The Wrong Sort of Knees

What is it with human beings, their body parts and the various world religions?  


On Thursday, Eid, so a religious day off here in KL, it felt like as good a time as any to take our guest for a visit to a couple of KL’s tourist sites.  Firstly we visited Batu Caves a set of caves and hindu shrines that are, apparently, one of the most popular shrines outside of India.  The 272 steps up to the three main caves are popular with the small Lawrences and parents alike as a good work out and the various restaurants at the foot of the steps are equally popular for a good old feed.  The caves themselves and shrines were unexpectedly packed and so clambering up the steps, while dodging the pilgrims, tourists and monkeys was a challenge, but one that we all negotiated well.  Well almost all of us….


The only person who failed to negotiate the steps was Lexi.  She had the wrong sort of knees.  While Trixie and I strode onwarsd and upwards Lexi had been detained at the bottom of the steps by an earnest lady who told her that she could not climb the steps with her knees showing.  Lexi was wearing a knee length skirt and had thought to cover her shoulders, which are apparently also offensive under certain circumstances, but apparently she was in the wrong.  As lots of shorts wearing men and women with visible shoulders passed her and the female enforcer by Lexi argued her case.  Why did she have to cover her knees?  Why were men not expected to cover their knees?  Why were knees a problem today when they had not been a problem on other days when we had visited the same place?  The answer that was offered to her was the good old Malaysian staple answer for all difficult and silly questions: policy.  A cross Lexi fumed over a cold lemon juice while her knees watched on, not offending anything or anyone.


I am not sure how certain body parts belonging to certain people can be classed as offensive or irreligious.  Some religions have major problems with hair, heads, armpits, shoulders, knees, strangely not toes, and even soles of feet and all of these seem to be arbitrary at best or oppressing at worst.   The rebel in me quite likes the idea of visiting a range of shrines covering up just the listed body parts above and arguing with official body part enforcers that all listed offensive zones are hidden from the view of the easily offended.  And since when have these body parts been offensive or in need of clamping down on?  And if one chooses to accept the bizarre premise that a specified body part belonging to one sex is is some way distracting to the pilgrim, zealot or deity concerned then surely that same body part belonging to the other sex must be equally as troublesome and in need of covering?


There are many solutions.  Naked worship at religious shrines?  Practical in the tropics, as long as there is plenty of shade and clothes hangers.  Long, shapeless, brown robes that everyone is required to wear?  All body parts get covered, but not so good for the short who might trip easily and so be in need of extra elbow and knees padding and also not so good for very tall who might flash off a sinful ankle in the company of the almighty.  The final solution could be to make a garment that revels in the joys of the oppressed body parts.  From bottom to top it would look something like this:  Trousers that finished just above the ankle with holes that were cut out to show off the knees caps.  A similar smock-like top with a front pouch to hold one’s camera or smart phone and battery pack* and cut outs to show off the shoulders and armpits alike.  This would not be the easiest top to put on, but with specially trained supervisors many arm and armpit hole confusions could be averted.  In fact a giggle or two when mistakes are made might even put the worshipper in a more spiritual mood.  Finally the head.  A battery powered (see * for battery pack) oversized halo positioned twenty centimeters above one’s head with rainbow colored arrows pointing from the hall to the wearer head, drawing attention to their fine head of hair or fine lack of head of hair.  


Yes.  This costume is definitely the way forward.  After all world religions would not like to think of themselves as being oppressive or sexist in any way would they?

A Night Out Out Of Brunei.

The couple of work days in Brunei have been really worthwhile and thought-provoking.  They have also included thrashing out the details of the up-coming drama festival for our students.  Debating matters with lots of Drama teachers who are full of creative ideas is a great gig to get especially as our collective aim has always been to make the best possible festival for our 11 to 14 year olds.


But after this hard work (and it was hard work, honest) us teachers deserved an evening out.  And this evening was very out indeed, out the country to be exact.  A coach picked up our flounce of Drama teachers at the hotel and off we drove to the Brunei / Malaysia border.  But this was not just any old border.  It was the slim slice of Malaysia that runs right through the middle of Brunei, splitting the Sultanate in two, quite literally driving a wedge into Brunei territory and lifestyle.


After parking up we approached the Brunei border control on foot and our party pushed through and into the long line of cars waiting to cross in the way that only Drama teachers can, using our Rudolf Laban fast / direct / light walks making it look like we knew exactly what we were doing.  Once stamped out of Brunei the Drama gang strolled around 300 metres through no-persons-land, watched only by a gang of confused looking dogs and made for the Malaysia border control.  One of our number raised the alarming question of what might happen if one of us decided to murder another while not in a country, mainly because that colleague was interested in the point of law, they hastily added.  Conversation continued again after a brief Pinter pause.


Getting into Malaysia was easy, another passport stamp, and then it was off to dinner.  But what a place. Please remember that in Brunei there is no (officially) sold alcohol easily available, pork is restricted and smoking is completely banned (except in the few places that it isn’t).  The food area that lay a matter of metres from the border was everything that Brunei wasn’t.  Tables packed full of people who were reassuringly hammered, drinking booze like their lives depended on it, smoking like it was going out of fashion and all of this was to the tune of raucous singing of terrible karaoke.  It was a marvelous sight and one that had the immediate feel of the wild west.  The cowboys horses had been substituted by aged 4x4s, the cowboy hats had been replaced by baseball caps and copied football shirts and the saloon staff had been replaced by a very broad range of characters that were there to be entertaining, entertained (as it were) or cook some amazingly good food.  


It was a very fun evening, but one that had to run strictly to time for various reasons. The border closed at midnight, but as importantly the duty free shop closed at 10.00pm.  Several Brunei based international teachers accompanied our international party, keen to socialize and enjoy the fine food fare on offer, but also happy to allow us off-comers to use our duty free allowance on their behalf.  Thus I found myself carrying two litres of gin and twelve cans of lager, the maximum limit per person, back towards Brunei, in thick yellow plastic bags, accompanied by pleased expressions from my hosts.  Despite Brunei’s strict laws because I completed a yellow form and had it rubber stamped at the border everything was fine.


It was a bizarre evening and one that I spent most of it chuckling through.  The place was the polar opposite of my afternoon in Bandar and yet was only a 30 minute drive away.  The rules were so completely opposite making me realize that neither set was right.  Both sets were both too extreme.  Clamp down on humans too much and they have to have a pressure release somehow or other to let off as much, or probably more, steam than has been pent up in them and this is not a good lifestyle to follow.


I have certainly found my brief visit to Brunei illuminating and thought-provoking.  It is certainly geographically a beautiful place but I quite sure that I could not live comfortably under so much considered, benign and well-meant repression.  I am just far too liberal.

In Brunei.

Many places in the world have their peculiarities and delights and currently I find myself in the delightfully peculiar country that is Brunei.  I have been very privileged to visit some very nice places for work that I would never have been able to go to had I stayed working in Cannock and so when the opportunity came to travel to Brunei, and as it was my turn to go, I took that opportunity.


I have been here helping to plan next year's Drama festival for 11-14 year olds that many of my current students will want to come to.  I have also been sharing lesson ideas and even led a workshop too.  All good stuff.

And if travel broadens the mind then I pleased to report that my mind has been suitably further broadened by my time here especially as I have been pondering about the many restrictions imposed on Brunei by its benevolent dictator style Sultan in conjunction with Islam.  And it would appear to me that the more strict the rule the more creative humans have to be to get round that rule. 

Let's take alcohol as the first one.  I am not a big drinker, especially as I continue to try to get into the right shape for an upcoming half marathon in two weeks.  However knowing that alcohol is completely banned in Brunei has made me crave an ice cold beer.  That first sip of that first glass of beer.  Wow.  That thirst quenching moment, especially in this heat too?  Oh, wow.  But alcohol is completely banned.  Except that it isn't, because human have to find their ways round rules that they either don't like or wish to follow.  After a day of hard work yesterday, and yes, 15 Drama teachers do work hard when they get together.  We don't just flounce around and call each other "Darling" all day long.  Well to reward our hard work our host took us for dinner to The Brunei Yacht.  Conveniently this is one of three places in Brunei where it has been declared that the laws relating to alcohol do not apply.  The club is permitted to sell alcohol, but unless 'special coffee' is to your liking then one needs to bring one's own booze.  Consequently when getting off the coach I was given the task of carrying in one of the two cases of beer.  Watched over by security I signed my name and a random series of numbers that may have had some connection to my passport on a piece of paper and the formalities were completed.  Fifteen drama teachers and associated staff seated themselves at a long table and various people pulled out various bottles of vodka, gin, wine and yet more beer out of certain bags and the evening flowed.  

Don't get me wrong it was a pleasant evening but it was weird.  The grandest thing about the yacht club is its title, although the food was pretty special, but it just felt odd.  Coupled with the country wide smoking ban, except for the yacht club, I really had to do several double takes about the place.

Then there is the small issue over body parts.  Certain body parts are favoured over others in Brunei with some limbs and joints being considered more risqué than their less tempting others.   The most frowned upon body parts are women's shoulders, armpits, knees and cleavage.  Men's knees are also not permitted in certain buildings, most notably mosques.  With an almost Victorian debate raging in Britain at the moment about was is and is not acceptable as school uniform it would appear that Brunei-ans have a clear picture of what should be on show and what should not.  Shoulders and knees are distracting, apparently to men, while arm-pits should not be mentioned.  Men's knees should also be carefully hidden from view in mosques.  I like to think that I advocate a practical approach to body parts and clothing.  In a hot, sticky, tropical climate I like being able to wear shorts, but also understand that when going to work you need to put on the smart uniform of the going to work person.  However to segregate women's knees and shoulders out for special victimization does seem silly.  And then there is the matter of head scarves.  Apparently, word on the Brunei streets has it that men would not be distracted if they saw a female shoulder or knee.  To me it feels like nonsense as the rules appear to suggest that men are useless and have no self control, while women are simply there to be lusted over by men.  In fact it is more this silly.  It annoys me.

Next there is the matter of touch.  Muslim boys and girls should not allow their skins to touch each other, making some Drama and Dance activities in school very difficult indeed, if not impossible.  Generally girls and boys in school are quite good at avoiding each other without these daft rules and they are usually, here in SE Asia far more focussed on getting their Mathis homework done than anything else.  In fact the contraceptive power of Maths homework should not be underestimated.  Passion over a fraction?  Desire served with a quadratic equation?  Serenading your loved one with a histogram?  I don't think so.

But I digress.  And I apologize for not yet mentioning the Brunei-an law against cross-dressing, which must be a mine field to try to enforce.

I return to relative sanity of Malaysia tomorrow, where there is a sign displayed in most supermarkets stating that it is illegal for Muslims to buy alcohol.  But before I return a word or two about the hotel in which I and fellow Dramatists are staying.  What it lacks in cultural sensitivity through its name The Empire Hotel more than makes up for in marble and gold.  It is huge and magnificent and opulent and ridiculous all at the same time.  When I checked in was given a chilled melon juice, cold towel and official welcome letter from the manager, one Mr Nigel Badminton, and then whisked off to my vast room in a swish golf buggy.  Trying to make sense of my luxuriously carpeted and marbled room I took to counting and quickly totted up seven towels, fourteen teabags (seven different flavours), multiple bathrobes, slippers, toothbrushes, soaps, washing tonics and potions along with essentials such as a shoe cleaning service, multiple writing pads and an ironing board plus iron.  I would have to work hard to get through that lot, I thought.  However that was not all.  Outside in the grounds of the place, apparently grounds that are the size of Monaco, I managed to find a cinema, gym, multiple swimming pools, hot tubs and even the sea.  Again I am not sure what to think.  When I am on a family holiday I get excited about a hotel if it includes breakfast.  The Empire and Mr Badminton have ensured that a feast is provided each day, the size of which would probably feed the entire population of Monaco.

Finally a word or two about I am currently writing from.  A chain coffee shop in Bandar, the capital.  After visiting the outside of a mosque, (I did break the rules briefly by going inside without covering up my sinful knees) I have sought sanctuary and caffeine.  I was enjoying my coffee until I stopped to listen to the lyrics of the piped-in music.  They went like this "Little Stupid Ass Bitch I Ain't F**king With You.  I don't give a f**k about you," repeated multiple times.  How nice and how very respectful.   

PS I asked politely for a music change.

A Wet Day But Great Weather In Ao Nang.



The weather has been marvellous in and around Ao Nang, near Krabi in Thailand but Lawrences appear to spent large parts of today wet.  


After shaving and showering (one) we had breakfast.  It is worth, at this point, taking a few moments to mention the importance of breakfast as a holiday meal.  Yesterday we arrived in Ao Nang not having booked anywhere to stay.  We knew the place fairly well and knew that we would find somewhere to suit our needs (not many) and budget (not much) and so consequently didn't worry too much.  The first two places we asked at wanted far too much money for two rooms so we parked the car and walked around for a bit.  Eventually we settled on the Ao Nang Sunset Hotel.  It had two rooms available, they were connecting and the 'special price' offered by the receptionist sounded special enough to me.  She then said these two important words "Including breakfast.'  A deal was done and we checked in.


Any price that is 'including breakfast' translates easily into Lawrence speak as "Eat as much as you can kids!"  The family-on-a-budget  gland worked overtime in all of us this morning and seemingly only minutes after Lexi and I saying "Go" children devoured a cumulative mass of five croissants (mini), seven slices of toast, six eggs,  various slices of ham, bowls of cereal and litres of cordial-like juice.  Lexi and I ate well too.  They were all stuffed and required no more feeding until dinner this evening.  When an inclusive breakfast stares you in the face the least you can do is feed that face and feed it until it is full.  Wisely all of them treated the chicken sausages with extreme caution, with Trixie being the only Lawrence brave enough to try a nibble.  Following her analysis no-one else risked any.


After breakfast we drive around 80km to find Ron Khlong Thom Waterfall, a hot water stream and small falls.  It was only 60km from our hotel but the extra 20km was for the several wrong turns that we took.       I blame Ron.  The waterfalls are not high and mighty but the small drops have been semi-sculpted into pools in which we bathed (two) enjoying the warm volcanic waters.  Marvellous.


After drying off it was time to drive on to The Emerald Pool, a large green (obviously) pool again filled with warm volcanic water.  We bathed again (three) and did our level best not to slip over on the edges of the pool.  I am pretty sure that we were charged a special foreigner price as a Thai sign around the side of the entrance building appeared to suggest different entrance fees for Thais, a practice that I really don't like.  Given though that we were still stuffed from breakfast and that the cost wasn't ridiculous I didn't let it spoil another immersion.


A strictly enforced rule at the Emerald Pool though was the one about food.  No food, soap or shampoo was allowed inside the jungle or in the hot water pools.  We were told to wait and finish our barbecued sweetcorn before going in which we duly did.  Moments after entering we passed a family happily munching ice creams.  On the way out we saw a family bathing in another pool along with, yes, soap and shampoo.  I am not sure if these infringements are as serious though as the motorist at a petrol station who I saw chattering away on his mobile phone, engine running, while having his car filled up by an attendant just in front of a sign expressly forbidding the use of mobile phones and threatening all sorts of terrible things if one did not turn off one's car engine.  Still, at he wasn't smoking.


We arrived back in Ao Nang just before 6.00pm which gave us time to dash the 1.5 minutes of distance down to the sea to have a swim (four) and wave battering before dinner.  The sunsets over the cliffs are really are impressive and look all the better when watched from the sea.  


We had dinner from the collection of street food sellers near our hotel and dined on the delicious staples of sticky rice, barbecued chicken, and papaya salad.  We added a plate of cashew nut fried rice plus spring rolls and prawns for good measure.

 

After showers (five) back at the hotel it is probably safe to say that we spent nearly as much time wet as dry today.


Back to Malaysia tomorrow.



Reasons to Visit or Not Ko Samui?


The ferry.  No one knows anything about  the departure times or whether we can book tickets or not.  The people who definitely don't know are the people who work in the ferry offices and especially not the five people who stand behind the counter at Nathon Pier.  


Lamai Beach.  A lovely sloping beach with a small shelf in the sea that allows adults to stand up fully immersed while children play and splash to their hearts' content.


Coffee.  While having to wait overnight for a ferry from Donsak to Ko Samui the security guard who offered to loan me his moped so that I could and buy some coffee.  The iced coffees sold at far too high a cost and made from Nescafé.  The amazing 30 baht iced coffees sold by a mother and daughter team next to Tesco's in Lamai.


Tesco's.  There are loads of Tesco's on Ko Samui but they provide plenty of fresh bread, milk, eggs and juices for Lawrence breakfasts instead of having to pay up to 750 baht for a family breakfast in a restaurant.  However what small businesses have the aggressive supermarket chain knocked out?  But then also a shoe shop inside Lamai Tesco did have exactly the right pair of football boots and school trainers for Trixie and I did manage to buy a souvenir 5kg bag of sticky rice.


Food.  The really good seafood curries, green curries and ubiquitous burgers and pizzas.  The massive range in prices from place to place.  Similarly cocktails.  Happy hour (4pm to 8pm) in most places but the prices range from 60 baht from road side stalls to 180 baht on the beach.


Children.  Generally ok as a concept and I don't plan to send my three back but children's prices.  Tourist places seem to want to charge adult prices for the over tens.   We argued with the counter staff at Paradise Farm Park, quite a nice place way up in the jungle hills.  She refused to budge saying that everything she did was filmed on CCTV.  We asked to speak to her boss.  Her boss was in Cambodia.  On our insistence we spoke to him.  He agreed that our request was reasonable and we paid child prices for Ned.  And the same thing happened at the Ko Samui Football Crazy Golf. Although it was agreed that we could pay children prices for Ned once we worked out how much the price was in £ / RM we regained our senses and drive off.


Prices.  (See cocktails earlier)  Haggling can be fun but wearing.  The market stalls that seemed to be doing the best business were at  Bophut / Fisherman's Village on Friday evening and they were the ones that had fixed prices.  The stalls with no prices had fewer customers.  Also the street food was great there too.


Tailors.  Along with bars, tattoo parlours, tat stalls and restaurants there are loads of tailors' shops.  But when in tailors' shops prices and haggling are required.  In one shop one tailor took me outside to discuss the price as he said he was just fitting a Russian customer for a 7000 baht suit, but would sell the same thing to me for 4000.  In another the tailor would not move from a ridiculous price for one shirt.  In a third a poster declared '1 suit, 1 vest (waistcoat), 1 shirt = 45 Euros.'  I enquired and was told that was an all inclusive price except for the material.  Not a good look, methinks.


Signs.  Every business has a sign pointing to it and outside it.  There are a lot of businesses.  Signs to useful places, such as The Beach, are few and far between.  The most confusing signs that were around were in the port area on Ko Samui directing drivers to go the wrong way to buy tickets.


Beach traders.  Everyone needs to make a living and to help everyone there are beach traders a plenty on Lanai Beach.  All the official sellers wore green tabards.  The best traders clearly was the barbecued sweetcorn, pineapple and mango man who sold what his style suggested at 50 baht per portion.


Space.  All the final sea frontiers have been built on, in the case of Chaweng Beach it is impossible to see the sea unless you are right next to it.  Where the development has been thought through then sitting on the beach, under coconut palms was very pleasant.  Where Bob Marley battles with house music and people selling massages the beach and it's development were not places for those hard at play or for seekers of relaxation.


Island Books.  Great secondhand bookshop.  No downsides.  It inspired me to track down any secondhand book shops in KL.

So overall I reckon the answer is yes to a visit.

Ko Samui - The Graham Taylor Experience



If anyone remembers that documentary about Graham Taylor and his reign as the England football manager then you will recall that it soon became infamous for loads of frustrated swearing and his question / statement "Do I not like that!/?"  I seem to remember that it was said by Mr T about a refereeing decision, in his last game as boss, as he heard metaphorical nails being bashed into his career storage unit: the metaphorical coffin.  But did he like that, whatever "that" was?

I find myself asking exactly that same question about Ko Samui, a large island off the Eastern coast of Thailand.  Lawrences arrived by car and ferry having travelled from Kuala Lumpur over several days.  I decided that we wanted the adventure and that a slow, gradual journey, taking in what we wanted on the way, as well taking what we wanted to with us was exactly the thing to do. 

However there were plenty of challenges in getting to The Lamai Plaza Residences, from where I currently write this stuff.  Firstly we all came down with a tummy bug, while staying in Songkhla, a delightful place, with amazing beaches, almost no tourists, and excellently comfortable toilet seats in the hotel we were staying in.  Fortunately the bug worked its chosen path out of us fairly swiftly, but it did mean that we needed to stay put for a night longer than we had expected to.  That meant a later arrival at the Donsak to Ko Samui ferry port than we had hoped for.

We got to the port at around 7.30pm and joined a long queue.  There was no information in the queue and we were only relying on our sat nav to confirm that we had made it the right port.  Fortunately, thanks to Lexi and I's two years in Lao, which now feel like a very long time ago, we managed to use our fledgling and much forgotten language to he establish some information from the port office.  There were two more ferries that night.  Both were full, possibly.  But we could wait.  There were more ferries the next day, starting at 6.00am, and apparently we could not book a ticket for any of them.  The ferries might be full.  We were slightly stuffed and so took the decision to join the queue, resigned to a long wait.  Both ferries that night were indeed full and we found ourselves in the both annoying and welcome position of front of the queue for the 6.00am ferry, at 10.00pm.  Children nodded off in slightly reclining seats.  Lexi disappeared hunting food and returned sometime later bearing two Thai pot noodles and water.  We needed all the sustenance we could find for the long wait ahead.

We passed an hour by listening to The Archers podcast, some hours trying to get comfortable, almost an hour trying not to scratch, plenty of hours sweating and ten minutes counting all the vehicles in the queue behind us (23 at 3.45am).   One nice moment though was when one of the security guards offered to loan me his moped so that I could ride off in to the night to track down some more food.

After a long time 4.45am arrived and joined the many lorries and coaches that filled the lane that we were not at the front of.  At 5.00am the lorries and coaches drove into the port and began embarking, leaving me sweating some more hoping that front of the queue would be enough to get us on.  Fortunately we were waved through by the friendly guard, but not before he had looked at my passport.  Strange how he would have loaned me his moped to go off wherever I wanted to but had to look at my passport, for some reason or other, to allow us to progress from one part of Thailand to another.  We did get on the ferry and did get to Ko Samui, but not before another check of the passport by another bloke.  This time I gave him Lexi's.  The different name, photo, hairstyle or gender didn't worry him and he waved the way the through.

I like the turn up and get on approach to ferries but it is very frustrating that people can't book a place unless you're appear to be one of the people who can, of whom the Lawrences are clearly not one of.   As Graham Taylor has uttered "Do I not like that."

It took a long time to find Lamai Plaza Residences for several reasons.  We had an address, but, having been to Thailand several times before we knew that that didn't mean much.  We also had a sat nav, that we had paid to have Thailand maps put on.  And that worked well.  The problem on arriving at Lamai was that it is so built up.  Every patch of land appears to have had a hotel, bar, restaurant, hotel, tailor's, bar, money changer, nail studio, bar, massage place, bar, tattoo studio, motorbike hire place, hotel or bar built on it and every business has a sign pointing to it, in addition to a sign above each place.  It is a sign-writer's paradise, especially given that many signs are in multiple languages too.  So trying to pick out where Lamai Plaza Residences were was very tricky.   We stopped and asked four motorbike taxi people who immediately decided that they had no idea where the place was until between them they decided that it was "somewhere up there on the right."  We drove on past more bars, restaurants, tailor's etcetera etcetera until, quite by chance saw, of all things, a sign pointing to Lamai Plaza Residences.  

Lamai Plaza Residences is a very well done set of, well, residences, ours having two bedrooms with high quality fittings and a kitchen too.  But in keeping with the Graham Taylor question I am not sure whether I like it.  It is plush, even taking into account that I have a very low level of need when it comes to accommodation, but the owners have managed to squeeze twelve such detached constructions onto a small patch of land.  Strangely, in the few nights that we have now been here no more than half have been occupied.  And that appears to be the picture over much of the area in which we are staying.  Mass development of land, building the most number of rooms, bungalows etc with only one third or half occupancy.  Could people have not build fewer, saved construction costs and materials and then filled their places?

The saving grace of the area, after you have walked through three packed-in resorts, past a few bars, a tailor, and another soon to open tattoo parlour, is the beach.  White sand, perfect angle down to the sea, plentiful waves of the type that children like, coconut palms.  Ok you have to ignore the resorts exactly behind the nicest patches of beach but it is still quite nice.  

So far Ko Samui has made me ask Saint Graham's questions several times, "Do I not like that?"

Right off to go and visit Mr Bam and his mobile cocktail stall, which I think I like, for two takeaways for Lexi and I.   I have to walk past 18 open but empty bars to get there.  What would Graham Taylor say?

Round Two of The Holiday



I have never complained about the long summer holiday although the word Summer does seem a little bit daft to use while working in the tropics.  The temperatures are summery all year round, even when it is pouring down as it was for part of the journey north today.

We planned to leave KL early this morning as word on the street said that we needed to be at our first destination, Gua Tempurang Caves, by 9.00am to get on the first tour of the day.  We managed to be on the road by 7.00am ish and did well to get to the caves, close to the town of Gopeng by 9.15am.  I had visions of crowds of people busily pushing and shoving to get to front of sprawling queues and all wishing they had left KL just that bit earlier than they did.  The reality was very different.  There were three old cars parked nearby the main entrance but precious little evidence of who might have driven them there.  There was a bloke sitting outside the toilets collecting cash for wees but apart from that no-one appeared to be there.   All dressed in our scruffiest clothes and ready for caving action we ambled around the place and eventually found a desk marked 'information.'   A bit like the shopkeeper from Mr Benn a lady emerged upwards from behind a screen around the desk and we all stood looking at each other for a few moments.  Bravely I asked for tickets, but the only information that she could tell us was that her friend who sold the tickets had not arrived yet.  However she would probably arrive soon.

Soon came and fortunately so did the ticket seller.   Buying tickets is not an easy process business though.  Apparently we needed eight paying adults to do tour three, a wet and slidey experience that we had been recommended to take and despite Trixie's eighth birthday being in February Lawrences could not pass for eight.  While considering what to do next two other blokes came up to the counter and after a bit of haggling and persuading it was agreed that seven was nearly eight and the combined money that we were happy to pay was nearly what the cost was, and tour four was slightly more challenging and exciting and so we paid up.  After waiting another ten minutes for the guide to turn up we began the tour.

Overall the whole experience would have made many a cave purist weep as we seemed to ride roughshod around dripping ceilings and forming stalagmites but the clambering over, along and down well worn paths, crawling under rocks and immersing ourselves in cool river water was a three hour experience loved by young and old.  Grubby, wet and gritty it was well worth it.

Next on our mission to be tourists in Malaysia we found Kellie's Castle, a bit north of Gopeng.  Built by Scotish landowner, plantation manager and crop experimenter William Kellie Smith in the early 20th century he never got to finish or live on the place thanks to illness finishing him off.  It was a bit of nearly experience for Lawrence's as we almost didn't get to go in, on principle, I may add.  The advertised price for entry was RM5 for adults and RM3 for children.  Except there was a catch.  Lots of tourist places in Malaysia have a duel pricing system whereby the  non-Malaysians are charged more to enter because, well, er, er, ....  Yeah.  Why are they charged more? And so we argued with the lady selling trying to sell us tickets.  The cost for us to enter would be RM19 or RM 38 if we paid the foreigner prices (that wasn't going to happen). Explaining that we worked in Malaysia and that we paid taxes too we offered to pay RM 19 and not a sen more.  The ticket seller mumbled something about her boss making to rules and so we asked to speak to the boss.  The ticket seller gestured in a random direction and explained that the boss was eating.  A quick search of the closed cafe and empty toilets showed that the boss was not eating nor ind

Going On Holiday


While I really like being on holiday I have decided that I really don't like going on holiday.  There is a massive difference.  

As I write this I am deep in relaxation mode: sitting at a table in a tree house next to a swimming pool at a cheap and cheerful resort in Langkawi.  I have a pot of freshly brewed coffee, my tummy is full from a buffet breakfast and the children and Lexi are doing stuff, quietly without arguing. Lexi is reading.  All is well.  I am only thinking about Ideas for Drama lessons eight times a day so, taken all together, I clearly must be on holiday.  Splendid.

Going on holiday is a different beast completely.

The hassle started when Lexi and I first came up with the idea of going on this holiday. Her Mum was visiting us and having a week away in Langkawi for her final week sounded like just the thing.  We agreed on staying in the same place we had been to several times before and so set about booking.  Having previously tried to book directly with the resort and failed spectacularly (people might remember my attempts to arrange a TV package without going through an agent and the weeks of delays) we decided to use Expedia.com (other websites are available).  We pressed all the right buttons, inserted all the right dates, put in the right credit card details and, already starting to feel relaxed, hit the 'confirm' button.  Nothing happened.  When nothing had finished happening a message came up saying that our booking had not been successful and we should try again.  We did and helpfully the price went up by RM1000 (quite a lot).  We gave up.

Next day, Lexi phoned Expedia.com and after much waiting, explaining, reciting of details as well as two more phone calls we got our booking for RM200 cheaper than the first on-line price.  We started to relax again.  Booking a holiday had been so stressful that we needed a holiday to recover from booking a holiday.

The last week of term 3 is always nutty and this year was no different with all of those usual things that have to be done before the end of term 3 still having to be done.  The last day was finally upon us.  We celebrated by eating in a Syrian restaurant in Chinatown, doing all the Saturday stuff that we have to do and then setting about packing on Sunday.  Our Sunday packing was delayed by the need to have lunch with some friends who were departing KL for Wisbech but when packing could no longer be put off we tackled it and beat it.  

However life continues and stuff needed doing.  Before leaving I had to arrange for the car to be serviced, buy new sandals, sort out Edwin's birthday presents, forget to bring some of his birthday cards, check the air ticket bookings several times, lose the lock for my suitcase, do that last minute load of washing, ensure that the children had packed, go to bed too late and then forget all the waterproofs.

We got up at normal school time on Monday morning and as Lexi drive off to work (to join us on Wednesday) our ever reliable taxi driver arrived at exactly 0645 to chauffeur us to the airport.  All looked well.

Checking in was predictably difficult.  I presented my credentials to the specified Air Asia counter and was told that I had to "self check in first."  (Air Asia's self check-in is a wonderfully designed system that successfully creates more work for the would-be flyer and is really good at annoying the slightly hassled father with kids and mother in law.  It involves you typing in your booking code into a machine, swearing at the machine when it tells you that the code is not recognised, typing in the code again, more swearing, getting cross at an elderly Chinese couple who have walked off and left a luggage trolley in the way, looking confused when the machine, contrary to expectations works on the third go, watching as four of the required five boarding cards are printed and then returning to the check-in counter to finish the process.). I presented the boarding cards to the hassled looking lady behind the counter and explained that one was missing.  Having previously refused to print off our boarding cards she then pressed a few buttons and printed off Pat's boarding pass without question.  Why the hell she couldn't do it in the first place for all of us was beyond me.   Having dealt with all that it was a relief to get on the plane and land in Langkawi.  Haggling with car hire people, nursing the car with vapours of petrol in it to the petrol station and debating with the resort manager about being allocated the wrong rooms were easy challenges to deal with compared to the earlier hassles.  All of this must take its toll.

Help was at hand though in the form of a visit to the Mahsuri Museum.  Mahsuri was reputed to be a beautiful Langkawi lovely who was married to a local Prince.  So far so good.  Mrs M was later seen talking to a local lad, news spread and rumours were circulated.  She was then accused of adultery and put to death.  The story goes that as she was completely innocent she bled white blood while dying and cursed Langkawi for seven generations, just for good measure.  Salvation is always at hand for the weary traveler in these stories and so while exploring the place we found a well that contained water with just the healing powers that the hassled holiday booking father needed.  It promised to enhance one's natural and outstanding beauty.  We took plenty of it and the kids, Grandma and I can now be easily recognised thanks to even more stunning good looks.  Edwin took great pains to make sure that he washed his feet thoroughly and now is very proud of their enhanced outstanding natural beauty.  They still smell of course.

A Week Full Of Discoveries



This week it has been Discovery Week at my school.  The thinking behind the week is that our students should spend an extended period of time involved in community service to discover things about the world around them as well learn more about themselves while at it.  This year there has been a concerted effort to make sure that as much of the week is given over to community service or working with partner schools as possible so that the focus is on the people who benefit from our students’ efforts rather than our students just traveling to exotic place.


This year I volunteered to work on the Day Trips programme.  For four days Myanmar refugee children came into our school and were then taken on days out with partner kids with myself and four colleagues overseeing the whole thing.  Four days of our students making sure that they played with and enjoyed the company of other kids and all had a bit of fun together.  Our students had paid RM450 each for the week which covered all their costs as well as the costs for the partner school kids too.


So we had a week of bowling, soft play centre stuff, laser tag, batik painting, pottery, and a trip to the KL Birdpark.  It was a bit of a lottery each day as we did not know exactly what aged children would be arriving and so our students faced plenty of challenges.  It was, deliberately, over to them to organise ice-breaking activities, look after their buddy or buddies for the day and make sure all the basics such as toilets, water and getting on and off the coaches worked well.  They all discharged these duties very well.  Seeing big year ten students hand in hand with seven and eight year olds leading them off to the loo, making sure their seat belts were fixed on properly as well as making sure that everyone had enough lunch was great to see.


There were lots of little hi-lights of the week for me.  I loved seeing wide eyed looks of wonder at the various birds or different exotic colours from little ones who were holding hands with our various boys and girls.  Often those looks of wonder were accompanied by comments like “Teacher!  Look!”  Our year nines seemed to quite like being called “Teacher.”  It was also really good to see the concentration of all the kids when painting their batik pictures as well as the accompanying smiles and grins from kids proudly holding their finished handiwork.  I also liked the shouts of joy when kids achieved a strike at the bowling centre, despite me rarely having that feeling myself.


On the Friday all the kids from my school involved in the day trips and their refugee centre partners spent the day at school, doing various activities with, and being taught by, our students.  the aim was for our kids to be the teacher / leaders of the activities as well as everyone having a bit of fun.  Consequently the students all made pots of brightly coloured scientific gunge, stop motion films, did arts and craft things and then tackled stage combat with me and my gang of willing student helpers.


Doing stage combat with 7 to 11 year olds might seem like a silly idea at first, especially when one of the seven year olds had clearly decided to wear her prettiest dress, but after watching a demonstration video we soon had boys and girls enjoying jabs, cross face punches, hair pulls, stomach punches and upper cuts.  They even managed to create some pretty good reactions and falls too while doing their best not to break into fits of giggles.  My gang and i repeated the workshop four times and across the morning my helpers moved on from being helpers to workshop leaders while I reverted from boss to spectator (only occasionally having to move a couple of combatants away from that table / chair / other person etc etc.) 


All in all a great week of day job.


However the day job has only been one part of the week.  At times this week it has felt that the real work has begun when the day job has ended.  Here goes for a whistle stop tour of the very busy, after work, week….


Saturday: 

0700: Robin goes running and does 10km annoying slowly.

0900: Rupert to a dress rehearsal for his year 5/6 play, “Seussical Junior.”

1000: Trixie plays football.

1130: Robin, Lexi, Edwin, Trixie and Grandma Sausages eat lunch.  Limited range of food in the restaurant because of ramadan.

1220: Robin buys much needed large starbucks coffee.  Agrees to fill in survey, apparently I was specially selected.  Manager offers to help and encourages me to grade every question as 7 (the highest score).  Robin assures manager that he can read.  Robin completes survey and gets voucher for free drink.

1300: Robin, E and T go to Latin Dance lessons.

1300: Rupert finishes his rehearsal.

1500: Lexi, Rupert and Grandma Sausages go to see Hairspray.

1545: Robin, E and T return from dance, rendezvous with the others to watch second half of Hairspray, while Robin goes home to wash and then ...

1700: Jump in taxi to go out on colleague’s leaving beers in KL.

1730: Robin arrives at Helibar to find that it opens at 1800 and so stand outside waiting for it to open and feels like some sort of dreadful alcoholic.

1800: Bar opens, colleagues arrive, Guinness is drunk along with Chinese food, a couple of cocktails, rubbish is talked for hours and a good time is had by all.


Sunday:

0100: Robin goes to sleep

0610: Lexi arises and at..

0630: Lexi leaves for her school for a technical and dress rehearsal for her school play.

0800: Rupert wakes up Robin, as prearranged.

0830: Robin and Rupert go to school to drop Rupert off for ….

0900: Dress rehearsal for Sensical Junior.

1030: Robin, E and T think about doing the shopping, but fart around instead.

1100: Robin, E and T do the shopping but have to rush because they have been farting around for too long.

1300: Robin collects Rupert from school at end of rehearsal.

1530: Robin, E, R, T and Grandmas Sausages depart for colleague’s leaving party.

1730: Lexi arrives, exhausted, at colleagues leaving do.

1830: T looks shattered and departs with Lexi and Grandma Sausages.

1900: Robin and boys go home.

2100: Robin makes sandwiches for the next day and falls asleep.


Monday:

Trixie has day off.

Easy day at school until…

1445: Rupert is in first performance of Seussical Junior.

1515: Robin, Edwin and Trixie leave school, go home and deliver T to Grandma Sausages.

1600 Robin and E arrives at Kepong station for train to KL. Train late.

1630: Rupert goes home with one of his chums for a while to simplify matters for other Lawrences before returning for the second show of the day at 1900.

1700: Robin and E eat beef rendang and drink teh tarik for dinner.

1800 E has ballroom dance lesson.

1800: Lexi, R, T and Grandma Sausages go to school for second performance of Seussical and stay to see show.

2030: Robin and E leave dance lesson and travel home. 

2030: Lexi, R, T and Grandma Sausages, depart for home after show.

2130: All sprogs go to bed and sandwiches etc get made, somehow or other.


Tuesday:

Trixie goes back to school.

First day of Lexi’s school play.

1530: Robin and all kids go home.

1545: Arrange early tea for all so that E and T can have their piano lesson at 1700.

1640: Trixie reminds everyone that piano lessons have been cancelled this week so we didn’t need to rush around so much.

1750: Robin, E and R leave for school to watch third performance of Seussical Junior.

Trixie has early night.

2030: Robin, E and R return after successful show.

2130: All sprogs go to bed and sandwiches etc get made, God knows how.

2135: Lexi phones to say that her car won’t start.  She is marooned at school.

2150: Lexi phones to say that she has managed to organize a complicated lift home.

2230: Lexi arrives home.


Wednesday

Stuff happens during the day.

Somehow Lexi’s car gets repaired and sorted out.

1430: Trixie departs for playdate with her friend Grace.

1500: Robin, E and R go home.

1530:  Robin runs very slow 10km.

1715: Robin, E, R and Grandma Sausages eat cottage pie, Grandma’s signature dish.

1745: Lexi’s, now working, car gets delivered back home by amazing mechanic, Sam (no job too small, best rates quoted).

1750: Robin and R go back to school for last performance of Seussical Junior.

1845: Robin rendezvous with Grace and Grace’s Mum, who has very complicated Korean name to pronounce.  Robin struggles with complicated name.  Grace’s Mum has resigned look expressing something like “Why do English people find it so difficult to pronounce complicated Korean names but then I have been in KL long enough to understand why English people find it so complicated and have a degree of sympathy for this slightly hassled bloke who is trying his best but probably thinks he has got his tones all wrong and is in fact called me Mrs Donkey-Fetlocks On Toast by accident.”

1850: Confused looking Robin and confused looking Grace’s Mum depart rendezvous location, with correct daughters in tow.

1910: Robin and Trixie buy six bottles of pink grapefruit squad for Lexi and seven half priced steaks.

2000: Robin and T arrive home.

2025: Robin returns to school to collect Rupert for the end of his after show party.

2050: Rupert brings Robin slice of pizza.

2115: Robin and Rupert go home.

2145: All sprogs go to bed and sandwiches etc get made, probably by magic.



Thursday:

More stuff happens during the day.

1430: Robin departs for home to collect Grandma Sausages.  Kids stay at school.

1515: Robin and Grandma Sausages arrive back at school and rendezvous in school for…

1545: Robin, sprogs, and Grandma Sausages take their seats for the Primary Sports Award event.

1630: Trixie wins prize for “Most Improved Under Nine Girl Cross Country.”

1635: Trixie has very big smile and receives lots of high fives from fellow sporty-ish girls.

1640: Robin, sprogs, and Grandma Sausages sneak out of hall, as pre-arranged with head of primary PE, and get in to the car to drive to Lexi’s school.

1800: Arrive at Lexi’s school, eat food, and take up seats for …

1830: Performance of A Midsummer Nights Dream.  Very good.  (Edwin shattered.)

2030: Robin, E, R and T make swift exit to get sprogs home.

2115: Sprogs asleep, sandwiches etc probably make themselves.

2200: Lexi and Grandma Sausages return home.


Friday:

Edwin off ill.

Friday happens.

1430: Robin plus R and T go home.  Edwin snoozing on sofa.

1530: Grandma sausages agrees to go to Lexi’s school to help out for the evening.  Taxi arranged.

1730: Robin, E, R and T eat steak and chips for tea, but not all seven.  Edwin perks up.  Robin amazed by the recuperative powers of steak and chips and considers patenting it as a medicine.

2000: Story time for Trixie - Something to do with horses, witches and a heroine called Maud.  All ends well, but Robin is not entirely sure how.

2015: Story time for boys.  “The Railway Children” which boys think is improved by the addition of silly accents.  The station master is broad Glaswegian, Phyllis is from Wolverhampton and the prose alternates between Norfolk and South African.

2045: Robin doesn’t make sandwiches.

2230: Lexi and Grandma Sausages return after fourth performance of play.

Dancing In Penang

While dance competitions may look glamorous to the outsider the old paraphrased maxim is very true when loosely applied to such events here in Malaysia: all that glisters is not a gold medal performance.


After much thought The Lawrence Committee For The Moving Of Various Lawrence Children Around The Country To Do A Range Of Challenging Activities decided that it was in the interests off all concerned that just Edwin and I would depart for the grandly titled 12th National Ballroom and Latin Competition in Penang immediately after school on Friday and tackle what we could of the 220 mile journey in the light and, hopefully non raining times.  This was because Rupert was spending Friday on a school day trip to Kuantan, a mere 150 miles away from KL and was not due back until 5.30pm.  That put pay to all Lawrences going to Penang for the weekend, due to wanting to arrive in Penang on the same day that we departed.  Rupert's trip also necessitated a 5.30am drop off at school.  Not wishing to go into the office at that ridiculous hour I went for a ridiculous run instead, of all things, before work.

End of school came and Edwin arrived at the Dramaland office to depart.  All was well and we headed to the car.  He then headed back into school to collect the library books that he had forgotten and then we set off straight into after school traffic jams.  The long trek north proceeded well, despite the predicted torrential rainy season storms and bizarre driving styles of fellow motorists.  I really must ask our marvellous mechanic to check the rear of our Hyundai to see if there is an extremely powerful magnet wedged in the bumper.  Time and again motorists found themselves within inches of our bumper as we charged north.  I did my best to get out of their way although I do feel that I ought to apologize for the colourful language and middle finger exercises that I resorted to all too often.  The only other hold-ups on the journey were caused by several car accidents where drivers appeared to have driven into the back of other cars.

We got off the Penang Bridge at 8.30pm and arrived at our hotel at 10.00pm thanks to various problems.  The Georgetown City Hotel is on Jalan Burma, not Jalan Burmah as it boasts on its website and after that correction finding it was still tricky.  The journey from bridge to hotel is only 10 miles but thanks to loads of traffic, a one way system that the sat nav did not recognise and the hotel not being anywhere close to where a bloke in a differently named hotel told us we took ages to get there.  The irony of the hotel's name change was not lost on The Boy Lawrence and I.  It had previously been known as Berjaya Georgetown Hotel, with berjaya roughly translating as 'success.'  Could it have been the would be guests lack of success finding the place that forced a name change?  Tired out we slept.

Open practice for the competition started at 7.00am as the first event was timetabled for 8.00am.  I have been to a few more dance competitions than I ever thought I would in KL and beyond and usually these events start late, get later across the day and finish at unearthly late hours.  Being the 12th Annual event the rigidly timed schedule in the glossy programme looked frighteningly efficient and promised much in a very authoritarian way.  We made sure we were on time, especially as the first of Edwin's four events started at 8.36am, precisely.   At 7.50am the floor was cleared of sequined and shining competitors, old and young, and ... four blokes, and their tie wearing boss,  arrived and started examining the dance floor.  The floor was made up of metre square, wooden effect, interlocking tiles laid on top of a plush carpet.  The blokes began to lift up the floor tiles things did not look good for an 8.00am start.  While some of the four blokes lifted up several floor tiles other blokes bashed tiles together with a suitable tool.  Meanwhile another man wearing a tie arrived.  This man had a clipboard.  Things did not look good.  There was more bashing, more clipboards, four rolls of red gaffer tape, an important lady in an important dress, and then, when all the red tape had been used up, white tape arrived.  A different man, wearing white shoes, came and kicked the floor tiles.

8.36am came and went, as did 9.00am and all the precious minutes until 9.30am, when the floor was declared suitable for dancing on and a start could be made, one and a half hours late.  The problem was apparently that the floor tiles had moved apart while the dancers were practising.  The glossily photoed in the programme and grinning organisers had not thought it necessary to test the floor for its suitability for dancing on, I mean it was only a dance competition after all.   The three serious looking characters listed as "Advisors" clearly had not offered any useful hints like "Will the flooring be safe to use?" or "Should you think about getting the floor ready the day before the competition?"

So we were under way, eventually.  Edwin danced well and clearly enjoyed himself and the floor problems were soon forgotten about.  (I wonder if the organisers, advisors, committee members and tie wearers will forget about the floor for the 13th Annual event?).   By 10.20am Edwin's dancing was done and we just had time to dash down to the hotel's restaurant for a bash at the buffet breakfast, which did stop serving on-time at 10.30.  

After breakfast we returned to the ballroom and asked when the results would be announced.  The ticket sellers did not know.  The people in charge of registration for the competition did not know.  The chief adjudicator, who was also a main sponsor and guest of honour did not know either.  The glossy programme said that there would be a prize ceremony at 9.48pm, but given the late running of the whole thing and the 170 classes that were due to take place before that I did not fancy waiting around.  

Somehow or other, at around 12.45pm, the results stared to come through.  To help speed things along Edwin and I helped unwrap the plastic covers from the Olympic style podium blocks for the placed dancers and a non tie wearing bloke stared calling out numbers of dancers and dishing out medals and certificates.  Edwin did well and, bless him, won all four of the solo under 12 events that he entered.  Good on you son.   (It should be noted that there were seven competitors dancing at the same time as Edwin: six under 12s and one over 35.  To help the judges identify the dancers correctly the MC asked the over 35 lady to raise her hand before the dancing began.)

To celebrate I took Edwin off to Escape for the rest of the afternoon.  Escape is a splendid high ropes course and outdoor activity, climbing and dashing around place and it was just what we both needed to do to let off plenty of steam and sweat after the dance competition.  On the way back to the hotel we had a dip in the warm sea and then, after washing the Melaka Strait off of ourselves we ate fine Thai inspired Penang food.  I even managed to persuade the lad to try a spoonful of laksa.  

Shattered we begin the journey back south after breakfast tomorrow, slightly heavier about the medal front and slightly wiser about flooring.