June 25, 2005

Home

Truly, back in UK I’ve got a group of friends just as important to me as family - and with working on the other side of the world, the 6 hour time difference and all of us getting sucked up in the daily grind I really worry that the ties will become strained and that next time we meet we’ll have spent too much time apart - that we share things with others and have experiences that change us into slightly different people - that were once you sat and talked all night and laughed so hard no sound comes out, suddenly you don’t have anything to say - awkward silences - failed attempts to meet up - losing track.


That scares the shit out of me - for example last time I went home was the first time it didn’t feel like actually going home - I mean that my village looked the same and everything but the faces in the pubs were all different - the pool table had other names on the board - the barman didn’t know I could run a tab - the juke box had none of the songs I wanted - the kids in the town I couldn’t recognise - simply turning up was no longer a guarantee you’d see the crew of old - and when you did there were new faces amongst them and I didn’t feel part of the loop anymore.


Even my folks place - my old room now belonged to my sister - they’d painted - bought new furniture - the cat has passed away - sold the car I used to drive - new neighbors in the street.


My favourite episode of the Simpson’s is a close run thing – they never fail to entertain no matter how many times I’ve seen them and if the older versions don’t appeal quite so much anymore, that’s only because the creators consistently raise the standards bar of animation, wit and ingenuity with each new episode.


Homer getting tripped out on fierce Chili juice was a classic, as was 22 short stories about Springfield, but for me, the one that I think stands out the most is where Homer goes to work for Megalomaniac Bond Villain Scorpio, moving the family to Scorpio’s new super tech town for Homer to work at his power station. There are so many little classic lines and scenarios that take place – for example the whole “Hammocks in the work place” thing and “HEY! Have you ever seen a man throw away his own shoe Homer!?” “ hehehe – yes once” – but the reason I mention is thus: when Homer explains that his family want to move back to Springfield, Scorpio asks “why?” And Homer replies “well lots of little things really..” and Scorpio replies: “ Ah well I can’t argue with that – it’s the little things that make up life”


He’s extraordinarily correct – it is indeed – and when Homer and the family go back Springfield is just the same as it always was - Moe’s is always his bar, lenny and carl are always at work, Apu always at the Kwik-e-mart and Mr.Burns will still never remember his name despite the fact anything remotely important that ever seems to happen to him involves Homer in some shape of form.


But people and places do change when you leave them - coming home to find its no longer home and then going back to a place you don’t call home either - just the place you live.


However today I was recovering from the night before (out bar and club hopping with the gorgeous Siebrian girl, her weird freaky boss who looks at me with worryingly loving eyes, Dutch Robin and my Russkie brother from another mother Andrey) - there was a knock on the door at around 1pm which meant I had to finally get up - I opened it to find a little man carrying a huge box of flowers - the note from Anna attached was from the little family of friends up in London wishing me happy birthday and telling me they missed me - got her parcel too with the Empire film Magazine limited edition, card and balloons and stuff - her note telling me how she was doing and what had been going on lately. It’s the little things that make up life.


I go way back with her and others back home - this last week or so in some way or another I spoke to Barnes, Coops, Cassie, Loomis, Gali, Bev, Fletch - maybe just a text or email in some cases - I know when ever I see them there will never be any awkward silences - no distance or lack of connection - we all move on to different places and may not share so many experiences together anymore, but we’ll always be there for each other where ever we are in the world and we’ll never lose touch - there’s friends and then there’s those few that you connect so strong with they are your family just as much as those with your blood - I’m lucky to have a few people like that - they are home for me - and I miss them

Spo | June 25, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Personal

June 24, 2005

Keeping your woman happy (and everyone else’s) by Mr.Noodle

The legend that is Mr.Noodle

The following is plucked from Nam tales which I documented in 2003/4 and will occiasionally update to here when I have hangover and am in need of posting inspiration.

Keeping your woman happy (and everyone else’s) by Mr.Noodle.

Road Trips “Nam style” were always entertaining affairs – The crew is usually the same, but the ever constant is myself and Tri and the unique Mr.Vho. who is our favourite driver and indeed quite a character. He is not only a Russian trained actor and singer, but also a traditional boxer here in Hanoi. He can dance the tango and the cha cha. He also has 11 girlfriends.

And a wife.

I write this and think that I could not come up with better fictional characters if I tried.

His English is fairly limited but he could chat away in russkie with comrade Vladimir fairly easily – I couldn’t place his age but imagine it to be around 40. He smokes just as much as Duong, classically commenting (via translation) that "smoking is easy to give up, I have done it hundreds of times...”

He and Duong educated me on a very common Vietnamese way of thinking, that of the attitude towards wives and girlfriends – based upon rice and noodles:

Simon (or as they pronounced at the beginning “Semen” ) you see the wife – she is like the rice – and when a man at home – he eat rice – but a man cannot have rice for every meal – just one flavour - so he must go out – and he has noodle said Duong with the slyest smug face I have ever seen

"Noodles many Flavour!” said Mr.Vho excitably

"he has many noodles" gestured Duong

when asked if he also had a fair few noodles, Duong said "something like that but not 11 – make you very tired."

Mr.Vho’s phone was a constant juke box during journeys as he, like many in the West, had a different ringtone for every “noodle”. At times humoressly not even bothering to look and answer before clicking the cancel button. Even better, as I started learning the lingo, I discovered that Pho’ means noodles and is more or less how you pronounce Mr.Vho's name. When we have to take another driver it is always a disappointment, as they aren’t really part of the family and Mr.Vho’s land rover is the sort of tank-like vehicle you need for getting about the Northern areas.

Unlike UK, closing off vast stretches of motorway moving at snails pace to complete necessary maintenance, Vietnam repairs roads as you drive – this means you have to find a way around the workers and wait for the JCB to finish its business before then trying to make it across the work in progress. This does lead to some rather hairy moments as the land rover teeters on the edge of makeshift wooden bridges and ploughs its way through Mud pits that are supposed to be alternative routes. It also means that workers can finish in quicker time, as roads are usually back the way folk intended within a month or so. However this just means that the construction moves down the hill and makes a mess of the next bit.

I’m a lucky boy in that to see as much of Vietnam as possible, you need time and money – not a lot of money I suppose – in relation to other parts of the world - but none the less if you hire a car and driver to travel all around the mountains hills and dales of Northern Vietnam, it may end up costing you quite a pretty penny to see it all. Then there is the aspect of how you know where to go? and what to do when you get there?

Having the likes of Tri and Duong around mean that you don’t need to worry about such things – The tea plantations are located at higher altitudes so you get to see images that will burn themselves upon your memory for ever - you should definitely see the evening dusk setting over the hills of Yen Bai with your own eyes – enough to bring the dead back to life.

Road trips mean long journey’s and therefore much banter – My Vietnamese improves and Mr.Vho keeps everyone entertained with his singing (when the song is a duet he humoressly attempts to sing the part of the girl in a Vietnamese chipmunk kinda way – actually this can be quite disconcerting at times). I try to give a mention to a few western CD’s but trying “Super Funky collection” caused a few furrowed brows to appear – guess it will take a little while longer before they appreciate the sheer funk genius of Stevie Wonders “Superstitious”. Slowly slowly catch a monkey.

As I explained, here in Vietnam there is the analogy of rice and noodles for wives and girlfriends – there are quite a number of ladies who are more than willing to love you long time (well an hour – erm.... not that I know) for $10 dollar - these ladies peddling their wares fit into a new category – that of “instant noodle”. Or as the crew call them “hostess” – they wanted the English translation for lady of the night and hooker and prostitute are such crude turns of phrase – therefore I went for hostess due to the amount of times that they come out with it – “look Hostess!!!” “Maybe she hostess!” etc

Later trips with Mr.Vho (Mr.Noodle) I aksed how he was keeping up with his 11 noodles (girlfriends). I now learn that this number has been reduced to 10 - when I asked him (via translation) for the reason, the reply was “Noodle past sell by date”. Legend.

Recent tales of Mr.Noodle are numerous – after work one day, he had the situation of two noodles waiting for him outside his garage – to avoid confrontation he scaled the wall out back and ran off up the road – just like Robin Askwith out of Adventures of a window cleaner. He also enlightened us with how it is that he manages to “cook” so many noodles at the same time – it’s all in the method and the magic brew apparently.

The Vho method involves “stirring” the noodle with your “spoon” slowly 7 times – then on the 8th ‘stir’ you do so quick and strong – then you go back to number 1 – very slow, until you reach 7 again, only this time there is no number 8 and on the 7th stir you move quick and strong. Basically you repeat and reduce in number down to stirring just once and then you go back up to 8 again – you do this until the noodle has, erm...reached boiling point. Cooking time? 1 and half hours is Mr.Noodles recipe for success – mix this up with some actual cooking, singing and dancing of the tango and you can make your lady a very tasty noodle......or something like that.

With 10 noodles all vying for attention, this can be quite tiring for a busy driver who also has a wife to contend with. Therefore he uses Mr.Noodles magic potion: consisting of two Goose eggs, Viet whisky and special Chinese herbs - this unique mix gives Mr.Vho the necessary will power to complete his many missions – judging by his now updated polyphonic jukebox mobiles frequent performances, his magic potion must be doing the trick – I do not, however, know whether it also gives him the “power of grey skull”.

There are things in this life you just don’t do – eating Chicken for breakfast is one, smoking on the toilet is another, letting Mr.Noodle anywhere near your girlfriend should also be added to the list - dangerous man – he offered to teach Hanh and myself how to dance the slow tango, as he says women like this very much indeed – he first said that he would teach us separately as this would be much easier – clocking what was going on bright and early, I explained that there was no way he was dancing with Ms.Hanh without my strict supervision – very dangerous man – he around noodle he will cook and leave you hungry.

One guy who should take a leaf from the vast anthology that is the Vho Noodle cook book is a compadre of Duongs – Duong explained that he was very good friends with both a man and his wife. His friend wanted some noodle time away from his wife so he told her he would be staying longer at a conference than he actually was. His wife had noticed that he had been very tired recently and that bedroom acrobatics had not been as frequent as usual – she also had picked up on a lot of little things – what these “things” exactly where Duong did not know:

“you know sometime the woman she know that something is not right but the man he is not aware – as long as he has his rice, his noodle, his beer, his tv...”

“Cigarettes?”

“yes cigarettes too..he a happy man – not complicated”

“but for woman?”

“woman complicated – some time, even myself, I do not know why a woman is angry”

“Duong, you speak the golden truth for all your fellow man”

Anyways, Duongs friend returned from his conference and spent some time living with one of his noodles – his wife, already a suspicious woman, rang his office and used a fake voice to get past the secretary (who had been told to screen the mans calls) once her husband picked up the line, she heard his voice and hung up – she knew he was in town and not at any conference.

Instead of screaming, shouting and generally going berserk (there’s a word) astonishingly she did nothing – or so it would seem. Three weeks later Duong met his friend for drinks – he looked terrible – totally exhausted – turned out that his wife had been demanding sex twice a day for the last 20 days and he couldn’t take it anymore. Consequently he couldn’t keep up with the demands of his noodles as well so now he only had his wife.

Clever woman - she can’t control his will, so she takes away his power - but if he'd known about Mr.Vho's magic potion he'd still be jumping.

Spo | June 24, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Vietnam

June 23, 2005

A seemingly insignificant turn of events….

Whales and Dolphins are believed to have an extra sense called “Bio-magnetism” which enables them to detect variations in the Earths magnetic field. Some scientists think that they use this like a map to find their way around. Their memory works not in the sort of filing/visual nature ours does, but in a way that allows them to register vibrations and automatically match them to a previous experience thus allowing them to recognise where they are straight away.....

....Sort of like really advanced mastery of De-Ja-Vu perhaps.....

If you have been smoking some of gods green finest......you mix that last paragraph or two with the concept of time and space along with our existence upon this earth and listening to Kruder and Dorfmeisters remix of bug powder dust.....you could very well be staring at the wall for a helluva long time not knowing what the fuck is going on…

....but feeling like you might have the answer if you just thought hard enough.....

Spo | June 23, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Kaneheads Kompanion | Personal

June 22, 2005

From Russia with Love….

Vladi told us that the visitors comprised of a man and a woman - the man wore yellow cords and bright green t-shirt - he looked like he just came from a sixties volleyball game and chess challenge after party - the woman was called Zarina - she was from Siberia - Vladi said that she might not live up to the standard of the women encountred during my Moscow experience - we thought she would be a cigar chomping husky russkie, marching through customs downing a bottle of vodka before she had to declare it - a shotputter of note - a woman who could pack a punch......

........she had been on a plane for 30 hours and she had the flu - she was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.....

she's a tea taster and we are taking her diving this weekend - I'm going to try and talk to her if I can remove my jaw from the floor - seriously - she would make a good dog break its leash.

Spo | June 22, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia

June 22, 2005

Penchanski!

You’re a maverick cop on the edge!
The drinks turned ya’ into a loose cannon!
It pains me to do this son, but I’m going to have to ask for your badge,
even though he was your partner you’re just too close to this one God Damn It!
-
“Sarge
I love ya like a father
but if you try and take my badge from me
it’ll be over my cold dead body
- and on a day like today -
that shit just aint gonna happen
-
So fuck you - I’m going to get me a bagel and then I’m gonna start shooting people that dserver to be shot....”

Spo | June 22, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 21, 2005

Mari Jo made me…….

...... Think about how it is that planes fly and ships float when ......

..... they’re big fuck off great metal things............

Spo | June 21, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 21, 2005

Good Fish!

Some fish living in South East Asia get drunk by gorging themselves on the fermented fruit of the Chaulmoogra tree when it drops into the water below.

After “closing time” they helplessly flat down stream until they can sober up.

Good Fish!

Spo | June 21, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 20, 2005

That’s what makes him super!

Well connected Rich businessman Aduguna Sutowo got sentenced to 7 years on Friday – New years day, this guy had pulled out a pistol and shot a barman in the head over an altercation as to whether a bill had been paid or not – he did it in full view of numerous witness’s in the main bar of the Hilton Hotel here in Jakarta – 7 years – and the reduced sentence is because judges considered a letter from the family of the victim supporting (yes supporting!) the accused!!!! Something’s not right there surely! They say common sense is not that common but Christ on a bike you’d think that anyone with a semblance of powerful influence looking at this would see there is something rotten and intervene! And Schapelle Corby gets 20 years for 4.1kgs of Mari-jo!


Good job Indonesia - a legal system so fucked up it makes Califiornia look level headed (MJ, OJ, Rodney King...it’s the place to go if you want to commit crime! almost impossible to get convicted! and it’s hot and sunny!)


Jakarta might indeed be a bit of corrupt shit hole but there are fantastic plus points to living out here as opposed to the western world – sure, most of this is based around the value of the western wage against the local currency – but the uncontrolled availability of pirate goods is another huge plus point. For under $1 you can buy a DVD or CD of any film/album you can think of from the vendors stalls based in the back of Ratu Plaza – sometimes they are shitty cinema camera jobs, sometimes the film gets all fecked up and stilted, sound and picture out of synch, frame freeze, stuff like that – but they always take back any dodgy ones and replace if they can – plus regular buyers always get the good advice for the girls behind the stalls – “ini Bagus?” “no meester, tidak bagus – very bad copy” – begging the question of why sell it in the first place I suppose, but then depending on the film you can sometimes put up with crappy stds.


I’m watching a lot of OZ and Without a Trace right now – my two latest discoveries from the very best of US TV – these follow the likes of buying box sets of the West Wing, Deadwood, Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, The Shield, 24, CSI, Boomtwon, Simpson’s, Alias…. With the box sets you can get much more sucked into the characters and stories than you would catching the odd weekly show – plus as far as the seller is concerned 6 disc box set = $6 – so you can take risks on stuff you might not like only to be surprised by how good it is and why you’ve never tapped into it before. What was I watching all those years the Soprano’s was on and I never really cared it existed!?! It’s the greatest TV pogramme ever made for gods sake! and it is now impossible to watch the antics of the US government without thinking that it all really does go on behind the scenes just like the West wing. I’d vote for Bartlett – even if he did lie about the MS thing.


Saturday was another classic night of loaf at Robin & Yvettes place – evening rolls around and wine starts flowing, barbecue hots up, good music from Death Cab for Cutie and Razor light and good friends shooting the breeze – well, shooting the humidity. The evening ended around 3 or 4am and we had moved on to destroying a bottle of Absolute – The Confederations cup was on and Robin and I argued about whether Patrick Viera should play for Senegal or France – a subject neither of us really care about in real life but under the influence of Vodka seemed willing to die for.


Earlier we could of watched Batman Begins, but decided to wait for the cinema release next week as it is looking like its going to be a damn fine film – The director of Memento is always going to bring something to the table, while if ever there was an actor that could do a decent job of giving suspension of disbelief to the whole idea of some rich guy being a dark brooding bit fucked up in the head vigilante dressed up as a bat and then Christian Bale is it. Besides we have luxury cinemas out here – complete with waiters, beer, lazy boy seats and blankets – when a film is worth seeing it is worth seeing in the true exalted loafdom that these cinemas provide.


I always used to argue with a good friend of mine, Darcy, that Batman was just a nutter in a suit and not a real superhero like Wolverine or the Silver surfer – the problem with this argument is that instead of being 10 years old, we had it when we were 18 and fiercely ruined on amphetamines sitting in a field somewhere – these arguments would get quite heated and animated at times –
“he can’t fucking fly and he has no super powers! you fucking asshole!”
“that’s what makes him super! you cuntbubble!”


– and so on – then we would see a deer or rabbit – get momentarily distracted and forget the subject of conversation – moving on to the many ways that Kylie Minogue is the finest woman on the planet and Matt Le Tissier the greatest footballer ever to grace the beautiful game (even if he was a bit lazy) – here we found agreement – but Batman was a sticking point forever more – maybe Batman Begins can finally convince me of Darcy’s convictions.

Spo | June 20, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia

June 17, 2005

Mari Jo made me…….

......Wait for too many kettles to boil....

......That I haven’t actually turned on, In the first place.......

Spo | June 17, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 17, 2005

Written my dream it would seem…

I had a cracking dream the other day – one of those lucid, vivid experiences were you wake and feel like you’ve been somewhere else the last few hours – the alternate waking reality of your sleeping self - and memories and emotions are still fresh as though you’ve just experienced them in the real world.


These feelings and memories quickly begin to fade within moments of awaking – your vessel of dreams shipwrecked on the shore, as shattered pieces of the wreckage slowly begin to sink – but if you grab a pen quick enough you can salvage something to tell you were you’ve been these last few hours.


From what I scribbled at 2 or 3am I could decipher the following:


I was on a spaceship orbiting earth that looked a bit like that hotel in Dubai that is shaped like a giant yacht sail – there was an almighty smash and another huge space station had crashed into it. I was running round circular corridors that had various different red numbered doorways dotted around the side – there were explosions and sparks everywhere but real no smoke and fire or other people for that matter and everything was white.


I was still quite calm and talking via some sort of intercom thingy (I guess) to my real life boss in Holland, Mr.Flip (he is a sort of tea obi wan kenobi) while I was looking for a way out – he was talking about something else and I was trying to be pleasant enough but get off the exploding space station at the same time – and then he noticed that everything was kicking off big time around me (I don’t know where he was – maybe on earth watching the whole thing on tv) and matter or factly said something along the lines of “well I think you better go now simon – probably time to get out of there – good luck – I know you can do it” which is a phrase he always uses when trying to get me to buy tea from people at prices they won’t possibly consider selling at.


Then I must of darted into one of the doors, as things really began to come apart and I remember being faced with a sort of revolving circular door like you have in hotels – but it looked like the inside of a film reel – it had something to do with running the power of the station I think – anyways I pushed the glass to make the spiral door motion spring into action and headed for the exit on the other side – and then lots of noise and spinning – and then I’m out the doorway and just like that I’m walking out of the backdoor of my garage back home in UK – and I can sort of remember thinking “what the fuck? Isn’t this my….” and then I continued up the side path and the back garden looked like a desolate wasteland as opposed to the mini jungle on a hill it currently represents – everything was sort of grey and silent.


I went in the back door, through to the kitchen and then into the living room feeling pretty span out – my mother sitting on the couch just looked up at me and started talking away like she only saw me five minutes ago – she looks at me and sees that I’m not really sure of what’s going on – and I look at her and ask her the date and she says “January 12th” and then I ask what year, “2006” she says and then with that I’m on my knees, then flat out lying back on the carpet, head in hands and I say “but today is….” and then my mother finishes my sentence for me in a sort of matter of fact kind of fashion “oh you think it’s….” I can’t remember/didn’t write down what date she said, but suffice to say I think the general idea was I’d gone into the future by about 5 or 6 years or so and this wasn’t surprise to her as the date she finished my sentence with was the one that of the space stations explosion.


After the space station exploded this apparently seriously fucked up the space time continuum and the general physics of the world as we know it – all manner of freaky shit happened on a day to day basis all over the place – for example my gran was sitting on the little couch by the front window but she wasn’t really there – it was an imprint of her image burned in time – your hand passed right through her – all the plant life dying out, people popping up out of nowhere, things seeming to be there yet not physically existing – all of it because of this almighty explosion in outer space all these years back.


So I’m dealing with this when none other than me walks into the room – and me is pretty excited to see me – while I am pretty shocked to see me – who for the purposes of this explanation will now be called future me – and from what I’ve scribbled, future me had been doing a proud old job of fucking up my relationships with people I cared about during the last six years or so since the space station blew up – and I can remember that I spoke to my friend Anna for example who had a new haircut and red ribbons in her hair – and she wasn’t best pleased with me – well wasn’t best pleased with future me in reality – but I tried to explain that future me had fucked everything up (the wee tyrant) and this didn’t get me anywhere as future me wasn’t there at the time and she thought I was future me – you see?…


So I can see from writing the above that it doesn’t make a lot of sense - it’s a dream so it wasn’t likely to - but the accidental time travel thing and a fucked world with new laws of physics along with meeting myself and then trying to right all the wrongs future me had made in the last 6 years – that has the basis of a story I could write – the forming of an idea that I could mould into the book I’ve always wanted to come up with someday.


So I told my friend Robin about it over beers and instead of frowning a lot and getting up and going to talk to someone else, he informed me that my dream sounded just like the book he was reading called the “Time Travelers Wife” by Audrey Niffenegger (great name) were in a guy gets a illness meaning he is always jumping around in time and meeting his future self and future wife (whom he doesn’t know is his wife) at various different points in existance. It’s apparently a bit of a quirky love story and doesn’t have any space stations and fucked up physics of the space time continuum but he says I’ve more or less dreamed the basis of the crux of the story. He’s going to lend it to me tmw.


So someone has more or less already written my dream it would seem


Bugger.

Spo | June 17, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Ojeni | Personal

June 17, 2005

Stamping on my soul….

I’m not sure I’m ever going to get over this – come through this – it’s too hard – every time I approach the subject there is still the belief that it’s going to turn out ok but every time it’s the same crushing disappointment over and over again – stamping on my soul and screaming failure two inches from my face.

It doesn’t matter which way I turn or what I do to avoid the same thing happening over and over again – I’m doomed – there must be a way past this – others have overcome it – but it’s been like this for months – I can’t remember a time when there was anything else apart from this feeling.

Sometimes there is a breakthrough – a feeling that new ground has been reached and an end is in sight – like we have an understanding after all this fighting – but just when you think you’re there another bolt from the blue knocks you sideways from a place you hadn’t considered and you are back to square one – my attempts to find a new approach rejected.

One day things will be okay again and I will get past this and I’ll believe that life can be more than a series of crushing disappointments.

Yes one day I will get past the end of level alien invasion whilst trying to escape the initial spaceship in “repel covenant borders” on nightmare level of Halo 2…..

Spo | June 17, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Film / TV / Music | Kaneheads Kompanion | Ojeni

June 16, 2005

Phoebe Cates was one hot cheeka!

When I was in Toronto last year I went to see the Maple leafs play Buffalo and realised that while the experience is quite an assault on the senses as far as advertising goes, there are some definite plus points over watching sports in the UK.


1) Violence - there was a guy called Tai Domi and he was a mean looking badass mofo - his purpose on the ice was to hurt other players - a fight broke out between two lesser players who kind of skated in circles and held onto each others arms for a bit - they eventually pusseyed out of actually going hell for leather and opted for what seemed to be a spot of groping and hugging - the crowd really hated this with a passion and they were ceremonially booed from the ice - even the referee looked disappointed as they took their place in the sin bin - the sin of not fighting properly was their crime and Mr.Domi was to show them the error of their ways.


Toronto were losing something like 6-3 and time was ticking down - Domi butted into some guy, downed sticks and went straight at it like gangbusters - two punches - proper full on jaw breakers and the other guy is down on the ice - but our man Domi is not finished yet - he goes for the kill and smacks him one more time - fist meets head meets ice - knocked the fuck out - carried from the ice by his team mates leaving a pool of blood behind. What did Domi do? skated the rink arms aloft!!!! the crowd cheered him like a king!!!! I’d never sen anything like it!! what did the ref do? absolutely bleeding nothing apart from pointing to the sin bin! - like this guy didn’t know where it was already!


Califargafuckinglistic!


In comparison when you see the diving and feigning injury that footballers (I cannot and will not ever refer to it as soccer) indulge in, it’s a bit embarrassing. Rugby makes up for it I guess, but it’s nothing compared to the fights in ice hockey. Violence in sport is also usually so unexpected and painful - like when people get hit in the face by the ball really hard or take a nasty fall and bust a bone the wrong way - it’s that cringing moment that makes the crowd collectively appreciate they are not on the receiving end. Never have I ever been more thankful that I was not on the receiving end of the sporting injury I had just witnessed as I was when I saw Tai Domi smack that guys head into the ice. God damn that must of hurt.


2) Hot women handing out really good food - in UK we have shitty cold over priced pies that allegedly contain some form of meat product - these are served to us through a hatch in a cold dungeon like surrounding by a woman covered in tattoo’s who looks like she could beat the shit out of you - in America they have hot 19 year old women running round with keypads delivering numerous munch worthy items like pizza and hot dogs to your seat while you watch the game.


3) Cheerleaders - not with ice hockey obviously, but in general this is a brilliant idea that I’m gravely disappointed our sports have not managed to properly embrace it. Beautiful women in tight clothing jumping up and down - the pure divine simplicity of the idea is astounding.


But after these areas, there still isn’t enough to suck me in - although it’s fast and furious there is too much coming and going of players - not enough tension in the game - too many time outs that seem designed for adverts and making people in the audience kiss each other in front of everyone else on the big screen (try that in UK! desperate people get married on the field at half time on occasion and the crowd sings “you don’t know what you’re doing” and “does she take it up the arse?” at them - every girls dream) - it also didn’t seem like the players really gave a shit about the score - like it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to them to lose in front of the fans that love the team they play for.


I think that a large part of sports popularity is that it is ingrained in the culture you grow up in from an early age - not just the watching or the playing of the game itself, but everything that surrounds it - not ness-sir-celery all the hype, the media talk, the gossip, the personalities and the merchandise - but the binding elements that mean that everyone will have an opinion and the subject can cross social classes/race/country even language - when I got stuck in Mozambique and couldn’t speak Portuguese and the people I was with couldn’t speak English we could communicate through the names of football players, teams, scores and events like the world cup final.


You’ve got the good times and bad times that you share in collective unison with friends, family and complete strangers - when victory or defeat can bring mass elation or misery to millions all at once.


And sport also usually provides excellent reasons to meet up with friends and get wasted as well.


So these things will be true for everyone attached to the sport they care about in their respective country - I’m probably never going to get into Baseball, American football or Ice Hockey as much as USA/Canada is never likely to truly embrace football, rugby or cricket - the two cultures are intertwined with the sports they love and those respective games seem destined to remain on opposite sides of the Atlantic.


However I am getting into basketball due to the finals being played on ESPN here in Asia and there is no football at the moment. I couldn’t ever see the hook with basketball as I figured that one of the things about football that makes it so special, is that you invest all that concentration and time into a building of tension between goals - when a goal is scored there is an explosion of pent up emotion - like having sex with a woman for 30 mins instead of 5 - see Train-spotting when Renton says ”that was nearly as good as when Archie Gemmil scored against Holland in 1979” - with basketball though, balls going in the hoop every few of minutes would lose their attraction after you’ve cheered for the 30th time in 40 minutes.


Or so I’ve always thought - now I appreciate it’s like piece of elastic and both teams are at either end - the further apart the score gets the more the team doing the stretching is likely to break the elastic in their favour - this doesn’t make for great entertainment if it’s a white wash but with the fact that it takes only a matter of seconds to go from defence at one end, to attack at the other, there is always that chance your team can come back from being 10 or 12 points down even when there is only a few minutes on the clock - the tension builds right up to the final quarter and if it’s still close by few points when you get to the last minute then it is really white knuckle stuff.


All those individual baskets don’t mean half as much as if your team scores, makes a steal and then scores again without reply - then the gap is getting bigger and the elastic is getting thinner in the middle - that second basket is the money shot.


So it’s growing on me - and out here they’ve got the coverage to keep up with it as well - I want the Pistons to win because I remember them playing the Chicago Bulls when I was in Florida on holiday back when I was 14.


One thing though - every time I watch basketball I can’t get that song out of my head from the end of Teen Wolf - you know the one - that power-rock-casio-synth-shoulder-pad-big-hair number with the chorus that has somebodies dad wailing “Wiiiiinnnnnn in the end!!! you’ve got to win in the end! Wiiiiinnnn....” etc etc - Michael J Fox looking every inch the weediest little sweaty punk this world has ever seen, Hi-fiving it with that blubbering chunky guy as they turn the tables and prove they don’t need the wolf after all - be yourself and you’ll win in the end - what a crock of shit - if ever there were two of the most unlikely basketball players to step foot on a court - chunky butler and Marty McFly - imagine them against the Pistons! no fucking way!


But you believe they can do it because of that chessey bag of 80’s synth shite playing in the background.


I fell off the bonnet of my mates moving car pretending I was teen wolf. I loved the way everyone reacted when he changed into this freak of nature – a possibly dangerous carnivorous man eater – a creature of famed myth and legend – who’s very existence could throw the belief system of society into chaos – something the government would want to capture and study in some Area 51 style base and make wolf soldiers from his genes - but wait! He can play ball! Forget everything! Don’t call the men in white coats!


This hairy bastard is going to win us the championship! God damn it!


“Give…. Me ….. a keg….. of beer”

And that Pamela girl wanted to fuck his hairy ass big time – no questions asked – no consideration of how all that hair might kinda make her feel like she was making out with the neighbors dog or what their kids were gonna look like – she wanted puppy love doggy-style from the wolf man. Oh yeah!


Yet there was some seriously dark evil shit going on in the background of Teen Wolf – not Styles weird freaky friend who never liked Scotty again once he turned into the wolf man - I’m talking about the father and the headmaster – he killed Scotty’s dads wife with a shotgun! And they still live in the same town! No recriminations after all these years! Scotty’s dad is gonna get medieval on that guy as one day – do an American werewolf in London up on the moors number on his ass! Imagine that – your teacher blows your mums head off with a shotgun and laughs about it to your father when ever they meet – ok there’s circumstances here what with being a werewolf and everything - but still – that’s a bitter pill to swallow for any man or beast.


Christ on a bike – it’s nearly 9pm – this post really has gone in a slightly off centre direction from were it started……


Hmmmm….. Phoebe Cates as Poof – damn that was one hot cheeka!

Spo | June 16, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Film / TV / Music | Kaneheads Kompanion | Ojeni | Personal

June 16, 2005

Getting home, magic house and the next Jack

I got home late yesterday and found magic apartment was all set up for loafing - I live just up the road from the office and if you get the right time of the day and the right break for a short cut, it takes 10 mins to get back – although some days it can take 45mins - and there is never a reason for the mayhem - it's just Jakarta.

One thing is for sure you can't drive like a normal person - on the toll road a guy undertook me yesterday at 90km or so on the hard shoulder while I was indicating to turn left off at the next upcoming exit - I had seen him coming as I've gotten used to checking for these things, but I doubt the average Jakartan is as wily. This is not to say I am a good driver in any way - it's just that I have good survival instincts if a little clumsy - as far as driving goes I don't think I've ever parked properly in 10 years and there are some people who will simply not get in the car with me - of course in Jakarta I fit right in.

Motorbikes are the worst as any doofus can get hold of one - you see kids of like 12 or so driving around the kampung areas (narrow warren like housing estates crammed into what ever space is available) - most of the cars on the road are hoofing great Toyota Kejan things and whilst driving the bikes buzz round you like flies on a wildebeest - there is usually so much going on with other cars, satanic bus drivers and numerous other random hazards that you don't pay attention to the bikes - they just have to look after themselves and hope they don't get in your way. I’ve seen some nasty accidents since getting here, but they don’t happen with the regularity they used to in Hanoi. In Nam every single person has a bike (with no helmet) due to cheap china imports and the introduction of credit 3-4 years ago - also no one really has a license and more or less teach themselves.

They all have a sort of fucked up sixth sense to tell were everyone is on the road and beep their horns all the time to help tell other riders when they change lanes. The government decided that it should be illegal to ride without a helmet and didn't give much in the way of notice - everyone rushed out to buy one and then accidents went up because no-one could really hear the horns anymore (they sound like road runner) - the government abolished it and everyone went back to wearing caps.

What usually happens in Jakarta gridlock is that you have a steady congested stream of bikes weaving their way down the side of the stagnant traffic - they use what ever space is available including the pavements – and when the average bear wants to get in or out, instead of indicating and winding down the window waving your hand left and slowly edging out bit by bit, you just pull out at a steady pace with no stopping and expect bikes to deal with it - it's not like either of you are traveling at any kind of speed, so you won’t send any of them over the bonnet – they just stream round you or bump into the tires – and nobody ever complains – just the way it is - as to do otherwise will mean sitting there hoping for a break that never comes - your sanity will slowly dissipate into the multicolored hazy evening fog of pollution that settles above this groaning mass of convoluted chaos known as Jakarta.

Once back in the den of loaf overlooking the city, I arrive to find the place cleaned, clothes washed and ironed, shopping done and dinner cooked – it is a magic apartment – or so it would seem – there is a little old woman called Neh-neh who appears after I leave for work and goes before I return – she doesn’t speak much English and I don’t speak much Bahasa but the times we do bump into each other we manage to communicate through a variety of grins, hand movements and head nodding. She says “this one here apa ini here this one so this one juga bisa this one” a lot and I generally nod and agree and then see what happens and determine if it should continue.

My Liverpool shirt blew over the balcony once and I couldn’t figure out were on earth it’d got to – I know those shirts are popular over here (real ones) but I still didn’t think she stole it as despite not understanding what she says, I can tell she is an inherently decent individual – I figured I had left it at Robin’s or at the gym. She worried about it all week though as she thought I thought she'd stolen it, you see. So after some extensive Miss Marple style investigative jiggery-pokery she eventually found it had blown down onto someone else’s balcony on a lower floor and she went and retrieved it. I'm on floor 14 so that's a fair bit of trial and error - top work you wee gobbldigook talking bundle of genius – she’s fantastic – she cooks spaghetti Bolognese every other day unless you tell her not to, hides things were I can’t find them like the remote and I think she wears my socks but her job is always safe as long as I am here.

I loafed out in the lazy boy (bought with the winnings from betting on Liverpool winning the champions league – which they did on penalties s after being 3-0 down and getting it back to 3-3 in the greatest final I’ve ever seen – I thought I’d only put a tenner at 11-1 on back in March and then later on checked the website and found I’d actually put 25 – grinning like the Cheshire Cat on coke I was) and flicked on the TV Cinemax was half way through one of the harshest war movies I’ve ever seen – "When trumpets fade" is a bit of a buffty title, but the film itself really makes you appreciate how lucky you are that you will never (hopefully) have to experience anything like trench warfare – it just seemed that it didn’t matter how much training people had or what precautions they took, they had just as much chance of being blown to smithereens as anyone else – strong stuff - like the beginning of saving private Ryan but much longer and more punishing.

Good actors too, notably Martin Donovan, Ron Eldard & Timothy Olyphant – who I think is gonna be a big star after watching HBO’s Deadwood – you’ll know him when you see him – he’s the cool but a bit evil dealer guy from “The girl next door” and “Go” – got a Jack Nicholson thing going on, mark my words.

Spo | June 16, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Film / TV / Music

June 15, 2005

On the 7th day God created Marijuana –

and

On the 8th day he created The Duck Billed Platypus –

Spo | June 15, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 14, 2005

Remember…

Spo | June 14, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 14, 2005

“Fevered ego’s tainting our collective unconscious…”

I'm just trying to rid the world of these fevered ego's that are tainting our collective unconscious and making us pay a higher psychic price than we need to"

Bill Hicks - after explaining the theory behind his idea for a T.V show "lets all hunt and kill Billy Ray Cyrus" to be followed the next season by "lets all hunt and kill Michael Bolton"

"each week we unleash the hounds of hell and chase that no talent cracker asshole all over the globe until we catch him by the fruity little pony tail of his and stick a shot gun in his mouth...."

I so wish he was still with us to comment on the circus freak fiasco that is the Michael Jackson trial - who I woke up to find was acquitted today (I hope the same collective world forehead slapping and exclamation of "doh!" union that took place when Bush got re-elected, is happening again when they see this headline).

Finally the whole sordid seedy spectacle can be removed from the headlines and the rat faced spindly ghost man child can retreat to which ever cave he sees fit and that will be the last we hear of him. I didn't follow this story into all the grisly details but it kept on cropping up every so often on the news and what I understood was this: he is a very troubled guy who probably shouldn’t be anywhere near kids and all the people accusing him were money grabbing publicity hounds who sacrificed any truth they might have been preaching in the chase for the almighty dollar. By the bells of St Christopher, even the jurors are working on book/movie/TV deals!

Overall the celebrity phenomenon engulfed all of them and nobody can walk away from this with any dignity or self respect.

All I hope for is that any kid who gets invited to Never land in the future has parents who have the good sense to turn down the offer and that any of the people involved with the trial - be they witness, juror, lawyer or security guard - doesn't make a penny.

And also that the sight of him getting into his limo and being driven from the court house is the last we see of Michael Jackson.

But in this world, what are the chances of that happening?

The Thriller album is still Califragafunkinglistic though

Spo | June 14, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Film / TV / Music

June 14, 2005

Indonesian president’s phone plan backfires

A bid by Indonesia's first directly elected president to be closer to his people backfired over the weekend - he publicised his mobile phone number and thousands of calls promptly crashed the line.

As soon as Mr Yudhoyono gave out his number - +62 811 109 949 for those outside Indonesia - the media started broadcasting it nationwide. Within minutes the presidential mobile was inundated with calls and text messages, and by yesterday morning the flood of complaints had become so great that the service was overwhelmed

"The number is now clogged and cannot be used anymore. The president said there should be five more numbers, but we need to install a new computerised system first" Presidential spokesman Andi Mallarangeng

In his infinite wisdom good ol Bambang (sounds like a Flinstones kid doesn't he? the last one was called Megawati which sounded like a transformer) invited the nation to text msg him if they had a problem - this is Indonesia - everyone has a problem....

Spo | June 14, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia

June 13, 2005

Tea Taster by day - Monkey Catcher by night….

Friday was a classic night in the realms of debauchery and ruinedness - Jakartan nightlife makes up for it's lack of class with good quantities of loud music, cheap alcohol and fast women - and that's always a good thing every once in a while. To a point.

The area known as Blok M has a seedy collection of dens of iniquity wherein sultry vixens head for the nearest bulging wallet and display no concern as to who the owner is. This is the kind of place where a womans opening line of conversation is often "look at this" and then she proceeds to show you her "portfolio" of pictures saved to her mobile phone.

Real relationship material - "so how did you two meet?" .... "erm.... why not show them honey!"

The above is the reason that many say that Jakarta is a carefree young mans dream - in fact it is more of a carefree old mans dream - and carefree means lack of dignity and respect in many cases - although there are tales to be told of older guys getting together with girls young enough to be their daughter and living happily ever after - Young Indonesian women first and foremost want financial security and someone to treat them right - older guys want to recapture their youth and perk up retirement - neither of them are hurting anyone, so generally, good luck to them.

For me, while no saint, I can't see how you can be happy that a girl is going home with you for reasons other than who you are - she's looking at the clock (yes I said clock) and thinking of the money and the guys trying not to notice the bored look in her eye, realising he would be feeling pretty ashamed of himself if he wasn't so drunk. There's not a lot of good that comes out of these situations.

Friday we didn't end up in Blok M - we ended up in BATS - a high class night club which, as you descend the stairway, reminds you of an upscale Titty Twister from Dusk til Dawn. BATS has its fair share of vampires, but its not all below board - they've got good live music, fast service and prices in level with bars of London and Hong Kong. They don't water down the spirits and it might very well be the head-office of the "hot chick community".

I was telling my friend that if you remove vital words from James Bond films and replace them with "Potato" how much you laugh its a good way to determine how drunk you are. "The man with the Golden potato" I said and he promptly burst into laughter and his drink went up his nose which really fucked him up for a while. At this point the girl behind us leaned in and said "The spy who loved potatoes" which surprised the shit out of me for two reasons - 1) such a comment suggested she had character - something so often lacking in these kind of situations at 2am 2) she was from Indonesia and she knew James Bond movie titles well enough to see the drunken humor in adding potato to them.

Her name was Amerie and I don't mind telling you that we had mucky drunken monkey bedroom acrobatics later on that evening/morning. God damn it.

Then the next day I honored my promise to attend 11am Bahasa lessons with the religious well meaning hamster man who tries to teach me the local lingo. Afterwards I went to the Gym despite feeling like a washed up drunken otter who had been swimming in Vodka all night and then put in an oven for an hour or so. I have to go the gym because otherwise I will one day end up being bigger than the moon. I am not one of those people that can get away with not paying any attention to staying on the planet – if I don’t at least try to follow the rules of healthy living I won’t last very long – and after too long paying no attention while enjoying the fruits of Vietnam, I’m now getting my comeuppance - but I’m slowly making progress and now can run for 20 minutes without wanting to be shot at the end of it – which is a massive improvement on January when I started going with any conviction.

Anyways – a Saturday of suffering, but suffering with a wicked look of satisfaction hidden at the back of my eyes, passed to evening when I watched the Station Agent which starred a dwarf version of Russell Crowe, the hippy crazy sister from Six feet under and a kind hearted stoner who runs a hotdog van. One of the best films I’ve seen in a very, very long time – I think the message I took from it was that you might think you have problems and that the world revolves around you sometimes - but if you pay attention, you’ll realise there are other decent people in the world with their own shit to deal with, so true friends will be there for you but you’ve got to be there for them in return. The station agent never lets anyone into his life thinking everyone is either being kind to him out of sympathy or can’t wait to make a joke out of his appearance – but once he moves to a new town he gradually lets his guard down and well…. Shit! watch the movie! It’s a quiet, decent minded story about what’s good in life and the value friendship – I hope that doesn’t sound like it sucks too much – like one of Robin Williams man-child pictures “he was a mentally handicapped Russian robot tramp who just wanted to learn the meaning of love and friendship” – that man can be so slapworthy at times.

So when Sunday came around and another dose of torture in the gym finally killed me off – I returned to my humble abode and sank into my lazy boy chair and read the UK Sunday times while listening to Coldplays new album – which after a bit of whining & organ grinding, grows on you until you realise it’s genius. I cancelled the rest of the day from this point onwards.

The best part of the Sunday Times is the awards of the week section – this week there was an award for the fool who stole a bottle of brandy in Buffalo, dropped it, ran off and then got arrested when he later returned to drink the puddle with a straw – there was another for the 19 stone Russian woman who sat on an armed robber until the police arrived – Japanese people who made clothes for chickens also received similar kudos - finally there was one for the young counciller running for mayor in San Antonio called Julian Castro. He lost out 49% to 51% when it was revealed that he got his twin brother Joaquin to stand in for him at some flag-waving-happy-clappy Texas river parade while he attended an important campaign meeting instead (brilliant! I’d of voted for him, not against him!

I also learned that the state of Florida has encountered a 25% rise in birth rates after the succession of tornado’s and hurricanes that swept across it 9 months ago led to folk staying in doors with no electricity, lots of candles and an urge to do what comes naturally.

After loafing in my impossibly comfortable chair for far longer than is socially acceptable, I decided that although I greatly enjoyed my Friday nights cavalcade of sin, I must not succumb to the devilish temptation to do it every weekend – so I have decided to rescue monkeys instead.

Yes - rescue monkeys in Indonesia - I saw an article in the Jakarta post and these folk get phone calls about Monkeys being ill treated or abused around Jakarta and then they go and catch and rescue them - they bring them back to health and release them on a special private monkey island tagged with micro chips to make sure they don't get into any more trouble.

At the moment I've told them that I'm free at weekends and have a car to knock about in if they need extra transport - I know computers, will work for free and love monkeys (doesn't everyone?) so I might be of some use to them - and if not I'll adopt one of the little buggers as these folk are doing a stand up job in difficult conditions.

But if they do let me help out then I will want some sort of uniform and a mask - and possibly a monkey catching super hero moniker to which I must always be referred - something like "Simian the Brave" or "The Brother of Bonobo".....

Oh and there are two girls that run the show here in Jakarta, one Spanish and one Dutch, and they indeed might be described as being members of the hot chick community.

What? I'm doing it for the monkeys!

Honest Guvnor....

Spo | June 13, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia

June 10, 2005

We’ll always have Hanoi….

So girl in Vietnam thing - yes - well - you see - its complicated is what it is - messy cross culture Mcguffin with arranged marriages and having to make decisions too quickly that I'd like to have had more time to ponder on - and there's an army colonel and his dying parents to consider as well. Let me explain:

When I arrived in Nam back in May 2003, I had to set up an office from scratch to handle sourcing tea samples and all the admin that came with the contracts that hopefully followed. I was trying to develop sales of the black and green harsh tasting cack that Vietnam tea resembles - this involved lots of trial and error and more than a bit of traveling to grubby broken factories holed up in the back and beyond of Northern Vietnam. Once we arrived at these factories we set about seeing what potential could be wrung from them as far as making half drinkable cheap tea went. Then we had to offer out samples of what we found to buyers around the world, persuading them that it could be blended/hidden with better stuff from other countries to reduce the overall price of cuppas.

Now then, one such private tea producing company was high up on my initial list of places to check out as they had a fairly extensive factory and plantation area and upon first tasting their tea was mildly less poisonous than most of the others I'd been subjected to. Once I arrived I met a crazy old noisy director who broke wind mid-sentence and didn't acknowledge it several times during our first meeting.

As further meetings took place over the next couple of years, I understood that as well as regular flatulence, her other main features were: maintaining she is right at all times, saying yes to everything you propose even if she knows it is blatantly not possible and refusing to discuss realistic prices which she will always need 10cts more than you are actually prepared to pay (which doesn't sound a lot but that's per kilo and there's shabillions of kilos - well, thousands anyway). Basically during discussions she never lets you (via translation) get a word in edgeways and talks nonsense for hours. She was always covered in jewelry and reminded me of a Vietnamese Tina Turner out of Mad Max 3. I liked her immensely even though she often drove me insane and made my life much more difficult than it needed to be.

The Mad Bint also had a translator called Hanh, who was mighty fine in many ways and lived in Hanoi running the representative office for the factory based in the hills (Aha! hope you weren't thinking that I was going to tell you I was actually in love with the crazy old bint!!). The good thing about dealing with the crazy woman was that you got to go see Hanh I liked her in a very different way to the way I liked her Director, even though she also often drove me insane and made my life much more difficult than it needed to be.

The first time I was introduced to Hanh I blathered on in a typically English way that we should have lunch so we could get to know each other as we'd hopefully be doing a bit of business in the future. She looked shocked but in a good way and exclaimed that I "move very quickly" - something which I am famously useless for doing the exact opposite of when it comes to women - I immediately slipped into useless foppish gibberish and tried to dig myself out of the hole I was in - famously explaining that "no! no! sorry - I wasn't trying to... you know.. I mean not that I wouldn't .... well what I mean to say is that I was asking you out for a discussion about business..... not because I thought you were good looking.... not that I don't think that you are good looking.. which you are of course... but that's not what I meant .... so lunch then?" - I had said all this in a an embarrassed hectic fluster in front of a room of people during a meeting (although most of them couldn't understand me, I think they got the general gist that I was making a twat out of myself) and Hanh thought I was amusing enough if more than a little strange and agreed.

Hanh is fantastic – Spiky, opinionated, witty, devious and lusciously curvaceous in all the right places, she has a million bags and shoes and a million combinations for these. She says she can’t dance but she does when she thinks no one is watching - until she met me she had never had pizza and now loves it much more than she will ever admit - she never wants people to think she has not eaten all her food so she subtly hides on other peoples sitting around her - she loves monkeys - she talks absolute nonsense in her sleep - she teaches English after she finishes work -she drives her motorbike very, very, very fast and talks on her mobile phone while doing it - she picks up other peoples children and kisses them which I’ve told her she shouldn’t do if she doesn’t know them very well - she has a brown jumper which makes her look good enough to eat - she had never seen Pulp Fiction and after doing so thought it was genius and but admitted that she wanted to go and get a $5 shake as soon as possible before we could do anything else - she is very intuitive about folk and not often wrong - she can speak Chinese and Japanese and sounds very funny when she does - she cannot swim but would like to learn - she read the books of the God father series and then we watched the whole trilogy in one day and ordered nothing but take-away pizza - she loved reading the curious incident of the dog in the night time and that the boy says things like “make a wee” - she watches terrible Korean soap operas - she can really sing - she cheats at cards - she likes to listen to Jennifer Lopez and Metallica but not at the same time - she lets me watch the football - she gets drunk after one glass of wine - she bites – yes she’s a biter - she also does not know her own strength - she seams obsessed with her hair - she must bargain for everything - she has brown eyes you could happily drown in - she has a wicked sense of humor and once laughed at a noisy child who fell over - finally, she has a very, very good heart.

So why am I not living with her now? Well I realise I probably should be, especially after writing that last monster of a paragraph (rule of ones own writing – thou shalt write however one bloody well likes). We were together for 18 months pretty much from when I arrived until I left in December last year - out of the blue I was offered the a job Indonesia last September and up until then we had been seeing each other every weekend and a few times during the week. We also did business together (which caused a few arguments as we are both stubborn mules at times) as she worked for a producer and I was the buyer. However her family and friends did not know about the relationship and she is a very traditional girl, so dating a foreigner is still mildly controversial stuff although not so much that it could never be accepted – it just had to be going somewhere – and that place was marriage.

Long story short of it is this – up until September last year I was expecting to be in Vietnam for a year or two longer, during which time I figured this would sort itself out and I could happily drift along as I had been so far and one day soon, make some sort of commitment. This does make me sound like the typical kind of guy that infuriates women across the planet in every culture, I know. However there are reasons behind this – an 18 month relationship it may have been, but how serious can you take it when neither of you know your future plans, I don’t exist as far as anyone else in her life goes and as she looks after her 73 year old aunt in Hanoi she has never stayed over at my house – seeing each other on average twice a week usually at weekends. Casual was how I looked at it – Work meant I was always likely to move on at some point and up until maybe March 2004 things hadn’t been very serious.

I sound like I’m trying to justify myself in court actually – I’ll try and be a bit more honest – I chose not to think about making any serious commitment and then when the bolt from the blue came in September I basically said that I’d leave, get settled in Jakarta, she’d come visit a few times in the first 6 months and then if she was happy here and things were still strong, she’d come and live with me – and yes, I knew that was the whole shebang of marriage, kids & commitment forever more.

Fairly reasonable I thought – it would be a huge thing for her - she would have to give up everything that made up her day to day life and jump into a new country and culture and hopefully swim – sometimes without me as I have to do the same thing as well as getting my head round the work side of things (hence the suggested 6 month settling in period) – although granted I am a bit more used to pitching up and getting on with things as best I can as that is part of the job I do.

So what happened? Secretive culture clash arranged marriage nonsense! That’s what happened!

Yes that’s right - Secretive culture clash arranged marriage nonsense! – that old pebble in the shoe!

So apparently it is very unlucky to be married during your 25th year and under the Lunar calendar (absolute McGuffin) that is what Hanh would of entered once Tet kicked off in Feb 2005 (same as Chinese new year) so ergo (ergo - sounds like a word that means ”therefore” but shorter – don’t know what it means other than that though) so, yes, ergo her family in the coastal city of Haiphong and the close family friends who have always looked after Hanh in Hanoi, decided that she would marry their son – a 37 year old Vietnamese army colonel who she has always been friends with. But importantly – not in love with.

I got told all this within the month that I was about to leave – turning things upside down somewhat – make or break time – "do or do not there is no try" – "that’s no moon it’s a space station" – etc etc – The whole me getting settled and then her visiting and seeing how we felt thing was not going to work – it was get married now or she has to go down a different path and that was that – and in the end I was not confident that it would work, it could of very easily been a nightmare – she could have been desperately unhappy and unable to settle, living together had never been tested and I didn’t think I could handle this and the new job/country – plus getting married is a fairly huge decision and I had to be sure I was really in love with the girl rather than just feeling she was fantastic company and great in bed. I wasn't sure. (I read that last sentence back incredulously – slapping my head in a Homer Simpson tribute of “doh!” – fantastic company and great in bed and I didn’t bring her with me! more evidence that I am an idiot!)

And yes there was the girl in the UK thing and also many other girls that I felt understood me better than Hanh did – you share the same wavelength when you are from similar backgrounds/cultures/lingo – but what do you expect right? She’s Vietnamese and I’m English – of course you aren’t going to totally get it each other all the time – part of the attraction is the difference. Never the less – I let it go – I spoke to a lot of close friends about it and in the end the decision rested with me, but by and large everyone told me I had to be 100% about this – if it went wrong it wasn’t easily fixed – far more so than in the western world.

So there it is – I’m here and kinda wishing I chose to go for it and did a Mrs.Robinson banging on the church windows thing – she’s there and having to work her socks off looking after her new husbands infirm parents, while he is never home – we’d be better off together I can see that now – but hindsight is a wonderful thing isn’t it?

We are still talking all the time and I’m helping her out with money to pay for a house keeper to look after the old folks as her husband isn’t doing anything and she can’t do it all on her own. If she can get away for a while I’ll go there in July or August – but we’ll see how things go. There is a chance that we could just fly off together after she talks to her family and gets a divorce – but it’s more likely we stay in touch where ever life takes us and just look back on a really good 18 months and that we were lucky to have that if nothing else.

A harsh lesson in life and if such an opportunity comes up elsewhere upon my travels I'll not let it slip by like I have this.

Spo | June 10, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Vietnam | Personal

June 8, 2005

These aren’t the droids you’re looking for….move along….

I'm still without my beloved laptop ( "he's called pedro - he's my mule") and therefore having to work from this cantankerous monstrosity desktop that packs up every five minutes and does the exact opposite of everything you tell it to do. It only has windows 98 so I have no access to any of my back up files and all the settings are wrong for email and internet etc - it feels like I'm wading through gloopy honey every time I ask it to do anything. It's a huge yellow electronic monster sent from the depths of hell to make my life a misery.

The computer equivalent of accidentally shooting someone in the head (dead laptop), drenching yourself in blood and brain (must work, can't work) and subsequently having to borrow a geeky large fore headed friends old clothes - necessary yet uncomfortable, out of fashion, buttons and pockets aren't where you are used to having them and can't wait to change into something else.

Anyways - point of the above is that I can't gibber long as I want to go home and am limited in what I can write due to the fact this infernal machine could lose it all any minute.

So the thing that bothered me today, (apart from being accused late yesterday evening of fecking up big time at verk, worrying about it all night and then finding it was because the fellow on the other side of the world simply doesn’t have the date settings on his computer arranged correctly…. Why I oughta….) was that lately this country and Australia have been at each others throats over the case of Schapelle Corby – the surfer girl who, upon arrival in Bali, was found to have 4.1kgs of Mari-jo in her bag and no way of explaining how it got there.

Basically both sides have been engaged in a verbal barrage ever since she was convicted by an Indonesian court and sentenced to 20 years. The daily English language Jakarta post has had numerous articles detailing the views of both sides and all sorts of nonsense has taken place along the lines of minute by minute national television coverage in Oz, hoax anthrax letters to Indo embassies and protests in the street here in Jakarta demanding the death penalty. The arguments continue in the form of letters printed in the paper – one day the Aussies call the Indo’s corrupt fools with no common sense who shall never see them set foot in Bali ever again – the next the Indo’s call the Aussies arrogant drug peddlers who have a racist immigration policy – and so it goes on… and on … and on.

There are many, many reasons to suggest the poor girls not guilty and there are many things wrong with the way the trial was organised (a judge who has never set an accused free in over 500 drug cases and is quite “proud” of the fact, for example). There is also the stark inability on the side of the defense to provide solid proof of how the 4.1kgs or Marijuana got in the girls surf bag.

However what has never been accurately answered by ANYONE covering this trial and those claiming she deserves all she gets, is this:

WHY WOULD YOU BUY 4.1KGS OF MARIJUANA IN A COUNTRY WHERE, IN COMPARISON TO THE PLACE OF ARREST, IT IS MORE EXPENSIVE TO PURCHASE AND THE LAW IS FAR MORE RELAXED ON POSSESSION - AND THEN - TAKE IT TO A COUNTRY WHERE IT IS CONSIDERABLY CHEAPER AND MORE WIDELY AVAILABLE BUT HAS TOUGHER SENTENCING IF CAUGHT WITH IT ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR PERSON?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She can’t of possibly been trying to sell it, she can’t possibly of been intending to smoke all of it herself (average joint 0.5grams) and if it was to share with others then they would just buy it from one of the many, many, many, many little men that seemingly cover every street corner of Kuta trying to get you to buy the stuff (and everything else under the sun – I ended up with a goddamn Bow and Arrow last visit- what will I ever need that for!!! Salesman’s dream sometimes me). Fundamentally this is the main reason that it makes no sense – there is no personal or monetary advantage to bringing that kind of quantity from Oz to Bali – No stoner, no matter how wasted, would think this is a good idea – let alone anyone looking to make money from it (as such a quantity suggests) - yet what could have been a polite discussion between embassies, got turned into a media circus and then in true Indonesian fashion, pride and bureaucracy comes before basic bloody common sense and they shut up shop on further discussion - then the Aussies start flinging even more fuel on the fire, plastering it over every media network going and putting it alongside the rest of the worlds headlines.

You can come to agreement on common sense issues here in Indonesia – you just have to handle it in the right way and make sure no one loses any face over the matter – as long as you get what you want out of the situation, it does you no harm to tell them they're right and let them have their cake and eat it – as you will NEVER convince them any other way – If you lie and say, “yes she was a silly girl and we want to take her back for rehabilitation and lets not mention this to anyone” and then let them go away thinking they are the masters in the right and as soon as they are back in Oz, set her free and forget about the whole thing, you’d have a situation were everyone is happy (well, folk get what they want perhaps, if not exactly happy) – she carries on with her life and buys a lock for her surf bag vowing never to go back to Bali - and the Indonesians carry on living in blissful ignorance, thinking they were in the right all along and congratulating themselves on the wonderful outdated, nonsensical, bureaucratic load of old bollocks they call their legal system.

But the moment the Oz press set fire to the issue and put it in the spotlight to the point that my 88 year old Grandmother back in Uk probably knows who Schapelle Corby is, a grandmother who can’t remember my name half the time, then there was no way back – the Indonesian government cannot possibly lose face on an international scale, most importantly in front of their own people, and admit they were wrong – therefore the girl will have to serve as much of her time as possible until the issue goes away and they can smuggle her out the back door and back home to Oz (and the book/movie deal).

You cannot live and work in Asia if you do not understand the importance of never losing face in front of others – getting what you want by tricking those you are getting it from into thinking that they are the one who thought to give it to you in the first place, is the key to it all! – the Corby case was a diplomatic fuck up of galactic proportions on the side of the Oz Gov – of course there is moral reason to bang the drum of injustice and tell the world of how badly the Indonesian courts were handling this, alerting people to the lack of common sense and stupidity of the whole scenario – but not if you actually wanted to get the girl out of prison….

It’s just like when Ben Kenobi and Luke pulled up in their speeder entering Mos Eisley – two threatening storm-troopers approach and ask them were they got their droids who happen to match the descriptions that they're looking for – Old Ben gets the Good Ol Jedi Mind trick out of the closet and with a whisper and a wave of the hand the trooper is soon replying;

“These aren’t the droids we’re looking for…… you can go about your business…… move along….. move along”

Jedi mind tricks rather than explosive confrontations - if you really want to succeed in getting what you hope for in Asia.......

Spo | June 8, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia

June 7, 2005

Whisky

I'm a bit better now after a day of recovery from whisky indulgence - I like whisky - its the sort of drink you ascociate with bullish rogues who hunt game in africa and then take a good woman before gambling thier family fortune away on a card game and getting into a bare knuckle fight with the local Mayor, finsihing off by leading the village in a rendition of "old lang syne" and finally passing out in a gutter.

Spo | June 7, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Kaneheads Kompanion

June 6, 2005

“Damn, I just shot Marvin in the face….”

Today I have cracking hangover but it's ok because I really enjoyed creating it - I watched Pulp Fiction again last night and got stupendously smashed on whisky and vodka afterwards to celebrate how good that film is - can you think of any film made since that has managed to capture the essence of why it is such an enjoyable movie? I can't think of another film like it - lots of poor attempts to copy perhaps but none that clicked.

I remember seeing it in the cinema and the reaction of the audience - how half of them were shocked and the other half burst out with surprised laughter when Marvin got his face shot off - if ever there was a scene in a film that told you something about the people you were watching it with this was it - I could safely say that all those that laughed are my kind of people and those that didn't I'd probably never click with. People didn't laugh because they were psychos or sick minded evil doers - they laughed because it was shocking yet hilarious at the same time - brutal slapstick of the highest order - bang out of nowhere - even when you watch it again it still surprises you - one second Vincent is leaning over to carry on the conversation and then BOOM Marvin’s brain is all over the back window - absolutely classic.

There is so much to savour in this film – Eszikiel 25, Jackrabbit slims, the overdose scene with the needle countdown, Walken doing the Gold watch monologue, Butch going mad when he discovers Fabien forgot the watch (“bedside table on the little kangeroo - said the words “Don’t forget my fathers watch!!!” ) Jules and Vincent bickering like an old married couple (“well you watched me wash them” “ I watched you get them wet!" ) , Mr.Wolf and then finally Everyone be cool this is a robbery…

Everyone is on top form - can you think of a film since that Travolta or Kietal have got anywhere near the kind of quality they showed in Fiction? and Jackson is always cool but I don't think he'll ever top Jules - every character is expertly crafted and all the dialogue crackles with life and intensity, the camera makes you feel like you’re right there in the middle of it all as silent observer and the soundtrack .... I can't really put into words how much I love this film as right now I'm still foggy from the hangover.... just go and rewatch it and remind yourself of how good it is and what you loved the most.

For me it’s “damn, I just shot Marvin in the face..” - fucking cracks me up every time....

Spo | June 6, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Film / TV / Music | Personal

June 5, 2005

The Mozambique Adventure…..

I'm getting quite addicted to blogging - I've always written in my spare time and once you've got sucked into a good scribbling session it can really give you quite a rush - starting nowhere in particular and just pouring out your mind onto the page through your fingertips and seeing where you end up a few hours later.

When I was in Malawi I wrote huge letters back to my friend in the UK about absolutely everything and my two years in Vietnam were initially catalogued via Nam reports, which I bulk emailed to anyone in my address book that wanted to listen - stories of which I think I will now transfer to here once I get my poor on the verge of dying laptop back on its feet.

In those cases I was experiencing new ways of life and cultures and getting involved in all sorts of mischief all of which made great story telling material - I also found that writing about them gave me a chance to relive it all and small details were never forgotten as they would be if you just used memory alone.

One of my most punishing and eventful journeys was the trip to Mozambique back in 2000 - I was packed off in a giant creaking, rusty haulage truck with a bemused driver called Lewis and sent to the port of Beira in Moz from my home at the time of Blantyre in southern Malawi (if you look at a map of Africa, Moz is that big chunk on the bottom right next to Zim - Malawi is that mini one above Moz whose make up is basically half a lake) - initially I thought being a trucker in Mozambique was fantastic, but my initial joyful face of unbridled optimism would soon be replaced by a steely thousand yard stare of grim determination by the journeys end.

For an immature little English troublemaking monkey it was a good wake up call, opening my eyes to the bigger picture of the world. The trips purpose was allegedly to give me an insight into how our tea got from point A to point B and observe all the relevant malarkey going on in the port and what not – I had been working in the Malawi office handling tracking you see – the process of updating folk on the whereabouts of their tea….. well I have to get a tea grind on here if you will allow – to explain about the job I do will give you an understanding for later gibbers and also the reason for the trip - I’ll give you a basic overview as follows:

The main tea producing countries of the world are China, India, Sri Lanka & Kenya – these all make the bulk of what is good in the average cuppa – they are added to by other countries such as Indonesia, Vietnam, Argentina, Malawi and numerous other southern & East African countries along with a couple of smaller quantities from the likes of Georgia, Turkey, Iran, Malaysia and Papa New Guinea. All of which is great for me because, as long as I don’t get sacked, I will manage to visit all these freaky & enchanting places before I cease to breath upon this fair earth of ours.

Now then, generally the process goes more or less like this:

1) tea plucked by field workers wearing colourful hats, they fill their back packs with the two leaves and bud from the top of the bush. As they get paid on weight they’ll probably throw in parts of the bush you don’t need and this will lead to crappy cup later on.

2) Trucks take the green leaf tea to the factory where usually one of two processes will be used - CTC or orthodox

3) I’m not going to bore you with the details but basically CTC feeds the leaf into long cylindrical metal tubes with lots of sharp pointy teeth in them, grinding the leaf into mushy pea like substance and eventually makes little black/brown grainy leaf that ends up in teabags. Orthodox spins and rolls tea in drums to form long twisted stringy leaf that ends up in packets across mainly throughout the Middle East and Russia.

4) After the tea is mush (CTC) or stringy spaghetti (orth) you pop it in the fermenting room for an hour or two where all the nifty natural chemical reactions take place involving therabugins and theraflavins that are within the genes of the leaf.

5) How much time & heat is added during this period balances your colour and flavour of eventual cup against each other.

6) Then once fermented the tea gets put through the drier – a bouncing conveyor belt of different temperatures

7) Once it pops out the other side, in both cases you’ve got a messy mass of different sized good and bad dried tea leaf and you need to sort it.

8) Sorting machines generally work on the principle of doing the hokey cokey, shaking it about a bit and the relevant sized leaf will all get shook into relevant bags/chutes along with all of its relevant sized buddies.

9) Primary tea (good stuff) is all the high end grades that come from the picking of two leaves and a bud. These grades sell for more money and have more of what you want to make a good cuppa ie: flavour/colour

10) Secondary tea is all the low grade stuff that is the by-product of the primary making process – if your plucker chucks too many leaves and stalk in their bags, it will come out of the process of manufacture as dusty crap or fibre – all of which is still sold as it is still essentially tea as it came from the bush – but it’s cheaper and not as good as the primary stuff – hence its secondary moniker….. wondering if I’m straying from the point here but never mind….I’ve started so I’ll finish…

11) These bags full of similar sized leaf get a grade slapped on them and an invoice number along with the name of the garden and then are packed generally holding 50-60kgs per paper sack. Usually 20 or 40 sacks to one invoice number.

12) Store sacks in whse at factory – draw samples – send samples to buyers/relevant auctioneer – argue on price for a bit – agree in the end – organise tea to be delivered to buyers whse usually via shipping direct from factory in containers

13) Tea arrives in destination – gets blended with other grades from other origins – filtered into teabag machine – packed off to supermarket.

14) Drink it fools!! Its full of comforting hot goodness! Sometimes! And sometimes it is full of crap that is swept off the floor of a factory in Iran!

So as a trader like me, you buy different grades from auctions/producers and sell on to packers & other traders at better prices when the market is in your favour - or when they’ve made a cock up in their planning and realise that they have to buy a few more metric tons quick sharpish to stop their teabag machines packing air and holding up deliveries to supermarkets etc. or deliveries to angry men with beards and donkeys who take bags of the stuff across rivers and deserts to markets in Afghanistan and other such sandy desolate places.

Or sometimes, even more like me, you buy tea because its got a really cool name like Kibena which reminds me of Ribena, or sometimes you buy tea because you like going to see the producer as its a nice trip and he always has strong whisky waiting for you when you get there.

And other times you buy tea because you really like the girl who works as a translator there and want an excuse to talk to her

Anyways, the devious part of it all is that some grades look like others depending on production methods – so you can buy some cheap stuff and blend it with good stuff and no ones none the wiser. As well as this, knowing which country makes what when means that as you concoct the recipe for your blend, you can mix in all kinds of different origins at different prices as long as you know your stuff and the best time to buy. Timing comes in due to quality and quantity coming in seasons all across the world and the prices are all linked to that main factor – for example if one country has a lot of rain, production goes up, overall quality comes down and knowing when the bottom of the dip is going to level out or when the tip of the top is going to be reached determines how much cash you’ll grab or how great a brew you can afford to make.

So to get back to the Mozambique story (don’t worry that’s the tea grind over with now - which upon reflection actually isn't necessary to the actual story I'm telling, but too late now eh?) – I was responsible for tracking in our Malawi office which involved tracing the position of invoices from whse to shipment. Up to this point I had always treated it as fact that if tea had been loaded on a truck outside in my yard and then driven off to either the moz port of Beira or the dry port of Jo’burg in South Africa, then it was more or less as good as in the port awaiting shipment.

My trip to Moz taught me there was plenty in-between. To give you an idea of the intended time – I was to leave on a Tuesday and travel the 2000km there and back to arrive in Blantyre again by Thursday or Friday in time to hook up with friends and spend my last weekend in Malawi at Lake Nyasa. All sounded perfect. Califragifuckinglistic in fact. In the end my journey can be summed up as a cooking broth of mayhem and frustration whose ingredients involved bureaucracy, documentation, a brothel of angry noisy hookers, home-brewed alcohol, mosquitoes, breakdowns in the middle of nowhere, politely refusing to sleep with someone’s cousin, no change of clothes, lack of food & water, sleeping two to the cab, money changing street robbers, dodgy wooden bridges across doom inviting ravines, minibuses with no doors or windows, 48 hours without sleep and a wrath of god Cyclone.

The whole story was documented in letter form that I was writing to my friend at the time – then, once I’d survived the ordeal and returned in one piece I turned it into the report I was supposed to write on the whole “trucking experience” for my bosses in Holland.

The report was unconventional to say the least and can be found here/links (The Moz adventure) Later on in life when I got the chance to go to Vietnam and set up the office there, the head of the company told me he'd read it and even though it shows my naivety and immaturity at times, it was still one of the main reasons he thought I could handle the job in Vietnam – as if I could deal with the chaos of Mozambique, I could deal with anything......

So it kind of is in some way responsible for where I am today and shall forever remain as a printed record of one of the most important weeks of my life – I’ll never forget the details and can relive it every time I go back and read it.

Isn’t that the main reason behind blogging?

Spo | June 5, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Malawi

June 3, 2005

“One Thing I never could stand about Santa Carla….. All the damn Vampires…”

The Week winds down and Friday night in Jakarta looms - "never will you find a more wretched hive of scum an villainy".....

I may indeed be living in a huge city offering every vice you can think of, but Jakarta still has yet to entice me into its lair and trap me within its coils - were I 22 again, as I was in Malawi, then this would be perhaps a different situation and I would be a regular hung-over panda-eyed grinning collection of sins each morning - but times have changed and moderation is the key (young skywalker) - plus priorities at the moment along the lines of taking a time out from such activities and getting myself straight mean I am not a regular fixture at the bars of Blok M or at the pool table of exapt hangout Bugils.

Let me give you an overview of the monster - basically Jakarta is a mahoofing great city of around 12-13million people that has simply grown at too great a rate to sustain itself - all the cracks in the dam are too numerous and irreparable so a slew of sewage, corruption, congestion and confusion envelops the place, baked at a constant level of humidity and cast over by an all year round foggy haze of pollution.

The main roads are seemingly in a permanent state of unexplainable grid lock and to escape, many commuters think they know the shortest of secret short cuts through what are known as “kampungs” which are the “warung” filled warrens were the majority of Jakartans live – small winding pathways, populated by mini houses and warung restaurants crammed in to what ever space is available – however, what usually happens when attempting this devious plan is that you just get stuck (and lost) in a maze of even greater frustrating confusion than that which you have just escaped from.

There are numerous high rise apartments that tower over all this nonsense (one of which I live in) that while elevated away from the noisy din of traffic and chaos do not provide much comfort if and when an earthquake should strike – mainly due to the fact that so much goes wrong in this country, so many corners are cut with so many pockets lined, you don’t hold out much hope of these gigantic buildings staying on their feet what ever anyone tells you. It’s also worthy to note that the answer to the majority of questions asked in this country is “yes” even when really it should be “no” or “no idea mate, not my job” or “you are strange foreign man and I have no idea what you are saying right now, but maybe if I say yes you will be happy and go away” – therefore you can imagine asking staff “is this building earthquake proof” is not going to get you any further to the truth - there is nothing to be gained from telling you it might fall down at the brush of a whisker other than you deciding not to pay rent and live there.

The reason to mention earthquakes is not only the terrible events that took place across the waters in Aceh on the island of Sumatra, (Jakarta is in the North west of Java) but because Indonesia as a whole is a collection of large and small islands stretched across the ring of fire – which is basically a cluster of hundreds of volcanoes bubbling away, waiting for a tectonic shift or fault line rumble to kick them off into what they do best – fuck everything within molten lava flinging distance the fuck up, while shaking the earth around with more might than an epileptic Dinosaurs amphetamine Gabba techno convention. There’s an image.

I’ve been here since January and so far have been in two earthquakes – the first was while I was in a place called Bandung – sort of south west of the capital – no, wait a minute - never eat shredded wheat – yes actually, south west – so anyways, the earthquake was a 5.9 on the good ol’richter scale which translates as shaking houses, people reasonably getting their freak on, water in your glass doing a Jurassic park thing, cats looking confused – I however failed to notice the whole shebang as I was on a very bumpy road in a very old car with crappy suspension at the time. Sure there was noise and shit loads of people on the street, but then again there’s always noise and shit loads of people on the street, so the whole thing passed me by.

The second earthquake occurred while I was 14 floors up in my apartment watching Amityville horror after drinking a bottle of red wine around 10.30pm – so again at first I didn’t notice and when I did thought it might have been ghosts – not that I get freaked out by shitty B-grade horrors but your mind does wander after downing a bottle of penfolds in a fairly short amount of time – at first the picture behind me was tapping away and then the focus in the window was a bit blurry and when the tapping got louder I felt the walls vibrate and gleefully told people via text that I was in an earthquake – something that confused the hell out of most recipients as I missed the “a” out and the predictive text spelt “drugstake” instead – one of my friends rang me and I explained the walls were vibrating and that it was all terribly exciting as perhaps it might get stronger and really kick off at which point he alerted me to my 14th floor station and general blissful ignorance of possible impending doom – we discussed options and I decided that in the event of an actual proper earthquake and not a mild tremor as this was, I would run up to the top floor as the building crumbled and when the ground was close enough - I’d jump off to safety.

I also explained this is what I would do in the event of air crashes and my friend valiantly tried to explain the relationship between speed, time and weight to my red wine befuddled mind while in the background the tremor murmered to a halt. I was left contemplating what my next plan would be if I was ever in a high rise earthquake or aircraft tumbling situation - any suggestions welcome.

And apparently if there is a nuclear explosion ducking your head under the sea until it’s finished won’t help either. (yes, it is a wonder I've lasted this long on the planet isn't it? common sense not that common etc)

So yes, there are earthquakes occasionally but not big ones as we aren’t on any cracks in the earth – and yes there are volcanoes but none near enough or really active enough to really give cause for concern. And there are bombs too - big ones but none since the Oz embassy here in Jakarta - or was it the Marriot hotel? - but the occasional terror alert aside (which I only ever find was issued after the event anyways) I haven't seen or heard of much in the way of trouble - but then again I suppose it's not as if they advertise..

I think it is relevant to mention at this point that before this I used to live in Hanoi – a place whose many virtues I will extol in another future ramble – and Hanoi had that elegant blend of a lot of East meeting a little bit of west, yet still retaining it’s individuality and culture as it starts to liberalise years of communist rule – Jakarta on the other hand, seems to have invited all the worst parts of capitalist commercialism with open arms and then tried to operate the whole mechanism with stumpy retarded bureaucratical toad human cross breeds – sort of like teaching a child to swim and do algebra at the same time by tossing it overboard at high seas with a crayon and note pad while screaming numbers at it.

Basically Jakarta doesn’t work – and there is no easy answer to making it work - short of flushing the chain and starting all over again.

I think that perhaps the main reason as to why it is not a great place to live is that unlike other cities of the world I love like London, Edinburgh. Amsterdam, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Saigon, Hanoi, Toronto & Moscow – there is no centre, no heart, no hub – and getting around the place takes the will power and patience of 100 folk who also have the strength and power of 100 folk to begin with. Whatever that number is.

Jakarta does indeed have a smattering of worthy drinking holes (although they are mostly filled with hookers, the rich elites kids with too many mobile phones and fat old men who work in the oil industry) and some excellent restaurants, but the problem with these places is that they are all too far apart from one another and getting between them can mean dedicating far too much of your life to sitting in traffic – there are no pavements here – there is no subway – no monorail – no taxi lane – no quick escape – there is just bumper to bumper horn screeching whistle blowing matchok mayhem (traffic jam). Skilifts and elevated escalotors must be the only way forward surely?

The other thing about Jakarta is shopping centres – you can’t walk around and you need everything in one place so they build these Mahoosive great Mecca’s with everything you could possibly want under one roof (well if everything you could possibly want is what every western shopping centre in the world already has – no personality or individuality, crammed full of people and farily dispiriting). Getting in to these places is again a difficulty due to traffic jams and folk driving not really supposed to be behind the wheel as they just bought their license instead of actually earning it.

Bad driving gives rise to indulgence in some of the most abrasive and unorthodox road maneuvers you will ever carry out in your life – anything goes and if you can drive here you can drive anywhere – apart from Karachi which is marginally worse due to the addition of livestock Cairo are supposed to be pretty bad as well– I fear for when I return to civilized road etiquette following societies as I shall just be tearing up the place – blasting my horn – driving the wrong way – undertaking and cutting up – parking where ever I feel like it – you see here you definitely cannot beat them – you most certainly have to join them – it is war on dem der streets.

So Jakarta then – corrupt, polluted, humid, congested, chaotic and bulging at the seams – a thriving mass of poverty and unabashed financial exuberance with no middle ground – all stuck in traffic trying to get to the next overhyped shopping mall selling the same commercial crap they’ve got everywhere else in the world. And in the middle of it all a dirty grubby little man with a brain the size of a pebble directing traffic in the corner of a kampung - from wherein all the chaos multiplies in circles until the city cannot move.

Is it any wonder I prefer to sit here and tell you about it rather than actually try and get trapped in it’s daily grind?

Spo | June 3, 2005 | Comments
Blogging | Daily Life - Indonesia | Personal

June 2, 2005

“Wil E Coyote - why was his genius never rewarded?”

Because he had character and cunning, yet he was never rewarded with is due - annoying infernal bird - everyday our hero wakes and continues the chase - insane in the end, as the injustice of the cartoon world conspire against him despite the true genius behind his plans and contraptions (apart from the ones were he just tied himself to giant rockets) -

I believe that were he ever to have caught Road Runner, then that would of been enough..... no dance of gloating evil joy, no elaborate cooking ceremony involving a giant pot over a huge bonfire or frenzied attack releasing years of frustration at being continually dropped off cliffs and smashed with rocks - just a polite handshake - a smug smile of satisfaction and a confident stroll into the distance through the nearest tunnel painted on a wall.

After which he would design all sorts of giggery pokery to help the world become a better place - earn millions - stamp out world poverty - cure cancer and become the worlds most popular Coyote.....

........and then he would hire a shinobi ninja of the highest order to assassinate that annoying blue feathered little bastard with a simple poison pee-shooter, just when he thought it was all forgotten.....

Spo | June 2, 2005 | Comments
Kaneheads Kompanion

June 1, 2005

Story so far….

Tea is what I've been learning the trade of since I was 19 after a fucked up failed attempt at university - where I indulged too much in the life but not the actual attendance - early on I didn't take this as a serious job as I was meddling in other things, looking forward to the weekend and clawing my way to payday - the crunch came at the end of 1999 and my boss was trying to decide if he should sack me or preserve with trying to school me in the trade

Lucky for me, instead of giving me the boot he took up the offer of the guy who ran the Malawi office and I was sent to work there for 6 months (and Kenya) to see what I was made of - turned everything around and plucked me out of a destructive existence - Malawi was the best 6 months of my life - back to basics, breath taking beauty, rich climate, a huge lake making up half country, good friends, lots of adventure (like the Mozambique trip) but also a wake up call to tell me that I'm lucky to come from a country where life is not such the struggle it is for the average bear living in Malawi - once I came back to the UK I knew the way to get back there was to do my best to make this a career for life and got dedicated to the task.

After a while longer in the UK the opportunity to set things up in Vietnam came along in 2003 - the first season was bastard hard - trying to get samples, contracts, shipments, documentation in order - myself and two guys called Tri and Bach - we had to build a customer base via phones/email and travel around to discover new producers - all within a very small office, shitty internet connection, one line for phone fax and email, no storage space for all the samples, evil virus ridden computer, the place prone to flooding... man, basically the first year was very hard work but it took off - next year as part of the Vietnam sales side of thing, they sent me on a world trek to visit our other offices (we have 11 around the world) and our customers - over three/four months I jetted/trekked through the following trail of Rotterdam, Karachi, Peshawar, Dubai, Mombassa, Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar, Saigon, Hanoi, HongKong, Toronto, London, Moscow and then back to Hanoi. I met some amazing folk, went to strange places, had some big nights out and learned a lot - once back in Hanoi we moved our office upstairs and got everything we needed for the office and went from shipping out 1000 Metric Tons to 5000MT.

I had some wild adventures in Vietnam - we did some rough travelling into the mountainous north to see tea plantations and we did a road trip all the way from Hanoi to Saigon seeing the whole country - crazy shit happened in the office too, a guy brought live snakes there and killed them to make snake whisky for me as a leaving present - fucking cobra in my office hissing at me - we also went to a snake restaurant were you eat every part they can cook - they kill this angry fucking long nasty looking bastard at your table by cutting out it's heart - then they put it in a shot glass - fucker is still beating - then you gotta down it in one - all the while the snake is still wriggling around - once you've gotten over the still beating thing it's no worse than drinking the worm in Tequila.

During all of this I was with my girlfriend Hanh who was an English teacher and also worked for a tea company - we didn't live together but saw each other at weekends and some evenings - it was a casual thing and we didn't talk the future too much - but it grew into something pretty strong - but not strong enough in the end - so when I was moved to Jakarta I had to leave her - thoughts along the lines of getting settled and then her coming across existed - but life moved to fast and before I knew it she was part of an arranged marriage, looking after her new husbands dying parents and pregnant - turned things upside down here and I crashed my car whilst wasted with a girl in my lap - but now I'm taking it easy and after talking it all through and figuring out the way I feel by writing about it.

Jakarta is a stop gap - I've written a few posts about life here over the last month - it's a smash of commercialism, idolising the western way of life and a breakdown behind the scenes of the basics you need to keep a huge city of 12 million people running - on the surface they seem to have the model set up - tall towers, flash cars, booming business and many answers to questions of desire - but underneath it all the its congested, corrupt, chaotic, polluted, lacks a central heart and has a lot of vice, crime, terrorism and stupidity bubbling under its surface - the gap between rich and poor gets wider and wider every day and no one seems to be running the show. My main problem with the place is that there is no where to be under the sun - take a walk, sit and read a book - simply get some god damned fresh air in your lungs - also of all the places I've been this lacks the most character and individuality.

Basically the place is a stepping stone to the next stop which will be either Rotterdam and the head office for a while or Africa again - to run an office on my own I need to take more responsibility for the internal side of things - financial reports, adding up the numbers, staff issues, expenses/wages/costs etc - but I'm a trader at heart and love the chase of sales - also learning the trade is a constant thing as you pick up the tastes and appearances of the teas from all over the world and store it away for reference when blending/buying/selling - therefore spending time in each country where it is grown and sold means you learn so much to make you a better trader.

Ultimately the idea is to get back to Malawi and run the office there - have a bar by the lake - a hammock - a regular supply of whisky - a fine woman who inspires the eye and mind and a ton of mischievous clumsy children.

and a monkey.

Spo | June 1, 2005 | Comments
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