End to End - Globetrotting on a Shoestring

Sleepy Ely, United Kingdom, 11th Mar 2007

2007-03-11T23:59:00.000-07:00

The imposing Ely Cathedral in the background, ponies and rams grazing in the foreground. Classic small-town landscape. The octagonal tower you see on the right hand side is what differentiates Ely Cathedral from its counterparts in the rest of the country, and gives it the appearance of an ancient keep casting its grim shadow on the surrounding countryside.

Sun and stained glass combine to vivify the interior of God's House.

Suddenly it felt like I was in Spain all over again.

The splendour of these cathedrals is really quite astounding. One must not forget the sweat and blood of the many who laboured to this end. I don't fancy the idea of having so much money converted into gold and jewel when bread and milk were more needful.

But I might be taking it out of context. Religion and politics went hand in hand in those days, and cathedral-building might constitute some form of community involvement projects for the whole town, and vital both to its cohesion and its economic viability.

The house of Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of all of England for a time. If you haven't heard of him before, he went into the record books as the person who lobbed the King's head off during the English Civil War in the seventeenth century.

The River Ouse.

Jie Chao and Pui Man (the two are the ones placing their orders in the picture, the former on the left, the latter on the right) very kindly treated me to ice-cream , which was more cream than ice. Still, it was very good.

Crows roosting.

Warm In A Windy Place, Seaford, Cuckmere Haven, & The Seven Sisters, United Kingdom 10th Mar 2007

2007-03-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

Colourful beach shacks lining the shoreline. I suppose these will be filled in summer.

Cuckmere Haven, and one of the most picturesque views I've had thus far in Britain (to be fair, I haven't been about a lot, but this is really quite something). Not very often the world falls nicely into place, at your feet, and you find good company and scenery next to each other.

When it does happen, however, smile and take a picture.

Rolling meadows, criss-crossed by rivulets, where I stopped aging for about an hour.

Walkers in the wind.

I have a rather inconvenient proclivity of taking the road less travelled. The experience was everything Robert Frost would have approved of, excepting the fact of course that I lacked that lauded appetite for derring-do. I don't consciously seek danger, but somehow I always end up crashing headlong into it, even if it seems I'm walking with my eyes wide open.

The Seven Sisters, pictures of which you should find in a standard secondary school geography textbook. And there it was, right before my eyes. Seeing something in a picture book and viewing it in situ are two entirely different experiences. The former yields wonder nonetheless, but the latter, for want of more inspirational phrasing, simply blows you away.

Beachy Head, and Eastbourne, where if you'll recall I visited a few weeks back lie just around the bend in the distance.

I can hardly believe the fact that I managed to walk from Seaford to within touching distance of Eastbourne.

Seaford beneath the westering sun.

How To Locate Excellent Photo Spots (Don't Try This At Home, Or Anywhere Else!)

2007-03-10T23:58:00.000-08:00

Step 1: get to the highest point possible.

Step 2: look confident. And smile.

Step 3: look confident.

Step 4: look confident, and look harder, too, for a way down.

Step 5: trust in Providence, and jump.

Disclaimer: success not guaranteed.

Coming Between The Sun And The Moon, Cambridge, United Kingdom, 3rd Mar 2007

2007-03-03T23:59:00.000-08:00

As with all uninformed ignoramuses, I only learnt of the lunar eclipse when I saw more than a few curious gazes drawn skywards outside the Great St Mary's. I was earlier wondering how it was that the full moon had dwindled into a mere sliver of light, and was working hard to descry the outline of that most fortuitously-shaped cloud which had left unobscured a perfect sickle!

Sunny Hunny - Hunstanton, United Kingdom, 3rd Mar 2007

2007-03-03T23:58:00.000-08:00

Pooh strayed from the Hundred Acre Wood, and found out to his uttermost chagrin that Sunny Hunny was but a nickname given to this Victorian seaside resort.

I knew there wasn't a lot of honey to be found within a hundred acres in the first place!

What we went to Hunstanton to see - those layered sandstone cliffs in the distance.

The carcass of an iron vessel, clad in the brown and green of neglect and blending almost seamlessly into the beachscape.

We were just rather disappointed it wasn't a few hundred years older.

Makeshift lagoons beached by the retreating tide.

The wind was predictably quite strong where we were, and this made for a very bizarre sight. I cannot really decide here whether it was that these blokes were successful kiteflyers, or rather that the kites were unsuccessful in taking their masters out for a sortie.

The local lighthouse, now fallen into disuse, viewed through what's now left of St Edmund's Chapel, also no longer serviceable in the least bit.

It's been a long cold lonely winter, and it seems like years since it's been clear. But here comes the sun.

London Lights, London, United Kingdom, 23rd & 25th Feb 2007

2007-02-25T23:59:00.000-08:00

London lights, looking eastwards from Waterloo Bridge.

Trees of blue on the South Bank, on a most evocative walk.

Daylight, as I struck gold in Chinatown on Sunday, and that's me posing smugly with my prize - a box of Koka Oriental-style Stir-fried Noodles.

Hoi Polloi Hobnobbing at Bath, United Kingdom, 24th Feb 2007

2007-02-24T23:59:00.000-08:00

Tantalisingly was the closest we ever got to the famed Roman baths.

Grandpa's road, and Grandpa's army.

The Royal Crescent, a row of Georgian luxury houses.

Who needs roses when life can be a bed of daffodils?

Preaching the inalienable truth to the obdurate.

The gulls' great feud with the chimneysweeps, another of the world's intractable rivalries.

Ivan plays (with) the ukelele by the Avon.

Recreating Familiarity, London, United Kingdom, 17th Feb 2007

2007-02-17T23:59:00.000-08:00

Our protagonist, Mr Clarence Lim, being led helplessly to his surprise, all the while blindfolded, spun remorselessly like a teacup gone off its rockers, and bundled hither and thither by very thoughtful well-wishers.

The very thoughtful well-wishers.

A group shot of the MOE Scholars who attended the celebrations, the reddish 1970s hue is owed to the fact that my camera was set accidentally at the Sunset function.

Bucolic London in Richmond-upon-Thames, United Kingdom 17th Feb 2007

2007-02-17T23:58:00.000-08:00

One reason why the dog is often known as a man's best friend. Who amongst your friends would plunge without forethought into water to retrieve an article thrown at the merest fancy? You'd count yourself extremely lucky if you had even one such friend.

How, in that event, do you then show your appreciation? Buy him a leash, put him on it, and tug on it should he ever decides to jump off after a random twig again. It'll keep him dry.

Stags! What we, or I, rather, came to Richmond Park for.

Signs erected all over the place tell visitors 'they move with great speed and strength'. I need no proper warning. Those antlers are quite enough to keep me away.

Nothing completes a scene out of the country like running water does.

I felled a tree once before. That was two and a half years ago in Brunei when I was still in the army. We were each given a machete, and told to clear enough room to put up our hammocks. A sapling (standing at about three or four metres in height) stood between where I wanted to tie either end of the hammock, and it took me a good fifteen minutes of rather furious hacking to get it out of the way.

Would probably have taken me more than fifteen minutes for the one above.

The duck pond in the Isabella Plantation, where Michelle fell under the spell of evil mandarin ducks.

Peering through the looking glass. It's a straight line of sight where I'm looking to St Paul's Cathedral some miles away.

The Thames, not a river you'd associate with trees and meadows.

It Snows In Cambridge But Not In Stockholm, Cambridge, United Kingdom, 8th Feb 2007

2007-02-08T23:59:00.000-08:00

That would be Main Court, St Catharine's College. Now you'd seen it in both the light of day and the dark of night, and in mist and snow.

This is only the second ever snowfall in my life, and the first comparatively heavy one. (Days later, everybody was asking if I played in the snow, which they did, and to which my pithy reply was, however implausibly, that I was reading.) I met Niklas, a Swede historian, in lecture and he remarked at how surprised he was to experience snow here and not in his native Stockholm, which was a good ten degrees of latitude north of where we are.

King's Parade, and the thoroughfare that passes King's, Trinity and St John's Colleges, arguably the three most attractive colleges in Cambridge.

I've shown you ducks perplexed by the snowfall. This creature is a moorhen, wary and highly suspicious (and positively freezing, I should think) amidst a white blanket of unfamiliarity.

Probably has to do with their gait. Ducks waddle, and that doesn't come off very well as a swagger. A moorhen, on the other hand, skulks, very much like an armed farmer sinisterly concealing himself from heedless trespassers. And I would want to go within a mile of these jealously territorial birds if I was no more taller than a foot.

Just a little creek in the Backs, along Queen's Road. The Backs is so named because because it stretches along the rear-sides of Queen's, King's, Clare, Trinity and St John's Colleges.

Only a thin layer on the surface is frozen. Yet one would still freeze if one fell in, and I speak not in the figurative sense.

The King's College Fellows' Garden, looking every bit like a scene out of Siberia.

Those would be my footprints. The very discernable leftward turn in the nearest footprint would be me swinging around to take a photograph.

Empty stalls in Market Square at two in the afternoon when business would normally go on as usual, and an excellent example of how it is possible within the advertising industry for creativity to be perfectly compatible with economy.

The Condescension Of The Clouds, Cambridge, United Kingdom, 4th Feb 2007

2007-02-04T23:59:00.000-08:00

Not particularly very foggy, but my first such experience in Cambridge. (Jun Ming, who stayed over for a while during last vacation, recalled a day when visibility was less than two hundred metres.)

Your teachers tell you fog is created out of condensation, and they aren't wrong.

But it's really condescension. A cloud's way of saying, take that, you fools, we're more than just white and fluffy!

It really looked like that! My hand was (as) steady (as it could get)!

The Guildhall, just next to the market square, looking very much like a scene out of a Charles Dickens novel.

Spring In Winter On The South Coast - Eastbourne, United Kingdom, 3rd February 2007

2007-02-03T23:59:00.000-08:00

Perched precariously atop a groin, built to prevent beach erosion.

I've been asked before why for somebody suffering an acute fear of heights, I enjoy having photographs of myself taken in positions that would induce the severest bouts of vertigo.

The answer, I think, can be found in the name of my affliction. Acrophobia is described in many dictionaries as irrational.

These groins are erected right beneath the very noses of the famous chalk seacliffs of the English South Coast.

I haven't read Margaret Mitchell's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, but I can pronounce now I know what going with the wind feels like. It's as close as it gets, grammatically at least.

Weight-watchers would have been pleased to be in my shoes. It'd be Nature's endorsement of their dietary successes.

On the slopes of Beachy Head, Britain's tallest chalk seacliff at 156 metres. Left to right: Joe, Jasmine, Michelle, Kelvin, myself, Vivian and Clarence.

Clarence and myself, making a mockery of the gravity of the situation.

Eastbourne, chalk cliffs, beaches et al.

We now know Dali really started off with signposts.

And that he didn't particularly like tourists very much.

A Walk In The Woods, Wendover, United Kingdom, 27th Jan 2007

2007-01-27T23:59:00.000-08:00

Missing a few icebergs, otherwise it would have made an excellent Chivas advertisement.

What you need when the fishes don't bite. Friends that don't as well.

Such is the silence one finds in the woods in winter that I heard the hooves minutes before both rider and horse came into sight. The very first thought which came into my head was to dive for cover, and then it dawned upon me that I wasn't carrying a ring in my pocket.

She's too nice to be a Ringwraith, anyway.

I think that's the Vale of Aylesbury behind me.

The spot where Evelyn and I had lunch minutes before the photograph was taken.

Ten seconds was barely enough for me to scramble up the slope.

The highest point in the Chiltern Hills, tucked inconspicuously at the end of a poorly-marked track that led away from the main path. I was hoping they didn't have to introduce three boulders to render the particular spot higher than all the others.

One of the many paths that led to somewhere in Wendover Woods.

Wendover, and the town itself. All there is, really.

The Morning I Didn't Know It Snowed - Cambridge, United Kingdom, 24th Jan 2007

2007-01-24T23:59:00.000-08:00

Snowfall is very unlike rainfall, which one is able to ear even if one is unable to see. I have two friends to thank for these photographs - Haihan, who told me snow has fallen, and Shireen, who then told me it was still falling. Otherwise, my curtains would have remained drawn and I would have left for lectures without my camera.

Sherlock Court, that part of college where my room is located, covered in a fine sprinkle of snow.

That building in the middle is the King's College Chapel, and running across the photograph is the river Cam. Here I stand proudly decked out in whatever I could muster to meet the cold, all of which, except the fur cap which I bought for £5 at a departmental store here, were acquired in sunny snow-free Singapore.

It wasn't half as bad as I make it out to be - three layers sufficed to keep me warm and snug.

And only two days before, I was walking around town in a pair of sandals.

Mallard ducks looking rather befuddled. As they never fail to do.

The History Faculty, the facade of which is made of a mysterious, porous type of glass which allows air to pass through it almost unhindered, and where I go everyday to have my lectures.

I learnt in four months here that windows, or glass for that matter, are not the best kind of architectural features to adorn a building with, especially if it was meant to be built in a wintry, windy country, and also that good ventilation is something I would rather do away with when the cold wind blows.

The Amazing Adventures Of Sixteen Singaporeans On The River Cam, Cambridge, United Kingdom, 20th Jan 2007

2007-01-20T23:59:00.000-08:00

Midday on the River Cam. We had a rare glimpse of real daylight in what has thus far been a rather grey and blustery week. Fair weather lasted, to my delight.

Visitors from London, on a glorious sun-soaked afternoon in Cambridge. Top row (from left): Andrew, Chee Hui, Zhen Qiang, Kelvin, Keng Seng, Weizhong, Darius, Nicholas, Weiming and Haojun. Bottom row: Jane, Kandy, Evelyn, Michelle, Astee and myself. I had initially expected only a group size of about eleven, consisting of the seven people from UCL and the four of us from Cambridge who would be joining them, but was pleasantly surprised when the addition of the folks from Imperial College swelled the ranks to sixteen.

The hovel which is my room, containing uneasily fifteen (the fifteenth being the kind and gracious host who took the picture) very uncomfortable people.

The deep breath before the plunge, and calm on the Cam before it was shattered by the farcical antics of the most inexperienced punters in the world.

All fun and laughter, before we lost the control of the punts to the Cam in spectacular fashion.

And before Weizhong decided enough was enough and jumped abroad in defiance of the intractable currents that were nudging us away in the opposite direction.

Everywhere But Old Trafford, London, United Kingdom, 13th & 14th Jan 2007

2007-01-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

Who would have thought to have bumped into the Merlion on the London Underground?

Arsenal's spanking new Emirates Stadium, which I must admit, rather grudgingly, is one of the handsomest stadiums I've been to.

Little wonder we couldn't locate Highbury, the old Arsenal ground. It was gone!

White Hart Lane, home of Tottenham Hotspurs FC, which is not across the road from where the Emirates Stadium or Highbury is, as I believed. My visit to White Hart Lane meant that I had already covered the notable triumvirate of football grounds in North London, and all the significant ones in London with the exception of West Ham United's Upton Park.

The fluff machine in The Bear Workshop in Covent Gardens. You select a bear, choose the clothes you want it to wear, fluff it up, give it a heart (which they stuff up the backside) and a name, and pay twenty quids for all that.

Kids love it. Not sure I can say the same for parents.

One of the many talented buskers in the area. This one here is balancing himself on a tightrope (well, it isn't all that taut) and juggling blades, which I'm sure are fake.

Flattened bottles, meant to be used as plates, on sale in one of the markets. They were already closing by the time I got there at about seven in the evening. One of the many interesting trinkets on offer, and I really should have made a beeline for the market earlier.

Where The West Learnt To Think, Athens, Greece, 1st to 4th & 7th Jan 2007

2007-01-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Temple of Hephaestus, the Greek god of fire and the jealous husband of the goddess of love, Aphrodite, near the Ancient Agora. One of the best preserved ruins I saw in Greece.

A view of the Acropolis all lighted up just before dawn, from the nearby Lykavittos Hill.

Snakes and Ladders - Live! Held at this Christmas Carnival for children in the National Gardens.

Day breaks over Athens. That is the Acropolis on the right. The Acropolis, which means city on a hill and which is located on one of the eight hills in Athens, commands a superb 360-degree view of Athens.

A game of backgammon in the National Gardens. There were many firsts for me on this trip, and witnessing what is one of the world's oldest board game being played, by some of Athen's oldest residents, was one of those.

The Panathinaiko Stadium, where the first modern Olympic Games in 1896 were held.

I tried to look wistful on the last day of my journey, but ended up looking rather bemused in front of the Church of Panaghia Kapnikarea, built at the junction of four streets in the centre of downtown Athens.

A Fitting Finale, Santorini, Greece, 5th & 6th Jan 2006

2007-01-06T23:59:00.000-08:00

Taken at the Red Beach on the southeastern corner of Santorini. The first time I've ever had a photograph which is dated and dated correctly as well, and that is courtesy of Evelyn's punctiliousness in setting the correct date and time for her camera.

The northern half of the island. Santorini is made up of four islands, of which the main island Thira is shaped like a crescent. This crescent encloses, together with the three outlying islands by the names of Nea Kameni, Palia Kameni and Thirassia, the caldera below which lies the crater of the still-active volcano. The caldera is on the right side of the island in the picture.

We were actually looking for the Pyrgos Monastery, but wound up instead at a military installation. It is both impossible and implausible that they've replaced the monastery with a military installation and yet fail to update it on the tourist map.

Monastery or not, the views were still breathtaking.

The sun sets on the last full day of our travels (the 5th of January). We were to spend nine hours of the 6th on a ferry and only half of the 7th in Athens, because our flight back to London was scheduled on the evening of the 7th.

It's also the first time I've distinctly made out the shape of the sun at sunset. Normally I would've been contented with a blend of incarnadine and orange where the sun is supposed to be, but this was simply indescribable.

And so was this! 2007 for me really began from here.

I had intended for us to catch the sunrise on the hill where the military installation was, but we missed a turn and ended up here on Perissa Beach. Driving in the morning was a harrowing experience, as the roads were unlit and the windscreen was all fogged up. Justin had to drive most of the time with his nose on the steering wheel.

It was just as well that this wasn't the tourist season, because we would have gotten effortlessly into a scrape the way we were high-beaming on the road to light up distant road signs.

Here was what we did while waiting for the sun to come out. It was also what we did after the sun came out.

And the dog was really good at fetch! I think I've half a dozen pictures of it catching the pebbles we tossed in mid-air.

Daytripping, and loving it! Would have been an infinitely better picture had our driver looked into the camera.

Taken on the morning when we unwittingly brought both car keys out, and used only one, consequently immobilising five very annoyed people back at the hotel.

The Greek islandscape, of blue-domed churches and whitewashed houses. Zhen Qiang's Holy Grail.

Oracle-seeking In Delphi, Greece, 4th Jan 2007

2007-01-04T23:59:00.000-08:00

They frown on genius...

...but my utter shamelessness carries the day.

The best view we had of the site of the Oracle at Delphi. It was closed when we arrived at three in the afternoon, half an hour too late.

There are still some refuges in the world where technology has been unable to penetrate, and this is one of them. Suppose the Oracle familiarised herself with Hotmail, or Nokia, we would then have had ample warning of the shorter opening hours in winter.

Then again, she would probably have loftier issues to deal with, and greater furies to contend with than that of ten unknown commoners.

A rare shot of the Temple of Apollo without any visitors.

Actually, the three main pillars were positioned on the right to block off the few tourists who happen to be on-site. How they manage the picture-perfect shots in postcards I've not the faintest clue.

It's impossible to be unaware of them whilst walking in these parts, because each goat has a bell tied around its neck that chimes with the slightest movement made. The fact that these bells can be heard for miles around is probably the reason why the goatherd is nowhere to be seen.

Montane merriment in Delphi. Greece more than meets the requirements for a booming tourism industry, in the cities she is blessed with ruins from classical times, while in the countryside she is equally well-endowed with marvellous natural scenery.

Pales in comparison to the one we witnessed at Cape Sounio the day before, but beautiful in its own right.

One should never get too complacent.

Never So Glad To See The Back Of The Sun - Cape Sounio, Greece, 3rd Jan 2007

2007-01-03T23:59:00.000-08:00

Presenting the awestruck visitor to the Temple of Poseidon!

It is a calamity of the highest order that we will never find out who she is.

The best place in the world to watch the sun set, or so Nicholas said. I had my hopes up, but what I was to see exceeded these expectations by a very long mile!

The windswept headland where I was nestling and waiting for sundown, at a rare moment of deceptive calm.

We were pampered with an array of breathtaking sunrises and sunsets in Greece, and this was one of those!

And if you're thinking, as I was then, if only everyday could be like this, then I say if everyday was like this, it's best you move elsewhere, for you'll never think another sunset beautiful as long as you have a house where you see them like that everyday.

And after waxing lyrical on the waning day, I should draw attention to the fact that we were really at Cape Sounio to see the Temple of Poseidon.

The City Of Canals, Venice, Italy, 31st Dec 2006

2006-12-31T23:59:00.000-08:00

My four companions for the night, packed into one corner of the claustrophobia-inducing cabin in which we spent about eight hours. It was still manageable when everybody was still awake and sitting upright. Our spatial scarcity was only highlighted when everybody started reclining piecemeal and dropping off into sleep. Things didn't improve when in the middle of the night, an Italian lady of considerable proportions entered the cabin. (From left: Zhen Qiang, Gim Hui, Joanne and Evelyn. I'm the bumblebee if you haven't already realised.)

Piazza San Marco, or St Mark's Square - Venice's most recognisable square. As with every other city squares, one finds in the background the ubiquitous pigeons and the usual pigeon feeders seeking cheap thrills (more here than anywhere else, I discovered).

The Bridge of Sighs. This is the real thing, having seen replications of it in both Cambridge and Oxford.

Gondolas and more gondolas.

And that's me on one, grinning foolishly from ear to ear.

(Which is the best way to keep in the vomit. It was quite choppy on the lagoon before we entered the canals proper.)

In a city which is eked out from the sea, the canals are the roads. Here we were intrigued to find the usual traffic impedimenta, meant here for gondolas instead of the usual vehicles. They only lacked zebra crossings and traffic lights.

There's also an amicable traffic culture there, ostensibly corresponding with the lack of automobiles and the like. As our gondola approached a blind spot, our boatman would slow the craft down and holler something across to alert others of his impending approach. They all handled their vessels with such finesse there didn't seem to be any likelihood of an accident. Now, it would also seem that all land motorists are boars. Yet in the first place, I think I'm not far off the mark when I say all the boatmen in Venice know one another!

The few licks I've had of gelato in Italy. Now I know that'd sound tragic to most of you, but I'm not a sucker for ice-cream.

The Year Was 79 AD - Vesuvius & Pompeii, Italy, 30th Dec 2006

2006-12-30T23:59:00.000-08:00

Signs like these were put up at every turn on the route up Vesuvius, lest the zealous narcissist trigger a massive landslide. The interesting thing was that here, where we were nearer to the crater, there are only three dots on the sign. There are five on the ones further down the slope. I wouldn't have thought of a simpler way to illustrate how a landslide works.

On the lip of the crater, at the very top of Vesuvius. I approached the above position with much trepidation, having dislodged quite a bit of loose sand and rock getting there. And that wasn't a smile, by the way. It was a grimace.

I never doubted one moment that showering in hot pumice would be a most excruciating experience. That must have really hurt.

This is a replica of the original, made by pouring plaster into the cavity in the rocks where the flesh and bones would have been, having decomposed and vanished a long time ago.

I wonder if any remains were discovered in the brothel when the volcano erupted. It isn't all that surprising at all to find a brothel in Pompeii actually, considering that prostitution is held by many to be the oldest trade alive. They scrimped on space, and cost, in those days: the stone bed you see in the picture, plus an additional four feet worth of walking space, is all there is to a single cell.

They had bars then too! What would they have talked about in the evenings before the 24th of August?

Now, when do you think she'll blow?

Abandoned vineyards in the shadow of Vesuvius. That's Evelyn on the right, and me on the left with a risible attempt at youthful exuberance.

To be fair, I should claim half the culpability since I assented to it in the first place. But I should make it absolutely clear that it wasn't my idea!

The climb that gave me a stigmata on my right wrist. Unfortunately it didn't even come close to making me a fifth of a saint.

Naples, The Heart & Soul Of Italy, 29th Dec 2006

2006-12-29T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Palazzo Reale (Royal Palace) in the centre of Naples, where the former Bourbon and Savoy kings of Naples used to live.

The church of San Francesco di Paola, which is directly opposite the Palazzo Reale.

Late afternoon in the Bay of Naples, atop the Castel dell'Ovo, which is Italian for Egg Castle.

55/04 Delta Wing, Platoon Three. No, this really is the Castel Nuovo.

There are, rather discernably, three intruders who were rather pleased to have ruined a perfectly stately picture.

The space before the Duomo in Naples, a square by day, a makeshift football pitch by night.

Welcome to Italy.

Big Brother's watching, and taking a picture at the same time.

And Mona Lisa decides to snorkel!

Decline & the Paradox of Eternity - Rome, Italy, 27th & 28th Dec 2006

2006-12-28T23:59:00.000-08:00

Sitting astride the Tiber, on a sunny day in Rome.

The oculus in the Pantheon, previously a Roman temple, now a consecrated Christian church.

Any other holes in the roofs of buildings would have been condemned as a defect, and sounded the death-knell for the future business prospects of the contractor in charge of construction. Not this one though, despite it being done on purpose.

The Fontana di Trevi, and the repository of thousands and thousands of coins, hurled generously into the waters by locals and tourists alike. It is said that the first ensures your return to Rome and the second the fulfilment of a wish made at the time of it being tossed in.

The Colosseum, which really goes by the name of the Flavian Amphitheatre, after the dynasty which commissioned its construction. The marble which has gone into the construction of the structure has since been plundered for other uses, with what precious little left guarded jealously by Italian legislation. The English word arena, which we use so often today, is derived from the same Roman word for sand, which covered the stage of the Colosseum where the Emperor's gory spectacles were played out.

The view from Palatine Hill, and what is left of Rome's greatness.

Bare rock, and wisps of nostalgia.

The Castel Sant Angelo, where Hadrian (the same old who built the wall on the Anglo-Scottish border) is buried.

Basking in obscurity in the Piazza di Spagna, otherwise known in English as the Spanish Steps.

The Holy See, Vatican City, 27th & 28th Dec 2006

2006-12-28T23:58:00.000-08:00

St Peter's Basilica in the Vatican City, and our visit there meant that we've (Chee Hui and I, at least, Nicholas went on his own) seen the world's second and third largest cathedrals. The largest is in Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast, and I don't realistically think I'll have a chance (and the money, at least in the foreseeable future) of getting there.

A Swiss guard in the Vatican. These are mercenaries, but one of the most reliable mercenaries on hire anywhere in the world. In 1527, these stout-hearted soldiers fought to the last man the rampaging troops of Charles V in the Sack of Rome, delaying them in order to give then pontiff, Clement VII, enough time to escape. Clement VII was infamously hustled out of Rome buried in a cart full of dung.

Nuns come to see the Pope on Wednesday, when the Pope holds his weekly public audience. Appointments have to be made in writing the week before. I'm not sure if you have to be Catholic. Anyway, he's in that screen there, somewhere.

Piazza San Pietro, and for me, the famousest of squares in Rome!

She's Egyptian, 2900, and fast asleep. I hope I've gotten my facts right, and I haven't added the two additional zeros for the fun of it!

One of the many splendid frescoes in the Vatican Museum, not surpassing of course those in the Sistine Chapel, where photography wasn't allowed. This one here depicts the final victory of Christianity over paganism, represented respectively by the crucifix and the broken Roman sculpture.

We weren't sure if we had to bring our passports along when we visited the Vatican - it being an independent state within Rome.

The smallest state in the world is impressively equipped with their own postal service, and can boast as well one of the friendliest postal staff anywhere in the wide world (as occasioned by the wiry man at the counter, who very kindly agreed to pose for this photograph).

Homage to Catalunya, Barcelona, Spain 22nd to 26th Dec 2006

2006-12-26T23:59:00.000-08:00

What's a stay in Barcelona without at least seeing the greatest accomplishment of the city's most famous son?

But to be frank, I was sorely disappointed to find the cranes towering over the La Sagrada Familia (The Holy Family), instead of the latter towering over everything else. It was more disappointing to learn that these machines will be a perennial presence in pictures and postcards for a good part of the future, and I dearly hope to be able to see the Cathedral completed in my lifetime. (What a thing to say at age twenty-one!)

The only possible way for a non-footballer to get his name on the scoresheet in the Camp Nou, home of FC Barcelona - against a headless goalkeeper with stumps for limbs.

The Olympic Torch, a relic from the Games in 1992. The sports facilities where they were held are all clustered around the vicinity, on a hill known as Montjuic which is both near the coast and overlooks the rest of the city. And it must surely be said - what a place to compete in!

The Parc del Laberint d'Horta in the north of the city, and its central attraction where Chee Hui played the role of the minotaur and the rest of us those of the victims sent there as annual sacrifices. Looks like a relatively simple maze to navigate, but one will certainly rue the lack of the golden thread of Ariadne once inside!

Barcelona's current genius in residence, who's had enough of glitz and stardom, opting instead for the muck and grime of a busker's lifestyle along the La Ramblas.

More Gaudi, in the building which is known as La Pedrera, designed as a private residence block. This was taken on the roof, where scores of such exquisitely rounded sculptures abound. Having been to the Alhambra, I was startled by the strident, yet elegant, asymmetry of Gaudi's works. The inspiration for all these designs he garnered from objects in the natural world - like a fallen leave, or a snail's shell. It is all summed up neatly in one of his quotes, printed on a T-shirt I bought here:

I'm a geometrician, therefore I'm synthetic.

Elvis lives!

Another talented busker on the La Ramblas, the main street in Barcelona. This one here is a puppeteer, whose skeleton puppet was dancing and grooving to the tune of Elvis Presley's Blue Suede Shoes. I didn't check if the puppet was shod in blue or suede, but it was performing an excellent impression of Elvis, of which The King Of Rock & Roll would have been proud!

The Monastery In The Mountains, Montserrat, Spain, 25th Dec 2006

2006-12-25T23:59:00.000-08:00

The monastery in the mountains, in Montserrat, on Christmas Day. This has to be my holiest Christmas ever, I've never spent it in a monastery before!

Buddha smiles through stone. Why he's within such close proximity to a Christian monastery I don't know.

The lavish interior of the chapel within the monastery. One wonders why there is so much gold in a place where the occupants have renounced the world. I apologise for a very mordant appraisal and for the acerbic cynicism, but I'm genuinely puzzled!

We took a funicular, which climbed further into the peaks, from where the monastery was, and was greeted with a most rewarding sight! The latter photograph, however, was taken on the level of the monastery. The lines you see are tram lines. I always have my heart in my mouth whenever I pose for such photographs. But acrophobia is almost always muted, if not mitigated, beyond a certain great height. Fear is quelled where buildings, vehicles and people become subatomic, and distance becomes a hazy estimate, rendered harmless by its inaccuracy.

Amongst The Madridistas, Madrid, Spain, 18th to 21st Dec 2006

2006-12-21T23:59:00.000-08:00

I was at the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu, but Senors Beckham, Cannavaro, Roberto Carlos & Van Nistelrooy were nowhere to be seen.

The Palacio Real, the Royal Palace, as the four in the group has been swelled to eight by the arrival of the Londoners.

Augustus Caesar Rui, inside the Palacio Real, who was nearly admonished for his active role in the case of the moving signpost.

In any palace, the visitor may be sovereign, but the security guard is divine.

Had to mediate between two fully-armoured knights in the Armoury of the Palacio Real who couldn't eye to eye.

Little wonder there, for their visors were down, and both their bascinets faced earthwards!

From the left, Wei Zhong, Christina (his classmate in Secondary Three and Four), Gim Hui and I. Who would have thought to see four Andersonians in Madrid together, because the thing is that each year only a handful or two ever decides to pursue an overseas education.

As I was relating to the other members of the party, it was rather nostalgic to hear somebody address Wei Zhong as plain Wei Zhong, because all his friends from JC onwards know him as Clarence.

Puerta del Sol, and the bear that has so much to do with Madrid's foundations (I have no idea why). I've clambered onto many statues and sculptures whilst on the road but none is quite as embarrassing as this one!

Gran Via, the main shopping street in Madrid, which the balcony of our hostel overlooks. Kudos to Clarence, for his excellent choice of accommodation. Convenience was never a problem because it was located in such a central spot.

Snow In Segovia, Spain, 20th Dec 2006

2006-12-20T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Roman aqueducts in Segovia. Aqueducts move water from one place to another, which they transport by very simply harnessing the force of gravity. I'll concede that the Romans were the first in the world to apply the method on such a large scale. But I refuse to believe that they were the first in the world to think of what would appear to be an absolute no-brainer.

So much stone, which only conveys so much water.

Don't get me wrong though. I think it's a marvellous achievement, and I'm just pointing out the fact that despite the monumental efforts by the Roman to put up these magnificent aqueducts, they were still limited by practical constraints.

The unknown hero.

(Nah, he has a name, and is probably a king, prince or some famous warrior. It's only that I can't seem to remember it.)

Snow! Pity it has fallen already! Still, we were very fortunate to have seen it, and I for the first time in my life. Probably has to do with the fact that Segovia is situated a thousand feet above sea level, and not to the low temperatures. But it has been a topsy-turvy winter all over the world I've heard, with the balmy winters in the United States, sakuras blooming already in Japan and it pouring buckets in Singapore. In the United Kingdom, I've heard it said that it is particularly warm for the time of the year.

And I don't mind one bit the temperature staying as it is for the next two months where I am!

Another alcazar (fortress). Believe it or not, this Disneyland-looking castle were built by the Muslims. It's amazing what images can do to your perception - Walt Disney has very cleverly appropriated for his animated films the eternal image of snow and castles, princes and princesses, witches and dragons, winning for Disney cartoons the monopoly of fairytale and magic. The fact that I'd been trying hard to look for Snow White and any of the dwarves here is a testament to his incredible success.

Lapping Up Lisbon, Portugal, 16th to 18th Dec 2006

2006-12-18T23:59:00.000-08:00

Lisbon, from the Castelo de Sao Jorge, at sundown. The pin-like silhouette on the further bank that upsets the otherwise monotonous skyline is the Cristo Rei (Christ the King), a figure of Christ looking over the city from the top of a church, arms outstretched, very like the one found in Rio de Janeiro.

The Praca do Comercio, all lit up at night. Too bad the riverfront is undergoing a facelift at the moment. Would have been a lovelier sight, because this square overlooks the River Tajo, which flows past the city en route to the Atlantic.

A sea otter, one of the more adorable denizens in the Lisbon Oceanarium, rubbing itself awake after a siesta. In the wild, they often sleep wrapped in kelp, giant seaweed, so that they wouldn't get carried away by the currents.

I could have spent the whole day by the otter pool observing their lovable antics, and would have been glad even if it were to watch them sloth the day away in slumber. Must stop before I start gushing, which is very uncharacteristic of me.

Seemingly the must-have in every main tank - a manta ray. They don't swim, they glide, and so effortlessly they make it look you start to wonder if it simply isn't just the current conveying them from one place to another.

The Monument to the Discoveries, celebrating Portugal's rich heritage of explorers, near Belem.

I was only looking where everybody else was looking.

Inside the Estadio da Luz, home ground of SL Benfica, and where Eusebio used to ply his trade in the 1960s.

Lisbon from where the Elevador de Santa Justa left us. The Elevador de Santa Justa is a street elevator which ferries travellers from street level to about forty-five metres above, and was designed by Gustave Eiffel. Yes, one would instantly recognise that last name anywhere in the world.

On the hill in the background is the Castelo de Sao Jorge, which we were on on our first day in Lisbon.

Porto by the Douro, Portugal 14th to 16th Dec 2006

2006-12-16T23:59:00.000-08:00

I was quite outraged to find a huge banner showing Mr Brosnan promoting beer hanging off the walls of the Clerigos Church. I later found out it was because the company is sponsoring the ongoing restoration works. Nicholas, who took this photograph, told me I was committing sacrilege as well, gesticulating like that outside the house of God.

The river front by night. Cold, quiet and very windy.

Henry the Navigator, a seafaring Portuguese prince in the fifteenth century, and one of the first of a long line of Portuguese maritime explorers.

That's in the background, by the way.

The winding Douro river, and Porto's historic riverfront. Undoubtedly the city's main sight.

In vino veritas (in wine, truth), they say. But only if he who imbibes the wine retains his wit about him.

Inside the Sandeman port factory, one of many such buildings that line the far bank on the Gaia side of the river. I don't really drink, but I like the taste of port, because it smells and tastes a lot like grapejuice.

One of the grandest McDonald's I've seen in my lifetime. I wonder what is an Imperial Eagle doing perched atop the Golden Arches.

The main town square in Porto. In the distant background is the town hall of the city.

Scholardom On A Hilltop - Coimbra, Portugal, 14th Dec 2006

2006-12-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

The town square in Coimbra, which for me is comfortably small.

Coimbra is a university town, very much after the fashion of Cambridge, only the signs are in Portuguese rather than English.

Inside the compounds of the university, situated on top of a hill and accessible only by a rather gruelling climb. Otherwise a pretty little place.

Portuguese students who, I cannot emphasise this enough, asked me for a picture, and who think all the Chinese in the world can speak neither English nor Portuguese.

The Montego River, which flows through Coimbra, and University Hill (a name I've made up).

More! Moor! Seville, Spain - 13th Dec 2006

2006-12-13T23:59:00.000-08:00

Seville Catedral, the third largest cathedral in the world.

The Giralda, the belltower next to the cathedral, built by the Moors before the tide of the reconquista consumed this place. It was so holy for them that they tried to destroy it before surrendering the city, to no avail, such was the strength of the foundation and the skill with which the tower was erected.

The Catedral and the Giralda in full view. The angel standing atop the Giralda carries a standard in the shape of the Roman letter P, which represents Faith Triumphant, no doubt an adornment added by the Christian.

Inside the Alcazar of Seville, to which we paid nothing to get in, the first real perk of our ISIC card.

Adjoining the Alcazar was a huge gardens which sprawled almost all around it. I lost both Chee Hui and Nicholas here, and went my own way for about an hour without bumping into either of them, though they were both looking for me and I for them (subconsciously). Lovely shady spot for one keen to take a breather from the city outside.

My moment of epiphany came when as I was looking through my pictures, I realised that I was kneeling close to a muddy rut!

The Plaza de Toro in Seville. There were no bullfights at this time of the year, although I would have been faced with a hefty dilemma had there been any, eager as I am to see one and yet deploring the blood, gore and cruelty involved in each bout.

Two Civilisations Marry In Cordoba, Spain, 11th Dec 2006

2006-12-11T23:59:00.000-08:00

The belltower of La Mesquita, which is simply The Mosque rendered in Spanish, and the reason why we came to Cordoba.

It's astonishing, the power which the sublimity of art wields. Here in Cordoba, it has held conquerors and destroyers alike at bay, holding their reputations to ransom and causing them to pause, sword in hand, and wonder, what will become of this if the city submits to me?

You'd be forgiven if you think we weren't in Spain, but we were! And it's the very first time I've seen a dome in a Cathedral. I've read that domes are widely used in the architecture of Orthodox churches, but that is another thing altogether.

The Christians stamp their authority on the structure with the construction of the nave in the middle of the mosque, as one king borrows his glory from another.

A marriage of contrasting architectural styles, consummated here in the painting of Christian frescoes over what clearly are Islamic arches.

The Mesquita, seen from afar, and the calm waters of the Rio Guadalquivir.

The largest bull, cardboard or no, I've seen in waking life. It'll be rather frightful if it weren't the former.

An Attempt At Paradise On Earth - Granada, Spain, 10th Dec 2006

2006-12-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

Granada is really all about the Alhambra, a huge hilltop complex containing gardens, palaces and fortresses built at the time of the Muslim emirates in the southern Iberia. I can't foresee why else people flock here. It's a great city on its own as well, with its medieval clobbered streets and whole barrios carved out of hillsides, but what's a trip to Granada without seeing the Alhambra?

The Alhambra was an attempt by the Muslim rulers of Granada to reconstruct heaven on earth, an admirable ambition considering that then they were the foremost civilisation in all of Europe. Yet no such attempt can be said to be truly successful, for the Paradise of which we read so vividly in Scripture cannot be taken too literally. The results, eight hundred odd years on, are for all to see - legions after legion of, not pilgrims, but camera-wielding tourists going for each other's jugular to claim for themselves the best picture shot, like the one above, and bringing Malcontent and Malice into what was intended to be a place where Man would walk at peace with God.

Atop the Alcazar in the Alhambra. Alcazar meant fortress, and there were lots of these strewn across Andalusia, even today, as the Christian conquistadors neglected to dismantle them. In the background, the rolling foothills of, and eventually, the snowcapped Sierra Nevada.

Granada from the Alhambra. These are the barrios of which I write earlier on, which were built in medieval times. Barrios are living quarters, and small communities unto themselves. Coming from Morocco, one felt less change and more continuity, as Moorish architecture drew its inspiration from a similar source as the Berber Almoravids and Almohads. Somehow, Andalusia feels more stony, and one can feel beneath one's feet the bones of the earth jutting out from below. Must be the clobbered streets.

An errant gnome in the Generalife, the gardens of the Alhambra. A great pity it was early winter, for the gardens would have looked more splendid had the flowers been in full blossom, and had the leaves not fallen from some trees. Still, an Andalusian garden in winter looks a whole lot more inviting than most other places, especially further north.

The Alhambra provided an object lesson in photographic symmetry, one which Nicholas and I were at pains to learn, though he was to educate himself in it at my urgent behest. Credit to him - all the nice photographs in which I'm in were taken by him!

The westering sun in the gardens of the Alhambra. I would have liked to spend the night here if temperatures in Granada were not known to dip after sundown.

The Largest Medina In The Arab World - Fes El-Bali, Morocco, 7th & 8th Dec 2006

2006-12-08T23:59:00.000-08:00

I paused when at this juncture Chee Hui took out his camera and prepared to take a photograph. Looking up, I saw the sign next to the shop which showed that it sold camel meat. It being my first time seeing camel meat being sold by a butcher, I took out my camera and took a picture as well. Weeks later when Gim Hui joined us, and while recounting the earlier legs of the journey to him, I spotted the camel head in the picture, and realised why and what it was that got Chee Hui so interested.

Austere living conditions in our hotel in Fes. For five euros a night we really couldn't ask for a lot, but this overfriendly local at the bus station recommended the place. You must go to Hotel Maghrib, says he, it is good and cheap. Must be the worst hotel in all of the Maghrib.

The Medersa Bou Inania, an oasis of tranquility within the medina. The entrance to the place looks like every other entrance, and it took us a day and a half to locate it!

I've always wanted to see what tanneries were like ever since I read Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance two years ago, and I got my chance here in Fes. It is understandable why tanning is left to the lower castes in society, because it involves the highly unpleasant tasks of manually dipping the leather into vats of vile-smelling dyes and then seasoning it after with pigeon dung. Still, there is no reason why being a tanner is anything other than respectable, or why tanners are looked down upon, for they require a good deal of olfactory fortitude.

Fes El-Bali, the largest medina in the Arab world, containing within 900,000 streets that add up to a combined length of some astronomical figure. Facts and figures provided by the same overfriendly smartypants who pointed us to Hotel Maghrib, in his unsuccessful attempt to impress upon us the sheer size of the medina, and have us secure him as a guide. He was unsuccessful on two accounts: that we rejected his offer flatly, and that we shrugged off his warning and walked unknowingly and cockily into a labyrinth of streets and alleys, and very nearly got lost.

A library within the medina, another oasis of calm. One would think that the steps led towards a chamber full of scrolls and manuscripts. They didn't. It was a modern, fully-equipped library which they did, and filled not with bearded ulamas, but bespectacled, uniformed students.

Fes on a rainy, Friday afternoon. Friday afternoon is the worst time to visit a medina, every shopkeeper and vendor being either at the mosque or resting after prayer at home. In Fes, they welcome the rain which only fall occasionally, yet to have it drizzle on a Friday afternoon when nobody is out on the streets is downright depressing.

Rabat - Crisp & Compact, Morocco, 6th Dec 2006

2006-12-06T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Chellah, which was a necropolis constructed since Roman times. The first we saw of many more Greco-Roman ruins, though they were to come much later. Chee Hui sustained, rather inconceivably, two mosquito bites here, his first in months since arriving in the UK.

I've not know cats to be social animals, and I was rather amazed to see them in such large numbers gathered outside the house of this janitor. And the only probable reason why those chickens were able to strut around freely was that there was enough food to go around without all of them having to vie for it violently. (I'm absolutely certain our feathered friends would have lost one in such a contest.)

The Grand Hassan Mosque, the foundations of which were laid in the eleventh century by the Almohads, a dynasty of ascetic Muslim conquerors. Little else remains of it other than the orange building which stands alone.

The Kasbah Oudaia, perched on a outcrop that overlooks the Atlantic. The self-sufficient community houses three thousand people, and it was here that we fell prey to an insistent wily rascal who we thought was an official guide. The price for three? A hundred and twenty dirhams, which amounts to about twelve euros, or S$24.

The moral of the story - go your own way if you have to, because even if the guides are official, they aren't free.

Those specks in the distance are surfers you see. Yes! In Morocco!

The waves here are decent enough, though I wouldn't even want to wade any further than it would wet my jeans. Essaouira further south, not Rabat, would be the surfing capital here.

The rock and the deep blue sea.

Tree-lined boulevards in the middle of the road are always a central feature in any French-influenced city. They were present in Phnom Penh and in Ho Chi Minh City, and now I find them in Rabat. I like them very much, because they make for very pleasing evening strolls.

Nothing Like Hollywood, Casablanca, Morocco, 5th Dec 2006

2006-12-05T23:59:00.000-08:00

The port city of Casablanca, the economic powerhouse of Morocco, and the view from our room.

The Hassan II Mosque, which is the third largest mosque in the world, after Mecca's and Medina's. I've lived opposite a mosque for eight years and I haven't seen anything quite like this.

Would you think it plausible that almost everything that decorates the interior was carved by hand?

Chilling by the Atlantic.

I would too, if I had brought a deck chair.

We climbed to the very steeple of an abandoned cathedral, and were rewarded with this magnificent view of the city. The minaret towards the left is that of the Hassan II Mosque.

And oh, I didn't watch the film Casablanca, but it might interest you to know that none of it was filmed here.

This was what we climbed - poorly maintained, almost derelict flights of steps chock full of pigeon dung, feathers and dust.

Modernity lying cheek by jowl to tradition.

The Venture Into North Africa - Marrakech, Morocco, 3rd & 4th Dec 2006

2006-12-04T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Koutoubia Mosque, instantly noticeable all around Marrakech with its 70-metre tall minaret. The first we saw of many more mosques in Morocco.

Easily the most pleasing of graffiti I've seen on my travels thus far, and the most benign as well. What's interesting is that I've found this is a Muslim country, with their aesthetic tradition of not representing human figures in their art.

The Koutoubia at sunset.

Djemaa El-Fna, which is the name of the main square in the medina, comes to life when the sun goes down. In the square down beyond are storytellers, dancers, musicians, vendors selling anything from ostrich eggs to skullcaps to lamb stew. Of all the Moroccan cities I've been to, this was the most charming.

Morning over the medina, taken from the balcony of our hotel, which offers an excellent view of the old city.

The battlements of the Royal Palace, crowned with storks' nests.

Cats here, there and everywhere. Which was fine by me.

Henges, Circles, Barrows & Feet, All Of Stone - Salisbury & Avebury, United Kingdom, 26th Nov 2006

2006-11-26T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Stonehenge, which I've read make for an underwhelming visit because of the throngs of visitors it attracts. The thing I've learnt is to only read up on where the attraction is, how to get there and when it opens or closes, and to leave everything else for the senses to decide.

A henge is a circular space ringed on its circumference with large stone slabs, within which rituals were conducted by the people who ordered its construction. Stonehenge, therefore, is a rather unimaginative name, if you think about it.

There were also people who were lining up the fence by the main road for a shot of the Stonehenge, and consequently saving on four quids of entrance fee. I'm not griping here (having parted with four quids to get a closer view of the Stonehenge) but I'm of the opinion that having travelled so far, four quids should be the last thing on their minds.

Yes, I tried to chew up one of England's oldest monuments. And no, I didn't get indigestion.

The stone circle at Avebury, which is a two-hour bus ride away from Salisbury where the Stonehenge is located. The ruins at Avebury covered a larger area than at Salisbury, and it took us a good three hours to take in everything, after which it was nearly dark. Also, because Avebury is so abominably hard to get to, there're so few people apart from the local residents taking their evening strolls, who aren't very many to begin with.

The watery conditions which blighted our three-hour stint in Avebury, contributed in no large part by a persistent, unabating drizzle that began with the day a good seven or eight hours before. The rains turned the dirt tracks which we were supposed to use into little creeks, and this, believe it or not, was supposed to be one of those paths pointed out on the map that we bought.

Silbury, the largest prehistoric manmade mould in all of Europe. We had planned to get all the way to the foot of the hill, but were thwarted by the marshes which stood between there and us, enlarged by the rain which had fallen earlier on. Our foray into the wilderness ruined one or two photographs as well, as occasioned by an elderly man who waited patiently for us to get out of his angle. I think he would have given us a great big scowl if he hadn't his camera to operate.

When given a map, always stick to the trails which have already been marked out for you by the wisdom of those went before you. If you don't, you will end up with wet socks, wet shoes and very cold feet.

And that isn't my finger.

Long Barrow, a burial chamber of sorts for the Neolithic chieftains. A barrow is a tomb raised of earth and stone, and used extensively by the prehistoric peoples of Europe, and the Celts after them. It was a very spooky affair, stepping inside, as there were nothing but one or two candles to light the way, whose precarious flames flickered like will o' the wisps and disappeared momentarily into tiny glows whenever the wind blew, only to burn again when it withdrew. Wind and darkness are not the best companions in a lightless chamber bereft of central heating.

Shuttling Between Guildford & Greenwich, United Kingdom, 24th to 25th Nov 2006

2006-11-25T23:59:00.000-08:00

The first home-cooked, and Chinese, meal I've had in eons, thanks to Gim Hui and his friends down at Surrey(from the left Jacky, Janice, Gim Hui, Terrence), who were lovely people and skilful chefs. I've had a most memorable night - Emperor Herbal Chicken (half of it stir-fried, because there wasn't enough space in the pot to steam the whole chicken), cards, wine and just plain lazing around.

The Guildford Borough Cemetary, on a wind- and rainswept morning. Cemetaries are great places for walks if one desires peace and quiet, not least because nobody's able to disturb you.

Yup, that would be the same Lewis Carroll that wrote Alice In Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass.

A bird's eye view of Guildford. Not exactly bird's eye, but high enough for a panoramic vista. I was told Guildford, and Surrey, has long been London's garden, and many Londoners who seek a weekend getaway from the hustle and bustle of the city head there. Not surprising, for the area looks rather pristine and inviting, without the smog and the traffic and the people that characterises a large metropolis as London.

Gimz, Kelvin (who is his cousin) and Me on the Dockland Railway, heading towards Greenwich.

The view from the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. Yonder is Canary Wharf, the financial district of London. To my left, which is not in the picture, is the line that delineates Zero Greenwich Mean Time, fenced off and locked because we arrived a little too late.

Canary Wharf. This looks like a shot out of the last instalment of the Matrix trilogy, what with the honey-combed office buildings and the white lights. We're missing only some rain and some Agent Smiths.

Cymru-bound For A Weekend, Cardiff, United Kingdom, 17th to 19th Nov 2006

2006-11-19T23:59:00.000-08:00

We arrived on the night when the Wales national rugby team was due to play Canada at the Millennium Stadium, without of course knowing this when we boarded the evening Cardiff-bound train at Paddington Station in London. It was still fine until the train called at Newport Station, the first Welsh stop, where hordes and hordes of Welsh rugby fans poured into the train. Once in Cardiff, the whole city seems to have psyched itself up for the match - there was an endless stream of people heading towards the stadium, souvenir-sellers were out in full force on the streets, and those who were not watching the match live followed the live telecast that many pubs and restaurants were showing. Cexiang, our gracious host, wanted to bring us to this restaurant in downtown Cardiff, for dinner, but because the whole place was too crowded, we settled for Bangladeshi curry takeaway, which wasn't half-bad at all.

The Welsh National Assembly, in all due respect a rather modest building compared to her more illustrious English cousin. (I haven't seen the Scottish one, and I would pass a complete judgment once I've been to Edinburgh.)

Breakfast on the cheap and on the quick, in the room which Cexiang's (second from left) friend
very kindly vacated for Gim Hui and I. We had a peaceful first night there. On the second, his flatmates went berserk and kicked up an infernal racket in the middle of the night. We ignored all the noise, of course, though each of us had a good mind to clobber a few heads senseless before the night was over. In the end, a Nigerian neighbour ended the bedlam with a stern reproach, and the peace was kept till dawn broke.

Cardiff Bay, which previously was a coaling station, where the coal which was mined in Merthyr Tydfil was sent southwards for re-exports, is now a up-and-coming chic and trendy shopping area. The Welsh authorities have plans to turn the bay into a barrage, on which people can wind-surf, yacht, ski and pursue other watersports. As if to add further legitimacy to the development, they're also building the new Welsh National Assembly here, a structure that resembles a giant training shed.

A kiss in memory of those who perished at sea.

Parallel evolution.

The Millennium Stadium, where FA and League Cup Finals have been played ever since Wembley was closed for renovation. One should realise by now that football stadiums are quite high on my priority list whenever I visit a major city. (That is, of course, if the city boosts a football club of some pedigree.) I wanted to visit Ninian Park, with Cardiff City FC plays, but couldn't because there wasn't enough time. Cardiff City plays in the League Championship, but I've been supporting them ever since they were in the Third Division ten or so years ago.

Wandering Into The Welsh Wild - Brecon Beacons National Park, United Kingdom, 18th Nov 2006

2006-11-18T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Welsh countryside was infested with their like! It'll be truly horrendous if sheep were endowed with any more intelligence than they currently are - I can't imagine the amount of mischief they can achieve if they put their minds (supposing they had more brains) and numbers to it. But sheep are really docile creatures, and excellent followers. We had one company-size worth of sheep fall in before us when we were simply standing by the pen looking at them. (Of course we were doing more than just that, we were baa-ing aloud all the way.)

The River Usk, which we followed for a considerable while in our aimless tread through Brecon country.

If you look down at Wales from the top of a hill, you'll see a patchwork of fields stretching as far as the eye can see, very much like a green quilt cover on a very large bed, and a very pretty sight as well!

A farm on the hill where we were pursued by dogs. The path you see in the picture forked somewhere on the horizon, and Gim Hui and I split up to see where each branch led towards. He found that the path led to somewhere more conclusive on his side, and shouted for the rest of us to follow. I took a longer time to catch up with the rest because I was some way forward on the other branch of the fork. But before I could rejoin the group or even see the rest, I heard Cexiang barked (erm, shouted) rather hastily, eh ka kin zhao!, the hurried rustle of rapid footfalls on the grass, and the angry barking of two dogs running in the direction from which Cexiang's warning came. One dog saw me, and made for me. I turned and ran as quickly as my legs could carry me down the hill. We were separated for about half an hour, and only progressed when the owners of the homestead drove back and took the dogs into the house.

The canal which flanked the Taff Trail, the track which we followed from Brecon, and lined with bumboats of the most colourful sorts. The trail led all the way to Cardiff, a good hundred or so miles away. Somebody mooted the idea of walking all the way back to Cardiff. I would have agreed, if we had a few more days, and some bagloads of food and water with us.

Towards The Midlands - Nottingham, United Kingdom, 11th Nov 2006

2006-11-11T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Nottingham University Park, where the Road Race was held. It was supposed to be five kilometres, although a few people questioned that and said it was really seven. It made little difference to me, whether it was five or seven - I nearly ran my lungs out, and finished twelfth, which I thought wasn't a bad achievement, until of course when one discovers there are only thirteen participants.

The Nottingham University Campus is really large, and situated a good distance away from the main town. I felt it was a tad inconvenient, but on further thought it is probably the case for most other universities in the United Kingdom. Places like Cambridge and Oxford are special because they're a town unto themselves, and convenience is not much of an issue because the university is strewn all across the city.

But I like the university at Nottingham, it has a nice rustic charm to it, helped no doubt by the mellow crimson of high autumn.

All right... Not quite crimson, but about there.

Robin Hood Castle in downtown Nottingham, and I wonder how it got its name. Never got down to reading the description on the plaques on display and all, because I got the impression that all these were but mere gimmicks to draw the tourist crowds.

Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem, 1189 AD, the oldest inn in England, it says on the wall. This place was indefinitely more significant than Robin Hood Castle was for me, despite us stopping by only to enquire if we could use the lavatory.

Old Friends Call On Cambridge, United Kingdom - 4th & 5th Nov 2006

2006-11-05T23:59:00.000-08:00

Autumn in a little-known lane near the University Library (UL). I never knew this path existed until I brought Gimz to see the UL. There's little to rival the pleasure of discovering for yourself where a hitherto unknown place is, though others may know it and may have told you about it before. Not to romanticise it, but Eureka moments are generally quite unforgettable (for a little while at least).

A first attempt at punting, which I must say I enjoyed tremendously. I became so adept at manoeuvring the craft that I can make it turn any direction I want it to save straight. I think my fellow passengers at that point in time were quite relieved to have made the distance without wetting any part of themselves.

Gimz and I, all smiles after I relinquished the punt to a more skilful punter. I think it could have been Junming.

Fireworks at Midsummers Commons commemorating Guy Fawkes' Day. Guy Fawkes' Day commemorates the sheer audacity of this one fellow (with a few other conspirators) to blow up the Houses of Parliament from underneath about three hundred odd years ago. This display lasted about twenty-five to thirty minutes, and I've never seen anything quite like it before, though I've heard there're more spectacular displays elsewhere in Britain.

Ivan, Royce and I, in Royce's room, the Sunday after. It was Ivan's first time in Cambridge, despite having been in the UK for a year prior to his visit, and I had the pleasure of both showing him around and my gratitude at his doing the same for us when Chee Hui and I went down to London a week earlier.

Londonium, United Kingdom, 28th to 29th Oct, MMVI AD

2006-10-29T23:59:00.000-08:00

Three Special Tactics Team members taking a breather, from filming. They were kind enough to agree to a picture, and one of them quipped when I remarked that they looked incredibly lean and mean, nah, don't worry, we're really grinning from ear to ear, it's just that you can't see it.

St Paul's Cathedral, arguably Sir Christopher Wren's greatest piece of art, and arguably England's finest Cathedral.

Harrods! They told me shopping there was one of the must-do things if ever I went down to London. Nicholas, who was there before, said that one could buy an elephant from there - one only needs to ask how, and have enough cash to spare too.

No, I'm not a Chelsea supporter! I'm smiling because this is my first ever visit to an English football stadium. Pity it wasn't Old Trafford. And to think I walked the whole day to get to, of all the grounds in the world, Stamford Bridge.

The Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament by the Thames. Things you don't miss if and when you come down to London. More than once is a different story.

Trafalgar Square. That's Nelson Column to the left, and the National Gallery in the background. The former was put up to commemorate the heroics (and death in battle) of Admiral Horatio Nelson, the genius behind that great naval victory over the French at the Battle of Trafalgar two centuries ago. He famously signalled, before the battle commenced, England expects every man to do his duty, which I thought was inspirational. The latter is useful for free toilets, if one really needs them.

Westminster Abbey, where great English dead lie. You have to feel English to sufficiently appreciate the significance of this place. I do, the latter I mean, but I don't feel quite English enough.

The Ox Half of Oxbridge - Oxford, United Kingdom - 21st & 22nd Oct 2006

2006-10-22T23:59:00.000-07:00

Witnessed my very first demonstration anywhere in the world, though it was a rather sedate event, with the participants marching in an orderly manner, marshalled and herded on their flanks like sheep by the security agents on duty. Still, it was a bigger event than the only serious demonstration I ever saw in Singapore, which was a newsclip on the television. That was a couple of years ago, when four courageous souls assembled outside the American embassy to voice their discontent at the American-led invasion of Iraq. They were duly arrested soon after.

Oxford's High Street at night, which is twice as wide as Cambridge's equivalent, and a million times livelier.

Yes, I'm a staunch supporter of traffic lights! If only they would stop falling over half the time...

There's a Hobbitonish feel to this picture, and whenever I look at it once more I imagine the barely visible depression on the left hand side to be Bilbo's front door, and Gandalf approaching it from behind.

No, this really is Oxford's Castle Mound, which, like Cambridge's, misses a Castle. However, there're still battlements and fortifications all around, which previously contained a prison but now houses a rather posh-looking hotel, unlike in Cambridge where the immediate surrounding area has long since been levelled.

Another reason why I like this picture is because I blend in effortlessly into the background. But that is only because the colour filter was switched on.

The University Church. English churches all over the country seem to have been built on one blueprint, with only the slightest architectural modifications here and there. I've only seen two (Cambridge and Oxford) to date, but those I saw in picture books look exactly the same as the two that I've seen thus far.

Oxford's elegant University Library, which goes by the similarly elegant name of Radcliffe Camera.

The Sheldonian Theatre, which was designed by Sir Christopher Wren, functions as the University Theatre, although its simple splendour is hardly as perfunctory as I've made it sound.

First Instance Of Wanderlust - Cambridge, United Kingdom 14th October 2006

2006-10-14T23:59:00.000-07:00

The flowers still in full bloom in mid-autumn, and less chill always means more cheer.

Chee Hui, Nicholas and I in front of Pitt the Younger, who is depicted here in a Roman toga and who studied here at Pembroke College in Cambridge more than two centuries ago. He was a very capable man who became Prime Minister of his country at the age of twenty-four, at a difficult time when the British were facing the challenges posed by the rise of Revolutionary France from across the Channel. It is hard to imagine anybody becoming a leader of his or her country at that age these days. In three years' time, I shall only have graduated from NIE with my Teaching Diploma, which doesn't amount much to a premiership.

We had the good fortune of seeing a wedding taking place in the Queen's College Chapel. Here the bride is attended by her Scottish relatives, attired smartly in their kilts. I've always wanted to wear a kilt, though I'm quite put off by the rumour that those Scotsmen who wear them wear nothing underneath.

The Mathematical Bridge straddling the River Cam, designed by the genius of no lesser a mathematician as Sir Isaac Newton. Legend has it that this bridge was originally built and could stand without the aid of any nuts or bolts, and that they dismantled it later on and couldn't put it back again. Today, it is thankfully held together by more than the laws of physics. Nobody would like to tiptoe hither and thither worrying constantly that a misplaced step might upset the mathematical balance so precariously established.

(Here I may have underestimated the power of science, but I'm not taking any chances!)

King's College Chapel, easily the grandest, and tallest chapel in all of Cambridge. King's College constitutes, together with Trinity and St John's, the richest three colleges in Cambridge. Incidentally, the rents in these colleges are also considerably higher than in most of the other colleges. Little wonder there, for most of those who have secured a place there are wealthy themselves.

By the River Cam. Those are punters you see on the left. Punting involves using a long stick to propel the craft forward by pushing it downwards and against the river bed. Jonathan, a college of mine at Seng Kang Secondary School and who studied previously at Oxford, said that I must definitely try punting since I'm at Cambridge. It looks fun.

Ivy on the walls of St John's College. We were walking rather aimlessly around St John's College when we bumped into Alvin, a second-year economist, who pointed us here. Would have missed out on this pretty sight if it wasn't for that chance meeting.

Building A Home Away From Home - Cambridge, United Kingdom

2006-10-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

My cosy room in St Catharine's College, for which I'm paying a rather modest rent of £452 for eight weeks. The inexpensive rent means there's little room for me to complaint about (if you'll forgive the unintentional pun).

It looks relatively spartan, not because I have an obsessive compulsion with tidiness, but because most of the junk that will litter the space and make it more homely have yet to be unpacked.

Sporting that Harry Potter look with my gown on the day of my Matriculation Dinner. A terribly formal occasion, when we were sat on either side of a very long table, and when grace was said before and after dinner, in not so decipherable Latin.

The view from my window on a typical, rainy English day. This is what I see whether I look up from my books or files, or away from the laptop on which I would be typing my essay.

The bleakness of what I see is often enough to drive me back to work, because there is always little else to do.

The Wheel of St Catharine, which is the symbol on my college crest as well. St Catharine was a Christian martyr who was sentenced to be broken on the wheel. When the wheel broke before she did, they beheaded her instead. The wheel has since been adopted as a symbol in her memory.

I Miss Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 15th to 18th Jun 2006

2006-06-18T23:59:00.000-07:00

This is what the traffic on the roads of Ho Chi Minh City looks like. You have motorcyclists of all shapes and sizes, from the young to the old, and appallingly few traffic lights! Which renders crossing a delicate, perilous act of timing your passage across the road to perfection. But Vietnamese motorists are very used to jaywalkers. Sometimes they'll slow down for you, whereas back home I'm certain our drivers bear an evil grudge against those who disobey pedestrian rules and will run you over if you ever do.

The Reunification Palace, where the current government hosts any diplomatic visitors to the south of Vietnam. This was also the seat of the South Vietnamese government before it was trampled all over by the Communists when Saigon fell in 1975. There's two or three levels' worth of underground bunkers in there, though visitors were only permit to see the shallowest of these levels. The topmost level was the private residence of the President Thieu, the last South Vietnamese head of state, and is a veritable palace, complete with a splendid dining hall, private chapel, a ballroom and a personal helicopter parked atop the building.

The view from the top of the Palace. Can you imagine Communist tanks rampaging through the boulevard you see in the distance? Because they did, when the Americans abandoned the place thirty-one years ago, and made straight for the gates of the Reunification Palace, which they smashed right through. The grimy, faded flag which was then raised over Saigon is still displayed in a small exhibition room in the Palace, together with the personal weapon of the tank commander who raised it.

The Post Office in Saigon. Architecture was very French, for want of a more detailed description, which my poor grasp of achitectural styles cannot convey. As can be seen from the enormous portrait hanging in the centre, Uncle Ho is basically everywhere in this country. It's a little difficult denying him this recognition after what he's done for his country. Not that I'm a hopeless sycophant, but, if one discounts the more controversial aspects of his personal life, one must surely admire the fortitude with which he confronted the might of the world's greatest superpower.

Building bridges in Saigon Zoo. I love this picture, and elephants, which are very intelligent creatures. I felt rotten afterwards, having attracted the attention of the fellow for my own purposes with nothing to offer in return. But who knows, this elephant might genuinely have craved understanding!

The Hotel de Ville. Without a doubt the grandest building in Ho Chi Minh City. This used to the poshest French hotel around in Indochina, and I think the Communist Party uses it now for whatever meetings they have. Don't suppose the original French designers would have been very pleased if they had learnt its current purposes.

The heart of Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker district in Ho Chi Minh City, lined on both sides with accommodation facilities of every level of comfort, and the usual tourist amenities. I got a haircut here for the equivalent of S$3 on the day before we flew back to Singapore, a couple of Lonely Planet guides for something like S$10 each, and a black silk tunic for S$15. Not like me to shop, but this is an excellent place to pick up a bargain or two!

Amongst The Riverine Folk, Vinh Long in the Mekong Delta, Vietnam, 17th Jun 2006

2006-06-17T23:59:00.001-07:00

Vendors peddling their wares on vessels, from tiny rowing-sampans to larger motorboats.

In a town criss-crossed by waterways, water transport remains the primary method of getting from one place to another. Here, the subordination of land to water methods is illustrated.

Bridges are a common sight in these parts, and an integral structural feature, for they link the many islands which form the town. These bridges are constructed in a compact and versatile fashion, allowing both pedestrians and vehicles above and smaller vessels through below.

The fresh market in Vinh Long. Quite a makeshift one, as the stalls comprise just a small plot of space by the road with a single mat over it on top of which the produce lay. The better-equipped ones have an umbrella erected over their stalls to shield themselves from the heat of the Vietnamese mid-day sun. Most vendors make do with conical straw hats.

I've developed a penchant for visiting markets because one would almost always run into a riot of colours! One sees here only the fruits and vegetables section, and there's certainly more to be seen in the other parts of the market, which we did not explore because we had so little time.

The Quirky And The Devastating, Tay Ninh & Cu Chi, Vietnam, 15th Jun 2006

2006-06-15T23:59:00.000-07:00

The main Cao Dai cathedral is at Tay Ninh, the capital of the province of the same name. One can discern traces of its constituent parts in the architecture of its exterior. The twin steeples facing forward reminds one of those Gothic-style Roman Catholic cathedrals which abound in Europe. These steeples do not taper into spires at the top, but are instead crowned with Byzantine domes that are characteristic of many mosques around the world. The facade is replete with images of Oriental deities, saints and monsters.

Cao Dai-ism (pronounced Gao Dai by the Vietnamese) is this melange of Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Roman Catholicism and Islam. This quirky South Vietnamese concoction of a faith can count on quite a sizeable following in the region of its birth. As with every other emergent religion, it has been accused of heresy and treated with suspicion, and its adherents have suffered persecution at the hands of those keen to snuff out what they see as a subversive flame.

Wandering inside the cathedral, one enters a long, cavernous hall, supported by columns around which wound intricately-carved dragons. The main altar is at the other end of this hall, between which is empty space, where followers observed mass and prostrated in times of prayer. Stewards watched vigilantly over the prayer space, keeping inquisitive tourists out of its bounds. On the altar rested an enormous sphere, painted in front with the Divine Eye, which Cao Dai-ism has in place of the Christian Cross, the Muslim Crescent and Star, or the Jewish Star of David.

The Divine Eye is so adopted as their religious emblem because the religion was the result of a series of visions which the founder (I can't remember his name really) had. The Eye is normally set in the centre of a triangular badge, with the white stripes emanating outwards representing the rays of wisdom it exudes. Presumably.

Cao Dai-ists pray four times a day, which is every six hours. We timed our arrival to coincide with their noon prayer, and it was quite an eye-opener, if you would forgive the pun. The rank and file (I know not how else to call them) don plain white prayer robes, while those of consequence, the clergy, wore blue, red or yellow robes, and were capped with symbols of office like that wore by Confucianist mandarins.

The adherents filed in in two lines, the right for the males, and the left for the females. Before they all sat down to prayer, they faced each other in their lines and bowed, in a gesture akin to congratulating and toasting friends during celebrations and festivities. Prayer was conducted to the shrill, ululant chants of a choir who stood in the balcony on the second level and very haunting music provided by a small orchestra seated just next to them.It was all rather quixotic to the observer. Yet if one finds it amusing, one does not accord the whole affair, sombre as are all matters touching upon religious beliefs, the respect it deserves. I was surprised to learn that they so liberally permitted pictures to be taken of both the exterior and interior of their place of worship, and prayer sessions. Most surprising was that nobody forbade the photographing of their main altar bearing the holiest symbol of their faith, the existence of which is often held to be sacrosanct and barely worthy even of being beheld by the eyes of mere mortals as us. I was a party of the curious guilty, regrettably. Perhaps camera-wielding tourists form a convenient publicity platform and are unwitting proselytizeers, pardoned to carry far and wide beyond Vietnam the Cao Dai gospel. It probably carries a certain allure to seekers of the exotic. Yet even as I speak, the faith is still only firmly entrenched in the Tay Ninh region, and enthusiastic evangelists are still few and far between.

We left while prayer was still on-going, amused and bemused alike, and very much intrigued by the philosophy (which I will not go into, lest my inadequate grasp of theology should spark off a conflagration) and workings that differed a great deal from those of the more established religions we are familiar with.

The Cu Chi tunnels were sixty kilometres away from Tay Ninh, and sixty from Saigon. Viet Cong (VC) guerrillas dug a series of tunnels of a total length of more than 200km from there, and right under the very noses of the Americans, who established a heavy military presence in the area to stem the VC tide. Most of the tunnels have been destroyed by American carpet bombing, yet those which have remained undamaged have been repaired, restored, somewhat spruced up and turned into one of the must-sees in the South.

Only one secret entrance remains amongst the many which the VC used with impunity to embarrass their better-equipped and better-supported foes. This has since become a popular photograph spot. Vietnamese fighters, with their slight frames, had to lift their arms above their heads to get inside the tunnel, and even so often only squeezed through. The dimensions of such an entrance was measured to exactness in order to thwart American GIs, with their wider girths and more muscular physiques.

An American M-41, which was destroyed by a delay mine in 1970, if you found the scribbling on the charred chassis illegible. For a rather primitive fighting force to stop a whole tank must have been a considerable achievement, one which the soldiers should have been very proud of. No doubt the reason why the tank still stands there - a memorial of man's eternal fallibility.

Manioc, slightly salted, and peanuts, what the guerrillas in those days subsisted on. A most suitable dish, for it was filling and provided quick bites for the hungry who had little time to eat, though I must say one cannot wholly rely on these for adequate nutrition. However, I found it to be quite amenable to my tastebuds, and grab more than a few of the sample on offer before I left the vicinity.

Whatever is left of the American bombs and shells which rained down on the area back in the 1960s and 70s.

As resources were scarce during wartime, the guerrillas salvaged and scavenged, often getting what they needed from what the Americans very uncharitably threw at them. Rubber they obtained from the tyres of destroyed American vehicles to turn into soles, and mines and bombs refashioned from the explosives extracted from blinds. And these ordnances hurled at the Vietnamese often found their way back where it came from, and killed who they weren't meant to kill.

My Son, Not Quite Angkor, Vietnam, 13th Jun 2006

2006-06-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

Cham ruins in My Son, pronounced mee sawn, which translates into beautiful mountains. These were erected by the Champa kingdom between the second and fifteenth centuries as a sort of religious centre. The Cham were always a thorn in the Khmer flesh, and the Khmer capital of Angkor was on more than one occasion sacked by them. They were overpowered by the expanding Vietnamese kingdom when the latter extended its borders southwards, and assimilated into the Vietnamese state. Today, they are a ethnic minority living in the south of the country.

These ruins were impressive, to speak the truth, but doesn't compare to Angkor. A simple illustration on how the two differed vastly in scale: we spent four days in Siem Reap, of which only one full day was devoted to the exploration of the Angkor sites, and yet we were unable to see all the temples, while a brief two hours were all we needed to cover nearly all the Cham sites in My Son. Both areas are still very much ridden with land mines, and so rendered some areas out of bounds.

The My Son ruins were nestled at the bottom of a lush valley, and afforded the visitor a picturesque panorama all around. It felt grander and less mysterious than Angkor, which was built in the middle of a jungle, and has since been overran by it.

Though these aren't spared Nature's inexorable, creeping advance as well...

French archaeologists restoring the temples in the nineteenth century very blandly gave them alphabetical labels. Only two clusters amongst the ten that were discovered closely approach the original majesty of old. A few are in areas enclosed by a cordon sanitaire of unexploded ordnances. The other eight, like this one, were entangled in the war by Vietcong guerrillas who sought shelter there, and had been almost razed to the ground by American bombs.

Spelunking and Soaking Up The Sun In Danang, Vietnam, 12th Jun 2006

2006-06-12T23:59:00.000-07:00

The Buddha and the Sinner. No wait, two radically contrasting religious concepts there. But well. This was taken in the Marble Mountains near Danang, which was about thirty kilometres from Hoi An. The Marble Mountains are these five limestone outcrops 12km to the south of Danang city, and so named because the of the marble mined from there. Mining, however, has been banned because the Mountains would disappear if it is continued without restraint.

The whole place was as chock full of grottoes as cheese is of holes. The possession of a map did not make finding the opening to the caves any easier, and an old woman very helpfully pointed us to behind a temple, and into a well-concealed entrance harbouring this four-metre tall Buddha. There were many caverns like these which housed statues either of the Buddha or the Godhess of Mercy, and some were too dark for two unequipped travellers to step into without fearing to get hurt. Paths were seldom marked distinctly inside the caves. Frequently, if we wanted to find out whether a path led anywhere, and by virtue of that was a path at all, we had to walk on until we came to a dead end, which often meant we could climb no further. These dead ends were often arbitrary, and one could continue if one had a thirst for adventure and strength enough.

One such path led us on to a barely-lighted rocky slope, and on to a small opening beyond, scarcely wide enough for me to crawl through. Once through, we emerged from the caves, and on to another rocky path leading upwards again, betrayed by a makeshift wooden rail to its right, on to wonderful vistas at the summit.

The outcrops (there were five) were each named according to the five elements of Nature, and the largest and tallest of these, which we scaled and is featured in the pictures, goes by that of Thuy Son, water mountain.

There were three entrances into Thuy Son, one of them leading into the depths of Hell. This particular cavern was very poorly lit, and still under construction. The inner recesses contained many ghastly images of demons and monsters torturing the souls of men condemned, which combined eerily well with the weak blood-red glow shed on these by the lamps above. The incessant chiselling and drilling in the background didn't help one bit, and I was glad to be out of there.

China Beach, where GIs came in their droves to take in the sun, sand and sea when they are not getting fired at elsewhere, is a few minutes' walk from the Marble Mountains. The stretch that is closest to where we were is an undeveloped spot, empty save for a few rattan fishing crafts. I would have lounged there for a good while longer, had I a deck chair, a supply of drinking water that would last longer than half a bottle and a very large umbrella.

The much-touted Reunification Express, which really is a grandiloquent name for a simple train service linking the northern parts of the country with the south. The soft-seat tickets, which is the equivalent of a comfortable economy class, are quite decent, and most of the local commuters would purchase soft-seat tickets. This was our second train ride in Vietnam, from Danang to Ho Chi Minh City lasting about sixteen hours, the first from Hanoi to here took us fourteen hours. I was not quite prepared for the variety of sleeping positions which I saw adopted by the very pliable Vietnamese commuters on my first night on the train. Every nook and cranny was filled, if not a hand or a foot, then a finger or a toe. I was rather appalled to find one particular big toe, blackened at the nail and not looking very savoury at all, an inch away from my nose when I was jolted into consciousness by a sudden braking of the train.

Laidback in Hoi An, Vietnam, 11th Jun 2006

2006-06-11T23:59:00.000-07:00

Hoi An is a coastal settlement 32km away from Danang, lining the coast of the Thu Bon River. It is so small you could get from one end to the other on your own two feet. There are no structures taller than five storeys, and single-storeyed buildings occupied most parts of town, with the facades of many painted in a time-worn faded yellow. The whole place is bursting with tailors, and one is able to acquire there a whole wardrobe at a fraction of the price almost anywhere else in the developed world. I later on ordered here a jacket and pair of pants, collected by the following day, at sixty bucks.

We were invited for a river cruise on one of those wooden sampans by one of the folks who dwelled by the river. For the very affordable combined fee of US$2, I thought why not and accepted her offer. She was a middle-aged lady, with skin baked dark brown by years of labour under the unrelenting sun in those areas, and strength enough to punt a boat with the weight of three that belied her wiry frame. We chatted amiably aboard the craft in short slow sentences of English which her very basic knowledge of English rendered intelligible. As a matter of fact, we were made to feel so at home that Sio Ngai took out his wallet and contemplated tipping her above the fee agreed earlier on. That was until she doubled the payment due to her at the end of the trip, adamant that she had clarified from the very beginning that it was two bucks for each and not both. An incredulous and disgusted Sio Ngai paid the extortion. Our shrewd boater then invited us for dinner at her home.

A kind offer which we turned down, and walked away from, knowing the proffered simple Vietnamese fare could cost us an arm and a leg.

Eyes are often painted on the prows of Vietnamese vessels, such that this gift of sight may help those on board avert danger on the waterways, and save their lives in times of peril.

I was rather amused by this, and so were these two jolly labourers. The chap at the bottom was passing bricks to his colleague on top. In the absence of any contraption which would have aided and eased the vertical transfer, our builders decided simply to toss the bricks up. They must have been practising for a terribly long time, because all the bricks which were hurled upwards from below were caught and received unfailingly by a firm hand above. And look, no safety helmets!

Since there was so little to do in Hoi An (it being only a small town), we helped ourselves to a more than satisfying dose of football. We caught more matches in Hoi An than anywhere else, because we would usually be in the hotel by eight in the evening to catch the first match in the ongoing World Cup. When we weren't sprawled on our beds following the World Cup, we were out there watching the locals play.

No, I was only kidding. We only happened to come across these youths having a kick-about. Football is quite a big thing in Vietnam too.

The Japanese bridge linking one side of Hoi An to the next. This construction of this bridge was funded by the community of Japanese merchants here in the sixteenth century (if I recall correctly). It is said to be able to withstand any earthquakes, but this claim has yet to be tested here. And I doubt any of the inhabitants in Hoi An want to prove the veracity of those claims.

An Ancient Capital And Three Caves, Hoa Lu & Tam Coc, Vietnam, 10th Jun 2006

2006-06-10T23:59:00.000-07:00

Rural northern Vietnam. This is Hoa Lu, the capital of the Vietnamese kingdom before it was moved to Hanoi. Good choice for siting a capital - the limestone karsts should have rendered the place almost impregnable.

One of the temples built by the Vietnamese kings of old, for royalty to practise ancestral worship.

While in Hoa Lu, a buffalo ambled past bearing its master, who held in one hand a bundle of grass which he dangled in front of the beast to urge it forward at random moments. A common sight in those parts, doubtless, but nevertheless uncommon to Singaporean eyes. Sio Ngai and I approached and asked in haltingly slow English if we could take a photograph with the rider and its burly steed. He very blithely obliged, and even invited us to clamber up on the back on the animal behind him. Neither of us took the offer, reluctant to be at the wrong side of a brush with a wrathful buffalo. We were amongst the first of a number of travellers who had photographs taken with the farmer and the buffalo.

Can you spot them?

Bravo, if you have! Don't worry if you haven't, it took me a good while as well to spot the goats. I've read about how surefooted these creatures are, but I never really believed it until I saw this.

No, I wouldn't scale a rock face like this with all the safety equipment in the world.

Tam Coc, which means Three Caves in Vietnamese. This is commonly known as the Ha Long Bay of paddy fields, and rightly so. It surpasses Ha Long Bay in natural splendour, in my humble opinion. Although there were considerably less tourists here than in Ha Long Bay, there was no lack of the ubiquitous local trying to sell to the odd tourist souvenirs manufactured elsewhere at exorbitant prices.

There were two locals who shared the craft with us, one took the oars and was the chief rower, the other now and then paddled when either Sio Ngai or I weren't (we had earlier volunteered to row). When the other wasn't paddling, she was busy peddling unwanted overpriced souvenirs to us. Our boat stopped to rest a bit after we passed through the third cave, and we were set upon by two or three riverine vendors who appeared to be excessively concerned about ensuring our sufficient hydration. We declined their kind offers as graciously as we could. Sensing staunch resistance on our part, they attempted a flank, and sought to strike where there was sympathy to be found - a brilliant entrepreneurial stroke. One of them sidled her craft next to ours, and then suggested that perhaps their comrades who were with us needed the beverages instead, if we did not.

I was later on to rue a swift capitulation.

Quite lush, don't you think?

The water babies. The latitude given Vietnamese and Cambodian (developing countries in general) children by their parents is amazing. Yes, I don't think the parents, in this case, had a choice. They would probably have paid more attention to their own children if they could.

If they were not busy in trying to make ends meet.

I think this is the way children should be brought up. They should be permitted a reasonable amount of freedom and independence within mildly paternalistic boundaries. Parental guidance, of course, is of the utmost necessity. But the child should never be overprotected.

Easier said than done, I suppose. Reality seldom contains enough space for the ideal.

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam, 9th Jun 2006

2006-06-09T11:59:00.000-07:00

Ha Long Bay is a popular destination for travellers who visit the north of Vietnam, with many agencies in Hanoi offerring day trips at relatively inexpensive prices. Large, gawdy-coloured ferries, the sole purpose of which is to carry visitors, like those in the picture above are a common sight, compared to the wooden rowing boat in the bottom right.

Yuck, seafood. Enough said.

The only instances where I form favourable opinions of these creatures come when they're either behind glass panels in a proper aquarium, or in the open sea. Put them on a plate, to serve, and you'll catch me holding my nose and looking the other way, if I'm to be found around at all.

There're these boathouses scattered all around the waters within Ha Long Bay selling live seafood, targetting the appetite of the tourist hordes, however unfathomable it appears to me, for the poor creatures. Once purchased, they are then cooked on board the kitchens of the larger tourist ferries. My group bought some fish, which they steamed. I did not partake of even a morsel.

Yes, I checked first. It was moored. In this picture is the same boathouse in which the previous photograph was taken. This was taken when my companions were selecting their fish.

The Thien Kung Caves in Ha Long Bay. Translated, it means the Heavenly Caves (a Mandarin-speaker needn't climb a mountain to translate that, given the close relationship between itself and the Vietnamese language).

Zhong Wei was there shortly after I was, or was it before. And he claimed, the veracity of which I cannot certify, that the reason why these caves were so cool on the inside was because they were air-conditioned, citing as evidence the noisy generators that he saw near the entrances and exits. He went on to tell a disbelieving me that the whole of Ha Long Bay was air-conditioned as well, and that it was fake.

What? It's a World Heritage Site!

According to Vietnamese folklore, the limestone karsts which litter Ha Long Bay were formed out of the pearls which were shot from a dragon's mouth sent by the Vietnamese king against a Mongolian invasion fleet. A tall tale, no doubt, but one which was has its roots in actual Vietnamese history. In the fourteenth century (if I've gotten my facts right), a Vietnamese general won a famous naval victory over the Mongols here in Ha Long Bay. This victory was probably the source of the legend.

Arlarm Urgently in Case Fire, Hanoi, Vietnam, 7th to 10th Jun 2006

2006-06-08T23:59:00.000-07:00

I've seen many laudable attempts to phrase Fire Instructions grammatically, even in countries where English is professed to be the first language, but this is absolutely hilarious!

Taken at Noi Bai International Airport in Hanoi, by the way.

The Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum at Ba Dinh Square. The ground is hallowed turf for the Vietnamese, for here Ho Chi Minh declared Vietnamese independence in the aftermath of the Japanese surrender and withdrawal at the end of the Second World War. Ho's resting place is guarded almost religiously. Pedestrians are not permitted to step beyond the yellow line that you see behind me, and at noon, a pall of silence already hangs over the place. We arrived too late to be able to greet Uncle Ho in person. The Mausoleum only opens its doors till about half past ten in the morning.

If I recall correctly this is the Headquarter of the Vietnamese Communist Party. Looks like a veritable mansion, doesn't it? Whenever I associate the Communists with architecture, I think of the drab, grey, rectangular structures which pepper the Russian cityscape, giving it a rather angular character. But the Soviet monolith has long been cast down, and it's unfair to put Stalin and company in the same bracket as modern-day China or Vietnam.

Kim Jong Il might disagree though.

What's a trip to Vietnam without seeing at least one war memorial? This here commemorates the Vietnamese struggle against the Japanese during the Second World War.

Ho Hoam Kiem, in the heart of Hanoi's Old Quarter. An island of tranquility amidst the currents and countercurrents of human traffic which swirl frenetically all around. The pagoda in the middle of the lake was built in honour of a giant tortoise (it could be a giant terrapin) which dwelled in the water, and apparently still does. I can't remember the full story.

Anyway, we decided not to hang around to find out and moved on.

The view from the hotel cafeteria, which was situated on the top level (sixth). As can be observed, Hanoi has very little in the way of skyscrapers. It is similar to Phnom Penh in that sense, although that is a most simplistic comparison!

A night market along one of the streets in the Old Quarter. The Old Quarter is the heart and soul of the city. The streets are named after the craft which is practised in that particular locality, although the lines are now generally blurred. One can still find silversmiths on Silversmith Street, along with cobblers, keysmiths anf grocers. A bargain-hunter's paradise, which leaves very little to be desired.

New Delhi, New Experience, India, 4th Mar 2006

2006-03-04T23:59:00.000-08:00

The Customs Department at Indira Gandhi International Airport uses hotmail too! Now I wonder if they go on MSN as well...

This kid is left on her own to learn how high the curbs are in Delhi, while her mother begs.

An Indian police patrol car parked by the road shoulder. Duty denies them the time to catch up with current affairs, so the officer in the driver's seat is taking this opportunity of heavy traffic to look through the day's news in the papers. At the same time he enforces civil order in the adjacent street and ensures the good behaviours of the two grocers in the background with his mere presence.

Peddler balancing his wares on his head. This one here puts a hand beneath the basket to prevent it from toppling. I've seen many locals do it hands free, and not just in Delhi. Useful skill to acquire. Especially if you have exploitative shopaholic girlfriends.

The Red Fort. The entrance at the bottom that leads one to an arcade of shops selling souvenirs and handicraft.

Apparently, Indian independence was declared here, and I did not learn the significance of the whole place till weeks, or even months, later. The guide lost us, or rather, our splintering group lost the guide, and we consequently couldn't make head or tail out of the whole place.

A statue of Hanuman overlooking a junction. Hanuman is the name of their monkey god, and he has similar powers of shapeshifting as the Monkey God in Chinese mythology.

One of the many roadside stalls. This row here is made up of fruitsellers. We were warned against buying from them. No wonder at that, for we don't know how they maintain hygiene setting up shop next to the dusty roads of Delhi.

The Taj Mahal, and Downhill After in Agra, India, 3rd Mar 2006

2006-03-03T23:59:00.000-08:00

Our holy man, who is able to fly as high and as far as an ostrich can. Wizened old man who preys on pity and sympathy and showers you with vituperative blessings if you have none.

Agra Fort. Shah Jehan was imprisoned here after he was deposed by his son, Aurangzeb. You can see the Taj from here, and we did. From outside the fort. Poor Shah Jehan, in constant sight of the monument he so lavishly built for his beloved Mumtaz, must have been writhing in agony at being so tantalisingly close to her and yet separated in reality both by a great physical distance and by the impenetrable wall that was Death.

Can you believe I actually wanted to buy this? Beautiful piece of art isn't it? It's Arjuna and Krishna carved out of wood and plated in gold and jewels. Twenty five grands. American dollars, not rupees. Silly me.

I think it is called Taj Street. I may be wrong. Plenty of bargains to pick up here, but we had too little time. I wound up with a kuta - not sure how they spell it - an Indian-style tunic which went down all the way to the knees.

Folks doing yoga in a park in the morning. How they manage it without straining a few tendons is a wonder, for Indian mornings are arctic.

I could have left the Taj Mahal fully content with what I have after taking this picture. Period.

And no, it isn't a postcard.

A local feeding the macaques, who kindly posed for me. I believe if I took any longer to take this picture, the rascal on the left would have jumped at the yellow bag of nuts (presumably nuts).

As Wild As It Gets In Babina Cantonment, India, 18th Feb to 2nd Mar 2006

2006-03-02T23:59:00.000-08:00

Goats are dexterous eaters, and can be surprisingly adept and climbing to get to choice clumps of greens. In this case however, the tree is probably too tall for them. The goatherds climb up instead, and throw down branches and leaves to their waiting, hungry charges beneath.

Sheep on a hillside nearing sundown. The shepherd coaxes them on with an urgent utt utt, and hurls a pebble if one or two creatures should stray. The stupid animals then follow the rolling pebble, and go further away from the herd.

An Indian village at the edge of the training area. The obelisk-like slab of stone demarcates the boundary. They seem to want to conserve the greener grass on this side of the boundary and often drive their livestock over into the training area to graze.

A dust devil, born when two winds blowing from opposite directions meet, and where one blows more strongly than the other. We were in the way of this one, and were coated in a fine sprinkle of golden Indian sand.

A herd of buffaloes looking for a place to spend the night. A sturdy, powerful creature is the Indian buffalo, but a peaceable one, unless their temperamental African cousins. Yet in a herd and without a herder, I wouldn't dare to get any closer.

Behind me is as civilised as it gets in the wild where we were abandoned. Civilisation as we know it is a good two hundred kilometres away. Earlier in the day, I had a fleeting vision of a passing herd of beef burgers, substantial portions, ambling along on fours, looking rather succulent.

Clouds are rare occurrences in the azure Indian sky, and make an unforgettable sunset. But they are also rued then, because they might possibly be harbingers of rain. One needs at least three layers of clothing at night, as I learnt on the night of this picture. I shudder to think of rain, because the night isn't the best time to get wet.

Stone Temple Pilots in Angkor, Cambodia, 10th to 13th Feb 2006

2006-02-13T23:59:00.001-08:00

The marvellous walled capital city of the Khmers, the approach of which is guarded by nine-headed nagas on either side, the symbol of strength and majesty in Hindu-Khmer mythology. In the background, the visitor beholds the visage of King Jayavarman VII, lips curled in a knowing smile that acknowledges the magnificence and splendour of Angkor Thom, the child of Ambition and Power, and who seems to mock the insignificant traveller.

The Bayon, and the reason why cold grey stone still awes. Enough said.

Trees rule in Ta Phrom, where Antiquity wages a losing battle against Nature. Kudos to Darren for a wonderful shot.

Nature the Eternal has the last word, and fashions her own greatness at Preah Khan.

The unfinished construction at Sang Srang. Tranquility defined in terms other than rock and ruin.

Angkor Wat in the lotus pond. On the morning of the thirteenth of February, we learnt that our peregrinations were not for naught.

Dauntless at Ta Keo. At the bottom and in the head, I could have scaled anything. At the top, I wished I had climbed 43 stories on proper concrete flights of stairs instead of the two narrow crumbling ones in this picture.

Siem Reap Sojourn, Cambodia 10th to 13th Feb 2006

2006-02-13T23:59:00.000-08:00

Downtown Siem Reap at night. There's a bookshop somewhere along the stretch on the right, and no lack of variety for the choosy diner (namely me).

Streets in Siem Reap are many things more than just a simple sidewalk.

The wet section in the Old Market. Had to hold my nose to get this picture. See foreground.

Cycling on our last day in Cambodia, in out-of-town Siem Reap once more. Perfectly safe, even with the freewheeling habits of the local motorists, because nobody speeds. I am one of many riders without helmets, albeit on the cautious side.

A blast from the past - A family get-together in the evening in out-of-town Siem Reap, and marbles. One of my first few experimentations with black and white.

One of our favourite dining spots, because of the set meals which made dinner an economical affair. We believed ourselves to possess talismanic powers of being able to draw customers, as heralds of business and prosperity. (We were often the first of many.) This day was an aberration. Here I began my love affair with aglio olio, which was pasta stir-fried with chilli and garlic in olive oil.

Cambodia Commercial Bank. Landmine victim in the right place at the wrong time.

Five Hours Baking On The Tonle Sap, Cambodia 10th Feb 2006

2006-02-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

In the distance is the confluence of the Tonle Sap, the Mekong and the Tonle Bassac. I am by the Tonle Sap. The Mekong runs from the left, and the Tonle Bassac to the right. Tonle means river in Khmer, as one can deduce from the names of the rivers.

The four of us, before moving out, and still a healthy shade of wholesome brown.

Late morning on the Tonle Sap. Before it got hotter.

Enthusiastic Cambodian kids on the river. Everytime a large craft (usually a ferry laden with tourists) passes, I see these boatfolk jump to their oars in order to set the bow perpendicularly to the direction the larger vessel takes. More often than not, their adroit and experienced arms make short work of this manoeuvre, and are free once again to wave to any passing ferries.

Tourists lounging at the top of the ferry. We encountered here a young lady, who was probably not much older than us, or could even be our age, travelling on her own. That takes some courage. Enough to put our herd of four to shame, in any case.

Best to sit here for the scenery. Good tanning spot, with, I stress, the right and proper precaution. Otherwise, it adds a rosy hue to the skin, and gives it a nice warm glow, literally.

Birds trailing in the wake of our ferry, on the Tonle Sap Lake. Hangers-on who feast on the pickings (constituted by very unlucky small fish in the way of our craft) churned out by the motor of the ferry.

The floating villages on the Tonle Sap lake, closer to the Siem Reap side. The true riverfolk. I'm most comfortable on terra firma, and however buoyant it makes me, a life on water isn't for me.

A Step into the Seventies - Phnom Penh, Cambodia - 8th & 9th Feb 2006

2006-02-09T23:59:00.000-08:00

Wat Phnom from the foot of the mount on which it stood, commemorating the very spot where it was said the Lady Penh founded Phnom Penh. No prize for guessing now for whom was the city named. Phnom is actually hill in Khmer, like Bukit in our Bahasa Melayu.

Sisowath Quay - Phnom Penh's modest answer to our Boat Quay. But it will do. Cafes serving all kinds of dishes from Cambodian to Italian cater to the needs of the many tourists that frequent the place. On the right hand side, unseen here, runs the Tonle Sap river, on which fishermen depend almost totally for their livelihood. Vannak said a stretch a kilometre's length can yield up to a ton of fish.

Victims of the S21, who died at the Killing Fields. The skulls were catalogued and categorised according to age in a pagoda built in their memory. My first encounter with the skulls so often associated with the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge. A haunting experience. These were once people who thought and felt very like you and me.

The deep breath before the plunge. Go-carting on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. I am in blue, because all the red outfits were too big. Seriously. I am last despite finishing first for the warm-up lap because I braked too late, and past the starting line, and so had to go one more round to get behind it.

We were at it for about half an hour, and I thoroughly enjoyed it despite my initial reservations. I had earlier castigated both Darren and Jansen, the chief perpetrators behind the whole go-carting idea for being profligate with their money, and I never heard the end of it after that because they nearly had to drag me out of the go-cart once the time was up!

The Silver Pagoda in the Royal Palace. Nothing silver about it, until you head inside.

A picture of Pol Pot at the Toul Sleng Genocidal Museum. I'm not sure if it was first vandalised and then displayed, or conversely. I think it must have been the latter order. Well, the fact that the people who run the museum don't ever bother to replace the picture speaks volume about what the Cambodians think of their former leader.

Cambodia fare, at this place called the Boat Village Restaurant. It was our last night in Phnom Penh, and we invited Vannak to join us, for his eternal enthusiasm and helpfulness. In the foreground my favourite cha kreung - chicken stir-fried Cambodian style with some kind of sweet sauce that Darren licked the bowl clean of. Not a single morsel was left of it when we finished.

On Our Own - Bangkok, Thailand, 6th & 7th Feb 2006

2006-02-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

The sight that greets most visitors to Thai tourism offices or visitor centres: the Thai Royal Palace. Wat Phra Kaeo, the most notable landmark and which houses the Emerald Buddha is on the utmost right.

Siamese sentinel guarding the Grand Palace.

Wat Arun - The Temple of the Dawn - and the view from the Chao Phraya River. Our first lesson in Hindu-ised architectural symmetry, albeit a very tentative introduction.

Wat Pho - The Temple of the Reclining Buddha - which houses the largest indoor reclining Buddha in the world. I'm not sure if that it's made of solid gold (I suspect it isn't), but its soles are in-laid with mother-of-pearls. I've never before seen so many mother-of-pearls together at once.

Patpong - the district that gives Bangkok the name and image of Sleaze City and one of the great places there to pick up a bargain or two. We wanted to catch the famous, or should I say infamous, Thai Girl Show (which Thai promoters/pimps very conveniently abbreviated as "Pussy Shows"), but was quite disgusted when we peeked into one of the bars in the vicinity and saw easily a dozen grown men in underwear and suspenders pole-dancing on the bar tops. And they weren't even muscular, they were skinny! Give me vomit, anytime.

Atrocious traffic conditions in Bangkok. Here, just outside Mah Boon Krong Shopping Complex.

Muay Thai - the Thai national passion. Front-row seats, for the equivalent amount of S$80. Nobody died, thankfully, even though I was expecting more ferocity and blood. But these guys move faster than most camera lenses can capture, so be on your best behaviour at the boxing stadium.

Up and Down A Hill In Penang, Malaysia 4th & 5th Feb 2006

2006-02-05T23:59:00.000-08:00

The hill in question. Looks more like a hillock. The view at its foot, before we violated gravitational laws. Our initial objective was Kek Lok Si Temple, which was approximately where the statue stood in the picture, perceptibly close to the top of the hill. We didn't reckon on it reclining and spiralling back- and upwards beyond our sight. So began our arduous two-hour ascent to where we thought the Temple (it had earned the capitalisation by virtue of the lengths we went to to locate it) stood - to the top of that hill. The place really was only half-way up. No, not really, less than that.

Ayer Hitam Dam, courtesy of Darren. I was meant to appear contemplative in this picture, and on hindsight, it wouldn't have been so if the shadows had not obscured my expression (I'm not sure I looked contemplative enough, see). If you are of the opinion that this is a good shot (which I am) it is really an mistimed accident of poor lighting. Sorry Darren.

The sight that both redeemed and rewarded what looked like a fruitless climb.

The Goddess of Mercy. Kek Lok Si Temple. She was on leave that day. I'm sure we would have otherwise averted our earlier tribulations.

We lingered around long enough and lo! the lights came on.

Nope, this is the Swissotel Hotel in town. This is KOMTAR(not sure what it stands for, really) - the tallest building in Georgetown and the most distinguishable feature of the skyline. You won't miss it.

That's Georgetown across the Straits. We were on our way to Butterworth to take the 21-hour train to Bangkok. Although I was looking forward to the next leg of our trip, where we would finally step out of the familiarity provided by Darren's relatives, and be on our own, I felt rather sad to be leaving Penang. Not least because of the generosity showed us by Darren's grandparents. His grandfather very kindly sponsored all of the three plates of char kway teow I consumed when I was there. (Our last meal, very predictably, was taken at MacDonald's.)

First Stop - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - 3rd & 4th Feb 2006

2006-02-04T23:59:00.000-08:00

Sample of the KL cityscape. Taken near the Petronas Twin Towers, and arguably KL's tidiest stretch of municipal space.

The Petronas Twin Tower, from a shady angle under a bridge.

KL Tower. Up the road from where the Twin Towers stood, but we made a clever flank and arrived here half an hour later than we really should.

Towers don't really give the architect much room, literally as well as figuratively, to showcase their talents, don't they?

The best place to view the Petronas Twin Towers - KL Tower, the other titan of the KL skyline. Here is where tourists engage in the conventional photographic foolery involving positioning themselves in such a manner as to show themselves gripping the towers between their fingers.

Times Square (no, not New York) in the background. A cavern of a shopping centre.

Merdeka Square, where Malaysian independence was proclaimed. Here we learnt our first lesson in crossing foreign streets (ie. nearly mown over by impatient Malaysian drivers).

Me, Darren and Jansen at the Masjid Negara, the National Mosque. We've been with our carapaces the whole morning.

Eight Hours in Macau 26th Dec 2005

2005-12-27T23:59:00.001-08:00

Hac Sa (black sand in Cantonese) Beach, where unimaginatively, the sand is black. I thought the whole stretch of beach would be black. It turned out that only the strip nearest to the shore was. But nevertheless quite special. Strikingly similar to Singapore's own Changi Beach Park.

Minas Morgul. No, the Ruins of St Paul (Da San Ba, the transcription of St Paul into Mandarin, to the locals), in the centre of Macau. There's nearly nothing behind the facade, save for a small museum which occupies some kind of basement. A ghostly sight at eight o'clock in the evening.

Macau Tower: somebody told my Dad who told me it's the seventh tallest structure in the world. They erected it so that people could jump off the top, scream and get high while freefalling.
Neither Lisboa nor Sands. This is the most lively vantage I could obtain of casinoes while I was there. The aforementioned juggernauts in the gambling industry looked rather dreary on the outside, and did not quite convey the stereotypical image people have of casinoes in Macau.

A little about the marketing strategies employed by these casinoes to draw customers. They often plant promoters in the ferry terminal, or the airport, and often bundle the gambling with other essential services like accommodation. In order to keep women occupied while their husbands gambled, these casinoes also contain beauty salons in a bid to appeal to their vanity. And of course, there are the skimpily-clad waitresses...

A police detachment will be stationed outside the casino, in the event of any armed violence, brawls, robberies and the like.

And no, I did not step inside. These were furnished by Sio Ngai months later.

I thought this was an interesting sign. Sala means wrong in Malay, it also meant gate in Portuguese. Initially I was rather amused by these Portuguese signs pointing out all the wrong exits and leaving the commuter to deduce which was the correct ones. At midnight one is often tickled by the most ridiculous things.

The Far East (well, no, not very far) - Hong Kong 24th Dec - 27th Dec 2005

2005-12-27T23:59:00.000-08:00

Hong Kong at half past seven in the morning, on Boxing Day. Very like Singaporean streets, except that it was more built-up, and had no trees to punctuate the monotony of concrete. The streets were absolutely deserted. I could have taken a nap where I stood, at least for the next hour or so, and yet not lose a single hair.

At the Peak, or Victoria Peak to be more precise. Steep ascent. Below, Victoria Harbour separates Hong Kong (near bank) from Kowloon (far bank). The tram that took us to the top is Hong Kong's oldest tram service.

Hong Kong's famous skyline. Why? They never fail to make up the background whenever the credits are played at the end of almost every Hong Kong drama serial. Only thing that differs is the angle.

Theseus would have lost himself silly here. The MTR stations, especially those which functioned as interchanges, were as riddled with tunnels as cheese is with holes. And they never seem to end. Eerie, isn't it?

Tsing Ma Bridge, the world's (third, I think...) longest suspension bridge, and only one half of it. It's splendour is dimmed by daylight, and by the thin veil of mist that accompanies it. It was my first attempt at travelling solo (my family were still asleep in the hotel) and I very nearly got stranded there. The viewing gallery was situated in a confluence of several motorways which was in the middle of nowhere because the road signs made little sense to me.
Atop one of the neighbouring hills from where the Giant Buddha sits, on Lantau Island, courtesy of some very friendly fellow travellers. Took me forty minutes on a train to get to Tung Chung (the nearest town centre), and another bumpy forty minutes on a bus from there to here. Apparently the largest outdoor bronze Buddha in Asia or the world.

Before the start of the Wisdom Path. Lining it are wooden beams on which are etched the verses of the Heart Sutra. Scenic, and peaceful. Lesson learnt: if on your own, and if you want your picture taken by somebody, go for those with the large lenses and the tripods.

Exercise Wallaby, Queensland, Australia, 2nd Nov 2004 - 23rd Nov 2004

2004-11-23T23:59:00.000-08:00

Day 1 at our makeshift bunk - a large, rather flimsy-looking bivouac supported in the centre by three or four metal poles, with flaps that were unmanageably heavy acting quite inadequately as doors at either end. Slept on these taut foldable beds which fell apart whenever too much pressure was exerted on any one spot. We all got used to it, since it proved to be a great deal more comfortable than the next best alternative - on a mat outdoors. In any case, we spent probably less than a quarter of the twenty-one nights sleeping there.

The main track that led to our campsite in the wild, which our Course Commander christened Johnny Axis. It took slightly over an hour to get back to our proper campsites fifty kilometres away. Whenever we were allowed to go back to take a bath (once every three days or so, after the initial seven days) we were all transported back crammed like sardines on these army lorries. And the return journey, bumpy most of the way, very dusty and far from enjoyable, usually rendered our baths redundant.

Sunset. Was acting as sentry for a live firing exercise which most of my other coursemates were participating in. Didn't fire because I already did so back in Singapore, since the instructors wanted everybody to participate in at least one live firing exercise, and there weren't enough positions to go around for every cadet. I recall on that particular day being forgotten and left in my position way after the firing had ceased. By the time somebody came to retrieve me, it was near eleven at night, and I was positively freezing.

Steven and I, sentries again, the day after the previous photograph was taken. As can be observed, we were quite grimy, and bored, having ran out of anthills to terrorise, and stones large enough to terrorise them with.

Boatnetting on the first day of R&R. Gave it a miss as I neglected to bring a change of clothes. It must have been quite fun. Should have given it a try because I had no other opportunity after that day.

My section on Great Keppel Island, a poor Australian attempt at an island resort, missing one or two people. To be fair, the water was much clearer, and looked more inviting, than what we have back home in Singapore. But the facilities, living and entertainment, were rudimentary at best. Those of us, most of us actually, in long pants were those who decided to walk around instead of indulging on the beach. I was, as usual, armed with a book. One of those many places where I really shouldn't have brought a book along with me. Two or three weeks later, I brought one to Zouk.

Lorikeets, easily the most colourful birds I've seen in the wild. These are the equivalents of the mynahs and the sparrows that we have in abundance on Singaporean streets. Attractive birds, but something one wouldn't like to have hovering around a lunch table.