemed almost as bemused as us as to why it was taking so long to make our choice. In fact you rarely seem to be afforded anything more than a couple of minutes before someone wants to take your order her. After much deliberation we finally ordered and when our food arrived it was a taste sensation with forgotten flavours igniting our taste buds. This pattern continued during our stay. With so many options, especially at the food courts which you’ll find in most of the basements of the malls all over the city, it was always hard to choose, even stressful at times! We were thankful when we had Kirsten was there to take us out and order for us. However the eating itself was always a pleasure.

The next few days past quickly as we took the opportunity to do things we hadn’t been able to do easily whilst backpacking. We took pleasure in making breakfast for ourselves for the first time in months. We stocked up on anything that was often hard to find from toiletries to memory cards. We took a couple of years off Kirsten’s washing machine making sure everything we had got a proper wash. We found a cinema that was still showing Avatar (in 3D of course something I thought I might miss having left the UK on the day it came ou)t. We went clubbing at the world famous Zouk though sadly Timo Maas bored us to tears. We used Skype to call home to family and friends which was particularly nice. We made use of the large swimming pool in Kirsten’s apartment complex completing fifty lengths each morning after breakfast. We enjoyed all sorts of Asian food whilst seeing the sights and been taken out in the evening by Kirsten.

To repay Kirsten’s generosity putting us up for the week we decided to have a dinner party for her and her friends with us doing all the cooking. With a Chinese supermarket well stocked in Asian spices and sauces and huge counter full of fresh fish, I got all the ingredients for my red Thai fish curry, which some of you reading will be familiar with (or it’s chicken variant). Given the pressure of cooking for a large group of people and not having my cook book to hand I was relieved that I, along with Maren’s help, managed to rustle up something more than edible. Whether they were being polite or not everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Finally on our last full day in Singapore we decided to go to Sentosa Island as I was keen to visit the Underwater World which was supposed to be the largest in the world. This ended up being our final extreme contrast to India. Sentosa Island is a massive holiday resort cum theme park, built on what I suspect is largely reclaimed land. Is about as made-made and artificial as a place can be which served to remind us of all amazing naturally beautiful places that we had visited in India. Aside from seeing, in some cases touching, all marine life at the Underwater World we felt just wrong being there. It’s sad that we invest so much money in making such a place, no doubt at great cost to the environment, when there is such natural beauty that is being destroyed elsewhere.

That said we had a great time in Singapore. I had fun the last time I was here, but it wouldn’t have been a place that I would have put high on my list to return to. Singapore is somewhat of a police state using harsh laws with tough sentences to control the behaviour of its population. In some ways you can’t argue with the results. It’s successful, it’s clean, it’s safe and the people are friendly and well behaved. However, when you hear a story or two about being on the wrong side of its laws then it makes you feel uneasy. Kirsten and her fellow teachers told us over dinner how teenage students are routinely tested for drugs and alcohol which can in some cases lead to imprisonment. However, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed myself this time round. What I really appreciated when I was twenty two was more limited and in some ways different. I found myself thinking about what it might be like to live and work here and based on what I saw and Kirsten’s lifestyle it wasn’t a bad image. Which led me to another thought about one of my oldest and best friends, Dom. If all goes to plan he will shortly be moving to this part of the world and working here. Well I can happily report that I’m sure he’ll have a great time and Ettie, his wife, is also going to love as well, especially the food and shopping.

With our stay quickly overrunning on time it was time to get back on the road. We were resupplied, refreshed and ready for new experiences. To cross the border into Malaysia was as simple as taking the same bus we’d been using to get into the city for the last few days, except in the opposite direction. Our first stop, Melaka and then on to Kuala Lumpur.

Pictures from Singapore at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/Singapore

In search of a saint

It was early morning on our final day in India. We were booked on a late night flight from Bangalore International to our first destination in south east Asia, Singapore. However before we left we planned to visit the most famous living guru in India today Sathya Sai Baba, said to be the reincarnation of the great Maharashtrian saint, Sai Baba of Shirdi.

Since I’ve been in India I’ve been looking for an opportunity to have some kind of spiritual experience. Around ten years ago I started practicing meditation after reading a book lent to me by my now good friend Tobias whilst I shared an apartment with him in the summer of 2000 whilst working as bar tenders. It was written by Osho, a somewhat infamous guru from India “who had the ability to explain the most abstract concepts in simple language, illustrated with witty anecdotes, who mocked gods, prophets, scriptures and religious practices and gave a totally new dimension to religion.” [quote from Khushwant Singh former editor of the Hindustan Times reflecting my own opinion at the time] After reading this book, which was largely a deconstruction of organised religion and an analysis of the woes of the modern world it made a big impression. One of subjects Osho tackled was the problems with stress that increasingly plagued the western world. It was something that I’d recently had very personal experience of and he said that just a few weeks practicing meditation would solve most, if not all of the problems for anyone suffering debilitating stress. After reading all his other insightful views on other subjects which I always found myself agreeing with I was willing to believe his claim, so I set out on trying to meditate. Whilst the book was not a practical guide to meditation, there was constant referral to high states of consciousness and awareness reached by achieving a state of mindlessness. Despite having little instruction I spent many hours alone in my room trying practice awareness and watch my thoughts until none remained. When I successfully achieved a temporary state of mindlessness something, which I still can only describe as some kind of magic, started to happen inside which induced feelings of well being. It was a turning point in my life. If I had to say one thing that helped me recover from my depression and panic attacks it was learning to meditate. As a result I’ve had an interest in metaphysics ever since and a number of experiences have led me to believe that there is more to the universe than the known physical realms of space, time, matter and energy.

Now I was in Osho’s homeland and the land that has given much of the world’s spiritual teachings and practices. Notably, India was the country in which Buddhism was born after Siddhartha Gautama achieved self-actualisation (enlightenment) something I was particularly interested in. I hoped that during my travels in India I might have an encounter with a guru who was also self-actualised (as many claim to be) and also take part in group meditation which is said to magnify the effects by creating what some call a Buddha-field. As we toured through India, there was one guru whose name kept popping up. Sai Baba. This is partly due to his popularity, but we’d had a couple of chance encounters, one with our friend Manoj who told us that Sai Baba was his guru and that of the restaurant owner we’d met in Gokana. It seemed that something was driving us in his direction.

We left Bangalore in a taxi early in the morning to make the 3 hour drive to Puttaparthy. Our plan was to visit the ashram, having lunch at one of the ashram’s canteens and then queue up for the afternoon darshan that would be held at four o’clock when we’d hopefully see Sai Baba and if we were really lucky be invited to an audience with him where we could ask questions. We’d then leave early in the evening making the journey back to Bangalore’s new international airport to catch our flight.

Having read the website for Sai Baba’s organisation we were well informed about ashram rules. Dress was important, with visitors asked to wear all white clothes that were otherwise reserved. Men and women were encouraged not to fraternise, especially at lunch where the canteens would serve men and women separately. Photos and any other recordings were strictly forbidden inside the ashram. My natural instinct is to question the validity of any such restrictions and rules but I prepared to respect them during my visit and ask such questions later.

It was just over 134Km to Puttaparthy, but thanks to one of the new highways that are being built all through India the journey wasn’t too long. We made a brief stop along the way for breakfast at roadside motel whose restaurant was soon full of westerners also making the journey to see Sai Baba. There seemed to be quite a mixture of people, from different countries and all age ranges. After making short work of a masala dosa and a coffee we were back on the road. It was only another hour until we were close to our destination and along the way images of Sai Baba began to increase in both frequency and size. By the time we made it to the town itself, it was clear there was a permanent state of Sai Baba mania in Puttaparthy. His image was everywhere, from advertisements to road safety instructions. Making our way along the main high street our driver pointed out all the buildings that were built as a result of Sai Baba’s foundation, a university, a sporting institute and a world class hospital, all free of charge. As we drove past the ashram itself, the opposite side was busy with hundreds of people walking up and down the street along the shops selling Sai Baba merchandise. Our driver pulled up just past the entrance and instructed us to call him later when we were ready to be picked up.

On entering we were quickly separated into queues for men and women so that body searches could be conducted. With a typically Indian use of man power four people patted each “quadrant” of each person who entered the ashram. Once inside the main gate Maren and I were reunited and we started to explore the ashram. Much like the ashram in Bangalore there was a main area where morning and afternoon darshans were held, along with accommodation for all the devotees who choose to stay in the ashram. The size of the ashram though was much greater and a number of other buildings, including a library, lecture hall, shops, a post office and canteens catering for western, north Indian and south Indian tastes were also all part of the ashram’s campus. We walked around, looking for somewhere to sit down and relax with a drink but continuing the similarities with the ashram in Bangalore it was a very functional kind of place and was largely devoid of any natural areas to sit, relax or even interact with other visitors. I briefly entered the library to see what kind of literature was being promoted. After being directed to the English section, I unsurprisingly found hundreds of books about just one subject, Sai Baba and his teachings. I stopped to skim through a book or two before leaving again. After finding little in the ashram to interest us we decided to pop out to have drink, but struggled to find a cafe or restaurant. It seemed that there was little demand for such places with most visitors taking advantage of the canteens inside the ashram and so we returned to the ashram for lunch. We headed over to the western canteen, deciding it would be our best bet for some fluent conversation. Maren would have lunch with the women and I’d be eating with the men. Once inside I quickly made my way to the food serving area, with a selection of soup, vegetables, salads and drinks being served by devotees dressed in all white who were no doubt doing their “seva” (selfless service) whilst staying at the ashram. Once I got my food I looked for a table to join hoping that I’d end up talking to someone. However I couldn’t really see somewhere I would fit in and instead positioned myself between several people, not wishing to intrude nor look to isolate myself. However, with nobody acknowledging my greeting on sitting down and a rather odd atmosphere I found myself eating alone and studying all the people around me. It was a mixed bunch, though most seemed older than myself with the majority seemingly middle-aged. Along with those who seemed to be North American and European there were people from all areas of the world. I noted several people from two big delegations from Indonesia and Japan who we had seen earlier wandering around the ashram. I didn’t get much of a feeling off anyone and there certainly didn’t seem to be much joy in the room. A couple of people stood out in particular. One guy was dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans (completely going against the suggested attire of white) with a long black tattoo on one arm and a wave of jet black hair. He looked like he could have walked on to the set of Grease as a T-Bird gang member. Most notably though his eyes looked so wild that I felt he could go explode with insanity at any moment. Also, as I sat and ate my dinner, a man who was probably somewhere in his sixties sat down at a table opposite. He looked very pale and as he began to eat his food he laboured with every mouth full and I guessed that he was probably terminally ill. His face told a thousand words, with deep frown lines etched on his face I found it hard to imagine him smiling. I suspected that he was also probably fairly wealthy as he seemed to be wearing an expensive watch. I speculated on the reasons as to why he might be here. With little to do except eat my food it wasn’t long I was outside again. Maren was waiting and had fared no better talking to people and like me had done her share of people watching with similar conclusions. I regretted not going to one of the Indian canteens, as I’m sure someone would have at least started a conversation with the usual “Which country?” or “What is your name?”

Having eaten we now set about finding out exactly where both of us would have to queue for the afternoon’s darshan. The darshan started at four, but we’d been told by our taxi driver to queue early if we hoped to get a good position to see Sai Baba and I was well prepared for a patient wait. As the book “Holy Cow” joked, one miracle that Sai Baba is able to perform is getting everyone to queue in a very orderly fashion, without pushing or shoving and in silence. I was initially well positioned, but having stupidly forgotten to take my flip flops off ended up at the back of the queue again when I was just about to enter the hall. It wasn’t a complete disaster though and before long I was in the hall and sitting down in a fairly good position to see everything that would be going on. I wasn’t very prepared for the wait however. Unlike many of the devotees, I didn’t have a prayer cushion and it wasn’t long before I was feeling uncomfortable sitting on the hard stone floor. It was nearly an hour and a half by the time the darshan started, with the chanting of mantras. This normally involves the continual repetition of one particular mantra however this chanting seemed to involve many different mantras that were impossible to pick up. Even those who seemed to have some sort of chanting book struggled to keep up. Having resigned myself to not being able to join in I instead tried to soak up the atmosphere. As I sat and listened I was unmoved. There was little in the way of excitement or fervour that I expected and most of the audience were half heartedly chanting, if at all. After nearly an hour of chanting, by which time Sai Baba would have normally made an appearance, the chanting was replaced by songs which crowd responded to more enthusiastically, but I still felt little connection to what was going on. As I continued to wait for Sai Baba to appear I began to consider what I was actually doing here. I was essentially going to church, albeit in India. Visiting Sai Baba wasn’t a million miles away from going to see the pope in the Vatican (something I’d never consider doing) and I felt no connection to the ashram or the people I was gathered with. I hoped that when Sai Baba appeared there would be some sort of transformation, however time was running out. The prayer songs had now been going for almost an hour and still Sai Baba had not appeared. It is said that he is not in good health these days and I strongly doubted that he was going to make an appearance. As much as I wanted to hold out my patience was wearing thin and we couldn’t leave much later without risking making our flight. Figuring that Sai Baba would have been and gone well before now I hadn’t even made a plan with Maren about how late we’d stay and since she was on the other side of the hall with the women we had no way of discussing things. It was now just after six and there was still no sign so with a heavy heart I got up and left. Once outside I soon found Maren. It seemed that she’d come to the same conclusion a few moments earlier and we made our way through the crowds still hanging around the hall so we could leave. I was very disappointed, four hours of waiting around for nothing! I wanted to leave as quickly as possible, not only the ashram but India itself. As we speeded towards the airport in our taxi we both felt like it was a sad end to the first part of our Indian adventure. On reflection though I was reminded of the words of our friend Manoj who said “You don’t choose your guru, your guru chooses you.” Well Sai Baba certainly didn’t choose me. However whilst I didn’t connect with him, the ashram or any of the people visiting, his general message and multi-faith approach is good. Also my impression from the people that ran the ashram, who were warm and friendly, was also positive. I was also reminded by the conclusion of book called “Yoga school dropout” by Lucy Edge who failed in her quest to find a guru during her travels around India and decided that she didn’t need one. Well I certainly won’t be trying hard to for the reminder of my travels so a guru really will have to choose me now.

The Emergence of Modern India

It’s been nearly two weeks since I was in Bangalore but the impressions it made and the thoughts that it provoked continue to resonate. We were in town primarily to visit our friend Manoj and whilst it’s perhaps doesn’t have a great reputation as a tourist destination I was very interested to see a city I’ve heard so much about when working, as I do, in the IT industry. Bangalore is known as the Silicon Valley of India because of its position as the nation's leading IT exporter and it also home to many other hi-tech industries, including aerospace, telecommunications, and defence organisations. It’s the third biggest city in India, growing fast than any other and aspires to be the very definition of modern 21^st century India.

We arrived early in the morning after another epic train journey just as the city was beginning to wake up. Manoj had met us at the station in his Tata SUV along with his good friend Ahmit whose house we’d be staying at during our stay. Ahmit and his wife Pooja had generously insisted that we stay with them, despite already having Manoj a guest until work on his new apartment was completed. It also happened to be Ahmit’s birthday and we were already invited to celebrations at the house and a birthday meal at a local restaurant. After picking us up at the train station we were stopping by at one of Ahmit’s good friends to pick up supplies for the party. As we drove across town my first impressions differed to what I expected, it was quiet on the roads (but we were assured that it was soon be gridlocked), the air seemed fresh and noticeably cooler than Varkala (despite it being hot for Bangalore) and the skies were bright blue. After a quick chai at Ahmit’s friend’s house (a Judo champion in the Indian Army) we were made our way back to Ahmit’s house in Whitefield and sure enough the traffic had begun to ramp up and our progress was much slower. Unlike most places we have been the traffic was made up of predominately modern cars along with buses, bikes and super-charged rickshaws. The roads themselves were far wider, the surfaces for the most part good and complex one way systems were in place around the city to deal try to mitigate the traffic. The buildings we passed were a mixture of ultra modern offices and malls and the kind of buildings you’d find in a typical Indian town. Signs of construction were evident everywhere, from new roads, new buildings and the new metro train system. I’d imagine that you could observe the changes to the city in a time frame of weeks, rather than years.

Once we made it back to Ahmit’s home we met his wife Pooja, who welcomed us with a delicious Indian breakfast of partharta, curd (yogurt) and chuckney which is just the sort of family hospitality we have come to expect from people in India. What was more unexpected was Pooja excusing herself to take part in a work meeting since she was working from home today by taking advantage of the option to telecommute to the office. This immediately dispelled one of my preconceptions about what the work culture might be like here in Bangalore. I somewhat ignorantly thought the norm would probably involve very long hours restricted to office. I cannot say the what the norm is but I found it interesting to listen to Ahmit, Pooja and their other friends discuss what the “work culture” of a particular company was like. The kind of things that were on offer seemed to follow a blue print straight out of the real Silicon Valley, even going as far as providing beers in the office on Friday afternoon. There is clearly a competitive job market with companies attracting talent in just the same way as they do back home and they are keen to stand out to people like Ahmit and Pooja who are as a couple represent the very essence of the rapidly growing middle class working in hi-tech industries.

After having breakfast and time to freshen up with a much needed shower Ahmit and Pooja took us out to lunch keen to introduce us to some new south Indian dishes and perhaps not intentionally expose us to another aspect of the new modern India, the shopping mall. Again, these malls follow a blue print perfected in the US. In fact, once inside the pristine air-conditioned building full of designer shops it was hard to tell I was still in India. There were still a few tell tale signs though, there was an excessive presence of man-power as there always seems to be here. Where you might see one security guard at home you saw three, there was even a guard for solely for the purpose of escorting you in the lift. Also, the food court where we were heading, was serving up all manner of Indian snacks, meals and drinks. If only the food in the average UK shopping mall was as good as the dishes we tried here. It was also interesting to see, after reading articles in the British press, how India was embracing the western culture of consumerism. During the afternoon Maren and I took a bus into the centre of the city, to the heart of consumerism in Bangalore, MG Road and after getting off the bus we found ourselves outside another huge mall, with British high street icon Marks and Spencer housed in the bottom right hand corner. Somewhat ironically Maren and I discussed the issues of how the world, faced with increasingly scarce resources, will cope with such demand over an iced frappe latte. We’re nothing if not hypocritical.

We were back at our host’s house for Ahmit’s birthday celebrations. A large group of friends had been invited around for Indian style o’derve (a steady stream of deep fried snacks), along with drinks, including the beers and whiskey that we had picked up in the morning. Guests were notably punctual and the house was soon full with the loud and happy conversations of Ahmit’s friends. After being introduced to many people, the house separated into two rooms, with women in one of the bedrooms and the men (plus Maren) in the living room. Drinks flowed freely, though not all alcoholic, as many of the guests including Ahmit and Pooja do not drink. After a few chats and discussions with the party guests, it’s clear that whilst some aspects of western culture have been adopted, Indian culture is still very strong. This is after all a country of over a billion people and aspects of western culture will no doubt be absorbed, modified, discarded and adapted they see fit. I had several conversations about cultural differences and whilst I may share the same kind of career with many of those in the room, we are still worlds apart on many subjects, like marriage. Conversations were however not argumentative but simply inquisitive and whilst I would find it difficult to adopt all aspects of Indian culture (and sure the same goes for our Indian friends) there is a lot to learn from and respect about how they lead their lives.

After several rounds of drinks we made a fashionably late appearance at a local restaurant which specialised in Punjabi food from the north of India for a taste of the kind of food Ahmit and Pooja are used to back home. As we spoke to Ahmit’s friends it seemed most if not all of them were, like him, originally from north western states that make up India’s part of what is now referred to as Greater Punjab. This is common in Bangalore, with much of the population now made up of migrants from other parts of India having been attracted by jobs and careers opportunities. However, people like Ahmit and Pooja only see themselves as temporary residents, they clearly miss living back home and being close to their family, something that is so important in Indian culture. Bangalore, whilst a part of India is sometimes just as foreign to them as it is to us. For example, it surprised me to see them and other Indians often having to speak to each other in English. With Bangalore well below the Hindi Belt, it is often the only common language. Ahmit and Pooja told us, when they have the opportunity to take similar jobs back home they’ll leave Bangalore.

Manoj on the other hand is looking at making Bangalore a more permanent home. The following day, after another big breakfast with a seemingly endless supply of paratha, we took a drive to Manoj’s new apartment which was nearing completion. This was another glimpse of the scale of Bangalore’s growth, his apartment being one of hundreds in several luxury tower blocks and part of a development that included a huge shopping mall, entertainment complex and restaurants. New developments like this are happening all over Bangalore and I was reminded of the kind transformation London docklands has undergone over the last few years. In fact, as I looked out of Manoj’s balcony, I thought back at how I’d looked out of my friend’s (Taz) new apartment in the docklands just before I left the UK.

Afterwards, we headed back into town to visit a couple of Bangalore when known institutions for a taste of the old Bangalore. The first was for afternoon coffee at the Indian Coffee house, which has been serving coffee, in the south Indian style, for generations. Whilst their normal venue was under refurbishment, there was still numerous photos and memorabilia hanging from the walls showing the history of the cafe and the waiters still wear traditional white uniforms, with large belts and a purple turban that wouldn’t look out of place in the time of the ?Raj? The second was a visit to ?MTR?, a restaurant serving my now favourite south Indian eating experience, Thali. This restaurant also goes back many generations and there are pictures on the wall showing how it has played host to visiting dignitaries in its time. After paying for a ticket, you wait in large waiting room for the next service. Once everyone is shown to a table and sat down, a steady stream of rice, dahls, chutneys, curries, yogurts, salads and finally deserts are served to everybody in the room on metal thali plates. Ahmit counted 17 different items brought out to us during the course of our meal and once again we were full to bursting having thoroughly enjoyed all our food.

During our last day in Bangalore, we decided to do a little preparation for our visit to Sai Baba’s main ashram in Puttaparthy by visiting the ashram in Bangalore just down the road in Whitefield. Disappointingly there was very little going on. With Sai Baba rarely resident here these days there aren’t many people who are staying in the complex, but it still gave me a little glimpse as to what I might expect. I’ve read about ashrams for various spiritual gurus over the years, but having never really seen a picture of what one looked like, my image of one had until recently been left largely to my imagination. Just the word ashram for me conjures up some kind of hippy commune, set in idyllic surroundings with building, perhaps just shacks and tents that blend into their natural environment and are isolated from the rest of the world. However, having heard stories from Maren’s visit to see the hugging mother, Amma and a couple of pictures online I realised that this wasn’t really the case. When I got to Sai Baba’s ashram in Bangalore my original image was completely shattered. After being dropped off by a less that knowledgeable rickshaw driver who constantly had to ask people on the street for directions, we were dropped off at the gates of Sai Baba’s ashram located next to a busy road and on-ramp to a highway. Far from a peaceful oasis, the concrete complex was made up of a large covered area where people could gather for satsang (chanting/prayers) and darshans, a large multi-story building providing accommodation for devotees and a large mansion which was no doubt where Sai Baba and his entourage would reside if in town. We didn’t spend much time there, just stopping for ten minutes to meditate in the open satsang hall as we were instructed to when leaving our shoes at the gate. Afterwards we had a quick walk around and left. I was a little disappointed, but now I had some idea of what to expect and the staff running the place had been warm and friendly which was reassuring.

We returned home in the late afternoon to get ready for our final dinner which was going to be part of our saying thank you to Ahmit, Pooja and Manoj for being such good hosts and making us feel so welcome whilst we stayed with them. However, when Ahmit and Pooja returned home they had bought us gifts for us to take home which made it impossible to repay them for all their hospitality. However, if they were to ever come to London it would also be impossible not to return the same hospitality, so they will always be welcome. Similarly, if Manoj’s new job at IBM ever takes him through London (it’s seems he’ll be travelling aboard either to the US or Switzerland regularly) he’ll have somewhere to stay if he chooses to do so.

So that almost brings to a close our trip through southern India. I’ve learnt so much about the country over the last couple of months and seen all sorts of sides to life here. This is undoubtedly one of the most interesting times in India’s history, with massive change happening across the country as it strives to become one of the economic if not political superpowers of the world. It has a deep history rich in culture, steeped in tradition and revering of spirituality, but it is now on the path to become leader in modernity, looking to dominate hi-tech industries and keen to be seen as power in the region and the wider world. Change seems to be everywhere, with new money pouring into all aspects of life. As a country it seems to be in some ways young and old at the same time.

The young minds of today have a great sense of pride at their recent achievements as economic reform and investment has paid off with remarkable results and this in turn has led to a strong surge in nationalism. They are brash and bold, perhaps even a little cocky and arrogant, which you might expect a young nation to be. This has the potential for good and bad, with the politics in India right now leaning heavily to the right and dominated by Hindus, their reaction to issues concerning Islamic terrorism and old feuds with its neighbours are causes for concern. It’s clear that bad blood between India and Pakistan is still as strong as ever. It also sees itself in direct competition with China to become the dominant Asian superpower and whilst there has been co-operation on trade, thorny political issues such as India providing sanctuary to the Dala Lama and China’s aid to Pakistan mean they are far from good friends.

However, to go with those young minds, India still has a wise old soul. There is wisdom to be found in the many religions that exist here and have existed together, for the most part, in peace. I recently read about small population of Indian Jews who migrated to Mumbai around two hundred and fifty years ago. Few remain now, having been enticed to move to Israel, but one resident in the book remarked that “this is the only place in the world where Jews have not been persecuted”. People consider the UK to now be a multicultural society, but in comparison with India, it seems rather superficial especially when it comes to the respect of other religions when our society is now largely secular and devoid of spiritual life. There is also an optimism and joy about life here that so often missing at home. You haven’t seen people enjoying themselves splashing around in the waves until you’ve seen a group of Indian lads do it. Cynicism and bitterness are generally in short supply, even amongst those who have far less than the poorest of us back in the UK. I believe that much of this is due to their value systems based on their traditions and religious beliefs.

I hope that in the frantic change that the country is undergoing, which can be scary and unsettling, it doesn’t forget some of its old values that already made it such a great country, especially as it wields increasing power. With its enthusiasm of youth and its wisdom of age it shouldn’t have to learn some of the lessons that Europe learnt the hard way as they became industrial and technological powers.

Pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/Bangalore

A Change Of Plans

The blog has slipped a bit. It’s seems that despite having no particular plans just being in a busy city like Singapore absorbs more time. After my last post we had just left the backwaters of Kerala and were making away to Varkala. Our primary reason for visiting was to enjoy a little break from backpacking and guest houses by helping out one of Maren’s recent acquaintances Tony who she’d met (like many other girls it seems) after her stay at the nearby Sivananda Ashram. Tony having retired several years ago is a long term resident of Varkala spending his winters in India and his summers in his native Greece. With his son visiting, he was leaving town to spend a couple of weeks in the Andaman Islands and was looking for house sitters whilst he was away to look after his villa and feed the pets. We happily offered as this would allow us to regroup for the next part of our trip. We were especially looking forward to giving all our clothes a well overdue wash in a decent washing machine instead of being beaten on rock in a dirty river.

However, on arriving in Varkala our plans began to change rapidly. Over the last couple of weeks we’d heard stories that they’d been some changes to the rules on people travelling in India on a tourist visa. We’d initially heard rumours that travellers we not permitted to re-enter India after two months once they’d left the country, even if they still had a valid “multiple entry” tourist visa. However, it wasn’t until we’d heard a story from someone who had experienced this first hand with his friend not being able to enter the country at the airport in Mumbai that we took it seriously.

With access to Internet at a local cafe, I tried to make sense of what was going on. After reading official notices on various Indian embassy websites and wading though pages and pages of discussions on traveller forums it did indeed seem that new restrictions had been placed on tourist visas. There was now a rule that travellers could not re-enter the country for at least two months once they had left and it also appeared that in some cases travellers had not been able to apply for a new visa until their previous visa had expired for at least one month. Frustratingly, these restrictions were not clear or being consistently enforced. Even the information provided by the US, UK and Australian Indian embassies websites differed and the experiences of travellers was mixed. A compounding factor was that the ministry in charge of making the rules (The Foreign Office) was not the ministry in charge of enforcing them (The Home Office).

Our long term plan at this point had been to spend the majority of our time in India, being in the south till around April, with a brief interlude in Bali and with a trip somewhere where we could learn to dive, returning to India shortly after my visa expired in May so we could travel to the far north of India. With this new information we needed to leave no later than March so we could try and re-enter the country in May. It looked like the main casualty to our original itinerary would be a visit to the Andaman Islands and after consideration there were just two places we felt strongly about visiting before we left the south of the country. First to Bangalore, to visit our new friend Manoj and second to visit the ashram of the Sai Baba, just a few hours drive from Bangalore. With Bangalore’s international airport so close we decided that we may as well leave sooner rather than later and take the opportunity to travel more extensively around South East Asia. Since Tony now had other offers for a house sitter, we decided to book a train to Bangalore and a flight out of the country as soon as we could. In the meantime we got to enjoy a very pleasant few days in Varkala.

Varkala has by far the most developed and westernised of the beach fronts we have visited in India, catering more for middle class westerners than budget backpackers. That said, it’s still pretty good value. Our room was 300 rupees a night (just over 4 pounds) and was up there with the best we’ve stayed in, with marble floors, a nice bathroom and a large comfortable bed. Eating out was a little more expensive, but still good value and the displays of fresh seafood at the restaurants along the north cliff were impressive. It seemed to be something of a competition between the restaurants as to who had the most impressive display, with metre long barracuda and swordfish being the main attractions, along with huge red snapper, grouper and tiger prawns enticing visitors in. All this fresh fish is provided by a huge fleet of fishing boats whose lights can be seen on the sea horizon as you enjoy your meal. It is said to be the largest small fishing boat fleet in the world, forming a floating town at night with all manner of trade (some no doubt illegal) being conducted on the waves. Maren took the opportunity to introduce me to her favourite fish, Barracuda, having failed to find any along the shores of Goa and Gokana and we ate very well during our stay. We also thoroughly enjoyed swimming in the crystal clear waters along the beach, however being well into February it was simply too hot for any prolonged sunbathing with temperatures well in excess of 35 degrees by lunch time. Instead, we passed time by playing many fiercely contested games of Cribbage (we both hate to lose) and formulated the rest of our travel plans.

Thailand was our first choice, but just as I was about to book our flights I had the presence of mind to check we met the visa requirements. We both qualified for visa on entry (you just pay and get one when you land) but we could be asked to show that we already have a flight booked out of the country. Again, after checking forums it seems that this isn’t consistently enforced but since we weren’t booking a flight out as we planned to cross over the border into one of Thailand’s neighbours we didn’t want to take a chance.

Recent changes introduced to Thali and Indian tourist visas aim to make “visa runs” more inconvenient and prevent people staying in the country long term. There are people who are for all intents and purposes living as permanent residents by abusing the tourist visas of various countries. This basically involves leaving the country as your current tourist visa expires, applying for a new visa in a neighbouring country and then re-entering the country almost immediately. In most cases this is probably a pretty benign problem, with people on just on extended holidays (like Maren and I) or retirees. But it seems there has increasingly been a problem with people who have left their country and have begun to take local jobs and start businesses. Whether such people have a negative impact on the country is no clearer to me than the immigration issues we have at home but clearly the governments of these countries have a problem with it which unfortunately makes it harder for genuine tourists.

After looking at other options Malaysia looked like a good choice since there were no visa requirements and it was easy to fly to from Bangalore. However, the flight that we’d taking would require a transfer in Singapore and it turned out that Maren had an open invite to stay with another new friend, someone who she’d met in the Sivananda ashram just before Christmas. After an exchange of emails along with booking our flights we were all set to spend a few days in Singapore before we crossed over the border to begin our new adventures in South East Asia. First however it was a 16 hour train ride to Bangalore.

Pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/kris.lander/Varkala