One Foot Forward. Repeat.

For St Pete

2010-06-17T10:35:00.001+08:00

'first name'_'last name'@mac dot com

it's like a haiku poem :)

Waking to a Dream

2010-06-17T10:31:00.001+08:00

I woke up one morning,
opened my eyes,
and blinked… and blinked again.

The sun peeked at me
through the same
east-facing window.

I blinked again,
and lay looking
at the same sun.

Everyday it greeted me,
never a change
in its warmth.

My heart kept me laying… blinking.
It was beating fine,
a steady beat, a familiar rhythm.

But it was heavy.
It was an anchor, it was lead.
And I was unable to move.

Then I realized…
I was nothing but a dream.
So I closed my eyes,
and woke up,
and ceased to be.

And now the east
has grown dark.
And I'm flying
looking for the sun.

Missing Summers

2010-06-17T09:10:00.002+08:00

When summers seemed never-ending,
and ice cream was like little angel kisses
straight from heaven…

When shoes and shirts were optional,
and hours were spent crawling in a field of wildflowers
looking for four-leaf clovers and lady bugs.

Or just laying on my back watching the clouds
make animal shapes as they drifted
across the pale blue summer sky.

Holding tightly to a coil of string
legs crossed, breeze drying my sweat
and watching a kite dance for me.

When… when...
when did the summers go missing?

I still have that child wonder,
I still have that happiness,
that genuine glee and sparkle
that can be seen
in a child's eyes
when he's given a candy
or going for a cool swim.

What I don't have
are those summers that
seem never-ending.

The boy remains the same
but his world has changed.

Finished grocery shopping...

2010-06-07T12:15:00.003+08:00

I just finished grocery shopping. Notice how considerate I am. I returned the empty shopping cart to the shopping cart parking area... Then the mosque man started. I got in my car and put in The Melvins and left... a simple video of contrast.

A Snake and some Mushrooms

2010-06-07T11:55:00.004+08:00

A spitting black cobra... he didn't spit at me... got angry though...

Brown and white on a dead tree...

Rusty color shelf...

My favorite... orange cup mushrooms...

White on a dead black tree trunk...

A reef of mushrooms on a dead tree...

Perfect mushrooms...

Yellow orange mushroom garden

Pulau Lang Tengah

2010-06-01T07:26:00.018+08:00

We left on Thursday afternoon from Kuala Lumpur and I drove east until we hit the coast and then north until we almost made it to Thailand. Our destination for the day was a small town north of Kuala Terengganu called Kampung Merang. It took nearly 8 hours with one stop for dinner.

I listened to the Zac Brown band. The others in the car slept, read, and slept. I woke them up when I couldn't read the signs. We didn't get lost but we also didn't go the way we expected. Still we made it there.

We slept in a hotel near the jetty that night and woke up to catch the 8:00am boat that arrived at 10:00am... Malaysian time is VERY flexible which is a problem when you're trying to catch up on sleep!

(Clicking on the pictures make them big)

For dinner Osama served us fish and Saadam Hussien provided the fruit.

We're just so darn excited... this is after driving about 7 hours and eating what the good men Osama and Saddam cooked up for us.

At the jetty there are boats. Little fishing boats and tall skinny coconut palms. There's also a boat to take us to the island... but it's not here.

Fishing boats. Where are the fishermen? Happy fish out there.

Two happy people waiting for the boat.

Approaching Pulau Lang Tengah... It is a small island... very small island. And it is a nice island... except for the evil spider colony.

Our little jetty on the island.

Welcome to Pulau Lang Tengah!

Our little beach front for the weekend.

Please leave your shoes here. I didn't have any to leave. didn't bring any to the island.

This is really sweet. There was a jungle behind this.

Have hammock. Will vegetate.

In the shade peeking out at the beach. I got a little darker this weekend. I slow baked in the sun.

My crash zone. Took a few naps here.

I wrote on the earth's surface. She giggled. She's ticklish.

Swing. My butt prints are all over that.

Water and sky and a line dividing the two.

Color. It's real.

Rocks, water, trees and sky... look NO people... look how happy it all appears.

Low tide.

Rock and root.

Flower on a rock or rocks under a flower... and some water swishing around.

I love rocks. They're so inert. I wouldn't mind being a rock... with a flower on top of me.

From my hammock. Too lazy to get up and attempt a proper composition.

The sun went away.

Tranquility captured and devoured.

The moon and strange little color lights. And I thought the color lights were all in my head. Ha! Told you I was just fine.

The moon coming up behind the little mountain and the beach all aglow.

The sea from the jungle... yes... I had to go into the jungle.

Pandanus seeds.

Big spider. Fierce spider. He wanted to eat my camera.

Life vests are for wimps. Where's the excitement in the possibility of drifting out to sea and drowning if you're wearing a life vest?

Fish!

Blue fish!

More fish.

And some more fish and rocks.

A school of fish.

You haven't lived until you've been kissed by a fish.

Sun underwater on rocks... and a fish.

Yellow blob attracted fish.

The coral tried so hard to survive.

Dead coral :(

Rock just dropped down and down...

There were so many places to explore underwater.

A girl who is fearless of the water. No vest and we both swam way out around the point of the island. She's pretty good at diving down too. Then we saw a big shark and we swam really fast to the shore. Sharks tend to make you swim fast.

I went too deep and my camera protested. Water got inside. But after drying it out for a day the pictures were saved... and maybe the camera too.

Leaving so soon! The only word that comes to mind is 'darn' or 'english peas' though the last is 2 words. But there are many type of peas and I need to be specific.

I have no words for this... what kind of caption could I possibly write? this was dinner. Well, at least I know I didn't eat chicken balls.

Fruit. Sweet juicy good fruit. And they were not castrated.

Toes in the Sand

2010-05-26T16:32:00.002+08:00

Enjoy the weekend DD!!!

I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.

I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.
Well, the plane touched down just about 3 o'clock
And the city's still on my mind
Bikinis and palm trees danced in my head
I was still in the baggage line
Concrete and cars are there own prison bars like this life
I'm living in
But the plane brought me farther.
I'm surrounded by water
And I'm not going back again

I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
A worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.

Adios and vaya con dios
Yeah I'm leaving GA
And if it weren't for tequila and pretty senoritas
I'd have no reason to stay
Adios and vaya con dios
Yeah I'm leaving GA
Gonna lay in the hot sun and roll a big fat one
And grab my guitar and play

Four days flew by like a drunk Friday night as the summedrew to an end
They couldn't believe that I just couldn't leave
And I bid adieu to my friends
Because my bartender she's from the islands
Her body's been kissed by the sun
And coconut replaces the smell of the bar and I don't know if it's her or the rum

I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.

Adios and vaya con dios
A long way from the lake
It's where all the muchachas they call me "big poppa" when I throw pesos their way
Adios and vaya con dios
A long way from GA
Someone do me a favor and pass me the Jaeger
And I'll grab my guitar and play

Adios and vaya con dios
Going home now to stay
The senoritas don't care-o when there's no dinero
You got no money to stay
Adios and vaya con dios
Going home now to stay

With my ass in a lawn chair
And toes in the clay
Not a worry in the world a PBR on the way
Life is good today. Life is good today.

2010-05-25T12:44:00.002+08:00

I really like this band... they're from Los Angeles, the singer, Chhom Nimol, is from Cambodia. The following explanation of the song has been copied without permission... sorry Mr Internet :) whoever you are...

'The sinister groove of "One Thousand Tears of a Taratula" matches its subject matter. After the Khmer Rouge took over, pop singer Houy Meas was taken out into the jungle and forced to sing and walk in circles, naked, until she was executed. Nimol's dark, heavily processed vocals evoke the terror the musicians must have felt in their last moments; when Ralicke's sax breaks out of the mix, his solo leaps up like a phoenix. Even though the singer is gone, the song lives on.'

The song is nearly trance-like in parts and the frantic pace does echo the terror Houy Meas must have felt. People can be cruel and mean... and some, like Pol Pot, just down-right devilish. He was one of the most evilest men in history. Glad he's dead but so sorry for the pain he created while living on this earth...

Enjoy the music...

Here's a live version of the same song...

And here is a Houy Meas classic...

A Walk in the Jungle

2010-05-24T08:56:00.021+08:00

23 May 2010. 1:00pm. Peak heat of day. But the jungle called me and I always heed the words of the jungle. The jungle is wise. She takes care of me. I don't know how long this bit of jungle will be around. Development continually encroaches it. You can almost feel her shiver in fright. Every trip I make into her depths I discover something new. I see a new small wonder. Or I hear a noise that never was heard before. Today it was the mosquitoes. I never saw so many in my life and I'm from Louisiana! There were literally millions. I heard them buzzing in anticipation when they saw me coming. And when I stopped walking to sit on a log or at the base of a tree, they had a feast. Luckily mosquito bites don't bother me... doesn't even leave a scar or itchy spot. I fed many mosquitoes today. They were happy I went into their jungle.

Why do I go out in such heat in the middle of the day? Because no one else does. I didn't see a single person. And that's what makes going into the jungle fun. It's just me and the critters.

Green. Life. What you can't see in this picture is the sound of birds singing, the clicking of bugs, the leaves whispering in the breeze, and the monkeys talking.

A dead tree covered in mushrooms. Even the dead are full of life.

The mushrooms were so cool. They looked so soft. I wish I could have been just inches tall and rolled in them.

They looked like an underwater reef. I kept expecting to see a fish swim by... maybe Nemo.

"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" Trees sometime fall down. I didn't hear this one fall. I wasn't there. I imagined it screamed a little when it realized his life was over. I patted it and moved on.

There were spiders. There were many spiders. They're all very quiet. I couldn't hear them. What does a spider sound like? Do they talk to each other. And why do they insist on making their web at my face level? I walked through many webs and carried many spiders along with me. I don't like spiders. Eight legged things kind of creep me.

The mosquitoes were so happy to see me. I fed them. I fed them all. But they're a greedy lot. They drank so much they would just fall off and wiggle on the ground. They really should learn how to control their thirst.

This is a jungle creature. He is hot. Not in a sexy way, in a physical temperature kind of way. Notice the reddish tint of his hide. Rare creature not usually seen by others in the jungle. I was lucky to spot one today. It has been recorded that this creature has been spotted in the NW United States and other parts of Asia. He was quiet but seemed to breathe hard. I don't think he was dangerous.

A 3 foot monitor lizard. They are usually very shy. This one let me approach. He told me about his family and I told him where to find a bunch of beetles. We exchanged phone numbers and plan on getting together for a bottle or two of stream water.

I poked my head out of the woods and saw this awful place. It appears there are many people there. I slowly and quietly backed away and disappeared into the jungle.

I squinted and zoomed in before backing back into the jungle. There were many tall buildings and too many houses. I saw the heat rising in the city. It was noisy and busy.

I sat down for a while and a small butterfly joined me. She was nice. I told her of my plans of meeting up with the monitor lizard later for drinks. She appeared hesitant but I think she'll join us. I promised her that Mr Lizard wouldn't eat her.

Dieffenbachia... House plants don't come from houses. It isn't their natural habitat. They come from here, the jungle, and then are removed from their families and placed in foster-homes. It's sad really if you think about it.

We've had rain so the local watering hole was well stocked. There will be a bunch of drunk and rowdy creatures tonight. You can be sure of that.

Langkawi Revisited 20 May 2010

2010-05-20T09:11:00.010+08:00

I approached the beach walking through the rainforest jungle that blankets the foot of the mountain.

I could just make out the Andaman Sea and beyond Thailand. I was getting excited. I hadn't been back here in 12 years.

There's the sea and Thailand beyond. I smiled and waved frantically at the nice people who live there. I hope they saw me. 12 years ago I used to lay under this tree, look out to the sea, and dream.
The little shelter is also still there. A bit run-down but still a nice place to sit and look out over the water and a beautiful country beyond.
I designed this pool and it was built 12 years ago. I was the first person to swim in it. It was about 10:00pm and it was just me and the flying foxes gliding from tree to tree. The stars were out. It was a nice evening.
This is the swimming pool on the edge of the beach with the jungle overtaking it. It was the first swimming pool I designed.
After 12 years the pool is looking more natural... the trees taking over... it is still peaceful.

2008 Beijing Olympics - Opening Ceremony

2008-08-12T08:41:00.018+08:00

Internationally acclaimed filmmaker Zhang Yimou was the director for the 2008 Beijing Olympics ceremonial opening. Below, in 10 parts, is the entire artistic portion of the ceremonial opening followed by the lighting of the torch in part 11. Enjoy the show... I sure did!!

Part One - The Countdown

Part Two - Drummers

Part Three - Olympic Rings

Part Four - Paper and the Scroll

Part Five - Type Set

Part Six - Silk

Part Seven - Compass & Chinese Opera

Part Eight - Lang Lang

Part Nine - Tai Chi

Part Ten - One World

Part Eleven - Lighting the Olympic Torch

My Daughter's Poetry Scares Me...

2008-08-04T18:26:00.002+08:00

If she continues to turn in assignments like this I fear social services may come a knockin'. Maybe we should let her out of the room... ;-)... or at least give her a light.

The Dark Room

The dark, dark room, with me in it,
I don't know what to do?
Screeches and noises are filling my ears
in that dark, dark room.

The tree is tapping the window,
and making a lot of noise!
I can't sleep, I want to weep
I don't know what to do?

In that dark, dark room.

Chalky Gecko

2008-08-01T08:39:00.002+08:00

My daughter and I had fun with chalk on our driveway. The gecko-like creature is about 12' long. The neighborhood kids thought we were vandalizing. They don't know about colored chalk... and rain. Sad really, these quasi-third-world kids. It's not poverty killing their sense of fun and imagination, it's education. They spend all their time studying to make good grades. My kid plays and makes so/so grades. That's the way it should be.

beeing samart is overrated in mine opinun.

That King of Fruit... The Durian

2008-07-23T12:35:00.010+08:00

Friday was a day set aside for visiting the plant nurseries down south in Johor near a town called Muar. Thousands of acres of plants are available for industrial use. This isn't the place for weekend gardeners to browse around trying to decide which Bougainvillea would look nice next to the Murraya. These are the nurseries where one can purchase hundreds of trees of varying species and thousands upon thousands of shrubs and groundcovers in every imaginable shape, size, texture, and color. My job sometimes requires that I visit these places with the Client and Contractor to settle the final selection of plants...

But this is not about the nurseries. This is about the real purpose of going to Muar and the real purpose the Client wants to tag along. This is about eating that King of Fruit, the mighty Durian which Muar has in abundance.

Now I could go on about the durian's creamy textured meat somewhat similar to a pudding but firmer, or it's arresting smell that has been described in terms of skunk spray to liquid petroleum gas. Or I could talk about the rich flavor when you first pop one of the mushy yet firm meaty seeds into your mouth, I could do all of that but Wikipedia does a pretty fine job of it. For example on the smell here's what wiki had to say:

British novelist Anthony Burgess writes that eating durian is "like eating sweet raspberry blancmange in the lavatory. Chef Andrew Zimmern compares the taste to "completely rotten, mushy onions. Anthony Bourdain, while a lover of durian, relates his encounter with the fruit as thus: "Its taste can only be described as...indescribable, something you will either love or despise. ...Your breath will smell as if you'd been French-kissing your dead grandmother. Travel and food writer Richard Sterling says “ ... its odor is best described as pig-sh*t, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock.

The joys of eating durian extend beyond the love it or hate it taste (I happen to love it) It extends beyond the status of King granted to this fruit (along with a price for such royal recognition). It is a food enjoyed in part to the fellowship of a group of people that share the common love of sitting around a fly invested area eating pig poop smelling custard meat out of a prickly shell so sharp it will draw blood out of your pasty covered fingers unless you know what you're doing or wearing a gloves... and those kind of people are pretty cool!

Durians grow on trees. When they get tired of hanging on they let go and fall to the ground with a loud thud. That's when they're best eaten.

This is a durian stall. It reeks of durian and people eating durian.

Durians come with all kinds of exotic names like 'Wildcat', 'Red Prawn', 'D24', 'D101', etc... they all taste slightly different.

This is the fleshy insides of a durian... before the flies smell it.

Things That Go Eeeep in the Night.

2008-07-17T11:24:00.003+08:00

Eeep…. eeeep… that’s what she heard while having dinner last night. My daughter claimed earlier while I was helping myself to some more chicken curry that she kept hearing a noise. “There, did you hear it?” she asked while looking concerned and worried toward the couch. Her spoon was slow to shovel as she kept an ear pointed toward the living area. Eeep… eeeep. I heard it that time but thought it came from the curtain. “It’s just a lizard or small gecko now eat your vegetables”. But my explanation did not whet her appetite. Eeep…. eeeep. Her head quickly whipped around to the living area again, her eyebrows squinched. “It’s probably just the light” said my wife.

After dinner I went upstairs while my daughter stayed at the table to do her homework. “Mom, I saw it. It’s a big bug!”. Then later affirming the daughter’s observation, “oh yeah, I saw it too”. Well now I was curious.

Walking down the stairs I asked if they saw where the sound was coming from. “I think it’s a dragonfly right under the edge of the small couch” my wife said pointinig. I was about to stick my hand under there and grab it when a sudden thought occurred to me, dragonflies don’t go eeeep, eeeep. I got down on my knees and raised the flap of the couch and stared into the small beady eyes of a bat, black and leathery. Eeeep… eeeep it told me.

I whispered to my wife that it was a bat. My daughter thought I said rat and jumped up on the chair squealing. Then I told my wife that I would drag the couch outside so it could fly away. “What? What did you say? Rats don’t fly”, shouted my daughter.

After getting the couch out the front door and flipping it slowly on its back, the baby bat stretched its winged stick legs and started crawling along the edge of the couch shouting eeeep… eeeeep. I put the bat in a small plastic container and poured it out on top of our mailbox. I stood and watched as it eeeeped and crawled around then drug itself to the edge of the box and jumped… gliding down gracefully on to my pants. As I danced the jig and sang the tune of ‘uh, uh, uh’ a black shadow shot out of the evening sky and whizzed by my head. I jumped back and saw the little bat crawling on our driveway. The zipping shadow was an older bat diving and circling the baby. I can’t say for sure whether it was the baby’s mother because I know nothing about the family life of bats, but the older bat guided the young one into the neighbor’s yard.

Back inside, I sat on the couch and began reading my book. My wife was at the table skimming the headlines, my daughter was taking her shower and the bats were outside doing bat things where they belong. Scritch… scriiiitch… “did you hear that?”, asked my wife. “Yeah, it was probably the light”.

DanSing Thru Broadway

2008-07-08T15:40:00.004+08:00

Here's some more video clips from the show DanSing Thru Broadway. Songs include: Carryin' the Banner, One Singular Sensation, and the final Curtain Call.

Clip from DanSing Thru Broadway

2008-07-07T13:33:00.002+08:00

Bay playing 'Dodge' in a scene from Oliver from the musical DanSing Thru Broadway.

Stood Up

2008-07-02T17:25:00.004+08:00

Last night was the final performance of the show DanSing Thru Broadway. It was staged at Panggung Bandaraya, Kuala Lumpur, a theatre built in 1896 by the British in the Moorish architectural style. Though the theatre was gutted in 1992 by fire, the reconstruction and restoration respected its ornate and regal appearance and it still possesses the spirit breathed into it through countless performances.

Panggung Bandaraya

Shortly before the final performance began I was told of a ghost that called this theatre home. The ghost was of a Japanese lady who met death idly waiting for her in a ground floor seat after she fell from the balcony into his lap. The theatre caretaker claims to see her every day and on one occasion, she said, was even shoved by the Japanese lady. There was a chair reserved for this phantom in the balcony, back in the rear corner, safely away from the balcony’s edge. This was her preferred seat for the performances and a 'Reserved: Do Not Sit' sign was permanently placed on it’s back.

Well me being me, the can’t leave well enough alone guy, waited until everyone filed into the hall and took their seats before sneaking through the side curtains and up the old staircase. I eased open the door and carefully inched my way through the darkness lightly patting the back wall as guidance across the dark space. There were only about three people I could see sitting up in the upper section and they were lounging over the railing near the front looking down onto the stage, impersonal silhouettes against the spilt stage lights.

I saw the chair wedged in the corner and was a bit surprised to see that it was not a part of the regular regimental seating layout. It was a chair set-aside especially for the spiritess. The handwritten sign absorbed by the darkness was just a fuzzy white patch on the backrest. The chair was clothed in a gritty feeling red velvet material that bulged from the seat and stiff, upright back. The armrests were sleeveless, made of dark wood ornately carved and ending in two drooping fists.

I respectfully, carefully sat down; back upright, legs together, feet placed firmly on the floor and hands draped lightly over the chair’s fists. I was a figure study for right angles. I sat in this position and watched most of Act I. I enjoyed the first part of the show without interruption or disturbances.

After selling programs during the intermission I revisited the chair for Act II, but approached it less carefully, and less respectfully. I thumped across the back of the balcony. The tops of the silhouettes near the edge were still there and shifted slightly at the sounds of my carelessness. I dropped on the reserved seat making the chair sigh and saw firefly sparkles of long undisturbed dust fly upward twinkling in the spillover stage lights. My body was slouched, legs crossed, hands clasped behind my head. At the end of each scene I shouted, blew my whistle and clapped till my hands were sore.

And when the show ended I must admit a certain disappointment. Not a chilled breath or gentle spinal caress did I feel. Not a papery whisper of 'konichiwa' in my ear did I hear or faint kimono shaped light did I see. The lady it seems stood me up.

Interior of Panggung Bandaraya

The Little Blue Book

2008-06-26T08:23:00.002+08:00

I live in an interesting neighborhood. My Japanese neighbors on the right are quiet and polite and always nod to me as they walk their dog past our drive; actually it’s more of a slight bow instead of a nod. On my left the Dutch family have five little pig statues in their front lawn staring at their Malay neighbors; sometimes the pigs point their little butt hole in that direction. Malays are Islamic. So that’s a neighborhood ‘faux pas’. A British family moved in across the street. It’s taking them forever to unpack, or maybe they just like living from boxes stacked under their car porch. Anyway, they shouldn’t let there little kid run around outside naked. They should at least put him in Speedos. The Swedes two houses down are friendly and always have a smile to give even when they’re coasting on their 5th mile run… unnaturally healthy and fit, they make me look down at my little paunch. My daughter plays with her friend just down the road; her friend is Russian so now my daughter greets me with a hearty ‘Privyet!’. The guttural chatting of the French women can be heard as they jog past, well tanned and surprisingly thin. The Americans laugh loudly and speak of the cost of Starbuck coffee. The Pakistan family live on the corner; their son likes to play football the daughter plays princess. I heard that the German with the sports car just got a divorce, a bit of neighborhood gossip. The Indians on the corner have a basketball goal in their driveway so the kids like to gather there.

I think I’m American. Well… I guess I know I’m from America. I just renewed my passport and it says right there on the cover, The United States of America. That’s a long name for a country. The short form, U.S., is easier to say and sounds less pretentious, though oft times as it rolls off my tongue it transforms into a curse depending on who receives it. I sometimes just tell people I’m from Canada; that cuts short any unpleasant conversation.

This weekend our neighborhood had a potluck dinner. I sat at a table with my wife but as the table filled with the neighborhood ladies I migrated to a man table nearby. I couldn’t tolerate the yoga talk that was twisted and bent into chatter about recipes and makeover secrets. The man table didn’t offer much better. We talked about the rising cost of steel bars and concrete and it’s impact on property development. Then the topic of Manchester United came up and I thought about Nabokov and the book Invitation to a Beheading. That’s the book I was currently reading. I was starting to empathize with the protagonist. Whenever talk turns to football, or soccer, as the Americans call it (the Americans?... that would be me right?), I tune out.

I used to like sports, football (American football) and basketball. But I no longer know the team names or towns that they represent. The rules I imagine have changed a bit and if I do catch a game on ESPN I’m never sure why the ref blows his whistle. It all seems foreign to me now.

Later that night my wife told me that all of the ladies at her table wondered why I was sitting with the Chinese and Malay men, the ‘local’ table, instead of the Caucasian table. Funny thing is I didn’t notice a Caucasian table. Funny thing is I no longer know what color I am. After 20 years of washing in foreign water a bit of me has faded to gray. Sometimes I pull out my passport and look at the cover. It has a nice blue cover with a golden embossed eagle stamped in the middle. The title still reads ‘The United States of America’ and the author’s name seems vaguely familiar, but it’s starting to look like a book I’ve never read.

-----------------

The following are a couple of answers someone asked regarding my 'neck of the woods' and the kind of food offered at the potluck dinner:

1. My neck of the woods is no longer in the woods. I live just on the fringe of downtown Kuala Lumpur in a *gasp* gated community (thus the number of expats). But don't worry, we still manage to have break-ins and my neighbor was arrested for drug trafficking so I do live in a somewhat normal environment. I’m not deprived. Outside the confines of the neighborhood things are a bit worse but nothing a can of pepper spray usually won't fix. It’s just life in a city much like any city in any country except we use mostly knives and machetes instead of guns, though guns are becoming more fashionable and in my opinion a cleaner option requiring less cleaning up afterwards.

2. The food was surprisingly a disappointment except for the curry crabs someone brought. Two families brought spring rolls (we were one of those families and my wife made them Thai style with chicken and glass noodles). There was some mee siam, a small rice noodle cooked a bit spicy, and some mee hoon, rice noodles cooked with dark soy sauce and fish cakes and prawn (mee is basically a word for noodles). There were two types of fried chicken, turmeric and chili. sushi. salad. two families brought rojak, a mix of pineapple and things I’m not sure about with a spicy sauce made of chili and other things I’m not sure about. Spaghetti. Fried rice. Japanese cheese cake though I’m not sure what constituted it as being Japanese (it was cooked by a Chinese lady). Fried bananas. A couple of basic bakery cakes. And for drinks a yellow concoction that tasted a bit like lemonade but left you feeling a little suspect. Alcohol and pork are not served because some of the families are Muslim. Thus the suspect yellow liquid and lack of bacon or pork chops. And someone ordered pizza from pizza hut... must of been the Americans.

Reading, writing... not walking...

2008-06-03T18:46:00.007+08:00

Where have I been you may ask... at work or reading. I haven't done as much walking lately (read: lazy and putting on a few pounds). But I've been reading... and writing. Reading has taken up much of my time (outside of work) and writing the remainder. Here's what I've gone through so far this year (UPDATED 29 JULY 2008):

Currently Reading

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Mark Twain
Other Colors: Essays and a Story, Orhan Pamuk

2008 Completed Books

The Fugitive, Pramoedya Ananta Toer
The Mezzanine, Nicholson Baker
The 210th Day, Soseki Natsume
Absalom, Absalom!, William Faulkner
Winesburg, Ohio, Sherwood Anderson
Invitation to a Beheading, Vladimir Nabokov
Lamb to the Slaughter, Roald Dahl
Light in August, William Faulkner
July's People, Nadine Gordimer
All About Lulu, Jonathan Evison
The Lost Honour of Katharina Blurn, Heinrich Böll
Edith's Diary, Patricia Highsmith
As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner
The Palace of Dreams, Ismail Kadare
Candide, Voltaire
Zombie, Joyce Carol Oates
All That Is Gone, Pramoedya Ananta Toer
Junky, William S. Burroughs
The Waste Land and Other Writings, T.S. Eliot
My Name Is Red, Orhan Pamuk
Taras Bulba, Nikolai Gogol
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
If on a Winter's Night a Traveller, Italo Calvino
Masters of Atlantis, Charles Portis
Dusklands, J. M. Coetzee
Wonderful Wonderful Times, Elfriede Jelinek
The Moviegoer, Walker Percy
The Box Man, Kobo Abe
The Master of Go, Yasunari Kawabata
The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea, Yukio Mishima
The Dog of the South, Charles Portis
Liquidation, Imre Kertesz
The Futurist, James P. Othmer
War & Peace, Leo Tolstoy
First Love and Other Novellas, Samuel Beckett
Snakes and Earrings, Hitomi Kanehara
Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, Henry W. Longfellow
The Successor, Ismail Kadare
The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoevsky

... and here's my reading plan, though it changes regularly like everytime I set foot in a book store.

Go ahead... click on the image so you can see the bigger picture.

Jungle Spirits... Halloween Special

2007-10-30T14:06:00.000+08:00

Sometimes the beauty of a place can mask the frightening truth behind it; and yet it is this same truth that helps to preserve its magnificence.

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It was not just another job but a planned 5-star hotel in one of the oldest rainforests in the world. As a landscape architect it was my job to visit the site before any works began to evaluate the existing vegetation, landforms, and natural site features. My initial report would help the project team to determine what could be preserved and included in the final design master plan.

It was mid-morning when I parked my rental on the side of the road and looked down the old survey trail that led down the mountainside to the beach below. The air was humid and warm as was normal for just about any day of the year on this small island. I started down the old track passing centuries-old trees and jagged rock outcroppings. The light under the jungle canopy had a greenish tint and was sufficiently filtered to prevent a thick under-growth from developing.

braided roots of a ficus tree on the mountainside

The steep face of the mountain cradled a flat area near the beach. This was the place for the new hotel. The beach was wide at low tide but I could see from the broken shells and small pieces of driftwood that at high tide the water approached the jungle’s edge.

I walked along the beachfront, the sand blinding white, the water a cool green. Just ahead I noticed there was a cut across the beach and water was flowing into the sea, defiling the aqua green colored sea with a brown swirl.

The brownish water came from a swampy area just behind the beach. The jungle trees dispersed leaving behind stubby mangroves stooped in a shallow patch of slow moving water. Water bugs skated on the surface and unseen creatures created ripples along the edge. I walked along the edge of the swamp, my feet making suction sounds in the rich mud.

I walked further inland following the swamp, curious about it’s extent and origin. I was leaving the flat area near the beachfront now and found myself in a thicker, heavier part of the jungle. I was following a series of small streams that braided down the side of the mountain. Branches from the mangroves hung low and I had to crawl below their bony arms. Shadows were muted by the lack of light. I was sweaty. Mosquitoes, buzzing, clouded around me. My shoes and legs were muddy.

monitor lizard on the edge of the swamp

Then I entered a bright room, and the source of the water. I stood up and looked around. I was in a rounded space the size of a living room. Short, bushy Rhapis palms, a dark green low wall of vegetation, defined the circular space. The floor was made of white sand, water bubbling out feeding the stream and further down, the swamp. In the center of this space was a short, gnarled tree. Its trunk revealed its old age, but its height spoke of a life of stress. Sunlight and fresh air poured into this space.

Monkeys began laughing all around me. I could hear them taunting me from the treetops but could not see them. I looked around, marveling at this natural little room at the foot of the mountain, when I noticed the sudden quiet. The monkeys stopped their cacophony. There were no sounds of birds or bugs. It was a quiet so loud I could feel its weight. Then I felt someone behind me. I could feel someone looking at me. I could feel their breath on my neck, their fingers caressing me. It was an unpleasant presence. I turned around but saw nothing. Electricity coursed through my body, my hairs charged on end. My heart rate increased. Uncontrollable panic overcame me. And then I ran, stumbling out of the circular room and back towards the swamp. The monkeys then started laughing again, louder than before.

I made it back to the beach but didn’t stop walking until I was back at the main road and unlocking my rental car.

I cannot explain what happened to me that day. I consider myself a rational person but know that something did touch me that morning, something menacing, something powerful. It’s not an event I discussed with anyone afterwards until much later…

During the course of the construction of the hotel one worker fell off the roof to his death. The main contractor lost control of his car near the site and died when he plunged into a jungle ravine. A Japanese couple on their honeymoon and staying in a nearby hotel crashed head-on with one of the construction trucks leaving our site. Flowers are still left at the site to mark their death. And at the end of a long site meeting, on our way back to the airport, we came across a couple that ran their motorcycle off the road. One of them died as we were wrapping his cracked skull with my ‘Meat Puppets’ tee shirt, bloody bubbles gurgling from his mouth.

The hotel later opened and was a success. An additional restaurant was needed. The site identified was not far from the main hotel block, in the jungle, just up from the swamp. Three surveyors went in to measure and map the land. Three surveyors ran out in hysterics. Two were hospitalized for unexplained trauma. They told of a spirit, a power that overcame them… possessed them.

A Bomoh (Malaysian witchdoctor) was brought in and he identified the spirit that resided in the jungles near the hotel. This spirit, he said, was thousands of years old and considered one of the most powerful. We were called into a meeting and instructed to respect this spirit, were told that if we found ourselves in its presence we were to explain our good intentions and back away quickly.

the completed hotel at the base of the mountain

I haven’t met this spirit again though I’ve been back to the hotel on numerous occasions and even visited the adjacent site for a proposed third hotel (that rainy site visit ended when an engineer bumped into a bee hive on the slippery slopes, fell, and broke his leg. We all heard the “snap” and then took turns carrying him down the mountain to a boat that was waiting to rush him to the hospital).

The beauty of the jungle and surrounding mountains is still overpowering. The hotel and facilities nestled snuggly among the bottom slopes and towering trees seem to have sprouted naturally in that environment.

That timeless rainforest on the mountain slopes is a beauty that evokes awe. There is no place on that island like it. It is a beauty that will last because it comes with a guardian, a protector.

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The only similar incident I’ve experienced was years before while working on a job on a small Indonesian island off of Singapore. This was another resort, but the works included having to exhume a cemetery. I remember remarking to the project manager after the project was completed how the area where the cemetery was located evoked no feelings; it was just another area of the job site. But, I told him, that area down by the bamboo grove and little stream, that area was creepy. He told me that the workers claimed that grove was possessed and always avoided it.

Gunung Besar Hantu (Ghost Mountain) Sunday

2007-10-26T13:09:00.000+08:00

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Laughter from outside my little nest told me that the sun would soon be up. After slowly rousing myself and checking all of my extremities; all in tact and feeling fine, I crawled out of our shelter, greeted everyone with a good morning (and meant it) and started my morning stretching. It was still mostly dark outside, the air cool and damp. To the east a faint glow gave away the coming sun; the sky above the trees slowly turning pink.

Breakfast was already cooking as I rolled my bag and mat and put them away. I walked to the edge of the summit and watched as the distant mountains slowly appeared in the lightening day. A blanket of fog covered the lower slopes, mountain peaks with white ruffle skirts. A few light clouds smudged the sky.

We stood around and ate our simple breakfast of rice porridge and then refilled our bowls with noodles. Again the warm food was invigorating.

As we were finishing, four members of the climbing team that came on there own appeared on the summit trail. They took the wrong trail back down by the stream and lost nearly 2 hours of time back tracking. They camped for the night on the lower ledge and climbed up without their packs to share coffee and breakfast with us.

After cleaning up and folding our tarps and ground mats, we proceeded to do what we all were trying to postpone until the last minute; put on our wet, dirty clothes from the day before and our wet shoes. One plus about the rain during the night; it rinsed our shirts and pants so we didn’t stink… to bad.

We zipped up our packs, put on the pack rain covers, hefted them onto our backs, and took one last look around the camp site to ensure we were leaving it like we found it, clean and undamaged. Then in single file we began our walk down along the ridge trail. It was 8:30am.

Going down was easier on my heart and respiratory but excruciatingly tough on my knees. The trail was wetter than the day before and the clay mud stuck to the soles of my trekking shoes making the descent a slippery task. Small saplings made good hand holds for the climb down. I used my arms to cradle the bigger trees for support. Everyone seemed to have a faster pace going down. I checked my altimeter and realized that even with the speed we were maintaining we had a long way to go.

We all stopped on the slope to take photos and rest at a jungle tree that measured about 3 meters in diameter (Shorea spp). After our short rest we continued the climb down.

After about an hour and a half, we reached the rock ledge and dumped our packs for a mid-morning break. We snacked on energy bars and crackers and drank from our newly filled water bottles. The stream water had a subtle mineral, earthy taste.

We lounged around the ledge for a while and watched birds of blue, red, orange and green fly and sing among the tree tops. Honey bees were also attracted to our sweaty clothes and skin and kept landing on us.

Around 10:30 we loaded up and continued down the mountain. The small jungle trail is only visible for about 2 meters (6 feet) ahead, disappearing in the thick undergrowth. It started getting darker and soon the rain started again; this time a heavy rain that even the jungle canopy could not contain.

We came to a junction in the trail and paused to make sure we followed the right path. Then from up ahead a small group of day hikers appeared. They told us that the trail ahead of us would lead us to the waterfall. They also said their intention was to climb to the summit and head back down. They each carried a small daypack and were wearing regular sports shoes. We advised them not to attempt the summit as it was too late for a round-trip journey and the current heavy rains would make the climb too treacherous. They seemed determined to try… and we all thought about them as the day wore on.

We parted company with the small group and headed in the direction of the waterfall. The rain now was torrential. With my head down I focused on the trail following along in our single-line little group.

We soon came to a stream and saw no way to cross except by wading in the cold fast current. The water came up to my thighs and felt refreshingly cold on my sore, tired knees and legs.

Climbing up the bank we continued down a trail and arrived back at the stream, at the same point we nearly took the wrong path the day before. We came out on the trail that we had started to climb before the Orang Asli called us back.

The rain let up a little bit and we took a short rest and removed more leeches from our shoes and socks. We then continued down the trail. What had been a small muddy trail yesterday was now a small streamlet with water gushing down the slope.

At around 1:00 we came to a fork in the trail. One direction would lead us back to the trailhead, the other down to a waterfall. Because it was still early we decided to go down to the falls.

Honestly I could have gone either way. I was tired and my shoulders were starting to hurt. Backpacks were still new to me and I was ready to dump it. The sky also decided to open up again and the rain came down hard. But majority rules and the super-humans wanted to see the falls… I did too, though I kind of wished for an escalator.

The trail switch backed down a steep slope and with every step I took down I thought of the step I would have to take back up; what goes down must come up. With the heavy rain it was impossible to hear the waterfall or stream and because the trail was a muddy mess I had to stare down and concentrate on each step.

Then I saw what I thought the strangest thing: a staircase appeared at the end of the trail, an old metal staircase with missing handrails and a bad case of the shakes. We spaced ourselves out and started walking down to the bottom. Old wet metal and heavy rain do not make good friends so I took each step one at a time keeping tow feet on a step for as long as possible, for a total of 339 steps.

The steps ended near the bottom of the falls and when I looked up into the mist and saw the nearly 300 foot drop, I was really happy that we decided to take this detour. With all of the heavy rains over the past few days, the water was gushing over the ledge.

Lata Kijang Jatuh Waterfall

We all took off our shoes and socks and washed them at the base of the waterfall and soaked our tired feet in the cool water. I then found out we were going back by another route and wouldn’t need to climb up those stairs. I was a happy camper!

I waded across the stream and sat on a rock for a while. This trek felt complete; felt finished. I knew that once we strapped back up we were heading to the cars. And though I knew I would still have some uphill climbing to do I knew the challenge was over and I tackled the challenge just fine.

After about 30 minutes at the falls, we started back to the trailhead. The walk was now on a narrow asphalt track used by 4 x 4’s to access the waterfall. The track, like a broken black ribbon, rolled across the hills. It was a much longer walk out this way and the downhill gradients played havoc on my knees. I would have never imagined that uphill walking was a blessing. And when I did approach a long uphill stretch, I just slowed my pace and walked on.

Over an hour later, Joe and I popped out of the trail and stood looking at our cars. We had walked together over the past few miles and I learned that he had one brother and one sister and both parents were living and healthy back in Myanmar. He was understandably concerned about all of them and like his other nationals, was not happy with the military rule of his country but felt helpless to change anything.

Back at the car, I took out my spare clothes and walked to the back of the abandoned house to change. That’s when in noticed that a river leech had attached itself to my thigh and left a bleeding bruise about the size of a nickel on me. I covered it with a cotton pad and taped it tight and thought nothing more of it. A fresh change of clothes really does wonders.

After everyone changed and were well-rested we piled into our 4 cars and headed out. We were going to meet in a small town on the way back to the city and share a nice hot dinner at one of the roadside Chinese restaurants.

An hour later we arrived at the restaurant and eased out of the cars walking like our legs were chopsticks; everyone’s knees were sore and locked from the steep downhill gradients on the asphalt road.

We ordered pork ribs cooked in a black pepper sauce, fish steamed with ginger and garlic, fried tofu with spicy ground pork, okra stir-fried with chilies, green veggies and a Hokkien Mee (fried noodle Hokkien style… one of my favorites).

While waiting for the food to come, I reached into my pocket to grab my phone and send a short message to my daughter. My phone was sticky and covered in red blotches. It took me a while to figure out that it was blood. I looked down and saw that my pants were soaked in blood and it was trailing down my leg. That last leech was vicious. But that leech and my bloody leg was all forgotten when the food started hitting the table. The noodles had a life span of about 1 minute. The other dishes didn’t fare much better.

I arrived home at 9:00pm just ahead of my wife and daughter who had just had dinner with the family in Klang.

Before I left on my trek, I told my daughter I would bring her back an interesting seed (I always look for something in the jungle to bring back for her). I reached into my pouch and brought out a seed that was a bit smaller than a ping-pong ball and appeared to be wearing a little Vietnamese field worker hat. Then she saw my bloody pants and took a step back.

I spent the next 15 minutes unpacking, hanging bags and putting muddy clothes to soak. The long hot shower rekindled my strength but did little to soothe my tired muscles. I plastered 7 bandages on my thigh and went to bed.

As I closed my eyes I could hear echoes of my memory; the frogs croaking, insects chirping, and the rain hitting the leaves around me.

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It has been 2 weeks since that weekend and as I type this last installment my fever is approaching 101 degrees and I’m awaiting a call from the doctor to find out the results of my blood test. The doctor wants to rule out Dengue Fever or Malaria… I do too.

Gunung Besar Hantu (Ghost Mountain) Saturday Part 2

2007-10-18T16:02:00.000+08:00

We continued along a small gully walking perilously close to the eroding edge. Ferns scratched my arms and legs. At a crossing of the gully, a rattan leaf, long and rigid, lay in the shallow stream, water trickling over the end. We filled our small water bottles and continued on. We anticipated that there would be one more source of water near the summit and planned on filling our bigger bottles there before our final climb. We would be wrong about that source.

It was now about 3:30 and as the trail grew steeper someone said that this is where the climb begins. At close to an 80-degree angle, walking turned into climbing. We used tree trunks, roots, vines, and small twigs as handrails as we stepped up the trail. I was now pulling myself up with my arms as much as pushing with my tired legs. This went on for about 20 minutes and I had to stop. I was wearing my heart rate monitor and I noticed that I was approaching 178 beats per minute. This was starting to get tough.

It was at this moment that I really began to wonder if I could actually make it. My legs were just starting to grow heavy but were not shaking… yet. It was taking longer and longer for my heart rate to drop to acceptable levels. I looked up at the trail and just saw it go on and on up the steep mountainside. A look back, and it dropped away behind me. My strategy now was to climb for a couple of minutes and rest for a couple of minutes. Eventually I would make it.

I heard someone behind me say 200 meters more to climb. I roughly calculated that to 600 feet and started keeping an eye on my altimeter as I climb/rested upwards. I climbed about 30 feet, leaned against a tree to ease the weight off my legs, and climbed another 30 feet. I kept this up… slow, but steady progress.

Nearing the top, I looked up and saw one of the trekkers in our group running down the steep path, cigar in mouth, long machete in hand. He looked like Rambo running through the jungle. It was Joe, our Myanmar friend, 20 years young and going strong. Behind him came our 2 group leaders. I asked what the problem was and was told that there was no water on top. They were heading back to the lower stream and the rattan leaf with empty water bottles. That humbled me. The 2 leaders run in the Mount Kinabalu Climbathon, a one day run up the 4095 meter (13,435 ft) mountain and down again. One of the ladies in our group finished in the top 10 of the KL Tower Stepathon, 2058 steps up to the top of the tower. I was in a group of, well, super-humans.

I continued my slow climb to the top, looked up and could see some sky. The trail actually looked like it was disappearing in the sky. This was an encouraging site to me. I skipped my rest stop and continued on and finally found myself standing on a trail that gently climbed and snaked along a narrow ridge, land dropping off to my right and left. I was back to a trail my legs were familiar with and my speed picked up.

With renewed energy, I started walking along the ridge. The trail was deep and muddy. It climbed over large roots, squeezed through deep, narrow gullies, and passed below moss covered fallen trees. I soon found myself alone. Most of the group was ahead with just 2 others behind me, not including the water gatherers. I could no longer hear talking, laughing or the sounds of walking. I even thought that I may have taken a wrong turn or followed a false trail.

The sky was still cloudy and wisps of mist blew through the trees in front of me. I stopped and listened and all I could hear was the breeze blowing through the trees. The air smelled earthy and damp. It was cooler on the ridge, and quiet.

A little further ahead I met up with two other climbers leaning against the muddy sides of a gully eating oranges and talking. They told me that the summit was 10 minutes ahead. They hefted their packs on and I dropped mine and munched my last apple. The two behind me approached and we continued to the top.

After stepping up a short incline, I emerged out of the jungle and into a small clearing, the summit of Gunung Besar Hantu. I made it. I just stood there for a while looking around. Everyone had taken off their boots and put on sandals. A couple of the ladies were snapping beans and preparing for dinner. Others were off in the bush changing into dry, clean clothes. Tarpaulins were being tied to trees to cover our sleeping areas. The summit was small and there were 17 of us, most were scampering about putting order into our little campsite.

I dropped my pack for the last time that day and took off my wet, muddy shoes. My white socks were brown and spotted with bright blooms of red from the numerous leech bites. My feet were deathly pale and shriveled from being wet all day, but no blisters. Wearing two pairs of socks protected my feet. After a change into dry clothes I felt somewhat refreshed. It was now about 6:30, 10 hours after we left the base. We were in a cloud and there were no views from the summit. The tops of other mountains appeared and then quickly hid behind the swirling clouds. I put on my windbreaker and helped with the laying of ground mats.

view from the summit

We created two sleeping areas, one large enough for about 12 people and the other just big enough for the balance of our group. The latrine was located off of the summit down the far slope a ways, downwind.

Right in the middle of the summit was a metal-framed cube with a pitched top. It looked like a line drawing of a square house with a pitched roof. Right at the center of the roof was a metal rod that shot upwards another 3 meters. This structure was part of an old beacon created by early surveyors. As tempting as it was to just cover the structure with our tarps and use it as a shelter, we knew that it would be a death oven if a thunderstorm rolled through. Three trekkers died this way before. We used this frame to hang our wet clothes and towels.

clothes hanging on the metal frame

With dinner in the works, vegetarian fare, and the sleeping quarters established, we stood around and chatted. A couple of climbers surprised us all by pulling out watermelons from their packs. There is no way I could have carried, or would have carried, a watermelon up a mountain, but it was a sweet surprise.

The rain that started pelting us though was no surprise, sweet or otherwise. The rain came fast and it came hard. The kitchen was quickly moved to the larger covered sleeping area. Seven of us rigged a tarp on the metal frame for shelter; this was just a heavy rainstorm with no lightening. Our tarp we soon learned was not meant for heavy rain and we started shuffling in the small space to avoid the cold drips and streams. Then the ground started retaining water and we found ourselves sandwiched between water. We made a dash to the larger covered area and stooped below the low cover hoping this would be a quick shower and not the usual all night affair.

Dinner started smelling like the kitchen in a fine restaurant. It made the air warm and cozy. Everyone passed their mess kits to the server and soon all talk pretty much stopped. The only sounds now were spoons scraping tin and the rain hitting the covers. Dinner was white rice mixed with green veggies, mock lamb and fish, and various seasonings. It was one of the most satisfying meals I’ve ever eaten. The hot food hit all of my right spots.

The rain tapered off just about the same time we shoveled in our last bites. It was now about 8:30.

After cleaning our bowls and cooking pots, the breakfast meal was mixed and brought to a boil. This would save us a bit of time in the morning. Breakfast would be rice porridge and noodles. As the final tasks were being completed for the day, I spread out my sleeping mat and bag and prepared to just pass out for the day.

At around 9:30 I crawled into my bag, rolled over and listened to the sporadic whispering and quiet laughter around the camp. Water dripping from the trees ticked on the tarp. Frogs and bugs chirped and clicked, and occasionally the leaves rustled as someone made their way to the latrine area. I drifted to sleep quickly.

my sleeping area sans cover

Only one hour later I found myself having to crawl out of my warm space and visit the latrine. I put on my headlight and carefully maneuvered along the narrow trail at the edge of the summit. Everyone was now asleep and the jungle was quiet. I looked up and to my surprise saw stars. I walked to the summit clearing and looked off to the west and in the far distance I could make out the tiny lights of Kuala Lumpur. Among those lights, to brightly lit buildings stood out, the Petronas Twin Towers. I crawled back under the tarp, slipped quietly into my bag and once again fell into a deep, restful sleep.

Gunung Besar Hantu (Ghost Mountain) Saturday Part 1

2007-10-18T09:03:00.000+08:00

Saturday, October 13, 2007

I heard talking and the shuffling of feet on the dirty floor coming from the living room. Outside someone coughed. The light coming through the grimy slat windows was faint and grey. The time was 6:30am. I crawled out of my bag, had a nice long stretch and peeked into the living area. A small camping stove was nearly bringing a pot of water to boil for our instant coffee. About 5 people sat on the floor and in assembly line fashion were constructing a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. A glance through the front porch door and I saw a thick ground fog,

With coffee and sandwich in hand I walked outside and saw the fog slowly swirling and dissolving as the sun further lightened the sky. Everything was coated in dew. It was a damp and muggy morning. Even the dogs across the track still slept.

After everyone had their breakfast, rolled up their sleeping mats and bags, repacked packs, and checked gear one last time, we slammed the house door shut, hefted on our backpacks and started walking to the trail head. It was now 8:30am.

The trail we began walking on was an old pot-holed track used by the Orang Asli. Their small settlements are scattered throughout the lower areas of the mountains.. Their home is the jungle and the jungle sustains them. Some live in small concrete block homes with tin roofs, some in thatched homes. This track also leads down into a valley to the base of a spectacular waterfall. We would visit this waterfall on our return from the summit.

For the next 1 to 2 hours we walked along the track crossing small bridges over fast moving streams. We walked up and down hills past small settlements with roosters running around, dogs barking. On the side of the trail was a dead snake apparently killed by one of the Orang Asli. It was about 2 meters (6 feet) long; cobra the best we could tell.

Above us patches of blue showed, but to our left and right, dark clouds gathered. The weather in Malaysia over the past few weeks had been unusually wet and it looked like the pattern wasn’t’ changing.

We came to a point along the track where just off to our right a small trail slipped into the jungle growth and curved out of sight as it climbed upwards. We rested along the track munching on apples and bread and drinking water.

Water is an important factor when planning overnight and longer treks through the hot and humid jungles. We each carried 3 liters of water in our pack and a small bottle in our waist pouches. Before making the final ascent this water would all be gone and we would need to fill our empties from one of the small mountain streams… real mineral water.

We started up the narrow trail. Undergrowth intruded from both sides brushing up against us. I was the only one wearing shorts. I just don’t like walking in long pants or long sleeves in the jungle. Scratches, small cuts and bruises never bothered me. I don’t model my legs are arms so there’s no worry there. The trail surface was mostly clay soils with a scattering of small stones. During heavy rains this was a small watercourse. The trail was still saturated from the previous night’s rain. The trail steadily climbed upward but wasn’t to steep to impede m gait.

We came to a small stream and dropped our packs to rest our shoulders and legs. After a few gulps of water, an energy bar, and some bread, we looked around for the correct trail to follow. There was a trail to our right heading up into the jungle and a trail across the stream disappearing in the thick undergrowth along the stream bank. But what we noticed to our immediate south, specifically our feet, was that we were covered with leeches.

Leeches are small slugs with teeth and have an insatiable desire and need to drink blood. When they latch on to your skin, they excrete and enzyme that prevents blood from clotting. A leech bite can bleed for hours. Other than staining your socks with blood, leeches are ok. You can’t feel their bite and you won’t miss the blood that they take. When they first latch on to your skin they are about at big as a 1-inch piece of pencil lead. After having their fill of blood they can get as big as your little finger. Once full, they drop off and probably take a nap (though I haven’t read any scientific studies about the nap part).

One of our guides opted to cross the stream and head along the trail that continued in the same direction we had been traveling. After carefully walking on fallen trees and hopping on slippery stones, I made it across only getting one shoe wet. We paused on the trail and our other guide said we should have taken the trail that went up the slope. So we crossed the stream again and I got my other shoe wet. We started up the other trail when we heard shouts coming back from the stream. A small group of Orang Asli told our trailing leader that the trail we wanted was up stream and to the right. So we turned back, waded through the water and climbed up onto a trail that quickly started climbing up a steep slope.

Two things were different about this trail. First, it started raining so the trail now was a slippery, muddy channel. Second, the trail started getting steep. Up until this point the trek was a walk. Now I had to use my hands to grab onto tree roots and small saplings to assist in keeping my balance and create climbing leverage. A trail with an angle of 60 to 80 degrees requires a whole new set of muscles. It was still relatively early in the trek and I still felt fine. After about 20 minutes, we completed the steep section of trail and rested in the thick, wet undergrowth, picking off more leeches and munching on energy bars.

The jungle now started to get thicker and encroach tightly on the trail we were following. Only short sections of the path could be seen ahead as it snaked up the slope. It was still raining and the air was thick.

We continued single-filed up the twisting trail. Though not as steep as the last section, the trail continued climbing at a steady rate. The muddy track was only about a foot wide and thick, low vegetation crowded in from both sides. Gullies and small streamlets ran along the trail and one thing I carefully noted was that one small step off the course could lead to a 2 to 3 meter drop into one of these gullies. With head turned down focusing on the next placement of my step, I continued on, one step at a time in single-file with our small group.

Because the trail was now steeper and we had been walking for close to 5 hours, I found myself taking short ‘breather’ breaks. This also allowed me divert my eyes from the trail and look around at the trees towering high above us. Small colorful mushrooms cantilevered out of fallen tree trunks. Ferns grew in clusters along the trail, their new growth spiraling open. And dotted around the ferns, splashes of colored wild orchids were like jewels among the many shades of green. Looking up I could see patches of grey sky through the overhead tree canopies.

After a short while (time was becoming meaningless), we emerged out of the jungle onto a flat open space; a rock ledge jutting out of the mountainside. We all let our packs drop and took a much-needed rest. I laid on the rock using my backpack as a pillow and looked up at the gray sky while my heart rate returned to an acceptable level. Directly in front of me the ledge disappeared over a steep drop into a valley. Below a stream could be heard. Behind me I saw mountain after jungle-covered mountain disappear into the jagged horizon, blue green in color and covered in a light mist.

I ate an energy bar and drank the last of my first big bottle of water. Someone pointed out a mountaintop to me and I looked up at it towering high above us, dark clouds surrounding its peak. I was looking at Gunung Besar Hantu. We were at about the 2500-foot elevation mark and still had over 2000 feet to climb. I looked up at the peak and for the first time wondered if I could actually make it to the top. We were all wet, a bit tired, but still eager to continue. It would take about 2 to 3 hours to reach the summit, the remaining distance a steep climb up the side of the mountain.

I strapped my waist pouch on, hefted my backpack up on my knee and onto my shoulders, took a deep breath and continued along the narrow trail into the thick jungle and up the side of the mountain.

Go to Saturday's Ascent Part Two

Gunung Besar Hantu (Ghost Mountain) Friday

2007-10-17T16:05:00.000+08:00

Friday, October 12, 2007

My sister-in-law and her husband dropped by my house around 7:00pm with a tub of pumpkin rice cooked by my mom-in-law. They also brought one of their shop helpers along for the weekend, a strong young man we call ‘Joe’. He’s a 20 year old from Myanmar and has the kindest spirit you’d ever want to meet.

Our stomachs and our backpacks were full. We packed everything necessary for a two-night trek in the jungle. I stuffed in my pack a change of clothes including a long pants, 4 pairs of socks (I wear 2 pairs when walking in the jungle), sleeping bag and small mat, rain/wind jacket, mess kit, head light, and assorted odds and ends like whistle, lighter, and toiletries. I also packed some energy bars, a snickers bar, potato bread, and a couple of apples.
We left my house around 7:30pm and headed to the base of Gunung Besar Hantu. This mountain got its name by the Orang Aslii, Malaysia’s indigenous people, who claim there are ghosts or banshees on the mountain.

After existing the Cheras/Kajang Highway, we drove toward Hulu Langkat where we met up with 3 more cars in our group and then took a series of small ‘trunk’ roads, narrow roads that twisted through the foothills and countryside. We turned onto a one-lane track that meandered through banana, rubber, and durian plantations (being dark I could not see any of this). We reached the end of the small track and pulled into a small grassy driveway in front of an abandoned dwelling. It was 10:30pm.

The small house we parked near had a front porch and we all eyed it with interest because it had started raining about halfway through our journey. Dogs across the track started barking and heads popped out of the small Orang Asli settlement homes. They told us we could sleep on the raised porch of the old house, but there were 17 of us and not enough porch.

The door of the old house was locked and padlocked, but with a gentle nudge of the shoulder the door opened. I guess we were technically breaking and entering. With torch lights on we explored the musky, neglected structure. A few cheap, thin mattresses with unknown stains and burn marks littered the floor and leaned against the walls. The floor covering was indistinguishable because of the undisturbed dirt and dust blanketing it.

Through the front door a living area ran nearly the length of the house. To the rear, there were about 6 steps that led down to what was once the kitchen and dining area. Off both sides of the living area there were small bedrooms each containing rusty pipe bunk beds. More dirt and a few cigarette butts littered the floor. In one of the rooms a bluish color gecko about 18 inches long from snout to tail and covered with orange spots clung to the wall. The photographer in our group took several pictures of this lizard; it’s big eyes staring into the lens, toes spread wide.

Some in our group threw down their sleeping mats on the porch and some in the living room. It was getting crowded out there so I chose one of the bedrooms, the one without the gecko.

It was my brother-in-law’s birthday and we surprised him with a birthday cake. After everyone ate a piece of cake, told stories and settled down, a lantern was lit and sleeping bags were fluffed. Before I could even get my bag unzipped, snoring had commenced in the living area. Outside it was still raining and the frogs were singing. I snuggled into my bag and went to sleep wondering what I was getting myself into. I had never trekked overnight in the Malaysian jungles and never climbed a jungle mountain more than 250 meters high. I was used to long distance walking, but had little experience with big climbs while carrying a 20lb backpack. Did I have the stamina to tackle a 5000-foot ascent? The lantern died down. I lie on my side and fell into a deep sleep. It was 11:30pm.

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One thing I should note, everyone in the group was Chinese and most spoke only a little English. Most of the time I had no clue what was being discussed. Joe, the Myanmar fellow, spoke pretty good English and we had some nice talks together. Otherwise, I sometimes just felt like a tag-along following the group, reading faces and body language to figure out what was going on. If someone said something and everyone smiled or laughed that was good. If they all frowned or looked concerned, that was bad. I liked the smiling and laughing.

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I'll post the Saturday ascent and Sunday descent soon. In the meantime here are a couple of sites that provide a bit of sketchy information on Gunung Besar Hantu.

A trek up Malaysia's spooky mountain

"Gunung Besar Hantu" - Spooky Tales, Rat Trail

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Go to Saturday's Ascent Part One

Redang Island

2007-09-27T10:40:00.001+08:00

Redang Reef Resort

Woke up early Sunday. The sky was just turning a pale orange. We hopped in a taxi and headed to the airport. Soon we were in the air and sipping orange juice and eating peanuts. That was my breakfast. Before the taste of the last peanut dissolved, we were landing in Terengganu on the east coast of Malaysia. A driver sent by the beach resort was waiting for us and we piled into his van and headed to the jetty. His driving was slow, but the pace of life in this early morning town needs no rushing. At the jetty we boarded a speedboat and headed to Redang Island, 50 minutes out to sea.

We jumped from the boat on to the small beach in front of the Redang Reef Resort and was briefed by one of the staff. Snorkeling trips were at 9:30am and 2:30pm. Breakfast served between 7 and 9, lunch between 12 and 1, tea at 4, dinner at 7. All meals were buffet style… basic food such as fried rice or mee (noodles), chicken, veggies and soup. We went to our rooms, threw our small bags on the simple, worn bed, changed into our swimsuits and had a light lunch. The rooms were basic meeting your needs; bed, bathroom with shower, air-condition and sand sprinkled on the floor and the smell of the sea in the air.

The front of the Redang Reef Resort faces a small sandy beach and cove and the rear of the property faces another cove, shallow with rocks. A rock-lined peninsula that juts out about 500 meters into the sea separates the 2 coves.

We stayed in the water for 3 days getting out only to eat and sleep.

My daughter really loved snorkeling. It was like swimming in a huge aquarium. We saw Nemo and Dori and a cast of their friends. To hear a little girl laughing through her snorkel is a wonderful sound. We didn’t know the names of the fish we saw, but that didn’t matter. We knew them by their traits. Big blue fish with orange heads were beautiful bullies bothering the smaller fish. The overly excited white fish with black stripes would nibble at your hands when you held them in front of you like a cup. Swimming through schools of small silver fish was like being on a disco floor with lights sparkling all around you. One really nasty fish tried to bite the mole off my stomach and I had to hitch up my swim trunks to cover it. Schools of large white fish seemed bored and just drifted along the bottom. Sea cucumbers, like giant slugs littered the sandy floor. And the velvety blue and purple mouths of the clams held no interest for my fingers, closing tightly shut when I caressed their wavy lips.

I did a stupid but wonderful thing at the end of the second day by snorkeling around the point of the peninsula, out to sea and back into the rear cove alone. But I never really feared water or the sea (worked on shrimp boats when I was a kid). Though the currents were strong at the point of the small cape, the wonders of what I saw below kept me going. I saw small sharks, a sea turtle and approached an eel but backed off when he bared his teeth at me. Snorkeling is like flying above a strange and beautiful landscape. The beauty of snorkeling is that with a deep breath and a swift kick, you can soar down into that world and almost forget what you've left behind. Swimming below overhanging reefs, through underwater canyons, and down the sides of rock cliffs with only a deep breath is exhilarating. I’ve never tried scuba diving but always likened it to flying a small engine plane, while snorkeling is more like steering a glider on the air currents. I like the freedom of just wearing my trunks and a snorkel.

Snorkeling is hearing the steady sound of your breathing and nothing else as you gently bob on the surface of the water, seeing waves of light in a mesh pattern dancing on the sea floor, while a rainbow of fish scurry among the reefs and rocks. It’s letting go of all that is above you, shedding the weight of work, of thoughts. There is no past or present while snorkeling, only the time of now. And when you briefly lift your head to set your bearings with land above the water, the magic wavers like a curtain in the wind until once again you’re floating effortlessly, alone, in the now.

This was our second trip to Redang in 10 years and we’re determined not to wait so long for our third. We’re already looking at dates for our next trip to the sea.

Here are more pictures of Redang Island.

Bay feeding the fish

Surrounded by fish

Just for Fun

2007-07-12T14:40:00.000+08:00

Below is a small animation illustrating correct walking technique and form. This technique was developed by the masters, Monty Python's Flying Circus in association with the Ministry of Silly Walks.

And be sure to check out this Silly Walk Generator

And you just have to watch the official Ministry of Silly Walk Sketch

Summit Loop Walk

2007-07-09T13:34:00.000+08:00

Still not a story about my virtual walk (I'm still in Missouri), but one will come soon. So stay tuned. For now, here is a true story of my Sunday Summit Loop Walk.

It was cloudy after church and perfect weather for a walk. I decided to head out to the jungle and walk up to the summit, what I call the Summit Loop walk.

I filled a couple of water bottles and clipped them to my waist pouch, threw my phone, a plastic bag, and some money into the pouch, clipped on my ipod for the road walking segment (I never listen to music in the jungle), pressed the start button on my polar heart rate monitor watch and headed out the front door.

I looped around the neighborhood to warm up, hit the main road, and started pounding the pavement to the beat of Journey and America. The sidewalk ended about a minute later and I had to shuffle to the side of the road and walk in the dust, sand, and broken concrete. The road is damaged because of the many construction projects in the area. Traffic was minimum because it was Sunday. On a regular workday, all of the roads I walk are usually busy with cars. Though traffic was light, most of those on the road thought they were in the F1 roaring past me, loud because of modified mufflers. The concrete mixers and big trucks are the worst, belching black exhaust and stirring up the dust.

It wasn’t long before I passed the mosque, took a left turn, and walked along the uphill road that encircled the mosque. Closely planted palm trees shielded me from the UV rays. I took another left and headed towards Mont Kiara. The Kuala Lumpur High Court was now on my right, the mosque still on my left.

The cloudy sky finally bore fruit and a light rain started drifting down. I wrapped my phone and ipod in my plastic bag and kept walking. The road I was on flowed over a series of small hills. I always imagined that I was walking on top of a rollercoaster. By the time I ‘finished my ride’ and made it to the end of the road, the light rain stopped.

I crossed over the newly opened bridge over the highway and entered the Mont Kiara area. This road was even dustier than the previous. Condominiums, under construction, popped up along this whole downhill stretch. The light rain dampened the dust so the air was relatively clean, though muggy. I walked out of the new part of Mont Kiara and into the older established area. My office complex was on the right and the Sunday ABC market was busy with activity (every Sunday there’s a flea market set up around the office). I hung a right past the office and continued my walk under the Penchala Link Highway.

Now I was entering the Desa Hartamas neighborhood. I walked through a police roadblock without incident; I wasn’t speeding. I made a brief stop at the party shop to ask about their closing time (my daughter’s birthday party is next weekend)… six o’clock (note to self, after walk come back and look for party pack fillers).

I crossed the small parking lot and headed into the Desa Hartamas residential neighborhood. The sun was trying to peak out but the clouds or haze kept it at bay. At the end of the street, I hopped on the sidewalk that parallels the Damansara Highway. After about 10 minutes along the highway I came to the trailhead, unplugged my ipod, and entered the jungle. This was 5 miles from my front door (5 miles the long way, but could be reached in about 2 miles using an alternative route).

The trailhead was the beginning of a short trail that led to the Mont Kiara reservoir water tank service road. It was a nice walk that snaked through the jungle, climbed uphill and terminated at the water tank. Just before the end of the road, I exited alongside a new housing development (last year this was a jungle) and headed up a steep incline toward the Boulder path.

I could now hear thunder and it appeared to be creeping closer. The sky was also getting darker. I continued on and would decide on a course of action when I arrived at the Arboretum (an area of jungle cleared a couple of years ago and planted with indigenous trees). At the Arboretum, which was also a crossroads of sorts with pathways leading in 3 directions, I decided that though the thunder still sounded like an approaching war, the sky was not threatening enough for me to abort my walk. I continued and took the short, steep route to the top of the summit.

This proved physically taxing. I had not been walking as regular as I used to and the steep climb to the top kept my heart rate in the red zone. I pressed on knowing that once I made it to the top I would be rewarded with a view of Kuala Lumpur and the knowledge that the walk back down the Twin Peaks trail would be a long, gentle and rejuvenating downhill walk. But the view from the top was not what I wanted to see. The sky over KL was black and the thunder was now getting louder.

I started down the Twin Peaks trail at a clip and continued past the bamboo grove, glanced at the small temple on my right, and shuffled around the hairpin turn. Gusts of cool wind kicked up and the trees started swaying, leaves blew across the path and the thunder continued. I made it to the Snakes and Ladders trail and continued at a fast walk (except when I took out my phone to make a small video of the trail). The Snakes and Ladder trail led back to the Arboretum and I continued on to the Boulders trail and headed back home.

Once I was out of the jungle and back along the Damansara Highway I decided that the sky didn’t really look too bad so was going to walk home the long way, the way I had come. Just then a loud crack of thunder shattered the noise of traffic and I looked back to see the sky slowly dimming to black. I made a quick turn-around, hopped across the pedestrian bridge that crossed the highway and headed home on the short route.

About a mile from home the thunder ceased and the sky fell. This was a tropical rainstorm, not a drizzle, but the kind of rain that forces motorists to pull over with their flashers flashing. White sheets battered down and I couldn’t’ have been any happier. What a way to end a beautiful walk! I walked on the edge of the road in water 2-3 inches deep streaming down the inclined road. My shoes were filled with water and did not empty. But with only a mile to go I didn’t need to worry about blisters. One car passed me slowly and stopped ahead. It was my neighbors (also walkers) asking me if I needed a ride. I smiled and told them that this was the best part of my walk and I’m almost home now. Plus I was already drenched.

As I entered my neighborhood the rainstorm turned into a thunderstorm. Lightening cracked the sky and I scurried on back to my house. Under my carport I removed my shoes and socks and shirt, sat on my bench and enjoyed the symphony of rain and thunder. That was a great walk with a perfect ending!

Here's a short video of my walk back along the Snakes and Ladders trail. My phone camera is not the best... obviously. It starts with me walking down a steep switch-back that leads to a small timber bridge (a ladder crossing).

New Park at Mont Kiara

2007-07-06T17:13:00.000+08:00

Here's an article about the development of a new city park in the Mont Kiara area near where I live. Why am I putting this in my blog? Because the area concerned is the jungle I've written about in past blogs. It is this jungle where I spend many a Saturday walking the trails, watching the monkeys, side-stepping the snakes, and sometimes, getting lost. Here's a few links about my walks there: Weekend Jungle Walks, Jungle Walking in Mont Kiara, and Jungle Jumble

I'm going to miss that place. Hopefully the design and implementation of the park will enhance the area. I'll stay optimistic for now.

Huge Park at Bukit Kiara
Sprawling green lung to be the size of 300 football fields
By Ng Si Hooi (The Star, Friday 29 June 2007)

Kuala Lumpur: The 188.93ha (466.86 acres) public park, equivalent to the size of about 300 football fields, will be in Bukit Kiara here.

The biggest park in the country will be bounded by Taman Lembah Kiara in Taman Tun Dr Ismail, the KL Golf and Country Club and Sri Hartamas, said Housing and Local Government Minister Datuk Seri Ong Ka Ting yesterday.

“The park is our own version of London’s Hyde Park or New York’s Central Park. The park will reflect Malaysia’s identity.

“It will be a sprawling green lung recreational park for city folks to relax in and enjoy Mother Nature. The park will change the image of the city as a concrete jungle,” Ong said.

He said the theme for the park was “design with nature” and not only the natural habitat of the area would be preserved but more trees would be planted too.

“We want to make sure this park retains its identity by adding more greenery to make it more attractive and environment friendly,” he said., adding that the Government would decide on the name of the park later.

He said the park would have various facilities, including jogging and bicycle paths, and space for people to have picnics or camp and courts for various sports like basketball,” he said.

“The public can take part in various activities such as hill climbing and biking, science exploration on flora and fauna, and study tours to the arboretum and herbarium,” he said.

A portion of the park will be reserved for research and development projects.

Ong said the planning and designing of the park would be done by the National Landscape Department under his ministry together with other related agencies including Kuala Lumpur City Hall (DBKL), the Forest Research Institute of Malaysia and the Malaysian Agricultural Research and Development Institute.

He said the Cabinet approved the proposal presented by his ministry together with the Federal Territories Ministry on Wednesday, and his ministry would build and mange the park.

“The Cabinet feels that it should turn Kuala Lumpur and its surrounding areas to be a place for healthy living and a better sustainable environment for the people. We should save the limited green areas now before it is too late,” he said.

He said the park was on land owned by the Government as 146.3ha was under the purview of DBKL while the remaining area belonged to the Information Ministry.

Zulhasnan: It will be a landmark

Kuala Lumpur: Federal Territories Minister Datuk Zulhasnan Rafique said the proposed public park is a joint effort between his ministry and the Housing and Local Government Ministry and will be another important landmark and attraction similar to London’s Hyde Park for both locals and tourists.

“It’ll be a place where KL-ites can have recreational activities in a relaxing atmosphere that is environmentally friendly.

“It will also be a significant effort towards environment conservation, which is one of the cores of the ministry’s strategic plan.

“We will always give special importance towards environment conservation efforts and I hope that the KL park will be another activity-based centre which is aligned with the gree cause.

“I believe that the park will put Kuala Lumpur on the map as one of the top tourist spots in the world for parks just like in many developed countries.”

“We will slowly be seeing the expansion and redevelopment of many existing parks in Kuala Lumpur so that the public will be able to enjoy the facilities with their families,” he said.

Friends of Bukit Kiara, a group that has long supported the idea of keeping the area green, are not jumping for joy until more details are available.

It’s chairman Liew Khooi Cheng, 68, said as long as there are no buildings in the park then he was all for it.

Italy... By the Book

2007-07-04T10:27:00.000+08:00

Though old and a little crusty, like some of its pizza, Italy is still a pretty cool country. I was there back in 1994 driving around free and easy with my wife as we toured Europe by car for 2 months. This time we visited Italy with my parents and our daughter. It was a whirlwind trip that proved once and for all that vacations could be as tedious and stressful as work, if not more!

We started by leaving Kuala Lumpur on the ‘red-eye’ flight arriving in Rome in the early morning of some day, I think Monday. This was a group-packaged tour. There were 44 of us in the group and we collected our luggage and started dragging them to the coach. Our tour of Rome was to begin without even a decent cup of coffee. Forget about sleep or shower after the long flight. Our tour leader said that we had an itinerary that we HAD to follow.

We drove straight to Vatican City where we met up with a local tour leader who filled us in on some of the details of the Vatican. I can’t remember a word she said other than the Pope lived there, but then I already knew that. We had a total of 30 minutes to walk around and look at the Vatican… 30 minutes!!! Took me nearly that long to get to the men’s room, which incidentally is not used by the Pope… I think he uses the woods, at least that’s what I hear.

We then piled on the bus and took off for the Coliseum. We parked and walked to the old arena and were given another 30 minutes to take in one of the greatest architectural features of Rome. We didn’t even have enough time to go inside. Walking around the Coliseum is kind of pointless since it’s circular and looks the same from every angle.

Then it started to rain as we made our way to our first meal in Rome. The tour leader kept saying, “when in Rome do as the Romans do”. Then why, oh why, did we have a Chinese lunch? Here we are in Rome, Italy and we’re eating Chinese food?

The rain didn’t let up during our lunch of roast duck, pig’s feet, old fish, some kind of vegetable and lumpy rice. We walked through the rain to get back to our bus. On the bus, wet and sticky, our guide said that we had 2 more places we had to see because it was on our itinerary. That tad-burned itinerary!

We drove to the Spanish Steps and then got dumped out of the bus and were told we had 2 hours to walk around… in the rain. Well, it did finally quit raining and I was able to dry off by standing in front of some musky warm air coming out of an old building’s air vent along the street. During the rain we sat in a McDonald’s drinking coffee. I have to say that the McDonalds in Italy serve up some real good coffee.

After a couple of hours we were bussed to The Trevi Fountain and spent another hour milling about looking at a bunch of people throwing coins in the pool. We were told that we needed to get dinner around there because the hotel had no food and the tour did not include dinner for the first night. So we bought a bunch of pizza and piled on the bus for our trip to the hotel. It was now about 7:00pm and the hotel was on the outskirts of Rome.

Incidentally, tour group hotels are all out on the fringes of the city and are like prison camps for tourists. Once at the hotel there is absolutely nothing to do except stay in your room.

We had a wakeup call at 6:00am the next morning, filed down to the hotel’s mess hall for the included continental breakfast and then hauled our luggage back to the bus for our trip north.

Our first stop of the day, other than highway pit stops where we ate a lot of our lunches, was Pisa to view the famous leaning tower. We had about an hour to walk around and look at the crooked building. On our first trip to Italy we by-passed this place. It really is an awesome sight and I wish we had passed through here on our first visit when we had more time. I would have liked to go inside to see how a slanted floor felt.

We climbed back on the bus and headed to Florence. There we saw Piazza Signoria and Piazza Santa Croce. We then drove up to the hilltop Piazza Michelangelo to see the big replica of the statue of David and to get an overview of the city. Then it was off to our first Italian dinner. After dinner we headed out to our tourist hotel somewhere off the highway on the outskirts of some city for a short night’s sleep.

The next morning, bright and early, we boarded the bus and headed to Venice. After parking, we boarded a ferryboat and headed to St. Mark’s Square. We dilly-dallied in the square for a while feeding pigeons and oohing and ahhing over the square, the architecture, and the number of tourists. We then went to see a glass blowing factory and after given the opportunity to buy glass stuff we were turned loose for about 3 hours.

We were told repeatedly by our tour leader not to venture away from the square or waterfront; not to penetrate into the small twisting streets that make up Venice. So, the first thing we did was turn our backs to the waterfront and entered the small winding streets. We had spent a few days in Venice back in ’94 and we had to show my parents what it was like ‘inside’ the city. We found a small café and had coffee and pastries and strolled along the narrow streets, crossing bridges and watching the gondolas. At the right time and distance (our memory could only remember so many right and left turns), we turned around and headed back, carefully remembering the number of turns and the direction of each junction we passed through earlier. My daughter sprinkled sugar along the way and it helped to find our way back.

We got back on the ferryboat, back on the bus, and headed back to another tourist prison hotel for the night.

The next day we woke up early and though most everyone just wanted to go to Milan (there were a lot of big spenders in our group) we did have an itinerary to follow. So we quickly made our way to Verona, parked, quickly shuffled past the Arena and went to view Juliet’s balcony. We then spent a little time in the street market, had lunch, and headed back to the bus and on to Milan.

In Milan, the tour guide brought us to look at the Duomo, one of the largest cathedrals in the world, the La Scala Opera House, and the glass-domed Victor Emmanuelle II Galleria. We were then given a couple of hours to shop or browse around. We had coffee at McDonalds because it was raining outside and Gucci, Versace, Fratelli Rossetti, Prada, Cartier etc. never really did anything for me. I’m a Levi kind of guy.

The next day was a free day in Milan so we walked around the city window browsing, eating, and drinking coffee.

The next morning, Saturday I think, the bus was boarded and we headed to the airport. Our group was flying back to Kuala Lumpur, but we were renting a car and heading up to Lake Maggiore to stay for a few days in Verbano, near the Swiss border.

Now the next few days were bliss. We stayed in a real hotel right on the lake in the center of town. This was no tourist prison. This was a nice hotel with friendly staff, nice breakfasts, and views of the lake from the window. We drove up to look at the Cascata del Toce, a 143-meter high waterfall in the Formazza Valley. We crossed into Switzerland and spent time in the town of Locarno. We visited castles. We ate chocolate. I was able to walk along the lakefront, through the old towns, and along a river that sported several nice waterfalls. And, we had authentic Italian food, not Chinese (all of the meals provided on the tour, with the exception of one dinner, was Chinese food). In fact, we ate a lot of authentic Italian food; too much! Our daily dose of ice cream didn’t help either.

We drove back to the airport after our stay at the lake and flew back to Kuala Lumpur with a better appreciation for the free and easy style of traveling and with a few added pounds around the waistline.

Now my tone of writing may seem to indicate that I did not enjoy this trip very much. Well, to the contrary, it was truly a wonderful vacation because of the shared company of my wife and daughter and my mom and dad. Though grueling at times due to the darned ‘itinerary’, the time spent together with my family will never be forgotten. And… I wouldn’t have changed one thing about this trip, even the Chinese dinners!

“Many a trip continues long after movement in time and space have ceased.”
John Steinbeck

Project Playlist

2007-07-02T09:09:00.000+08:00

A while back I shared my walking music playlists. Well here's a sample of some of the hard-hitting music I use to boost my speed and keep me moving. Just click on the play button, turn up your sound and hold on to your seat. Better yet, get the music and head outside to pound the pavement...

You can create your own player by going to Project Playlist.

Angkor Wat... Not in Missouri

2007-05-21T18:16:00.000+08:00

My daughter had a Friday off and my parents were in town so at the last minute we decided to hop on AirAsia (low cost airlines) and in 2 hours stepped back in time… to the 12th century.

We flew into Siem Reap on Friday and made our way to our hotel. If ever you find yourself in Siem Reap, Cambodia you gotta stay at the FCC Angkor Hotel. Great place and nice price. Renovated from the old French Governor's mansion, this hotel possessed a quiet elegance. The first thing you notice when entering the room is the smell of lemon grass. They burn lemon grass oil in the rooms… very soothing, very refreshing.

After checking out the bathroom, drawers, bed; a general scoping out of the room, we had lunch at the hotel’s café. We went with the Khmer Platter for two (times 2 for the 5 of us). It included: duck cake, spring roll, fish amok, by char, Cambodian curry, beef lok lak with steamed rice and mixed sauces. We were not disappointed. The food was wonderful.

After lunch we started walking towards the ‘Old Market’ but got a little turned around and twisted in the chaotic streets; traffic on the roads, traffic on the sidewalks, dust, noise, people, litter (both organic and inorganic), smells. We ended up in the Pub Street area and found a nice, somewhat quite place for dinner and coffee.

We awoke Saturday morning at 4:30 so that we could get to Phnom Bakheng near Angkor Wat to watch the sunrise. Unfortunately the sun rose before we did. On the way to Angkor the sky started lighting up in the east. We urged the driver on… faster, faster please. We alighted at the jungle trailhead and started climbing up the hill to the temple on top. By the time we climbed the near vertical steps to the top of the temple the sun was peeking over the horizon. There were only about 8 other people there for the sunrise so it was very peaceful and quiet.

After the sunrise and the short trek back down the hill, we visited other temples in the area. Over the years, the jungle started reclaiming the ancient town of Angkor and all of it’s stone structures and carvings. It’s hard to tell if the buildings are holding up the trees or the trees are holding up the buildings.

One obvious problem we noticed: many of the heads and hands of the sculptures were missing (and are probably in homes of the rich and scattered in museums around the world). It really is a shame that such a place could be so desecrated. But then when you consider the destruction and genocide under Pol Pot’s rule… well, with such a sad and tragic past, Angkor Wat did survive.

Before Pol Pot died in 1998, he told a journalist that he had “a clear conscience.” Yet, between 1975 and 1979 he oversaw the executions, starvation or death by overwork of more than 1.5 million people who shared a common history, including one of the eight wonders of the world.

Some of the walls at the Angkor Wat temple, built between the 9th and 14th Centuries, still contained pock marks made by bullets, residues of Vietnamese and Cambodian “communists” fighting each other amidst the splendor of palaces built by grandiose kings.

We walked around until 2:00pm and then went back to the hotel for a swim. The temperatures were in the high 90’s. At 5:00pm we went back to Angkor to visit the famed Angkor Wat. We climbed the near vertical stairs to the top of the temple and look at more carvings illustrating the stories and beliefs of the ancient Cambodians. We then watched the sunset. After the sunset we walked to the edge of the temple platform for the climb down. Climbing down is not for the faint-of-heart. It’s like climbing down the side of a cliff. Your legs shake, your breath becomes short and you grip each step with white knuckles… then you look over and see a monk casually walking down the steps with a smile on his face… hmmm… seems his faith was stronger than mine.

On Sunday we flew back to Kuala Lumpur and made our way back home leaving behind some really nice people, but bringing with us memories of an unbelievable time.

Missouri Tales

2007-05-03T15:00:00.000+08:00

3 May 2007
Pocahontas, Missouri
910 miles into my journey up the Mississippi River

It’s been quite some time since I’ve updated my journey. As I mentioned before embarking on this trek up the Mississippi River, this walk will have no deadline, there will be no schedule, and most importantly, I may find myself taking detours or settling down for awhile if a place caught my fancy (just laying the groundwork for some not-walking excuses).

Well, in the month of April I wandered way off my path; I took a quick side trip to Cambodia (no, not to adopt a child). And when I returned to my path, I settled down for a relaxing spell, getting real cozy in southern Missouri.

I crossed out of Kentucky and into the state of Illinois.

I spent a total of 15 minutes in Illinois; 1 mile walking the southern-most tip of the state. I crossed the Ohio River, walked by the Fort Defiance State Park, and crossed the Mississippi River into Missouri. When thinking about Illinois, Chicago always came to mind; windy city, cold weather blowing off the lake, snow, corn fields, the ‘Bears’ and the ‘Bulls’. I never realized that this state stuck its toe in the south, right in the middle of Ozark country. The Ohio River wraps around from the east and the Mississippi from the west. And there, at the point of confluence, is Illinois. I’ll cross back over later and explore more of this state later in my journey.

Missouri is an interesting place and I found myself enchanted by the Ozark region. It is here that I put away my walking shoes and sat dangling my tired feet in cold streams and laying beneath the trees watching little leaves sprouting out to greet the new Spring. And it is here that I read a couple of books that ironically took place in southern Missouri.

The first book I read was, ‘Winter's Bone: A Novel’ by Daniel Woodrell. I got lost in this book. The description of rural life in southern Missouri was vivid. I felt the frigid winter’s air, tasted the sun-cured deer meat, silently prayed for the young heroine of the story, and feared her ‘crank’ cooking family and neighbors. Today’s Ozark moonshine is called ‘crank’, a cheap drug also known as meth, crystal, or methamphetamine. I read this book with my back against a tree, my ear’s tuned to any sounds not created naturally by wind or forest. The Ozarks suddenly had a gritty edge I hadn’t noticed before. The beauty was still there, but I felt an ugliness lurking in the shadows. I made my way to a small town thinking that being with others would feel comforting.

But then I read ‘Sharp Objects’ by Gillian Flynn. Another excellent read but one that didn’t make my stay in this small town comforting at all. Behind the smiles, the ‘howdies’, and the ‘whattaya have, honey’, was a dysfunctional community where young girls tormented each other, drugs were common place and murders were gruesome.

After reading these two books (Google the titles. They really are good reads) I felt a need to put my walking shoes back on and head north. To leave behind the Ozark mountains and valleys, the quaint, small towns, and the nice people who treated me as family.

I’m just leaving Pocahontas, Missouri; population 127, 45 families, 3 churches (2 Lutheran churches and 1 Baptist). I’m sure it’s a nice place, but after reading ‘Sharp Objects’ I’ve decided to get back to my daily walking schedule and make it to St Louis before the end of May. I’m also reading a new book (‘Kafka on the Shore’ by Haruki Murakami) that takes place in Japan. So I feel safe with the road ahead of me now. And, I’m not planning any detours to Japan.

In Kentucky

2007-02-27T17:26:00.000+08:00

795 miles into my walk along the Mississippi River

Well, I guess this is kind of a milestone in my walk; I have never been to Kentucky before.

I’m on Sutton East Road heading into Hickman, Kentucky. I can hear the chimes from the distant Fulton County Courthouse clock; 7 chimes resonating along the river banks. It’s still early morning and the Hickman-Dorena ferry is carrying only a few passengers as I make my way down to Memaw’s Café for a hearty country breakfast.

I slept along the river last night. It was a clear and cold night and my sleep was disturbed by dreams. In my dreams I heard sounds coming from the forest near where I slept. I got up to explore and saw a bear fishing in the clear stream flowing from the bluff along the Mississippi. As I quietly made my way toward the sounds I saw a pack of wolves surrounding an injured deer, and I stumbled upon a fox sneaking through the thick under brush. I crossed the stream and saw a faint light flickering in the forest ahead of me. Crawling ahead slowly, quietly, I carefully parted the bush in front of me and looked out at a group of Indians surrounding a fire. These were the Chickasaw Indians and they were preparing to attack Fort Jefferson, a military outpost established by General George Rogers Clark during the American Revolution. I could hear distant screaming as the new settlers ran for the protection that the Fort provided. Then General Andrew Jackson, feared and respected by the Chickasaw, came and persuaded the Indians to sell the land. They really had no choice. The number of troops sent to Fort Jefferson were too many for the Chickasaw and they lost their hunting grounds to the United States in 1816.

The frigid air and the mournful cry of the Hickman-Dorena ferry shook me from my dream. I awoke famished and remembered being told in Tiptonville, Tennessee that MeMaw’s Café, down by the ferry landing, had the best food in western Kentucky.

As the waitress brings me my steaming breakfast, 3 scrambled eggs, 2 slabs of country ham, freshly baked whole meal bread, grits and a big mug of coffee, I look up the bluff and see the grand houses, graceful churches and the Fulton County Courthouse and I know why Mark Twain considered Hickman "one of the most beautiful towns on the Mississippi”.

When I’m done with breakfast I’m going to mosey on up to Clinton Street and visit Jim Henson's Broom Shop and his broom-making museum. The waitress told me that it’s a fun place to visit because Henson is a storyteller who holds his audiences spellbound. She told me that Henson recalls his grandfather advising him, "If you learn how to make a broom, you will always have a job". She also told me to look out for the LaClede Hotel while I was there. Though no longer open, she said it had an interesting architectural exterior and unusual horseshoe entrance.

Ahhh… but you know what? After that breakfast, I think I’m going to head down to the river, curl up under a tree and see if I can dream of yesterdays when the land was wild, clean and free.

The poem entitled IN KENTUCKY written by Judge James Hillary Mulligan:

The moonlight falls the softest
In Kentucky;
The summer's days come oft'est
In Kentucky;
Friendship is the strongest,
Love's fires glow the longest;
Yet, a wrong is always wrongest
In Kentucky.

The sunshine's ever brightest
In Kentucky;
The breezes whisper lightest
In Kentucky;
Plain girls are the fewest,
Maidens' eyes the bluest,
Their little hearts are truest
In Kentucky.

Life's burdens bear the lightest
In Kentucky;
The home fires burn the brightest
In Kentucky;
While players are the keenest,
Cards come out the meanest,
The pocket empties cleanest
In Kentucky.

Orators are the grandest
In Kentucky;
Officials are the blandest
In Kentucky;
Boys are all the fliest,
Danger ever nighest,
Taxes are the highest
In Kentucky.

The bluegrass waves the bluest
In Kentucky;
Yet bluebloods are the fewest (?)
In Kentucky;
Moonshine is the clearest,
By no means the dearest,
And yet, it acts the queerest,
In Kentucky.

The dove's notes are the saddest
In Kentucky;
The streams dance on the gladdest
In Kentucky;
Hip pockets are the thickest,
Pistol hands the slickest,
The cylinder turns quickest
In Kentucky.

Song birds are the sweetest
In Kentucky;
The thoroughbreds the fleetest
In Kentucky;
Mountains tower proudest,
Thunder peals the loudest,
The landscape is the grandest - and
Politics - the damnedest
In Kentucky.

Walking Music

2007-02-16T13:33:00.000+08:00

Every week or so, I spend a bit of time creating my own variety show for walking. I create a music playlist with a running time of at least 2 hours. The playlists are arranged from the slowest Beats Per Minute (BPM) to the highest BPM. This allows me to slowly warm-up to a fast pace. I’ll sometimes use various podcasts for these warm-ups (ABC's Nightline, NPR's Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, NPR's Story of the Day, and NPR's Driveway Moments). Also, be sure to checkout Radio Three Sixty: Music for Strange Moments. This is an excellent podcast showcasing world music.

I cannot listen to audiobooks because I found that concentrating on the ‘story’ slowed down my walking pace.

Music, on the other hand, keeps me moving. Music within the range of about 120 - 135 beats per minutes keeps me at a pace of 4.6 mph (13 minute mile) to 5.0 mph (12 minute mile): fast and steady. I don’t just listen to the music; I walk with the music. It’s nearly impossible to NOT walk with the beat of the tunes that follow.

Here are my current favorite playlists arranged by style:

----------------------------------------------------
DownTempo, Techno, Electronic, Chill-Out, World
(2 hours and 49 minutes of steady rhythms and strong beats.)
----------------------------------------------------
No. - Song Title - Artist - Album - BPM

01. Trip Like I Do - The Crystal Method - Vegas - 120
02. Really Don't Mind - Luomo - Paper Tigers - 124
03. It's Time - The Crystal Method - Drive Tones - 125
04. Keep Hope Alive - The Crystal Method - Vegas – 125
05. Tarenah - Psychedelic Research Lab - Cafe Del Mar Volume 2 - 125
06. I See It - ATB - Dedicated - 126
07. No Favela - Deep Secrets - Mandarin Lounge - 126
08. '75 AKA Stay With You - Lemon Jelly - '64 - '95 - 126
09. The Winner - The Crystal Method - Tweekend - 127
10. Kincajou - Banco De Gaia - Banco De Gaia: 10 Years - 128
11. Starting Over - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 128
12. True Grit - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 128
13. Ready Steady Go - Paul Oakenfold - Bunkka - 128
14. Comin' Back - The Crystal Method - Vegas - 129
15. Wonders of You - Andy Hunter - Need for Speed Underground - 130
16. It Hertz - The Crystal Method - Drive Tones (Ringtone CD) - 130
17. Born Too Slow - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 130
18. Realizer - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 130
19. I Know It's You - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 131
20. High And Low - The Crystal Method - Legion Of Boom - 131
21. Party Frenzy - Lin - La Folie - 131
22. Don't Stop - The Crystal Method - Drive Tones - 132
23. Blowout - The Crystal Method - Tweekend - 132
24. Southern Sun - Paul Oakenfold - Bunkka - 132
25. Let U Go - ATB - Dedicated - 133
26. Transmitter - Frontline Assembly - Civilization - 133
27. Everything Must Perish - Frontline Assembly - Epitaph - 134
28. Not Over - Oakenfold - A Lively Mind - 134
29. Dedicated - ATB - Dedicated - 135
30. Supermoves - Overseer - Need for Speed Underground - 135

----------------------------------------------------
Heavy Metal
(2 hours and 10 minutes of LOUD noise to keep your feet pounding the pavement. The last song on the list will make you sprint!)
----------------------------------------------------
No. - Song Title - Artist - Album - BPM

01. Los - Rammstein - Völkerball - 123
02. Sweet Child of Mine - Guns N Roses - Greatest Hits - 125
03. Weisses Fleisch - Rammstein - Live Aus Berlin - 125
04. Du Hast - Rammstein – Sehnsucht - 125
05. Amerika - Rammstein - Reise Reise - 125
06. Spiel Mit Mir - Rammstein - Sehnsucht - 125
07. Dragula - Rob Zombie - Hellbilly Deluxe - 125
08. Never Gonna Stop - Rob Zombie - Past, Present and Future - 125
09. The Fool And Me - Robin Trower - Bridge Of Sighs - 125
10. Rock You Like A Hurricane - Scorpions - Bad For Good - 125
11. Bite The Hand That Bleeds - Fear Factory - Saw - 126
12. Speilhur - Rammstein - Mutter - 127
13. Feel So Numb - Rob Zombie - Past, Present and Future - 127
14. Sakkara - Hourcast - Saw III - 128
15. Cat Scratch Fever - Motörhead - March Or Die - 128
16. The Hand That Feeds - Nine Inch Nails - With Teeth - 128
17. Ich Will - Rammstein - Mutter - 128
18. Der Meister - Rammstein - Herzeleid - 130
19. Eifersucht - Rammstein - Sehnsucht - 130
20. Wollt Ihr Das Bett in Flammen - Rammstein - Sehnsucht - 130
21. With Teeth - Nine Inch Nails - With Teeth - 131
22. Eyes Of The Insane - Slayer - Saw III 132
23. Just One Fix - Ministry - Greatest Fits - 133
24. The Scorpion Sleeps - Rob Zombie - Educated Horses - 134
25. Is There Anybody There - Scorpions - Bad For Good - 136
26. Nobody Told Me - Puddle of Mudd - Come Clean - 137
27. Keine Lust - Rammstein - Völkerball - 138
28. Benzin - Rammstein - Völkerball - 140
29. Sehnsucht - Rammstein - Völkerball - 140
30. Asche Zu Asche - Rammstein - Völkerball - 170

----------------------------------------------------
Classic Rock
(2 hours and 21 minutes of the best of the 70’s & 80’s.)
----------------------------------------------------
No. - Song Title - Artist - Album - BPM

01. Like A Hurricane - Neil Young - Live Rust - 117
02. Black Betty - Ram Jam - Ultimate Rock 'N' Roll Collection - 117
03. Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones - Hot Rocks, 1964-1971 - 118
04. Killer Queen - Queen - Greatest Hits - 118
05. You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet - B.T.O. - Not Fragile - 119
06. Long Train Runnin' - The Doobie Brothers - Best Of Live - 119
07. Pure And Easy - The Who - The Ultimate Collection - 120
08. Don't Stop Believin' - Journey - Journey's Greatest Hits - 121
09. Honky Tonk Women - The Rolling Stones - Hot Rocks - 121
10. Who's Crying Now - Journey - Journey's Greatest Hits - 122
11. Run Like Hell - Pink Floyd - Delicate Sound Of Thunder - 123
12. Blue Collar Man (Long Nights) - Styx - Greatest Hits - 124
13. All Along The Watchtower - U2 - Rattle And Hum - 125
14. Too Late - Journey - Evolution - 127
15. Castle Walls - Styx - The Grand Illusion - 127
16. An American Band - Grand Funk Railroad - Greatest Hits - 128
17. Celebration Day - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin III - 128
18. One Of These Days - Pink Floyd - Delicate Sound Of Thunder - 128
19. Maggie May - Rod Stewart - Greatest Hits - 128
20. Brown Sugar - The Rolling Stones - Rewind (1971-1984) - 128
21. Ventura Highway - America - History: Greatest Hits - 130
22. That's The Way - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin III - 131
23. Come Sail Away - Styx - The Grand Illusion - 131
24. Love Me Two Times - The Doors - In Concert - 133
25. One of These Nights - The Eagles - The Very Best of - 133
26. Black Dog - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV - 133
27. Misty Mountain Hop - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV - 133
28. Sister Golden Hair - America History: Greatest Hits - 134
29. New Year's Day - U2 - War - 134
30. Rock & Roll - Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV - 136

Enjoy your walk. And remember; don’t play the music too loud. You’ll want to see that ‘Long Train Runnin’’ and be safe on the ‘Ventura Highway’. Yep, ‘That’s the Way’.

Jungle Jumble

2007-02-12T17:31:00.000+08:00

On Saturday as I was napping, a friend called and asked me if I was interested in joining him and his German shepherd on a jungle walk near our home. I had already put in an hour of fast walking earlier in the morning but wanted to up my Idita walk minutes, so I said sure. As we left the city behind, we were on the Boulder path in 10 minutes. We walked along some of the familiar paths and then ventured into an area neither of us had been in before. No problem, we actually had an old map of some of the trails and a compass. We walked up to what is called the 3rd Summit with the intention of looping back. I mean, this was just a basic walk ahead and turn around and walk back on the same path kind of thing. Problem was, we weren’t on the same path anymore. How could we have possibly missed our trail? We ended up walking north and needed to go south. We no longer had a clue where we were or which trail we were on. After a bit of trial and error, we did make our way out of the jungle, just not where we anticipated.

So Sunday afternoon, I'm thinking... I'm going to go back and try to figure out what went wrong. I shot through the jungle and made it to the 3rd Summit. The whole time I marched towards the 3rd Summit, I kept marking and keeping track of every fork in the trail. I turned around and started back and the trail was getting less like a trail the more I moved ahead until finally I wasn’t on a trail anymore. I was heading down a steep slope. Ok... deep breath, calm... I had no compass and I had no map. Didn’t think I’d need it. I headed further down the side of hill; it was steep and full of growth. The small under story growth gave me something to hold on to as I descended the steep hillside. At the bottom was a small boggy stream. Now I remembered from Saturday crossing a stream and there was a trail just on the other side. So I figured, no problem here. I crossed the stream and expected to find the trail that would lead me out, but I kept climbing higher and higher and there was no trail to be seen anywhere.

Finally at the top of the hill I found a trail. I started left, thinking that ‘felt’ right but the trail kept slowly diminishing. So, I changed direction and walked for about 15 minutes and still saw nothing that looked familiar. No fallen trees across the paths. No garbage left by rubber tappers. No outstanding trees or bamboo groves that I usually remember. And then that trail started to thin out and I popped out into a small clearing I had definitely never seen before.

This was getting frustrating. Now, technically, I knew I couldn’t REALLY get lost because though this jungle is sizeable, the city, small village areas or highways surround it. Walking in any direction for a certain amount of time would find me ‘popping’ back out into civilization. It wouldn’t be a fun walk, but it would be doable. And it was still early afternoon. But by that time I was getting pretty tired of being in the jungle. My water was running low and so was my strength.

Being in what was for me a completely unfamiliar area, I turned around and tried going back the other way. As I got back to the initial area where the trail was disappearing, I slowly continued forward and followed what appeared to be a track. That track then started becoming more evident and I found myself back at the 3rd Summit. I had basically walked down from the summit at a different location, crossed a different stream from the one crossed on Saturday, and looped around the backside of the summit.

This time I was very careful not to deviate from the path back. When I hit my first junction, I recognized a fallen tree and I knew that a left would lead me about 1.5 miles through the jungle where I would come out about a mile from my office and where I left my car.

I came out of the jungle. Bought a sports drink and sucked it dry and walked the mile to my car.

I made it home exhausted and juiced some apples and oranges. While relaxing, sipping cool fresh juice, my brutal dog, a toy poodle with the grisly name of KiKi demanded she wanted to take me for a walk. So there I was, being led by my dog KiKi around the neighborhood. She was at least kind enough to let me stop and smell things along the way.

I will go back and I will figure out how I could get lost 2 times in a row. They do say 3 times a charm.

Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park

2007-02-09T16:03:00.000+08:00

682 miles into my walk…

Was I ever glad I stuck around Memphis for the International Blues Challenge. What an afternoon in the beautiful Orpheum Theater where Mighty Lester of the Triangle Blues Society placed third, the kids from Tupelo called the Homemade Jamz' Blues Band – ages 14, 12 and 9 - amazed the crowd and took second place. Here’s a rough video of them performing a classic BB King tune.

First Prize went to Sean Carney Band from the Columbus Blues Alliance. Sean also took the Albert King Award for best guitarist and was also the Best Dressed!!

I was saddened to leave Beale Street and the wonderful atmosphere and music and food, but I was anxious to hit the road once again. Temperatures were dropping and by the time I hit the outskirts of Memphis, the temperatures were in the 20’s. I bundled up and hit the Great River Road/North Watkins Road heading north. I turned left on Locke Cuba Road and then took a right on River Bluff Road. A short while later I was standing outside the Shelby Forest General Store.

This was a store with an interesting looking charm and I thought it would be a nice place for a rest and late breadfast. I walked inside and went straight to the wooden counter for a hot cup of coffee and ordered an omelet with biscuits and gravy and country ham. While waiting for my breakfast to arrive I looked around the shop and saw fish mounted on the walls, deer antlers, and old saw, a TV in the corner and racks of snacks and canned goods (a lot of locally made treats and preserves) and fridges stocked with drinks. The gentleman at the counter told me that I was at the gateway to the Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park, a bit or wilderness on the edge of Memphis. He said that there were cabins in the park or I could just pitch a tent at one of the many campgrounds. Feeling the cold draft squeezing through the cracks around the entrance door, I thought a cabin would be a better choice for the night.

This park was really beautiful. Bordering on the mighty Mississippi River, two-thirds of this 13,467-acre park are bottomland hardwood forests of large oak, cypress and tupelo. The park also contains two lakes and many miles of hiking trails. The Meeman Museum and Nature Center is named for Edward J. Meeman, courageous conservation editor of Scripps-Howard newspapers who helped establish this park and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The park maintains a boat ramp on the Mississippi River. Deer, turkey, beaver and some 200 species of birds are abundant.

I spent about 5 hours walking some of the park trails and then headed to my cabin by the river. The skies were clear and there was a full moon and I could hear night birds softly chanting in the tree tops. Since the beginning of my journey, this was one of the most relaxing and refreshing days I experienced. Though the temperatures never crept above freezing, I felt a warmth in this park that cannot be explained. There was a quiet beauty to this forest and I was glad it was preserved. Thank you Mr Edward J. Meeman for having the foresight to save this place. You knew beauty when you saw it and knew the importance of preserving this slice of nature.

I would like to spend more time in this park, but my plans are to head further north tomorrow… well, maybe after walking just a few more forest trails.

Brian

I’m A Gadget Freak!

2007-02-08T11:41:00.000+08:00

I like gadgets. I think this obsession started when I bought my first Apple computer, the LCIII. I always found computers intimidating, but my first Apple changed that. It was easy to set up, intuitive, and had a major ‘cool’ factor. I was initiated into the Mac community. And I never looked back.

Then I was introduced to PalmOne and got a PalmIII, then a PalmIIIx, followed by Palm V, Tungsten T, Tungsten T3, Tungsten C, Treo 180, Treo 600… and now my faithful Treo 650. iPhone? Not any time soon. I’ll be sticking with the Treo 650 for a while. It works.

With my 650 I can watch streaming video, listen to internet radio, carry around my plant database of over 500 plant photos, take pictures (incredibly bad quality), surf the web, check and send email, open Word docs, Excel, PDF’s, read books, play games, track my workouts... and it is a phone, so I of course use it to talk to people.

What do I use for walking? Here’s my list of favorite walking gadgets. When I hit the road, I’m wired.

1. Polar Heart Rate Monitor s625x: The Polar S625X provides accurate heart rate, running pace and distance information right on your wrist. It delivers continuous running speed without relying on where satellites are positioned. It comes with a shoe pod that does make my right shoe look a little funky, but not too bad. I have no idea how this shoe pod works, but it is accurate. Features are: tracking altitude and ascent for route profiles, speed (average, minimum and maximum), distance, time in training zones, temperature, and other stuff that just leaves me a little baffled.

2. MySportTraining Software for Palm OS: MySportTraining is a health & fitness application designed to track your workouts and to motivate you to exercise to achieve a healthy lifestyle. Coupled with the add-on MySportTraining Polar, I can download all of the data, via infrared, from my Polar S625X and look at neat graphs and bars. This software tracks duration, personal ratings, heart rate data, notes, routes, distance, pace, ascent and intervals, warm-up, cool-down, exercises, calorie/kJ intake, weight, body fat, mood, sleep, blood pressure, resting heart rate. This software works on mobile devices running Windows and for certain Nokia phones. And there’s a Windows desktop application that will sync with your mobile device. No Mac support. Bummer! Still, a great piece of software on my Treo.

3. The Omron HJ113 Pedometer: This pedometer tracks your workouts with steps, distance, time, calories and fat volume you burned during walking. It has a dual display function that can show both the time and the number of steps simultaneously. It’s memory function can store and show the data of seven days. I use it only for tracking my daily steps. I try to set a goal of 12,000 steps a day. On a day without dedicated walking, just sitting at my desk working, I manage around 4500 steps. So you can see, if you want to really be active and reach the recommended 10,000 steps per day, you have to go that extra mile or two. Why is 10,000 steps per day considered to be the ideal number? Health experts believe that the Surgeon General’s endorsement of 30 minutes of physical activity daily is the equivalent of walking 10,000 steps - which is about 5 miles and burns close to 400 calories. Studies have found that 10,000 steps is also the amount of exertion your body requires to burn enough calories to reduce the risk of chronic disease.

4. iPod Shuffle (the old one): I don’t go anywhere without my iPod. I own a iPod Photo 60gb and a Griffin iTrip and use it mainly for listening to podcasts and music while driving (I don’t walk everywhere). The shuffle, on the other hand, is my walking companion and is loaded with walking music of all genres. I use a program called beaTunes that couples with iTunes to determine the beats-per-minute (bpm) of each song in my library. I then load up songs with bpm’s ranging from 125 to 135, perfect for a fast walk. Later I’ll post my favorite walking tunes. By the way, I don't think they sell the 1st generation shuffle anymore. The new shuffle is smaller and has a better 'wow' factor.

5. Nike Free Trail 5.0: Though not really a gadget, a great pair of shoes! This is a more rugged version of the Nike Free and Nike Free Trainer. The Nike Free Trail 5.0 has a thicker sole and a sleeve insert for easy slip on access. This shoe is light, flexible and rugged. And it is the only shoe I've found that won't send me skating down a wet sidewalk. The only problem I have with this shoe is when small rocks wedge in the slotted soles. This creates an annoying 'click-clack' sound when walking. After a long walk, I take a screwdriver and pry loose all of the tiny pebbles. This shoe is a rock collector! You don't feel the stones, but you can hear them.

Well, time to plug myself in and hit the road…

I'm Staying at the Peabody!

2007-02-02T11:12:00.000+08:00

634 miles into my walk

Well I’m in Memphis, Tennessee. Louisiana and Mississippi are now behind me. Traffic this morning in Memphis is heavy and the temperature is a frigid 33 degrees.

I’m walking my way up Union Ave to the Peabody Hotel. I stayed here years ago while working on a planning project for the Navy. It was only for one night and their chocolate brownie cake with raspberry sauce made the trip worthwhile.

It’s now 11:00am and as I enter the hotel lobby the Peabody Ducks are making their way across the Red Carpet (Read below for more info about this tradition).

Tonight I’ll be heading to Beale Street for The International Blues Challenge (IBC) - The largest gathering of blues bands in the world takes place on Beale Street after months of regional "battle of the bands" presented by the Foundation's affiliated organizations. 130 acts in 15 venues, in both band and solo/duo competitions, with Saturday finals at the Orpheum Theatre and New Daisy Theatre. Looks like I’ll be hanging around here until Sunday. Even though John Mayer is playing at the FedExForum tonight, the IBC sounds like a treat not to be missed.

One place I will miss is Graceland. I drove by on a previous visit to Memphis and what I learned was Elvis not only left the building, he left this world. I’m not really interested in viewing his gaudy house and shrine. Sorry Elvis fans. I’m giving this one a wide berth.

Well, time to check in, munch on some chocolate brownies, and take a nap so that I can enjoy the music tonight.

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The Legend of the Ducks

The tradition of the famous Peabody Marching Ducks began in 1932. Peabody General Manager Frank Schutt, an avid sportsman, and a friend Chip Barwick, returned empty-handed from weekend hunting trip in Arkansas. The two friends had a bit too much Tennessee sippin' whiskey, and decided to play a prank and put their live duck decoys (which were legal at the time) in the fountain in the hotel's Grand Lobby.

Three English call ducks were placed in the fountain, and the reaction from hotel guests was nothing short of enthusiastic. Soon, five North American Mallard ducks would replace the original ducks.

In 1940, Bellman Edward Pembroke, a former circus animal trainer, offered to help with delivering the ducks to the fountain each day and taught them the famous Peabody Duck March. Mr. Pembroke became the Peabody Duckmaster, serving in that capacity until his retirement in 1991. The late Mr. Pembroke's portrait hangs in the entrance to The Peabody, a luxury suite is named for him and a building in Peabody Place development is named Pembroke Square .

In 2003, The Peabody Memphis conducted an extensive search for a new Duckmaster, garnering the attention of national media outlets such as CNN, the CBS Early Morning Show, and The Wall Street Journal. The Duckmaster is solely responsible for the care and wellbeing of the Peabody Ducks, including feeding, exercise, and training the teams for their daily march.
Today, the ducks are housed in the "Duck Palace" on the hotel roof. Every day at 11 a.m., they are led by the Duckmaster down the elevator to the Italian travertine marble fountain in the Peabody Grand Lobby. A red carpet is unrolled and the ducks march through crowds of admiring spectators to the tune of John Philip Sousa's King Cotton March. The ceremony is reversed at 5 p.m., when the ducks retire for the evening to their palace on the roof of the hotel.

The Peabody's famed ambassadors are five Mallard ducks – one drake with his white collar and green head, and four hens with less colorful plumage. The ducks are raised by a local farmer and a friend of the hotel. Each team lives in the hotel for only three months before being retired from their Peabody duties and returned to the farm to live out the remainder of their days as wild ducks.

Jungle Walking in Mont'Kiara

2007-02-02T08:49:00.000+08:00

Today I spent nearly 3 hours walking through the jungle and I climbed nearly 1200 feet. I walked fast today, fast for jungle trekking that is. But usually I stop at places discovered along the trails to marvel at the beauty of the jungle; the slow moving streams, bamboo groves jutting out of the ground like thick green pipes, rock outcroppings offering comfortable places to sit, wildflowers of every imaginable color, and wildlife (some best seen from a distance). I smelled the new emerging vegetation and the old dead leaves and tree trunks forming carpets along the jungle floor. The pungent odor of latex oozing out of the rubber trees also filled the air in the pockets of old, abandoned rubber estates that I passed through. I saw birds that were bright yellow, birds with long string-like tails, and hornbills. Soaring high above the treetops was an eagle. There were, as usual, scores of monkeys and a couple of cobras. Beehives buzzed in some of the trees and I was careful to gingerly step around them. And the wind whispered and moaned on the hilltops. For nearly 3 hours I walked alone. I didn't see another soul… and I’m glad I didn’t.

I sometimes find things on my walk that I shove in my pocket or pouch to bring home and share with my daughter; unusual seed pods, bugs, interesting flowers. On one walk, I stepped on a small black and white snake. It had a bright red head. I thought it was dead so was getting ready to put it in my pouch to bring home. That snake all of a sudden shot out and slithered in the undergrowth. Curious about it, I came home and did some research. It was called a Malaysian Krait and is more deadly than a cobra. A bite from this snake usually means death. Now I just focus on flowers, leaves and rocks and leave the snakes alone.

We live on a beautiful planet.

Everyone should take a moment to smell the fresh air and look around at the marvels of nature. Take a moment to enjoy living. Stress is self-imposed. Walk away from it for a while and be thankful for the many blessings we sometimes take for granted.

Put on some comfortable shoes and really see the world. It is a beautiful place. And let's all do our part to ensure that we keep it that way for future generations. I know my daughter would appreciate it if we did.

Have a great day and spend a short time being thankful.

Brian

To see pictures of my jungle walk check out the March 2005 archive (http://onefootforwardrepeat.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html)

Mississippi, Denver, Cut Off... A Little of Everywhere

2007-01-16T16:32:00.000+08:00

16 January 2007
560 miles into my walk

What has happened to Mississippi?

Where has all of the time and mileage gone? I’ve really fallen behind in my log book. Maybe I should quit looking at the paving passing under me and make more time to write about this journey. I’m only 50 miles south of Memphis and only wrote about Mississippi once! And it’s a really nice state! It deserved better from me. I think I’ll take some time off in Memphis and catch up on my writings. Maybe take in some good music and compare the Memphis blues with the New Orleans blues (though with the Saints currently in the playoffs, New Orleans ain’t singing no blues right now). GO SAINTS!!! SUPERBOWL, YEAH!!!

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OK… What’s really been going on?

Christmas and New Years Came and Went

We made our annual trip back to Louisiana this year (with a 4 day stop-over in Denver) and really had a good time. It just went by way too fast for my liking (always does). We flew from Kuala Lumpur to Hong Kong, Hong Kong to Los Angeles, and Los Angeles to Denver. All told… it took about 25 hours of shuffling through airports and sitting, cramped and butt-numbed on the really 'comfortable', haha, econo-seats of American Airlines.

We arrived in Denver at night, grabbed a car, and headed to our hotel for a good night’s sleep. And we got one too!

I woke up a bit early and went for a fast 30 minute walk along the main commercial drag. My body was not used to the cold weather, but I warmed up quickly. We ate breakfast near the hotel at a great Jewish Deli, Bagel ‘something or the other’, can't remember the name. But I do remember the food. We ate there 3 mornings in a row... mmmmmm.

In Denver we visited the Red Rocks and walked a trail there. Really beautiful country. I ran up and down the amphitheater seating a couple of times and imagined myself singing on stage to the roar of boos and masses of people rushing out of the exits.

We walked downtown along Cherry Creek and watched the suicidal teens skateboarding at one of the country’s biggest skateboard park. After getting good and numb from the cold (and a little blue-tinged), we welcomed the warm relief of a bookstore and big, hot cups of coffee. We also visited the Museum of Modern Art. An ugly, pretentious building in my opinion, but with great exhibits inside. We walked around the Cherry Creek commercial center and visited a bakery that catered to dogs only (cakes sure did look good though). They even had carrot cakes for dogs. And freshly baked cookies. Now I have a poodle and I really like my little dog, BUT, there is something wrong when you can walk into a store, buy clothes for a dog, a dog latte, and a slice of dog cheesecake.

I used the hotel ‘dreadmill’ a few times while my daughter swam in the indoor pool. So far I was keeping up with my walking schedule.

We left Denver Tuesday morning and flew to New Orleans (I missed the Wednesday snow storm by ONE day). My parents were waiting for us at the airport and we quickly drove down Hwy 90 and stopped at Spahrs for their famous catfish chips platter. Traveling half-way around the world just to eat this catfish is worth every butt-numbing minute, believe me ( http://www.wwltv.com/morningnews/spahrs.htm )!!!

We arrived in Cut Off, down on the Bayou, and the eating began. We had stuffed crabs, soft-shelled crabs, fried shrimp, fresh oysters (raw and fried), oyster soup, gumbo, fried fish, boiled crabs, boiled crawfish, deer sausage, and for a more traditional family Christmas meal… Turkey and all the trimmings. For dessert we had lemon meringue pie, key lime pie, lemon ice box pie, black-bottom strawberry cheesecake, and custard tarts. In 10 days we packed in the food. And still my parents couldn’t cook everything they had planned.

How did I fare? I gained 2 lbs and it sure wasn’t muscle. Luckily I kept with my walking program and put in a lot of mileage or I would have easily gained 10+ pounds. One day I even walked down to our family church and back for a total of 13.6 miles (ate more pie that night to celebrate). And the fact that my dad had a dreadmill sure didn’t hurt my walking schedule.

As always, it was sure nice to visit with the family. My brother and his wife and daughter joined us for a couple of days. I was able to visit my sick Aunt and spend the day with her (gave us another excuse to stop at Spahrs for more catfish too). But, as always seems the case, the visit was just not long enough.

We left New Orleans and flew to Dallas, then onward to Los Angeles, Hong Kong and then back to Kuala Lumpur. Coming back always takes longer (headwinds) and after 30 hours I couldn’t wait to start moving again. I think I’ve finally got the coarsely textured airplane seat material removed from my butt and I’ve started my regularly scheduled walking.

Christmas was great this year. Just wish the visits could last longer.

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Hash Run

I participated in my first Hash Run recently. The Hash House Harriers (the original "drinking club with a running problem") is an international drinking/running club founded in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia by: A.E. Gispert, Cecil Lee, "Horse" Thomson and "Torch" Bennett.

The overriding purpose of the Hash House Harriers is, as written by the original Hash:

1. To promote physical fitness among our members
2. To get rid of weekend hangovers
3. To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
4. To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel

The template for a Hash Run is for one or a small handful of hashers to lay out a running trail, which may include false trails, and for the rest of the members to try follow the trail to a cache of beer.

A Hash Run usually takes place in the jungle though may follow roads and streets for short distances. Someone will go ahead and mark a 'trail' in advance using small pieces of paper. The trail in most cases is NOT a recognizable trail and may follow near impossible and inaccessible terrains. I found myself clawing through underbrush, climbing hills that are sometimes near vertical, sliding down hills on my butt, sloshing across streams and generally avoiding broken bones and cut limbs. Along the way there are check-points. These checkpoints mean that the trail may take a different course. You have to look within a 100 meter radius of the checkpoint to find the new trailhead (paper slips along the new path). There could also be ‘false’ trails planted for added confusion.

Out of about 100 participants, I finished in the top 10 so I felt a little proud, actually, more than a little (also extremely sore and full of scratches). After the Hash Run everyone proceeds to drink a lot of beer. I ate watermelon and drank water. More refreshing and healthier too. There’s no rule that says you have to get ‘sloshed’. Although there seems to be a rule that goes something like this: If a hash runner turns up with new shoes, before the run one of the shoes is filled with beer and the runner has to drink it while the others sing a song about running, and drinking, and generally having a good time. He then has to run in a beer soaked shoe. I’ll scuff up my future pairs of new shoes before participating in any other Hash Runs. Maybe dishonest, yes? But better than drinking beer out of a running shoe…

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One other note: I have finally broken the 12:00 minute mile walk by walking 3 miles in 36 minutes. That’s one goal accomplished. Something I really didn’t think I could do 6 months ago.

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Well, my next entry should find me in Memphis, well-rested and well on my way toward my goal of reaching the head-waters of the Mississippi River in Minnesota. It has been a cold winter and it has made walking uncomfortable, but I’ll get there, and I’ll hopefully get there by this year… if I survive future Hash runs that is.

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Here's a picture of me before I lost 45 pounds and after I lost 45 pounds. I think I lost 10 lbs just in the face!

Brian

Vicksburg, Mississippi… I Like This Place!

2006-11-24T14:43:00.000+08:00

400 miles into my walk

It's been awhile since I've updated my trip. This morning I woke up and realized that I'd already walked nearly 80 miles through the state of Mississippi and not once have I said a thing about it. Well it's not because there's nothing to note… far from it. Mississippi has put spring in my step, though it is Autumn. The fresh fragrance of pines on the cool, crisp air is such a relief from the humid, warmer days I spent in Louisiana.

I crossed the river at Vidalia and walked into the city of Natchez, Mississippi right at sunset. The weather was already turning cooler and the sky was talking Autumn with high, light wispy clouds.

I headed toward the southern terminus of the Natchez Parkway off of Liberty Road. Technically, this is the starting point of the historical "beginning" of the Old Trace at milepost zero. The 444-mile Natchez Trace Parkway commemorates an ancient trail that connected southern portions of the Mississippi River, through Alabama, to salt licks in today's central Tennessee.

I walked along the Parkway for about 42 miles and saw some truly beautiful places: The Emerald Mound (one of the largest ceremonial mounds in the United States built and occupied between 1250 and 1600 AD by the ancestors of the Natchez people) and Mount Locust (standing on a land grant of 600 acres, dates from the English occupation of the Natchez District during the years 1763-1779 when it was part of British West Florida).

I veered off of the Natchez Parkway onto State Road 61 just south of Port Gibson to head due north towards Vicksburg. I knew that I would be back to walk the entire length of the Parkway, once I made it to Minnesota.

Now, Vicksburg is a really hip little city. It's has a pleasant mix of the old with the new. The Vicksburg National Military Park is probably the city's biggest draw. This park commemorates the campaign, siege and defense of Vicksburg during the Civil War. It is one of the most heavily monumented parks in the world with 1330 monuments, markers, tablets and plaques. The beauty and artistry of its monuments prompted one Civil War veteran to call this park, "the art park of the world.

As I walked along the many monuments within the park, I realized that most of the history I've been walking with along my Mississippi River trek had to do with war, natural disasters, and human suffering. It was time to look for lighter anecdotes. With winter coming on I needed side-trips that lifted my spirits and didn't remind me of the troubles, both past and present, of this world. That led me to Catfish Row Art Park.

The Art Park at Catfish Row is a creative adventure into the history of the Mississippi River and the fabulous paddle wheel steamboats that once traveled it's mighty waters. It is a colorful park where sculptures are not monuments of past battles. It is a park nurtured by the community of Vicksburg. Art walls throughout the park are currently blank but will soon be transformed into beautiful historical works of art created by the people of Vicksburg. It is just the place I needed to see before continuing my journey north.

The air is now crisp and chilly. Winds are kicking up, blowing the last of the leaves my way. Winter will soon be here. And, as I hit the road, walking my way toward State Road 1, I reflect not on the wealth of history I've learned or the Thanksgiving meal I missed today, but on the many things I am thankful for each day. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Brian

Trip to Bangkok

2006-11-07T13:38:00.000+08:00

We brought our office staff on a trip to Bangkok, Thailand for 4 days. On Saturday morning I woke up and walked to the park near our hotel and fast walked 4 loops. The staff took a bus to visit a few of the sites around the city and I met up with them by walking throughout the city. Saturday I put in 40,000 steps and walked about 16 miles. Sunday we visited the floating market and the weekend market. Total miles for Sunday was only about 6 miles and 12000 steps... but a lot of shopping!! Monday I woke up and went back for a fast walk around the park to try and work off the great Thai food I ate (4.5 miles and 17,000 steps for the day. Thailand, in my opinion, has the best food in the world.

Oooops.... she's not a girl!!!

Family photo

My daughter's crab creation

Floating Market

Floating Market

Porcelain Temple

River of History

2006-10-23T09:29:00.000+08:00

296 miles into my River walk, I am beginning to understand and appreciate the valuable contributions and historical importance of the Mississippi River. This River has helped to shape the United States both physically and culturally.

After leaving New Roads, I came across the Old River Lock. Old River is the most amazing site along the entire Mississippi. In a word, the Corps of Engineers are successfully (for now) holding back the Mississippi and preventing it from changing course down the Atchafalaya. Should this change happen, the result would be the destruction of the Atchafalaya ecosystem and the inevitable loss of New Orleans and all the industry along the lower Mississippi. The Mississippi's existing channel would turn into a salt water estuary.

Look at a map of the state of Louisiana and you can see it is shaped something like a boot. Over the course of many millennia the bottom half of that boot has been created by the Mississippi. Southern Louisiana is built entirely of river sediment carried by water from as far away as the Rocky Mountains. As the Jefferson River gushes down a Montana mountainside it picks up little bits of that mountain and carts them off to the Missouri River. As the Wabash flows through prime Indiana farm land it picks up some of that land and carries it to the Ohio River. The process is cumulative until finally, the Mississippi, loaded with two million tons per day of washed away mountain and farm field, reaches sea level and slows down enough to unburden its load in southern Louisiana.

To build up all of southern Louisiana, the Mississippi has had to move around. Every couple of millennia it takes a major turn, abandons it's old channel, and finds a new one. The last time this happened was at the site where Donaldsonville now sits. Bayou Lafourche used to be the Mississippi. The next time this will happen will be at Old River.

And the next time that will happen I’ll hopefully be further north along the Mississippi and away from Old River.

Since leaving the Old River Lock, I’ve been heading north to Vidalia, by walking along Highway #15 which climbs on top of the levee, on the side, at the foot of, or near the levee, passing through miles and miles of plantation country.

As I walk through this rich agricultural countryside dotted with an occasional building complex, I try to imagine that at one time these fields provided cotton that was loaded onto ships, that floated down the Mississippi to New Orleans where it was transferred to ocean-going vessels that sailed into eastern ports or across the Atlantic. This region, like many others in the South, traded agricultural crops for manufactured goods. During the early 19th century it was of enormous interest to this region not to have tariffs on imported manufactured goods from Europe. With the Tariff Act of 1828 (known as the “tariff of abominations), discontent broke out in the South and the seeds of the Civil War were planted.

I’ll be in the small town of Vidalia soon. This is where I’ll cross the River for the third time, leaving Louisiana behind and entering into Mississippi.

New Roads and False River

2006-10-09T15:58:00.000+08:00

After walking about 242 miles from Venice, Louisiana, I’m now northwest of Baton Rouge and heading towards the Mississippi / Louisiana state border. Just ahead of me is a small town called New Roads. For a town with such a simpe name, New Roads has a very interesting history.

In 1699 the French explorer Iberville discovered a point on the Mississippi River where the river doubled back on itself. Time and high waters eventually allowed the river to change its course, taking the short cut and avoiding the 22-mile curve. The resulting oxbow lake was called "Fausse Riviere" in French, now, False River.

In 1822 a free woman of color named Catherine Depau, nicknamed "la fille Gougis," developed the original six-block area of town, now bounded False River, New Roads, St. Mary and Second Streets. Street signs in this area bear original names in French, as well as their current names. Eventually taking the name of New Roads, the town became the seat of parish government in 1847, and began to thrive.

This area was one of the earliest settlements in the entire Louisiana Purchase, where it attracted planters to farm its rich fertile delta soil. Some of the nation’s largest sugar plantations are still thriving on land surrounding the City of New Roads.

Settlers built homes ranging from stately plantation “great houses” to modest cottages. Fortunately the majority of these homes are still standing today making Pointe Coupee Parish and New Roads the largest surviving pocket of Creole architecture in Louisiana today. Many structures dotting False River date from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

I’ll be staying a short while in this little slice of history. It's truly a beautiful town. How could I possibly miss the Main Street Scarecrow Contest starting today. I met a very nice young couple who are letting me stay at their place. I’m excited because I have never made a scarecrow before. I’m looking forward to working on it tomorrow. I did see a scarecrow in a field earlier yesterday, but, well, this scarecrow wasn’t scary (check out the photo at my site). Afterwards, I think I’ll walk along the False River and try my hand at fishing and if time and weather allow, a little water skiing.

Pictures below: False River Boating, Cementary, Not Too Scary Scarecrow (click on pictures below for bigger image)

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False River, an Oxbow Lake

False River is a classic example of an oxbow lake. An oxbow lake is a lake formed by the past channel of a river. These features come in all sizes. The size (length, amplitude and radius of curvature) is related to the discharge of the river, stream or bayou. The meander size of False River leaves no doubt that a river with a discharge similar to the Mississippi River formed it. The presence of abandoned stream channels that connect False River to the Mississippi River is proof that, at some point in past history, this oxbow lake was indeed the active channel of the Mississippi River.

Hazy Daze are Back Again

2006-10-09T08:10:00.000+08:00

Walking is becoming hazardous outside. The haze, blamed on 'slash and burn' farming methods in Indonesia is blanketing Kuala Lumpur again. The photos below tell the story. Both were taken from the peak of one of the hills in the jungle near my home. In the clear picture you can just see the 'Petronas Twin Towers', once the tallest building in the world. The picture taken yesterday... well, use your imagination. There's a city out there somewhere.

Brian

When the Saints Go Marching In

2006-09-26T15:00:00.000+08:00

Just a quick update this week as I continue my journey up the Mississippi River.

I’ve been walking the River Road all day as it winded along the foot of the levee. It was a pleasant walk, with cool air. Keeping me company were cattle and horses grazing peacefully on the levees under rich blue skies. I’m currently on the west bank of the river opposite Louisiana State University.

It’s late, almost 10:00pm and I’m looking for a place to bed down. I can hear screams from across the river coming from the campus. Sounds like a big party or something. While checking into a cheap hotel just under the I-10 near Port Allen, I asked the clerk, “What’s going on out there”?

There are cars honking outside and I can hear more shouts from the hotel rooms. The clerk told me, “the Saints just kicked Atlanta’s butt at the Superdome. It’s the first time they played there since Katrina. They now have a 3 – 0 record. I bet’cha New Orleans will be a crazy place tonight.”

I bet it will be, too. New Orleans, at least for now, is not thinking about anything else but football. Good for them.

Well, I look forward to the road ahead of me. It will be fresh, away from the places I’ve known since childhood and college times. The state of Mississippi is in my sights and I look forward to crossing over to the east bank.

More later.

Brian

Nottoway Plantation

2006-09-19T13:21:00.000+08:00

I start off in the morning walking north, near lunchtime I’m walking west, then south, then west, a bit northerly again… so it goes along the Mississippi River Road, snaking along at a moderate pace, watching the barges being pushed and the ships chugging along, above the levee, high on the Mississippi River…

I made it to Donaldsonville slightly ahead of my predicted time so kept walking through. I did stop to read the historic marker in the city: “Town founded by William Donaldson, 1806, on farm of Pierre Landry. Began as trading post about 1750, Home of Governor Francis T. Nicholls and of Dr. F.W. Prevost, who performed first Caesarian section, 1824. Parish seat of Ascension. Capital of Louisiana from January 1830 to January 1831.”

Donaldsonville is located at the confluence of the Mississippi River and Bayou Lafourche. I grew up at the other end of Bayou Lafourche, way “down on the bayou” as we say it, in a town called Cut Off.

Past Donaldsonville, closer to Baton Rouge is a small town called White Castle. The community was named not for a hamburger joint, but for a plantation.

Just 2 miles past White Castle sitting on the edge of the river is one of my favorite places, Nottoway Plantation. It is one of the largest antebellum plantation houses in the south, composed of 64 rooms, 7 staircases, and 5 galleries. This 53,000-square foot plantation home, constructed by John Hampden Randolph in 1858, is a fine example of an antebellum home.

This is where I’ll be tomorrow… sitting on the porch in a rocking chair with a tall glass of iced tea, resting my feet and rocking slowly, in the cool breezes beneath the Live Oaks.

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John Hampden Randolph planned and built Nottoway, but it was his wife Emily Jane who saved it from destruction.

Emily Jane Liddell Randolph was the mother of ten children when the civil war erupted. In 1862 Randolph took his slaves and went to Texas to work a cotton plantation there in order to keep himself solvent. The Randolphs sent their teenage daughters away to safer territory, and Mrs. Randolph remained on the plantation with the younger children, two visiting lady friends, and a few of her slaves. One of her daughters, Cornelia, kept a diary. It is from this diary as well as from preserved letters and documents that we know of Emily Jane's courage.

At one point in 1862, when she was 45 years old, she faced down the Union Navy. Gun boats were sailing by the house, and union troops had begun to bivouac on the lawn. Armed only with a dagger which she tucked into her belt, she went out on the front gallery. She was determined not to let the union troops into her house. Many houses along the river had been abandoned. These deserted houses if not burned, were destroyed by looting and vandalism. As she stood on the front gallery a group of Confederate soldiers opened fire on the Union troops.

The gun boats on the river returned the fire. Though they were not aiming at the house, much of the fire hit it or landed on the grounds. When the firing became heavy, Emily Jane gathered her children, friends, and slaves and took them all to the ground floor where the walls were four feet thick. When the barrage was over, she alone had the courage to mount the stairs and assess the damage. It was in that same year that Emily Jane gave birth to her eleventh and last child, Julia Marceline. Although the Union army encamped several times on the lawn in the course of the war, they never entered the house except to search for weapons.

Nottoway served as inspiration for the filming of the movie Gone With The Wind. Scarlett O'Hara fashioned her dress from drapes very similar to those seen above hanging in the Randolph study.

Heading North, or is it West?

2006-09-11T10:11:00.000+08:00

Well, I’m still walking along the mighty Mississippi River. I’m currently on the West Bank of the river on road LA 18 heading towards Donaldsonville, and further along, Baton Rouge, Louisiana’s state capitol. Sometimes it seems like I’m walking in circles because this river meanders like a snake being chased by a weasel.

Industrial developments line the river along my walk with small communities strung along the river road. So far it is a pretty boring walk between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. So to while away the time I’ve found a few facts about the river that I thought interesting:

1. Length: River length is a difficult measurement to pin down because the river channel is constantly changing. For example, staff at Itasca State Park, the Mississippi's headwaters, say the Mississippi is 2,552 miles long. The US Geologic Survey has published a number of 2,300 miles (3,705 kilometers), the EPA says it is 2,320 miles long, and the Mississippi National River and Recreation Area maintains its length at 2,350 miles.

2. Speed: At the headwaters of the Mississippi, the average surface speed of the water is near 1.2 miles per hour - roughly one-third as fast as people walk. At New Orleans, on 2/24/2003, the speed of the river was 3 miles per hour.

3. Depth: At its headwaters, the Mississippi is less than 3 feet deep. The river's deepest section is between Governor Nicholls Wharf and Algiers Point in New Orleans where it is 200 feet deep.

4. Sediment Load: The Mississippi carries an average of 436,000 tons of sediment each day. Over the course of a year, it moves an average of 159 million tons of sediment. Averages have ranged from 1,576,000 tons per day in 1951 to 219,000 in 1988.

*** A raindrop falling in Lake Itasca would arrive at the Gulf of Mexico in about 90 days. ***

Hale Boggs Bridge

2006-09-04T08:57:00.000+08:00

Just a quick update. I’m officially out of New Orleans and have lost the weight that city’s food placed on me. I’m crossing the Luling Bridge (Hale Boggs Bridge - See 'Who was Hale Boggs?' below). This is a Cable-stayed bridge over the Mississippi River on I-310 west of New Orleans, near Luling. I decided to cross over to the west-side of the river so that I could bypass Baton Rouge and any temptations to loiter around that University City (I graduated from LSU). Also with this capitol city’s increase in population and crime rate due to the influx of people after Hurricane Katrina, I thought it might be wise to give the city a miss. Though I have family living in Baton Rouge, I’ll just have them meet me at a restaurant across the river.

Who was Hale Boggs?

Thomas Hale Boggs, Sr., (February 15, 1914 – October 16, 1972) was a member of the United States House of Representatives for Louisiana. In 1972, he was the House Majority Leader when, at age 58, the twin engine airplane in which he was traveling over a very remote section of Alaska disappeared. The plane presumably crashed into a mountain or ravine, with no survivors. Congressman Nick Begich was also presumed killed in that accident.

During his tenure in Congress, Boggs was an influential player in the government. After Brown v. Board of Education he signed The Southern Manifesto condemning desegregation. He was instrumental in passage of the interstate highway program in 1956, and was a member of the Warren Commission in 1963-1964. He served as Majority Whip from 1961 to 1970 and as majority leader (from January 1971). As majority whip, he ushered much of President Johnson's Great Society legislation through Congress.

As Majority Leader he campaigned tirelessly for others. He was aboard a twin engine Cessna 310 with Representative Nick Begich when it disappeared during a flight from Anchorage to Juneau, Alaska. Begich's aide and a pilot were the only others on board. The four were heading for a campaign fund raiser for Begich. In the largest search ever mounted by the US military, Coast Guard, Navy, and Air Force planes searched for the party. The search was abandoned after 39 days. The men's remains were never found. The accident prompted Congress to pass a law mandating emergency locator transmitters (now called emergency position-indicating rescue beacons) in all U.S. civil aircraft.

Both Boggs and Begich were re-elected that November. House Resolution 1 of January 3, 1973 officially recognized Boggs' presumed death and opened the way for a special election. In 1973 Boggs' wife since 1938, Lindy, was elected to the second district seat left vacant by his death, where she served until 1991.

The events surrounding Boggs' death have been the subject of numerous conspiracy theories. These theories often center around his involvement with the Warren Commission, but some tie his death to alleged corruption charges or his outspoken opposition to powerful FBI director J. Edgar Hoover. Some, including several of Begich's children, have suggested that Richard Nixon had a hand in Boggs' death in order to thwart the Watergate investigation. None of these theories has ever been proven.

Tipitina's

2006-08-28T09:40:00.000+08:00

I’m finally leaving New Orleans… the Crescent City welcomed me and wouldn’t let me leave.

I arrived in New Orleans in time to make it to the House of Blues only to find out that Babalu’s was NOT a band but the name of Latin music dance night… not my scene. I don’t know if that little boy in Belle Chasse was ‘yanking my chain’ or if he was really clueless. I tend to believe the former, because everyone in New Orleans’ orbit knows the local music scene.

After the disappointment of Babalu night, I decided to stick around the Quarter for a while and sample the famous Creole food. Cafe Mesparo has some of the best sandwiches and the oyster po-boy (fried oysters on a French bread) was no exception.

The next morning I walked around the French Market checking out the fresh produce. The French Market has been around since 1791 and began as a Native American trading post. It is America’s oldest city market.

I bumped into some old friends in the quarter and was told that the Dirty Dozen Brass Band* was launching a new CD called ‘What’s Going On?’, a reinterpretation of Marvin Gaye's classic LP at Tipitina’s Saturday night. I had no choice but to stick around for that.

Well… it was worth postponing my walk. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band put on a great show to a packed house. They announced that a portion of the proceeds from the sale of each CD will go to the Tipitina’s Foundation, benefiting the music community of New Orleans. Along with many others along the Gulf Coast, the members of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band lost their homes to Katrina. Their take on What's Going On is not only an attempt to express their feelings about this tragedy and other current events, but also a tribute to the spirit of their hometown of New Orleans.

So now it’s Monday morning and I find myself a little heavier (gonna miss the food) and slower of foot. I’m on the western fringe of New Orleans following the meandering, muddy river towards Baton Rouge. The stretch of River Road leading to the state capital is lined with refineries and industry. I’m not looking forward to my next 100 miles, but I should be losing my newly found poundage…

* In 1977, the Dirty Dozen Social and Pleasure Club in New Orleans began showcasing a traditional Crescent City brass band. It was a joining of two proud, but antiquated, traditions at the time: social and pleasure clubs dated back over a century to a time when black southerners could rarely afford life insurance, and the clubs would provide proper funeral arrangements. Brass bands, early predecessors of jazz as we know it, would often follow the funeral procession playing somber dirges, then once the family of the deceased was out of earshot, burst into jubilant dance tunes as casual onlookers danced in the streets. By the late '70s, few of either existed. The Dirty Dozen Social and Pleasure Club decided to assemble this group as a house band, and over the course of these early gigs, the seven-member ensemble adopted the venue's name: the Dirty Dozen Brass Band.

Belle Chasse... Babalu!!

2006-08-18T10:01:00.000+08:00

18 August 2006

Well, I’ve finally made it to the Westbank of the Crescent City. I’m in Belle Chasse, LA at the corner of the Belle Chasse Highway and Woodland Highway. For the first time I have finally come to a couple of ‘forks’ in the road and had to make directional decisions.

I passed by the Alvin Callender Airfield. It was relatively quiet. There was more noise from the traffic on the Belle Chasse Highway than from the aircraft. A gas station attendant told me that the airfield was first cleared in the late 1920s for a nationwide tour by Charles Lindberg and was used extensively by rescue helicopters in the aftermath of the flooding by Hurricane Katrina.

After passing by the airfield I had to decide whether to cross the railroad tracks and continue my journey along Rd 407 following as close to the river as possible or continue my walk by a more direct route to New Orleans by staying on the Belle Chasse Highway. The decision was made for me at the junction where a little boy told me, “you can walk ‘long the Main Street, but’cha wont get to New Awlins quicker that way. The Coast Guard got a reservation down there and it’s a long walk round the river wit nuthin to see. Shoots, if I was you I’d head straight for the quarter. Babalu’s playing at the House of Blues and they a jammin good band”.

So I now find myself heading north on Woodland Highway. I should be in Gretna by tomorrow where I’ll take a ferry across the river to the French Quarter and make my way to the House of Blues… hopefully in time for Babalu’s first set.

Brian

Crabbing my Way North

2006-08-14T09:39:00.000+08:00

13 August 2005

I spent time this week helping Uncle Noonoo, an old man I met at a small store along LA23. Noonoo crabs for a living. It's a job that earns him enough money to buy food and drink for himself and diesel for his boat with a little left over for a few games of bouree' (see below for rules of play) at 'The Dump', the local bar where all the fishermen hang out and play cards. Every morning we'd wake up at 5:00 and head out to Two Sisters Bayou just off of Bay Sanbois. Crabs are caught in wire cages (see photo) that are baited with chicken or pig parts. The cages are set along the bottom of the bayou and are marked with red painted Clorox jugs floating on the surface of the bayou. Every morning I'd raise the cages, empty out the crabs (not an easy task cause their claws will grip each other and the cage), re-bait the traps and toss them back into the Bayou. For my help Uncle Noonoo gave me a place to sleep in his camp (see photo) just outside of Port Sulphur and enough spending money to head back out on the road.

I left Uncle Noonoo Saturday morning and headed north along the river on LA23. I walked past the West Pointe a La Hache Ferry landing and considered crossing the river and heading into New Orleans from the East Bank. But decided to stay with LA23 and head into New Orleans from the West Bank so that I could walk through Old Algiers and see the house my friend JP used to live in. He now lives in Texas after being chased away by Katrina last year. The house is now for sale and I thought it would be nice to see the old neighborhood again. From there I can cross the river by ferry (No way am I walking over the Greater New Orleans Bridge) and be just on the outskirts of the French Quarter.

I should be reaching New Orleans by next weekend. I can already taste the beignets and rich chicory coffee. It will be such a relief to finish this southern trek along the river. To my right I can see the levee and boats in the river. To my left I see old homes, camps, and marshlands. It's still quiet on the bayous south of New Orleans in Plaquemines Parish and I long for meeting more people.

Brian, still heading north on LA23

Bouree':
1. Put up your "mease" (Ante up) We usually played 5 cents ante and 25 cents if you are boureed (don't win a hand).
2. Dealers hands out 5 cards to each player. (if you have 5 or less players a Widow can be dealt. This is an extra hand that can be bought by one of the players.)
3. The dealer turns over his 5th card. This is trump for the game. (if dealer turns over a heart, hearts are trump, if a club is turned over, club is trump, etc.)
4. Each player will decide if they want to stay in or pass. (You must have at least one trump to stay in.) The player to the dealer's left will tell how many cards he/she wants (if he/she has no trumps, then the widow can be bought...this is optional)
5. Each player tells the dealer how many cards they want. When a card is played, you must follow suit. If you don't have one of whatever is played, you can play a trump card or any other card.
6. At the end of play, the one who wins the most hands(tricks) wins and takes the pot. If you fail to win a hand(trick), you must pay 25 cents bouree'. (This goes in the next pot)

End of First Week - Oppressive Heat

2006-08-07T09:46:00.000+08:00

Well, I’m just over 32 miles into my journey. The weather has been really oppressive with temperatures in the high 90’s and equal the humidity.

I had a rude awakening at the end of my first day. It seems that when I jumped off the paddleboat Cajun Queen, I lost my pouch containing my travel funds. So now I’m at the beginning of a long journey and find myself with no money. I see no other option: I will have to work my way up river. So now I have to seek out odd jobs along the way during the weekdays and save the bulk of my walking for the weekends. This will slow me down considerably but will not thwart my goal of reaching Minnesota and the head of the Mississippi River.

Yesterday I was able to put in just over 11 miles before succumbing to the heat. The walk left me with a slight headache and sore legs. I’ll need to start carrying more water with me.

After my walk yesterday, I stepped into a bait shop to get water and saw on the wall, next to a bunch of pictures of fishermen with their prized catches of tarpons, blue marlins and sharks, a photo of a couple of boats sitting on LA 23 right after Hurricane Katrina passed through. Unbelievable!!! I just walked over that bridge shown in the picture after passing through Empire, LA.

**** Reality Check ****

Yesterday I walked in the jungle near my home and saw the biggest pack of monkeys to date. Must have been over 50. There were even a couple of new-born monkeys clinging to their mother. I doubt they were more than a couple of weeks old. I also saw a cobra on the trail and scared it off before getting closer. I learned my lessons about approaching snakes. On one walk I found what I thought was a small dead snake and was going to pick it up. Turns out it wasn’t dead. Also, as I later learned, it was a Krait, more deadly than a cobra. Overall, I had a great walk, but the heat proved to be too much and finished it with a slight headache and sore legs.

Brian

Making My Walks Meaningful... In A Virtual Sense

2006-08-04T13:22:00.000+08:00

I've got a problem staying motivated when it comes to daily walking. After a while I get bored. This time around I decided to set a goal. I'm going to walk from the mouth of the Mississippi River to the river's beginning in Minnesota. I've found some web sites to help me with this virtual walk and I'll use Google's pedometer mapping function to record my daily progress along the river. I'll do a bit of research through each place I visit to keep it 'real'.

Mississippi River Road Walk Pt 1

2006-08-04T10:01:00.000+08:00

PREFACE TO MY JOURNEY

I’m sitting on the upper deck of the riverboat Cajun Queen languidly swatting mosquitoes and fanning myself in this 96 degree August afternoon. It’s just like me to start a journey in the hottest month in Louisiana with little preparation. A sucker for pain. That’s what I am. Or, just plain dumb.

The Cajun Queen is about 30 miles south of Buras slowly chugging up river in the Southwest Pass. I’ll be jumping boat around nightfall and looking for a place to ‘hole’ up for the night before embarking on this trip. I’ll be heading north on LA23, about a 2-day walk south of Buras.

The captain of this paddleboat told me that the river is 2,350 miles long, although I know that I’ll be walking more than that ‘cause the river road doesn’t always follow the river. And, more than likely, I’ll get lost or take a few side-trips along the way. I do have a tendency to wander off the path now and then.

Well, I’d better start wrapping my backpack in the garbage bag I took from the boat’s café and prepare myself for the short swim to shore. I can just see the small camps and shipyards that are clustered around the southern tip of LA23. I tell you, the river water here looks like the coffee-au-lait I’ll be savoring in a few weeks while in the New Orleans French Quarter. Here at the mouth of this great river, I’m not sure if I’ll be swimming or wallowing to the banks of the river. The water looks like a river of mud.

Oh well, guess it’s time to get wet…

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3 August 2006
5.7 miles – North of Venice, LA on LA23

Can't chat too long now. I'm currently walking through a desolate stretch of road between Venice and Buras. I'm trying to get as far north as possible before Tropical Storm Chris enters the Gulf. Not only do I start this walk in the hottest month, I start it at the beginning of hurricane season. I'm praying that Chris fizzles out and leaves us all down here in peace.

In fact, as I drudge along LA23, the signs of Katrina's passing last year are remarkable. Venice was almost completely destroyed by Hurricane Katrina and the town's future is currently uncertain. I can tell that there was a thriving community lining LA23. A Community wedged between the River and swamps of the Gulf. But now all I see is empty foundations and pilings jutting out of the bare earth.

It's hot right now. No breeze. The air is heavy, weighted with salt and gases from the marsh. Will talk later. With my Treo, I'll be able to report from the road easily.

Brian

Weekend Jungle Walks...

2005-03-28T09:00:00.000+08:00

Jungle Walks...

A 20-minute walk from my front door leads me to the trailhead (a dirt path alongside a busy road) and the start of a rejuvenating time... both for my mind and body. The jungle near my home was once a rubber plantation. The rubber estate has been abandoned for years and the rubber trees are now mixed within an emerging rainforest. There are about 20 km of trails created by mountain bike enthusiasts. They've created many of these trails following the old plantation paths.

On a typical walk I may encounter 1 or 2 other people, but usually never see anyone. What I do see are scores of monkeys (usually 2 or 3 packs), eagles, turtles, snakes (cobras and tree snakes), monitor lizards (reaching a length of 5 feet and longer), small streams, bamboo groves, birds, and bugs of every description.

The many different trails allow me to vary the walk each weekend. Hills abound and the highest elevation is about 900 feet. From this summit I get a great view of Kuala Lumpur... if the haze isn't too bad.

I typically walk at around 11:00am and finish around 2:00pm... the hottest time of day. But it's really not too bad under the trees. Humidity is a problem and I have to bring at least 2 liters of water for each walk.

The pictures below were taken with my Treo600 phone. Not the best quality but you can get a feel of the environment...

Snakes & Ladders Trail

Bamboo Grove

Bamboo Grove

Bamboo Size

Small Stream

Small Waterfall

Kuala Lumpur from Summit

Snake

Monkey on Rock

Tapping Rubber

Abdominal Breathing

2005-03-25T07:07:00.000+08:00

The lung's lower regions are the most distant from your windpipe, and the most dependent on the breathing activity of the diaphragm. As a result, the lung's lower regions are the most likely areas to suffer disuse. This exercise is designed to bring air to these underused areas of the lungs.

On top of our navel area and our stomach muscles, lies the diaphragm and this is where the lungs sit. So as one expands the abdomen, the diaphragm drops, pumping air to the bottom of the lungs. If the diaphragm muscle is squeezed, the abdomen contracts, the lung is squeezed upward and stale air is forced out of the lungs.

Lying down on your back, place both hands over the lower abdomen, focusing approximately two inches below the navel. Inhale and extend the abdomen as far as possible (at this stage the chest should be relaxed and not moving), hold your breath for a count of four seconds. Commence a controlled exhale through the mouth over a count of six seconds, as you squeeze in the abdominal muscles as far as possible, to expel all the air. Hold your breath for four seconds before inhaling again. You should feel your hands rise and fall with each breath.

This exercise should be practiced for half an hour each day until deep diaphragmatic (abdominal) breathing is automatic. An option with this exercise is to have the feet raised slightly above the level of the body.

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Hope you find this beneficial.
Brian

Chicken Gumbo

2005-03-25T06:48:00.000+08:00

What you'll need:

- about 3/4 of flour,
- 3/4 cup of oil,
- 4-5 large yellow onions chopped fine (it's ok to cry sometimes),
- smoked sausage (say around 4 big ones - total length 40-50" and 1” diameter),
- chicken (I always use breast meat with the bone, my preference, but whole chicken will make it taste better),
- chopped ham (optional but I like it… adds more flavor)
- oysters (ok, this is optional. I don't particularly like oysters but it does give it a richer flavor. My dad shucks his own oysters and saves the 'juice'. He puts this in the gumbo... and wow... what a difference),
- chicken broth (again, adds a bit more flavour),
- gumbo file (dried sassafras leaves ground to a powder. This is used to sprinkle on the individual bowls of gumbo for flavour. You don't cook it with the gumbo),
- cooked rice.

Now here's what you do:

First, let's make the roux. This is the base for a lot of cajun dishes. Pour in the oil, 1/2 to 3/4 cup, in a big heavy bottom pot. Mix in the flour. A rule of thumb is equal parts flour and oil. Stir over medium fire continuously. You don't want it to stick and burn on bottom. You need to continue doing this until it almost turns the color of milk chocolate, like a hersey's kiss... mmmm.... hersey kisses... OK, this takes time. Making the roux is the most tedious and time consuming part of making the gumbo. When it's almost chocolate colored (be careful not to burn it... stir, stir, stir), mix in the chopped onions and keep on stirring. You gonna have to stir for almost the same amount of time. You want the edges of the chopped onion pieces to turn slightly brown. If you get impatient and don't brown the onions, they will float in the gumbo. When browned, they won't float. OK, done? Now you should have a really great smelling kitchen and a pot of dark brown gunk. That's the roux you're looking at. You did good.

Now the easy part. If the sausage is fatty, either microwave it a bit or cook it a bit in another pan to remove some of the oil. Chop the sausage into pieces about the size of a standard checker... you know the game? Throw it in the pot. Mix it up. Next, throw in the ham and chicken and mix it up a bit. I know, kinda hard to stir this stuff up, so why don't you add some chicken broth and/or oyster juice and water. Add enough so that you have a soup. I don't like it too 'watery', but my dad really does make it as consistent as soup. If you're gonna add oysters, wait until the chicken is cooked to add. If you add too early, the oysters will be overcooked. Add salt to taste, put the cover on, sit back, visit the Q, and stir occasionally. When the chicken is cooked, so is the gumbo. Let the gumbo 'sit' for a while. Excess oil will float to the top and you can scoop it out.

To serve, put just a bit of rice in a bowl and lotsa gumbo on top. Remember, gumbo is more like a soup. It's not a rice dish. The rice is added to fill up us poor cajuns. You can sprinkle some file on top and enjoy. By the way, it will always taste better the next day.

Hope you enjoy... cajun cooking is more about 'feeling' than precise measurements. Your next gumbo will be even better!!!

Note: I like to add a lot of sausage. You can add more chicken, sausage, or ham. It really doesn't make a difference.

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For seafood gumbo, instead of adding chicken, add peeled shrimp, crabs (cleaned but not shelled… remove back, pull out gunk, and break in half), oysters. This is also yummy.