The narrow bench was worn and hard, a metaphorical reflection of the staunch, motionless policeman sat opposite me. His face was blank, while mine was stained with two hours of anguish. NewsFlashTV flickered muted news on a small screen placed awkwardly high on it’s rusting bracket – forty police officers penning in two presumably unlicensed, understandably irate female street vendors to a frenzied counterattack. I drew on a Marlborough as I watched them hurl chunks of ice the size of rugby balls at the law, inside I was cheering them on. I took another drag. Who would I call first? His embassy, or mine? What would I tell his family? Would I be honest and tell them the locals left him there to die or would I be gentle and tell them of the numerous conversations we’d had about our travel highlights? At sixty-five, he was too young to die. At any age, he, or I, or you deserve someone to fight. I pictured myself at his wake, a young wisp of truth sat in the corner picking at pineapple sticks with cheese while whispers about my origin cornered stray rumours. ‘No Margaret, that’s the boy that was staying at the same place as…’ But then the phone rang, he was alive! The events of that day were rapidly laced in bitter truths. A day that began with me realising what the human body is capable of, ended with the stark reality of the capability of the human mind. Continue reading ‘Losing my Will’
Monthly Archive for May, 2008
The first time I simply traced my finger over the words on the screen, the second time I read the words aloud to myself. ‘We believe that terrorists continue to plan attacks, which could be indiscriminate, including in places frequented by expatriates and foreign travellers.’ I scratched the crown of my head and read on, ‘All airlines from Indonesia have been refused permission to operate services to the EU because Indonesia is unable to ensure that its airlines meet international safety standards.’ My left eyebrow sank while the right one arched into the furrows of my brow. ‘Indonesia sits along a volatile seismic strip called the ‘Ring of Fire’ and volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and tsunamis are possible.’ ‘Ring of Fire?’ And it burns, burns, BURNS… the burning… ring… of fire. I decided to skip the FCO’s warnings about Bird Flu; in fact I passed over the remainder of their heartwarming advice. I took a brief look at the LP Guide to Indonesia, and discovered that independent travel is interpreted as “Solo is Loco”, while their online forum is permanently headlined, “Indonesia: Is it Safe?” I read all of this, with a dog-eared e-ticket to Padang (one of the “top ten rainiest inhabited locations in the world”) poking out of my back pocket and forty-eight hours later I stunned myself, and landed. Continue reading ‘Spineless in Sumatra’
A Dutchman turned up from Delhi. The American? He flew, to Kathmandu. The Korean chap went home. A Danish fellow flew to Kuala Lumpar. A German girl chose train, then chose Bangkok. A trinity of Taiwanese picked Melbourne. An Irishman and his Deutschland girlfriend popped up to Penang. The Englishwoman? Chose Malacca. An Indian guy stayed, and got himself a job. The Canadian chose Borneo. The Swedish fellow took a flight to Denver. An American, he came to study. A pair of English cared for Cairns. A Norwegian pounced over to Phnom Peng. The Singaporean girl stayed home. A man from Finland fled for Sydney. A Frenchman landed from Chennai. A twain of Danes, they’re undecided. A Swedish girl is waiting for a friend. A Polish couple just did Perth. The quartet of Japanese, I couldn’t quite comprehend. The English lad? He said he’s headed for Hanoi. Singapore is a place that no tourist stops for long, but when you do, you start to see the real Singapore Sling. Not the infamous cherry brandy cocktail, but the one hurling tourists all over the world. Continue reading ‘The Sling of Sing’’
I remember a bright blue flying saucer, tilting this way and toppling that way between a cluster of shiny, soaring sky scrapers. I remember a cartoon appearing in a fountain, and it telling me ‘Sunshine was her name‘ and ‘friendship is my game‘. I remember seeing temples tucked in unlikely corners, spit-and-sawdust bars and drinking brightly coloured cocktails while fallen stars sank into the still waters of the quay. I remember my head sinking with disappointment after the first mouthful of my first meal and I remember it being so humid I’d wished I’d brought my armbands. I remember knowing I’d be back, and four years later, I am. Continue reading ‘Super Singapore’
