Much to the frustration of my US History students over the years, a lesson we did in high school has always stuck with me, and I followed it up in my own classroom back in the U.S. Oh, hey by the way. This is Jacson Lowe ... I write this blog you are currently reading. For the first 10 blogs, I basically have written about what it is like living in an international city of 4.2 million people after being raised in a small hometown of about 25,000. That's where the name comes from ... Mayberry to Malaysia. After living here for six months and really getting locked into everyday life, it's kind of hard to come up with cool, funny stories about confused taxi drivers and greedy monkeys. So, as I move into the next phase of my life in Asia, I think the blog may take a swing every once in a while and be about my feelings of the world in general, and not just Expat adventures.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, the history lesson. So, way back when I was a high schooler at North Surry (who won that basketball game last night? Oh, that's right ... Bear Meat served raw!), Billy Joel came out with the diddy, "We Didn't Start the Fire," and found decent success through a catchy melody and a montage of historical lowlights playing in the video background on MTV -- back when MTV actually showed music videos and not trashy reality television. Joel has said when he was younger he either wanted to be a professional boxer (hence all the boxer references in the song) or a history teacher. Though I did dabble in some amateur wrestling during NSHS pep rallies with Norm, I never got into a squared circle to go 15 rounds. I did however decide to become a history teacher after a few years of sports writing left me yearning for a little bit more.
So, Mr. Joel, I see the draw of writing "We Didn't Start the Fire" even if you have said it wasn't your favorite song ever (he's actually said he wishes he hadn't written it). It provides a good lesson plan for a US History teacher these days -- you've got popular culture, Cold War, international politics, Civil Rights, SE Asia conflict, science and technology, sports, the all-important cola wars and various other references that give us a good overview of Joel's life from 1947 to 1989. The thing that my kids had the hardest time with during the lesson plan was coming up with the next 20 years. They couldn't figure out what major topics would fill the 90s and early 2000s. I guess I understand that since the Cold War ended before most of them were born -- most of my high schoolers these days were born in this millennia. They don't know the difference between the Berlin Wall and the Great Wall of China. Both are ancient history to them.
But now, heck ... I could write a whole verse in just what has happened in this world since we moved to Malaysia. Man, it's nuts what I read about every time I crack open a new can of CNN International. We certainly didn't start the fire, but it seems like a big ol' bottle of lighter fluid got thrown on it somehow in the last six months. It would be easy to just chalk it up to Armageddon, the end of the world, the Second Coming, and all that, but I think there's been worse times. No really, I do. It's just the world we live in now, the one that's always been burnin' and turnin' ... well, it's globally connected now. When people are butchered in Africa or kidnapped in the Middle East or are slaughtered by their mum in Australia -- we all know about it within about 20 minutes of it happening. Cell phone cameras are capturing not only perceived police brutality in Staten Island, but beheadings in Syria and dopey teenagers trying to Parkour from building top to building top.
I have sincerely missed being a news writer since I started this blog. I watch both my sons struggle with their writing skills and realize how blessed I am to have been given the ability to put my thoughts together in a coherent way as to express my ideas into the written form. But, as the world was spinning around 1998, Al Gore was putting the finishing touches on the Internet and the world was about to be changed forever. Suddenly, the media took a downward turn from which I don't think it or society in general will ever recover.
As the news was coming into our screens and not our morning front door steps, the new adage in the business shifted from, "Get it right, first," to, "Get it first, right?" All the President's Men's glorification of Woodward and Bernstein's desperate attempt to verify sources before ending a presidency woefully was scrubbed away like a questionable stain on a blue dress. We were told it was coming ... Harry Amana told us five years earlier that the newspaper as we knew it was about to be replaced by the computer. As we doled around complaining about having to cover traffic court and county commissioner meetings in News Reporting (JOMC 54 for those of you keeping score at home), our teacher was telling the future. The only thing Mr. Amana missed was the timeline. He said we would see it in our lifetime ... he didn't realize we would see it in our grandparents' lifetime instead.
So now the Internet is our resource to the outside world. Everything we know about the Middle East we know from Drudging through the headlines or Huffing through a six paragraph summary of Syria. How many of you read about the terrorist holding up the ISIS flag in the Australian cafe only to find out 8 hours later he had a history of mental instability and the writing on the flag that was displayed had nothing at all to do with ISIS? Then, you probably read about the slaughter of a family in Australia tied to speculation to whether or not it had something to do with the cafe. It didn't, or at least as far as I know now it didn't as the mother was arrested this morning.
I watch as a history teacher, and I watch as a former professional journalist and I see the indoctrination of the world falling in place wherever it is you point your mouse or the channel on which you land in the world of Television News Roulette. The things you see there will shape your opinion of those things you don't see in your backyard. The same thing has happened for me over here on the other side of the burnin', turnin' world. I have watched Ferguson burn from afar. I have seen LeBron wearing his "I can't breathe" shirt. I have shivered in horror at the news of Pakistani children being slaughtered this week for attending school. I have seen the coverage of the American teacher being slaughtered in Abu Dhabi, and I have done it six weeks after receiving an email from the US Embassy telling me it could possibly happen. I've seen all this, but I've experienced none of it firsthand. I have to hope that the men and women who are coming out of the J-Schools in Missouri and Chapel Hill and Syracuse and Columbia and Berkeley are upholding the ethics and standards of the profession. I hope they are from the same vein as Chuck Stone who told me to get the story right but make it readable, or Jim Shumaker who told me to cut through all the bulls**t and get to the story. I hope they are getting it right because they are shaping my view of the world.
You see, I hope this is the case because not only does the media shape my view of the world, it shapes the world's view of me. Back home, I always used to see the world as it fit the American Way. I taught my psychology students about Cultural Relativity because they needed to know how to act when they encountered non-Americans. But, what I've kind of come to realize is ... drumroll please. Here we go .... this may get me in trouble but it's true ... America isn't the center of the world. It's round, and it's burnin', and it's turnin', and we're just one part of a bigger whole. There might be something to this whole globalization thing. So, while we are starting to see the dark, dirty side of the rest of the world more and more frequently, I'm thinking the rest of the world is starting to see some of our underbelly, too. And, it shapes their opinions of us. And, some of the stuff they hear, the assume it's true about all of us. Because, like us, they usually only see the bad side of things. So, they assume that all American cops are bad, or that all Americans with guns shoot up movie theaters and schools, and they think that everyone in the South is like Honey Boo Boo's family.
Or, they get on an elevator with an American Gringo and they feel uncomfortable. Like about a month ago when I was riding up with a young couple who appeared to be from the Middle East. After introductions and pleasantries, they hesitated and said, "We are from Iran," to which I replied, "I am from the United States." After the uncomfortable pregnant pause, the elevator opened, and the woman said as I walked away, "We like Americans!" to which I turned and said, "And I like Iranians." And there you go. The pink elephant was suddenly ushered out of the elevator, and suddenly, we were just human beings talking to one another.
Because what you find when your travel internationally is this -- the news usually focuses on the bad stuff. But, it's focusing on a grain of sand, not a whole beach. When you read the horrible stories coming out of Syria, or Pakistan, or Nigeria, or Ukraine, or Australia, or Ferguson, or Sony Corp., or wherever the bad new leads to high ratings, I need you remember the words to the song. Because, the Piano Man was right. The world spins so rapidly -- one full rotation every 24 hours with a diameter of about 12,000 kilometers -- that it looks like the whole world is burnin'. But, it's not. A closer look will show that each of these horror stories is just a flickering flame that can be extinguished. The rest of the world is not burning at all. It's full of humanitarians providing aid, scientists treating disease, technicians helping the lame walk and the blind see. It's Christmas time, and those last three weren't chosen by random, folks. Amidst all the chaos, miracles are happening every day. Slow the rotation down and reduce the power of the flames.
Remain positive. See the potential in each individual and avoid assuming that, "All of 'em are like that ..." You'll find that they are not. Most of us are in this thing for the right reasons. And, I'm renewing my hope in the human race.
If you need an extra boost, check out this commercial from our friends in Great Britain -- it's from another time when the world really was burnin' and turnin' worse than any of us have ever experienced:
Merry Christmas!
JLowe
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Monday, November 10, 2014
This One is For Dad
Our coffee maker broke Sunday. Yes, it IS as bad as it seems. The thought of going through a day without a very average brewed cup of coffee is almost unbearable. So, I did what any coffee loving person would do; I trekked along Jalan Kiara and made my way to Harvey Norman tonight to buy a new one. While there, I decided I could not live without a Panini Press/Waffle Maker any longer, and I bought that, too. Silly expendable income. After a quick trip to the Village Grocer for waffle mix, I took off down the concrete jungle path once again with my big ol' bag of kitchen gadgets and soon-to-be fluffy breakfast fun. The total walk time is about 10 minutes. That's 1/6 of an hour for those of you scoring at home.
When I got back, Jill innocently asked, "Oh gosh. Did you walk all the way home with that?" Yeah, the two boxes got a bit heavy along the way, but -- it was just a bag of small appliances (and, not to be forgotten, waffle mix). First world problems abound, right? Whenever in life I'm met with physical challenges (this does not count as one, but it got me thinking about this blog), I basically think about two people who have had a positive influence on my life. The first is Michelle Whitfield, a courageous young woman we lost to a brain tumor in her 10th grade year at Cedar Ridge. I was blessed to have Michelle in my life through her final days, always fighting and keeping a smile on her face even after that horrible disease took her ability to speak. When I think about all she experienced physically through chemo treatments, radiation and the effects of the disease on her body in her last days, I find it really hard to complain about things like: walking, riding a bike up a hill, sweating at a baseball game. Michelle, still today, is one of the absolute strongest influences in my life. There is rarely a day that goes by that I don't think of her in some aspect.
The other person I think of when times get tough is Talmadge Gray Lowe, or as many of you may know him -- Dusty Lowe. I tend to call him "Pa" these days. I'm not quite sure when that started, but we both seem to like it. It's not a coincidence that this blog lines up with Veteran's Day, which will begin for me about 13 hours before most of you. Being the child of a Vietnam Veteran kind of makes you a bit different than your other friends, or other generations of veterans' kids. They were the guys who left at 19 thinking they were heroes and then came back to be called baby killers, or in some cases, worse. My Lai and television coverage sort of messed that whole thing up. That didn't happen to a lot of returning vets prior, and I don't think it has happened since. A lot of folks have spent a lot of money trying to make up for this heinous behavior 40 years ago. Probably too little, too late, but there is a nice granite wall to remind us that 58,000 people tried their best to do what they thought was right when no one in Washington had any idea what to do. I spent some time at that wall with Pa, and I think it helped him deal with many of his own demons. That Wall money was money well spent.
To be completely honest, I've really come to detest the Vietnam War in my adult life as I have learned more and more about it. All wars, at some level, have a political influence. The spread of Communism, in retrospect, was not a justification for 58,000 lives to be lost. Seeing that I live about 540 miles south of Communist Ho Chi Minh City, I can report to you that the Domino Effect was about as viable an excuse for war as Domino's Pizza is a gourmet food. Kuala Lumpur is a thriving blend of Southeast Asian tradition wrapped up nicely in a big red Capitalistic bow. Heck, we've already got Christmas decorations for sale in every store here. People really like the sound of a ringing cash register here in Asia. Communism stopped a few miles south of the 17th parallel even though we filed out in 1975 and Nixon's "Vietnamization" plan was about as effective as saran wrap preventing dirty bomb nuclear fallout.
I was lucky -- my dad-to-be came back. My domino never fell. His name is not etched in stone. He boarded the plane and headed back. Later, I got to learn how to throw a curveball and how to check the oil in my car. I watched in marvel as my dad did everything he set out to do. The cool thing that I got to experience was seeing a dad that was the equivalency to Superman in my eyes. I never saw him fail at anything as I was growing up. There were 58,000 other soldiers who should have gotten that chance, but they didn't. Some already had kids who never knew their dad. My dad survived, but he was affected in a myriad of ways along with so many who were just doing what they thought was right.
Now, a whole new generation of men and women spread throughout this world fighting under the US Flag. Do I support all the efforts our country has put forth since we missed the lessons of secret Cambodia bombings and poisoning our own soldiers to clear out the jungles? Nope. But I will NEVER once say a single bad thing about any man or woman who signs those papers and puts his/her life on the line to serve valiantly in our military. Many of them sat in my classroom, played on the fields I coached -- this new generation of soldiers has the option to opt out as I did when I turned 18. But, they volunteered -- so many of them looking for a direction and a purpose, a chance to prove themselves in the line of duty. To stand for something that is bigger than them. To protect and to serve, to provide hope in the face of despair. To not worry about the politics but instead to protect a small child who has been orphaned on the battlefields of Baghdad or Kabul. The chance to develop character, show commitment, to truly know the consequences of not acting as a team. They are my friends, my family members and I say, "Thank you" to each of them for their service. I pray they can all make it home and become the dad (or mom) that I had growing up.
Anyone who knows Pa knows that the Vietnam War is a big part of who he is now in his mid-60s. Don't believe it? Go to his Facebook page and look through his photos. Look at his friends -- his first contact on Facebook was with other Vietnam Vets across the country. They have created quite an impressive network of support that is desperately needed. Our new soldiers returning home need this support, too. Our suicide rates amongst returning soldiers is at an all-time high. That is so discouraging to me. The NBC show, "Parenthood" did an arc where they had the patriarch Zeke, a Vietnam Vet, work with a young man just getting back from Afghanistan. It was powerful TV because it was so true-to-life. It's a hard transition, and we should all take on the task of helping them readjust.
Tell a soldier, active or no longer enlisted, that you appreciate them. Tell them you appreciate their sacrifices. Pray for the families who had loved ones pay the ultimate sacrifice. Go find a World War II veteran -- we don't have many left. Those guys were the original rock stars -- they saved the world! Seriously! Find someone wearing an aircraft carrier hat, or a Korean War, Gulf War or Vietnam Veterans hat -- shake their hand and tell them you appreciate their service. Buy their breakfast. I do it all the time (well, not as much here, I guess). It feels good. Buy a man or woman in uniform a croissant and coffee when you see them in the airport being deployed or waiting patiently to hold their babies (who aren't babies anymore) for the first time in 6 months or a year. You don't have to agree with the politics, but you can't diminish the sacrifice.
There is so much more I could type, but I think instead I would like to share some things about Pa here. He actually received two Bronze Stars while serving in Vietnam. In the face of unimaginable danger, Pa showed valor and courage and took the necessary steps as a sergeant to save lives of those in his command. He still has the piece of shrapnel that lodged in the wall just millimeters above his head. That's why building a back yard pig smoker isn't that big of a deal, even if it didn't come from blueprints. He survived a gas attack despite having to give his mask to a commanding officer by thinking fast and making a makeshift apparatus out of a hankie and urine. (You'd do it, too, if it meant living). So, figuring out how to lift the fourth floor of an RJR building about 3 feet without compromising the floors above was a breeze. He held the burden of finding his fallen friend's family for decades -- to let them know that their son fought valiantly before becoming a name carved into that cold granite wall in D.C. He never relented, he never gave up. And, just a few years ago, he hugged the neck of Thomas Corbin's mother in his driveway. So, yeah, surviving the high interest rates of the 1980s may have nearly toppled his construction company, but he had practice overcoming hardship. And, he refused to give in. Would it have been easy? Yes. But, if he had given up 40+ years ago, his grandkids wouldn't be in Southeast Asia right now experiencing a lifetime of amazing adventures. You wouldn't be reading this. And, countless people who have been touched by his selfless acts of kindness over the years would have had to turn to someone else.
There is a lasting memory of Pa's service that fills up one wall of his office in our house back in Bottom. Mom had it made for him so many Christmases ago, I can't even remember a time when it wasn't in our house (shoutout to Blaine Johnson -- it's stood the test of time). It's a large framed collection of his medals, his awards, his commendations and square in the middle is a picture of a 19 year old kid who was doing what he thought was right during that time. He was serving because his country asked him to. He never considered (to my knowledge) heading to Canada or burning his Selective Service Card. He served. Today, there are levels where he suffers because of that service. He can't hear very well in one ear (unless you are eating Doritos or chomping ice across from him at our kitchen bar) and he does have several other physical ailments that can likely be traced back to his time in Vietnam. But, if he had it to do over again, my guess is he'd get back on that plane and fly west to get to the East.
So the question that has always been in the forefront of my mind is this -- is Pa the man he is today because of the time served in Vietnam? Or, was he destined to be the awesome guy he is, and Vietnam simply served as a platform for him to unlock what I perceive as greatness? My dad has unconditional love for his family. He's never once told me I shouldn't pursue an avenue in life including this one. He is so selfless and giving of himself -- to a fault at times if truth be told. Has he made his share of mistakes? Yeah, but put those stones down, glass homeowners. We all have. It lends to this question -- am I who I am because my dad is a Vietnam Veteran? It's hard to say, I think. It is something that has definitely affected me in some ways. It's a big part of why I am in Southeast Asia now. Dad and I shared a pretty emotional moment when I told him this was our destination. In some way, maybe it's some weird destiny that we are here.
My goal is to go to Vietnam sometime in the next six months. It's going to be difficult to handle emotionally, but in the same instance, it's so different today. Ho Chi Mihn City (or, Saigon as we still call it in Bottom) was ranked the No. 1 destination for start up businesses in the world last month because it has the largest 26-to-35 year old demographic globally. It's the new "mover and shaker" city in Asia. Countless numbers of my colleagues here in Kuala Lumpur talk about the pristine beaches and spectacular resort hotels in Vietnam. That's cool, but I want to see Cu Chi. What's it like now? American tourists take tours of the tunnel systems the Viet Kong built throughout South Vietnam for their guerrilla attacks. These are historical heritage sites in Vietnam. My friends have been to the Vietnam version of the Vietnam War Memorial. It lists the names of their soldiers killed in battle. How will I deal with that? Can I deal with that?
I think the answer is this -- I have to deal with that. As I told Pa, his experiences are part of me, but they don't have to define me. I hope he finds peace in that same resolve someday, too. My dad is a Vietnam Veteran, but he is so much more. I thank him for his service as a soldier, but most importantly, I love him for his commitment to being a great dad.
Well, that's about the most personal thing I've ever shared ever in my life. I'm sure no one will read this, so it's fine. I think this Internet thing is just a passing phase anyway. Hey, I redesigned my blog logo! Anyone notice? You can now translate the blog to any language in the world! How cool is that? (Okay, I'm just trying to deflect at this point ...)
I hope no one is offended by any of the things I said in this edition. This blog came from the heart, and it is just my words. Words mean nothing. It's how you follow them up that matters. As Pa would say, and yes, it comes straight from his days in this time zone -- "Deeds, not words". You don't just say it, you live by it. Happy Veteran's Day, former and current soldiers. And to those who have lost loved ones in service, my prayers of comfort and condolence on this emotional day. May God bless all of you in safety now and throughout your lives.
When I got back, Jill innocently asked, "Oh gosh. Did you walk all the way home with that?" Yeah, the two boxes got a bit heavy along the way, but -- it was just a bag of small appliances (and, not to be forgotten, waffle mix). First world problems abound, right? Whenever in life I'm met with physical challenges (this does not count as one, but it got me thinking about this blog), I basically think about two people who have had a positive influence on my life. The first is Michelle Whitfield, a courageous young woman we lost to a brain tumor in her 10th grade year at Cedar Ridge. I was blessed to have Michelle in my life through her final days, always fighting and keeping a smile on her face even after that horrible disease took her ability to speak. When I think about all she experienced physically through chemo treatments, radiation and the effects of the disease on her body in her last days, I find it really hard to complain about things like: walking, riding a bike up a hill, sweating at a baseball game. Michelle, still today, is one of the absolute strongest influences in my life. There is rarely a day that goes by that I don't think of her in some aspect.
The other person I think of when times get tough is Talmadge Gray Lowe, or as many of you may know him -- Dusty Lowe. I tend to call him "Pa" these days. I'm not quite sure when that started, but we both seem to like it. It's not a coincidence that this blog lines up with Veteran's Day, which will begin for me about 13 hours before most of you. Being the child of a Vietnam Veteran kind of makes you a bit different than your other friends, or other generations of veterans' kids. They were the guys who left at 19 thinking they were heroes and then came back to be called baby killers, or in some cases, worse. My Lai and television coverage sort of messed that whole thing up. That didn't happen to a lot of returning vets prior, and I don't think it has happened since. A lot of folks have spent a lot of money trying to make up for this heinous behavior 40 years ago. Probably too little, too late, but there is a nice granite wall to remind us that 58,000 people tried their best to do what they thought was right when no one in Washington had any idea what to do. I spent some time at that wall with Pa, and I think it helped him deal with many of his own demons. That Wall money was money well spent.
To be completely honest, I've really come to detest the Vietnam War in my adult life as I have learned more and more about it. All wars, at some level, have a political influence. The spread of Communism, in retrospect, was not a justification for 58,000 lives to be lost. Seeing that I live about 540 miles south of Communist Ho Chi Minh City, I can report to you that the Domino Effect was about as viable an excuse for war as Domino's Pizza is a gourmet food. Kuala Lumpur is a thriving blend of Southeast Asian tradition wrapped up nicely in a big red Capitalistic bow. Heck, we've already got Christmas decorations for sale in every store here. People really like the sound of a ringing cash register here in Asia. Communism stopped a few miles south of the 17th parallel even though we filed out in 1975 and Nixon's "Vietnamization" plan was about as effective as saran wrap preventing dirty bomb nuclear fallout.
I was lucky -- my dad-to-be came back. My domino never fell. His name is not etched in stone. He boarded the plane and headed back. Later, I got to learn how to throw a curveball and how to check the oil in my car. I watched in marvel as my dad did everything he set out to do. The cool thing that I got to experience was seeing a dad that was the equivalency to Superman in my eyes. I never saw him fail at anything as I was growing up. There were 58,000 other soldiers who should have gotten that chance, but they didn't. Some already had kids who never knew their dad. My dad survived, but he was affected in a myriad of ways along with so many who were just doing what they thought was right.
Now, a whole new generation of men and women spread throughout this world fighting under the US Flag. Do I support all the efforts our country has put forth since we missed the lessons of secret Cambodia bombings and poisoning our own soldiers to clear out the jungles? Nope. But I will NEVER once say a single bad thing about any man or woman who signs those papers and puts his/her life on the line to serve valiantly in our military. Many of them sat in my classroom, played on the fields I coached -- this new generation of soldiers has the option to opt out as I did when I turned 18. But, they volunteered -- so many of them looking for a direction and a purpose, a chance to prove themselves in the line of duty. To stand for something that is bigger than them. To protect and to serve, to provide hope in the face of despair. To not worry about the politics but instead to protect a small child who has been orphaned on the battlefields of Baghdad or Kabul. The chance to develop character, show commitment, to truly know the consequences of not acting as a team. They are my friends, my family members and I say, "Thank you" to each of them for their service. I pray they can all make it home and become the dad (or mom) that I had growing up.
Anyone who knows Pa knows that the Vietnam War is a big part of who he is now in his mid-60s. Don't believe it? Go to his Facebook page and look through his photos. Look at his friends -- his first contact on Facebook was with other Vietnam Vets across the country. They have created quite an impressive network of support that is desperately needed. Our new soldiers returning home need this support, too. Our suicide rates amongst returning soldiers is at an all-time high. That is so discouraging to me. The NBC show, "Parenthood" did an arc where they had the patriarch Zeke, a Vietnam Vet, work with a young man just getting back from Afghanistan. It was powerful TV because it was so true-to-life. It's a hard transition, and we should all take on the task of helping them readjust.
Tell a soldier, active or no longer enlisted, that you appreciate them. Tell them you appreciate their sacrifices. Pray for the families who had loved ones pay the ultimate sacrifice. Go find a World War II veteran -- we don't have many left. Those guys were the original rock stars -- they saved the world! Seriously! Find someone wearing an aircraft carrier hat, or a Korean War, Gulf War or Vietnam Veterans hat -- shake their hand and tell them you appreciate their service. Buy their breakfast. I do it all the time (well, not as much here, I guess). It feels good. Buy a man or woman in uniform a croissant and coffee when you see them in the airport being deployed or waiting patiently to hold their babies (who aren't babies anymore) for the first time in 6 months or a year. You don't have to agree with the politics, but you can't diminish the sacrifice.
There is so much more I could type, but I think instead I would like to share some things about Pa here. He actually received two Bronze Stars while serving in Vietnam. In the face of unimaginable danger, Pa showed valor and courage and took the necessary steps as a sergeant to save lives of those in his command. He still has the piece of shrapnel that lodged in the wall just millimeters above his head. That's why building a back yard pig smoker isn't that big of a deal, even if it didn't come from blueprints. He survived a gas attack despite having to give his mask to a commanding officer by thinking fast and making a makeshift apparatus out of a hankie and urine. (You'd do it, too, if it meant living). So, figuring out how to lift the fourth floor of an RJR building about 3 feet without compromising the floors above was a breeze. He held the burden of finding his fallen friend's family for decades -- to let them know that their son fought valiantly before becoming a name carved into that cold granite wall in D.C. He never relented, he never gave up. And, just a few years ago, he hugged the neck of Thomas Corbin's mother in his driveway. So, yeah, surviving the high interest rates of the 1980s may have nearly toppled his construction company, but he had practice overcoming hardship. And, he refused to give in. Would it have been easy? Yes. But, if he had given up 40+ years ago, his grandkids wouldn't be in Southeast Asia right now experiencing a lifetime of amazing adventures. You wouldn't be reading this. And, countless people who have been touched by his selfless acts of kindness over the years would have had to turn to someone else.
There is a lasting memory of Pa's service that fills up one wall of his office in our house back in Bottom. Mom had it made for him so many Christmases ago, I can't even remember a time when it wasn't in our house (shoutout to Blaine Johnson -- it's stood the test of time). It's a large framed collection of his medals, his awards, his commendations and square in the middle is a picture of a 19 year old kid who was doing what he thought was right during that time. He was serving because his country asked him to. He never considered (to my knowledge) heading to Canada or burning his Selective Service Card. He served. Today, there are levels where he suffers because of that service. He can't hear very well in one ear (unless you are eating Doritos or chomping ice across from him at our kitchen bar) and he does have several other physical ailments that can likely be traced back to his time in Vietnam. But, if he had it to do over again, my guess is he'd get back on that plane and fly west to get to the East.
So the question that has always been in the forefront of my mind is this -- is Pa the man he is today because of the time served in Vietnam? Or, was he destined to be the awesome guy he is, and Vietnam simply served as a platform for him to unlock what I perceive as greatness? My dad has unconditional love for his family. He's never once told me I shouldn't pursue an avenue in life including this one. He is so selfless and giving of himself -- to a fault at times if truth be told. Has he made his share of mistakes? Yeah, but put those stones down, glass homeowners. We all have. It lends to this question -- am I who I am because my dad is a Vietnam Veteran? It's hard to say, I think. It is something that has definitely affected me in some ways. It's a big part of why I am in Southeast Asia now. Dad and I shared a pretty emotional moment when I told him this was our destination. In some way, maybe it's some weird destiny that we are here.
My goal is to go to Vietnam sometime in the next six months. It's going to be difficult to handle emotionally, but in the same instance, it's so different today. Ho Chi Mihn City (or, Saigon as we still call it in Bottom) was ranked the No. 1 destination for start up businesses in the world last month because it has the largest 26-to-35 year old demographic globally. It's the new "mover and shaker" city in Asia. Countless numbers of my colleagues here in Kuala Lumpur talk about the pristine beaches and spectacular resort hotels in Vietnam. That's cool, but I want to see Cu Chi. What's it like now? American tourists take tours of the tunnel systems the Viet Kong built throughout South Vietnam for their guerrilla attacks. These are historical heritage sites in Vietnam. My friends have been to the Vietnam version of the Vietnam War Memorial. It lists the names of their soldiers killed in battle. How will I deal with that? Can I deal with that?
I think the answer is this -- I have to deal with that. As I told Pa, his experiences are part of me, but they don't have to define me. I hope he finds peace in that same resolve someday, too. My dad is a Vietnam Veteran, but he is so much more. I thank him for his service as a soldier, but most importantly, I love him for his commitment to being a great dad.
Well, that's about the most personal thing I've ever shared ever in my life. I'm sure no one will read this, so it's fine. I think this Internet thing is just a passing phase anyway. Hey, I redesigned my blog logo! Anyone notice? You can now translate the blog to any language in the world! How cool is that? (Okay, I'm just trying to deflect at this point ...)
I hope no one is offended by any of the things I said in this edition. This blog came from the heart, and it is just my words. Words mean nothing. It's how you follow them up that matters. As Pa would say, and yes, it comes straight from his days in this time zone -- "Deeds, not words". You don't just say it, you live by it. Happy Veteran's Day, former and current soldiers. And to those who have lost loved ones in service, my prayers of comfort and condolence on this emotional day. May God bless all of you in safety now and throughout your lives.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Happy Holidays!
LANGKAWI (24 Oct, 2014) -- Yeah, that's right. That's a dateline you see to the left. That means we left the greater KL area for this latest version of the blog. After much anticipating and planning, we headed out to Langkawi for the week to enjoy our first real vacation of the year. Yeah, we know that all of you back in the Bull City, Bottom, Little Utah and surrounding areas think this is just one big vacation for us, but we do work, you know. And, for the first time in our educational careers, we got to enjoy an October break. So, we headed off to tax-jail paradise and had a blast.
"Langkawi was a small fishing village until 1987," our cabbie explained to us on our way to the sky lift, "and that's when they started to come." He was, of course, pointing at a resort alongside the narrow strip of asphalt that somehow passes as an international airport. Despite some rather lavish resorts, Langkawi still has a small fishing village feel to it from this Gringo's standpoint. Sure, that's when you are out on the countryside where wild cattle graze alongside roadside laksa stands and rice paddies. When you head to downtown Cenang Beach, which is where we stayed, you get an idea of what he means. It’s a throwback mix of culture and consumerism, much like what I expect Myrtle Beach was like in the 50s. Well, assuming there were lots of Chinese and Indian restaurants in Myrtle Beach in the 50s. It was a peaceful scene, a mix of cultures, t-shirt stands and tourists from all over the Eastern Hemisphere. I mean, where else can you get Mexican food, served up by a Lebanese family in Malaysia, while sitting alongside Russian, Arab, Chinese and Korean patrons?
Our hotel, the Aseania, is a throwback testimony to 80s opulence designed for the 1992 crowd. Everything in Malaysia makes you think you are in a time warp, actually. Lots of flashing blends of blue and red lights adorn the poolside deck and swim-up bar that had no shortage of Lionel Richie and Steve Winwood ballads playing all day.
You see, Langkawi is the only place in the country where you can get duty-free alcohol. Malaysia, an Islamic nation officially, has one of the highest excise taxes on alcohol in the world. But, to their credit, they know how to bring people into the island oasis -- cheap mixed drinks, duty-free Reese's Cups, glowing hues of primary colors and "Higher Love" playing in the background serve up an intoxicating mix of retroactive romance you can find nowhere else. Ah, there was certainly love in the air ... well that and lots of screaming kids piling down the waterslides!
There's a rumor going around that a lot of the commercial aspects of Malaysia were driven by Chinese businessmen looking to invest their money outside the homeland in the early 90s. Maybe they were part of that disgruntled bunch of students who were "told to leave" Tiananmen Square and find something better to do than overthrow Communism? As you may also know, overcrowded China had a restriction on the number of births you could have (read: one) for quite some time, so I guess Chinese businessmen had a good reason to develop hotels with no more than one bed and a small couch for their only-borns for holiday. It was next to impossible to find a two-bed room which led us to our lil' sign-designated home-away-from-home-away-from-home. Maybe the Aseania was developed by an Indian investor with a bunch of kids? Of course, with Lionel Richie asking, "Is it me you're looking for?" and those aphrodisiac lights glowing on the tranquil waters of the pool, perhaps I should have sprung for the extra room for the boys (cyber-rib-nudge).
As it was, I rather enjoyed sleeping with Jared twice in five nights. You'd think the way he kicks in bed while asleep he could kick a football further than 23 yards. It would be nice -- as a UNC fan -- to think someone could kick the ball farther than 23 yards! Heck, I can kick the ball farther than 23 yards! Did I mention I watched the UNC-UVa game live last night from 12:30 to 4 a.m.?
One of my favorite activities was simply walking up and down the street. It could be an adventure in and of itself. In some countries it is believed that electricity can kill you. These countries are correct. In Langkawi, well, I guess you just need to be on your toes a bit more than in other places. For instance, there’s one electric junction on the main strip of road that I almost ran into about six times this week. It’s head high (that’s Gringo head high … maybe that’s the issue), and all the wires are exposed and tied together with wiring nuts. I mean, they at least use wiring nuts, right? There’s quite a lot of rain here … typically I just walked on the other side of the street from the exposed junction box when it was sprinkling. Just to be safe.
Just let her know that “American Bomber” sent you. And, tell her I’ll stop by next time I’m hanging out in Cenang Beach.
That's about it. I've spent the last two hours trying to post this as I'm watching the most spectacular electrical storm I've ever seen. Hard to believe that one of Bob Ross' happy little clouds can hold 1.21 gigiwatts of electricity. (PS: Oct. 26th was the date of the first Back to the Future movie -- 2015 is the year Doc goes to when he leaves at the end. Where did I put my hoverboard???)
"Langkawi was a small fishing village until 1987," our cabbie explained to us on our way to the sky lift, "and that's when they started to come." He was, of course, pointing at a resort alongside the narrow strip of asphalt that somehow passes as an international airport. Despite some rather lavish resorts, Langkawi still has a small fishing village feel to it from this Gringo's standpoint. Sure, that's when you are out on the countryside where wild cattle graze alongside roadside laksa stands and rice paddies. When you head to downtown Cenang Beach, which is where we stayed, you get an idea of what he means. It’s a throwback mix of culture and consumerism, much like what I expect Myrtle Beach was like in the 50s. Well, assuming there were lots of Chinese and Indian restaurants in Myrtle Beach in the 50s. It was a peaceful scene, a mix of cultures, t-shirt stands and tourists from all over the Eastern Hemisphere. I mean, where else can you get Mexican food, served up by a Lebanese family in Malaysia, while sitting alongside Russian, Arab, Chinese and Korean patrons?
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| El Corral's Middle Eastern Cousin. Please note the star shaped rice. That's legit! |
Our hotel, the Aseania, is a throwback testimony to 80s opulence designed for the 1992 crowd. Everything in Malaysia makes you think you are in a time warp, actually. Lots of flashing blends of blue and red lights adorn the poolside deck and swim-up bar that had no shortage of Lionel Richie and Steve Winwood ballads playing all day.
 |
| Dancing on the Ceiling Palace |
You see, Langkawi is the only place in the country where you can get duty-free alcohol. Malaysia, an Islamic nation officially, has one of the highest excise taxes on alcohol in the world. But, to their credit, they know how to bring people into the island oasis -- cheap mixed drinks, duty-free Reese's Cups, glowing hues of primary colors and "Higher Love" playing in the background serve up an intoxicating mix of retroactive romance you can find nowhere else. Ah, there was certainly love in the air ... well that and lots of screaming kids piling down the waterslides!
Our pool had a cool double slide built into the side of a
hill. It’s quite a lovely, picturesque setting. What’s missing? Those pesky
handrails leading up the top, that’s what. That would so take away from the
naturalistic setting of fiberglass rocks, especially since they are covered in
water and a bit of a slime coating for that extra-naturalistic feel. Now,
safety is important though. Once you get to the top, someone has spray painted
“No Diving” on the fiberglass rocks. Being that the pool is only 6 feet deep,
that’s a good thing. See, you don’t need government regulators to tell you when a
little common sense is necessary.
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| Read the spray painted directions, boy! No diving (jumping, however, was never mentioned) |
One of the reasons we went with the Aseania (besides the fact they have a boss hillside sign reminiscent of the Hollywood Hills version) was the fact we could actually get four people in a room.
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| Makes your 90s Paradise easier to find after drinking multiple duty-free Mai Tais. |
There's a rumor going around that a lot of the commercial aspects of Malaysia were driven by Chinese businessmen looking to invest their money outside the homeland in the early 90s. Maybe they were part of that disgruntled bunch of students who were "told to leave" Tiananmen Square and find something better to do than overthrow Communism? As you may also know, overcrowded China had a restriction on the number of births you could have (read: one) for quite some time, so I guess Chinese businessmen had a good reason to develop hotels with no more than one bed and a small couch for their only-borns for holiday. It was next to impossible to find a two-bed room which led us to our lil' sign-designated home-away-from-home-away-from-home. Maybe the Aseania was developed by an Indian investor with a bunch of kids? Of course, with Lionel Richie asking, "Is it me you're looking for?" and those aphrodisiac lights glowing on the tranquil waters of the pool, perhaps I should have sprung for the extra room for the boys (cyber-rib-nudge).
 |
| WTS? (Please, please, please somebody get this!) |
As it was, I rather enjoyed sleeping with Jared twice in five nights. You'd think the way he kicks in bed while asleep he could kick a football further than 23 yards. It would be nice -- as a UNC fan -- to think someone could kick the ball farther than 23 yards! Heck, I can kick the ball farther than 23 yards! Did I mention I watched the UNC-UVa game live last night from 12:30 to 4 a.m.?
Anyway, there were so many highlights. Where to begin? Parasailing seemed to be the family consensus in terms of favorites. Back home, you’d probably have to sell your
soul to make sure you have all the insurance, liability and safety precautions in place before you could even advertise for a parasailing service.
Not the case in Langkawi. In Langkawi, you need three things – a parachute, a
rope and a boat to pull both. That’s probably why we were all four able to
parasail on Wednesday for 240RM, or roughly $20 each. You go out and let the
laws of supply and demand take over. There are about four different companies
bidding for your business on one beach. They all advertise for 120RM per person. You walk
around and haggle until you get the price you want. Then, throw a life jacket
and harness on your 9 year old. A 16 year old will go up with him, sit in a
hanging swing seat with no safety harnesses and sing random songs in his ear as
he floats 100 meters above the island. Repeat three more times, and you’ve got
yourself a good day.
Probably second on the list would be the skycab lift -- 2000 meters straight up on a cable that at it's steepest point is on a 42 degree angle pitch. You get that whole “close to God” feeling when you are staring down at waterfalls and across from you is the rock facing of a mountain created millions of years ago. Behind you, the Straits of Malacca and the surrounding building shrink with each meter you climb until you finally disappear into a cloud. Your mind clears and you realize where you are in the scope of such perfect unison between natural and man-made engineering. It almost makes you forget the mind jarring 6-D experience you added to your ticket for only 19RM more – you know, the one that advertises, “sensory irritation” as one of its biggest draws. I love literal translations. They made the whole adventure so much more satisfying.
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| Jared hanging out over the ocean -- and for only RM60!!! Yay to beachside capitalism! |
Probably second on the list would be the skycab lift -- 2000 meters straight up on a cable that at it's steepest point is on a 42 degree angle pitch. You get that whole “close to God” feeling when you are staring down at waterfalls and across from you is the rock facing of a mountain created millions of years ago. Behind you, the Straits of Malacca and the surrounding building shrink with each meter you climb until you finally disappear into a cloud. Your mind clears and you realize where you are in the scope of such perfect unison between natural and man-made engineering. It almost makes you forget the mind jarring 6-D experience you added to your ticket for only 19RM more – you know, the one that advertises, “sensory irritation” as one of its biggest draws. I love literal translations. They made the whole adventure so much more satisfying.
 |
| Fact: At this altitude (the big leagues), fish don't fry in the kitchen, NOR do beans burn on the grill. |
One of my favorite activities was simply walking up and down the street. It could be an adventure in and of itself. In some countries it is believed that electricity can kill you. These countries are correct. In Langkawi, well, I guess you just need to be on your toes a bit more than in other places. For instance, there’s one electric junction on the main strip of road that I almost ran into about six times this week. It’s head high (that’s Gringo head high … maybe that’s the issue), and all the wires are exposed and tied together with wiring nuts. I mean, they at least use wiring nuts, right? There’s quite a lot of rain here … typically I just walked on the other side of the street from the exposed junction box when it was sprinkling. Just to be safe.
Of course, on the other side of the street there may or may
not be a plastic sewer grate covering the six foot drop along the sidewalk as
you meander your way to duty free chocolate shops or to the “Green Berret” shop
to buy some camouflage swimming trunks. There were a few people who went out of
their way to warn you – random plastic gas tanks for instance, 2x6 boards
jutting up from the hole, a random piece of particle board covering it. Put it
this way, you don’t want to walk down main street Cenang Beach texting and not
looking up. That is, unless you want to fall into an island full of sewage or
take a face full of electricity.
 |
| Don't stare at misspellings too long -- you may end up going all Electro in a sewage drain. |
But, if you do take the chance to walk the street, you get to meet
wonderful people like Gelato guy and Lio Izhar. Gelato guy looked like he
probably spent his whole life on Waikiki Beach before moving to Langkawi to
provide some of the best homemade gelato I’ve ever sampled. We ended up there
twice in four nights (not to be outdone by two nights of Lebanese Mexican
Enchiladas). On the second night, he looked stunned at Ethan as he put in an
order for banana and strawberry. The strawberry he understood, but Gelato guy just
couldn’t figure out the second flavor, so Ethan said again, “Banana” as plainly
as he thought he could. “Oh … Ba –nah-nah! You said, ‘Buh-NA-nuh’,” he said in
the greatest Gomer Pyle accent ever. You know how Jim Nabors would talk like
Gomer and then sing like Pavarotti? Yeah, that’s how out of place his southern
accent sounded, but he had it dead on. We all laughed pretty good at that one.
Come to find out, he was fluent in English, Bahasa Malay, Spanish and German. So, there
you have it – after eating Mexican food cooked by Lebanese people, we had
Italian Gelato served up by a Spanish speaking Malaysian guy who is married to a German woman.
I’m really starting to dig this international scene.
And, finally, there is Lio. Oh, how I do love Lio. She
manages one of the 100 or so beach adventure/package companies that line the
streets of Cenang Beach. They are all pretty much “same-same” but Lio’s
personality is what set her apart in our initial meeting. I was wearing my
“Bombers” shirt, the summer shirt for the Cedar Ridge baseball team. I didn’t
think that much about it (until Jill pointed out in the airport that it might
not be my best choice). Lio noticed immediately, too. “Please tell me you wore
that shirt on the airplane!” she announced as I walked her way. As I confirmed
her wishes, she said, “Oh, and you’re
American, too? Oh, that’s too funny! This world is too much P.C. now. You can’t
even sing ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ anymore and here you are wearing a shirt that
says Bomber on an airplane! You are awesome!” And, with that, a friendship was
sparked. I spoke with Lio four more times before leaving and even emailed her
once. She told me in the email not to waste my money on island hopping
snorkeling because the water was no-good. She never once – not once – did she
pressure me for business. We just talked, related and shared a belief that
maybe someday people will just be people in the eyes of all. I wish there were
someway I could repay her. Oh, I don’t know how that could ever be …
Just let her know that “American Bomber” sent you. And, tell her I’ll stop by next time I’m hanging out in Cenang Beach.
That's about it. I've spent the last two hours trying to post this as I'm watching the most spectacular electrical storm I've ever seen. Hard to believe that one of Bob Ross' happy little clouds can hold 1.21 gigiwatts of electricity. (PS: Oct. 26th was the date of the first Back to the Future movie -- 2015 is the year Doc goes to when he leaves at the end. Where did I put my hoverboard???)
Monday, October 13, 2014
Random Musings from Malaysia
You know how it's funny (it's okay ... it is funny, you can laugh at what I'm about to say) how we joke and say "All (ETHNIC GROUP) people look alike to me?" I use it proactively, so it takes away the sting of my former Black colleagues and students randomly calling me Mr. Yow over the years. You know, all White people look alike. For a long time, I just thought that was a funny little saying. Well that was until this weekend ...
Random Funny Taxi Driver Guy
We went for a pretty good meal Friday night and got a cab home from the mega retail complex PUBLIKA. At first the cabbie was hesitant to take us back home. You see, every cabbie interaction in Kuala Lumpur consists of you: 1. Finding a cab; 2. Begging the cabbie to take you where you want to go; 3. Feeling guilty because you have asked this man to do his job. You get used to it after about three weeks. So, as I sat in a pile of my own guilt-ridden, back-seat goo, Random Funny Taxi Driver Guy says, "You Tom Selleck?"
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| That's right ... I look just like Magnum P.I. All White Guys do! |
"He Double-O-Seven, right?" At this point, I begin to actually try to rationalize with this Random Funny Taxi Driver Guy. "Do you mean Pierce Bronson?" I ask. "No, Tom Selleck! Double -O-Seven!" So, at this point, I'm thinking, "Hell, maybe they did make a Malaysian version of Bond with Selleck. He kind of dropped off the Earth after being Monica's daddy-issue boyfriend on Friends." But, I press on ... being that I'm bald and have a beard, I try again.
"Are you thinking of Sean Connery, maybe?" I inquire.
"Ahhhhhh ... Sean Connery. That's him! Yeah! You look like Sean Connery."
Now, I admit I do not look like Connery either, though I would kill to do so at any age of Connery awesomeness ... right down to him saying "The Rock" over and over again to Nick Cage or being parodied on SNL by Darrell Hammond.
 |
| On his way to pick up Alex Trebek's Mother for an evening interlude. Bhwaaaaa-haa-haaa-haa! |
You have to wonder how did Random Funny Taxi Guy get these two men confused, and most importantly, how did he think I looked like either one of them? Well, I stumbled across the following when putting in a Google Image query for Tom Selleck:
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| Charlton Heston called. He wants his Moses bear back, Tom. |
I do not know why a Random Funny Taxi Guy in Malaysia would be doing web queries of Tom Selleck in his off time, but if he did and came across this, I could see where it would be a mesh of all my best qualities -- prominent brow, chiseled cheekbones, bald head, Moses beard. I mean, I guess at some level I should be flattered. Upside down Double-O-Selleck image is a heck of a lot better than the usual celebrity look alike I get ...
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| Herrrrrreeeee's JLowe! |
Asian Food Court Samples Explained
We've all experienced it, regardless of where you are back in the States. You've just picked up some nice fashion slacks from JC Penney (I know, I'm flaunting my wealth), and you want to grab a bite of some yummy exotic dish from overseas at the local food court. As you meander down the culinary bazaar, you have a myriad of fried meat, perilously hanging from a toothpick shoved in your face. "Sample? Sample? Try a sample?" You get it at the Chinese place, the Japanese place, and even the Cajun place that is oddly being run by Chinese people. Well, I have come to realize that this is just an extension of a cultural delight known as Hawker Stalls here in Southeast Asia.
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| Saturday Night at Jalan Alor |
"Same-same ... all of it same-same. Just eat here!" Honesty is a virtue, but we had Thai on our minds, and Thai it was. It was delicious, and much to the delight of the hawker, we actually did stop and eat at his place. It's probably like the telemarketer who hears, "Why, yes. I would love to take 20 minutes to hear about your incredible offer." Also, "same-same" is essential Malaysian English. It means, "same" but it means so much more if you repeat it. Not to be outdone is the cousin of "same-same" which is, "can-can." Oh, you want to hear "can-can" in this town. It means that the person you are negotiating with will do what you want. You rarely hear this from a cabbie, but when you do, it helps to alleviate the guilt usually brought on by the typical sigh, grimace and pointing to the back seat.
Paying money to see fireflies ... the undercard
I know, I know, I know ... I was thinking the same-same when I first heard the idea of paying someone to take you on a river boat to see fireflies, also known as lightning bugs in areas of Bottom, Little Utah and Durham. Not only were we going to pay to see the little critters that light up the North Carolina nights every summer, but we had to pay a cabbie to take us there (and endure the guilt) -- a spot a little over an hour and a half outside of city limits. But, you know, you can't put a price tag on awesome cultural adventures, right?
We actually have a personal cabbie who we use whenever we have to go long distances or have large groups. I would tell you his name, but that would involve a lot of typing of an Indian name I would have to look at for 20 minutes to ensure I spelled it correctly. For the sake of time, let's call him "Manmohanishek" ... or just Del for short. So, Del had told us all about this excursion and spelled out exactly how it would work. He would pick us up, take us to see monkeys (which is pretty much the cornerstone of all Malaysian trips, it seems), take us to a great seafood restaurant, and then the firefly cruise would cap the night.
A quick pic recap before the random funny firefly story:
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| Monkey who likes bananas? Check. |
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| Old British lighthouse to spot Malacca Strait Pirate ships? Check. |
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| Jared and friends sitting on cannon to shoot at Malacca Strait Pirate ships? Check. |
In case you were wondering, Malacca Strait Pirates no longer roam the seaside of this old town. They all signed lucrative contracts as extras in Jerry Bruckheimer/Disney projects. But, we did manage to make it down to the seafood restaurant on the riverside. It was huge -- there were probably 300 people or more there. And, like any good Asian seafood restaurant, you get to see what's for dinner that night as you walk in.
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| Yum-yum! (Third cousin of Can-Can and Same-Same) Horseshoe crab eggs anyone? |
Though the thought of horseshoe crab eggs did sound yummy (which means "disgusting" in this context), we decided to go with more traditional fare such as prawns (humongous shrimp with big ol' eyeballs looking right at you while you pinch them off), a delicious sea bass (with a side of "Vote for Pedro"), some grilled grouper ... did I mention all these critters come with their head still attached? Oh, anyway, for you visual learner types:
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| Homestyle and Head on ... Just like Granny used to make! |
Now, on to the story of the fireflies ... I had to entertain you with an opening act.
Paying money to see Fireflies ... the Main Event
Jill planned this little excursion for us ... a group of about 10 of us went in total (I'm pausing so that my mom and sister can quit giggling at the phrase, "Jill planned this little excursion for us") and we finished up with the meal just before the last boat shipped out at 9:30. We were a little worried we would miss the boat, so to speak, but we got there just in time to find out shenanigans were at hand. As part of her meticulous planning skills, Jill had found out that the boat ride was RM15, or just a little short of $5 each. This seems to be a reasonable price, but when you consider we had to split a cab three ways for RM350 to get there, the whole trip gets a little pricey.
"Holiday ... 40 Ringitt!" I heard these chilling words coming out of the mouth of the tour manager. Those words have a way of kind of getting to you when you are expecting her to say, "Oh, thank you for coming Gringos! Only 15 Ringitt!!"
So yeah, unlike those friendly Chinese folks who were hawking noodles and shark fin soup, this savvy business lady was well aware she was the only show in town. We began to haggle ... she would have no part of it. Our friend Ann who is Asian-American, spent some time in Hong Kong as a teacher and knows some level of Chinese began to bargain in her native language. Still she wouldn't budge.
"This is ridiculous! We pay 3-5-0 just to get here! Website said 1-5 Ringitt!!" I fumed this broken form of the Queen's English while feeling my anger rise. As a recovering culture shock survivor, I have to watch these moments. You don't want to backslide. You might also note that pointless words such as "the" and silly things like verb tense simply don't exist in tense moments like this. And, you have to spell out multi-digit numbers to make sure everyone is on the same page -- money is the great linguistic equalizer.
"3-0 Ringitt or we walk! You lose 3-6-0 Ringitt!" Oh yeah, her story started to change right there. Yes, I realize that I was willing to pay double for what I was expecting, but I also realized I had just driven over an hour, paid RM1-5-0 for my part of the cab, had endured the guilt of having to ride in said cab, and I wasn't leaving with just a belly full of googley-eyed shrimp and a bad Napoleon Dynamite joke!! She caved. We were in for the low, low price of double what we expected. Yeah! Take that, highly successful business woman. Not only were we paying double, we were paying double to see fireflies! Bam!
As we walked triumphantly down the floating dock, Ann told me my timing was perfect. Apparently, as I was bullying up to this 8-5 pound Chinese woman, Ann was saying to her in Cantonese, "This is what happens when White people get angry. The angry White man is serious. They will leave. You do not want us to leave. You want our money."
I mean, I'm no Tom Selleck, but I play a pretty convincing angry White man when put to the challenge while a friend is playing Chinese Jedi mind tricks. So, we are now there to finally see what it was we came to see. Apparently, Malaysian fireflies are big fans of the Mangrove bushes that line the river through Kuala Selangor. So, we take off through the jungle, past the seven levels of the candy cane forest and our flatboat captain turned off the motor. There we floated, full of seafood (hopefully not caught in that disgusting river) and paying double down on what we were about to see. It was ... amazing.
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| You're not allowed to take pictures, so I stole this illegal one from Google. Two wrongs make this oh-so-right. |
As our eyes adjusted to the light, you suddenly could see thousands of the little boogers crowded through the bushes. It was an exterior illumination that would make Clark Griswold proud. Apparently, a lot of Gringos from the States come during the week of Christmas to get a feel of back home comfort (in 85 degree weather). Then, as we headed back, already thinking that it was worth the trip, we saw one of the coolest things I've ever seen. Showing only by the light of the moon, on the other banks of the river, were about 200 or so white storks lining the trees to sleep for the night. I don't have a picture for that, and I'm glad I don't. Whatever I could take (or, as in most instances, steal) would not do justice to just how beautiful and calming the scene was.
It wasn't just the sight of the birds, it was the thought of the beautiful ecological balance He has created in our world. The trees serve their purpose, the bugs theirs and then the birds all resting together to help ensure they make it through the night. All where they need to be -- all serving a bigger purpose. On this night, that purpose was to calm the angry White Tom Selleck/Sean Connery look-alike and make him feel better for turning over his hard earned Malaysian cash to the nice Chinese business lady.
Come to find out, Malaysian Fireflies and the North Carolina ones aren't "same-same." Love them both, but for different reasons now, you see.
Heading to Langkawi next week for vacation. May do my first remote blog! Until then, bye-bye (yes, that would be a fourth cousin to the others).
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