Travel Journal

I arrived in Lombok yesterday, taking the slow ferry from Padang Bai to Lembar, and then I travelled up to Senggigi, where I’m trying to finish these two posts on my Travel Journal before heading to one of the Gili Islands, where I suspect Internet access will be much more difficult to obtain.

My last week in Ubud, Bali, was so filled with social activities, I was invited to so many lunches, dinners and ceremonies, that I hardly had the time to write about it in this Travel Journal. So I will now try to tell you a little more, about the inspiring people I have met, on the cremation ceremony I attended, and how I ended up working a little at the ARMA Museum in Ubud.

Zanzan, my friend at the ARMA museum, took me around Ubud in the early morning, and we drove through tiny villages, past rice fields where people were planting or harvesting rice, through forests and landscapes that have inspired so many artists. Children in uniform going to school, whole families on one scooter, villagers working together to prepare for the cremation ceremonies that would be held on the auspicious day of Friday 22 October. Zanzan explained about religion and its influence on agriculture, about the layout of a village or living community, and together we admired the views that were so well captured by various painters, like Walter Spies. When we got back at ARMA, he treated me to an early lunch, and we talked about how Mr. Agung Rai had inspired Zanzan, and how this museum was set up only with the promotion and conservation of the culture of Bali in mind. In exchange for the insight into Bali life and culture that Zanzan had given me, I offered to help him a little with his laptop, and to share my ideas on how the museum could further promote Balinese culture, perhaps by applying for funding or sponsoring, and how to improve visitor attendance. That week, I ended up working quite a bit in the museum, making me realise that this might be something I would like to do when I’m not travelling, as a museum in general, and ARMA in particular, is such an inspiring place. I was invited to dance and music performances at the ARMA Open Stage, which were actually more amazing than the ones I had seen before, and I was intruiged by the jegog music, with elaborately decorated bamboo instruments. The more traditional kecak performance at ARMA’s Open Stage made the one that I had seen before at Padang Tegal, and which I have described in this journal, look tame and without passion in comparison. I had the honour of meeting Mr. Agung Rai, a very charismatic man, and his wife, during many occassions, and was invited to join them for dinner, gorgeous food at the Kafe ARMA, prepared by one of Bali’s greatest chefs, Deddy Kuswara. I was invited to join a Hindu blessing ceremony, where I too received the blessings with rose water, flowers and leaves you put behind your ears and in your head band, and the cermonial rice you place on your forehead.

Zanzan offered to show me one of the most important cremation ceremonies that would take place on Bali, near Ubud. On the morning of that Friday, I met a Mr. Khambata, a very interesting 68-year old man of Parsi-descent, who was born in Bombay and enjoyed the classical British education there, before moving to London to become a surgeon, which he practiced for almost 40 years. Upon retirement, he became a teacher to many visiting opera singers in London, on how to use their voice. He expressed jealousy of the fact that I’m doing what he had wanted to do all his life, visiting all those countries that I still have on my itinerary, which he has only been able to do in the past years or so. This again made me realise how fortunate I am, to be able to experience all this.

Together with two Taiwanese tourists, Mr. Khambata and I went to attend the cremation ceremony, or ngaben, which is central to Balinese Hinduism. It is a way for the children to pay their debt to the parent, who has nurtured and protected them during life. It is also extremely expensive, and a ceremony may be performed many months or years after someone has died. Sometimes, a whole village mounts a joint ngaben ceremony every few years, the preparations taking many months, and the remains of the people who have died in the mean time will be exhumed, cleaned, and then cremated.

To show respect, we were dressed in sarongs, wearing the traditional head band. We joined the procession, following an eight-tiered, approximately 15 meters tall ceremonial tower, or naga banda, constructed on a bamboo-pole platform, extravagantly decorated. The higher the tower, the more important the person for whom this cremation ceremony is mounted. The tower was carried by about 30 people, who were frequently sprayed with water along the way, as it was a very hot day and the tower must have been very heavy. They either moved with great speed, or stopped completely to allow for the raising of telephone cables, so the tower could pass through underneath. This wasn’t always successful, and the tower ripped many wires loose from their fixtures, depriving some homes temporarily of communication. In front of the procession, a large black bull was being carried, constructed of wood and covered with black velvet and gold, which would be used for the cremation itself. Behind us, another bull and a smaller tower followed, for a second ceremony. Everywhere, there was music, people laughed and made jokes, as in their Hindu tradition the passing of a loved one is a thing to celebrate, not to mourn. The procession turned a corner, and the tower was spun around and around several times, to confuse the evil spirits about its direction. Many onlookers including tourists gazed at this amazing display.

After a while we arrived at the temple courtyard where the cremation would take place, and the bull was placed in the center of the square. The hundreds of people installed themselves in the shade of a large community hall without walls, to look at the cremation. Vendors came selling pizza, ice-cream, drinks and other snacks, and people chatted, laughed, and met up with friends. The back of the bull was cut open, revealing the wooden frame. The remains of the deceased, wrapped in blankets, were removed from the tower and given to a family member. The tower was then discarded, and the family and close friends of the deceased formed a line, carrying the remains of the deceased wrapped in blankets, some of her favourite belongings and clothing, and many offerings, consisting of meat, flowers and fruits. They placed all this carefully inside the wooden animal, and the back was once again placed on the wooden frame. Prayers were said, and the bull was set alight. It didn’t take very long for the bull to be completely engulfed in flames, radiating an intense heat. When everything had been consumed by the fire, the ashes were collected and placed in what looked like a small chair, draped in silk, put among many elaborately decorated baskets with offerings. At a later point, the ashes would be scattered in the river, and it would take them to the sea, where the soul would be released. Having shed its body, the soul would proceed to the upper world, to wait for reincarnation, or for those who have attained spiritual purity, to be absorbed into nirvana.

Mr. Khambata had invited me to dinner, and many more would follow in the coming week, and we discussed this intruiging display of a culture and religion that is so unlike my own. Mr. Khambata is best described as a walking library of knowledge, and we discussed many issues including the differences between Balinese and Indian Hinduism, history, politics and literature.

I spent the last two nights in the luxurious ARMA Resort, courtesy of Zanzan, and marveled once again at the beauty of the gardens, the sound of water everywhere, mango and coconut trees, the smiles of the employees who all knew me by name, and in the distance a farmer working in the rice fields, a line of ducks following his every movement. My room was decorated with many hibiscus flowers, and the welcome message “To Mr Frezzo” was hand written on the petals of a white flower, placed on top of a basket with exotic fruit, which I thought was lovely.

I was quite sad to leave Ubud and my friends behind, but such is the nature of traveling. I know I will be back in Bali, who knows when, but my time there was the most inspiring I’ve had for many, many years.

As always when visiting another country, I have been trying to learn the basics of the language a little. Not just to show some common courtesy for the people who live here, but also as I enjoy it so much.

Here on Bali, they have their own language, which is very different from bahasa Indonesia. The Balinese language only exists in spoken form (and is consequently disappearing slowly), and it’s based on a 3-tier caste system. So you use different words depending on the social status of the person you’re speaking to. I thought guessing the age of someone (which you have to in, for instance, the Vietnamese language) was difficult, try to guess someone’s social status (hello, are you a royal person or someone of great nobility?). Although everyone speaks Indonesian, they adore my poor attempts at speaking Balinese, and the reaction usually consists of a deluge of Balinese, which I then cannot understand of course.

The Dutch influence on the Indonesian language is visible everywhere, ranging from dokter, apotek, notaris, bioscoop (cinema) to oom (uncle) and tante (aunt). It also worked the other way round, but usually for food, as Indonesian restaurants in Holland use the Indonesian names for the dishes on the menu. So I order pisang goreng (fried banana) for starters, followed by nasi goreng (fried rice, mixed with veggies and meat), with sambal (ground chillies) and kecap (soy sauce). I could very well have been in an Indonesian restaurant in Holland, except that it tastes so much nicer here and is so very cheap.

The most common names for people here on Bali are the ones that signify the order in which they were born. So if you’re the oldest, your name is Wayan, if you have only one older brother or sister, it’s Made, then Nyoman, and number four is Ketut. So my name would be Friso Ketut, as I was born fourth in line.

They do love their canine friends here, usually for company or protection of property, and at night they roam free on the streets (dozens if not hundreds of them, barking, howling), a lot of them being the kind of dogs you’d like to avoid, nasty, and some quite clearly ridden with wounds and flees. And they do seem to look both left and right before crossing a street, also reacting to the sound of a car horn.

To discover Bali a little more, I rented a scooter from the guy at my local losmen, and ventured out into the busy traffic of Ubud. Compared with (for instance) Thailand or Vietnam, the traffic here goes quite orderly, and it seems that most people on motorbikes or scooters wear helmets (but why do they drive on the left side of the road?).

I love that sense of freedom, when you have your own transportation, so you can decide which places to visit or how long to stay there. I came across beautiful scenery (deciding what not to photograph is usually the case), and visited some stunning places, like Gunung Kawi, a holy site for Hindus, located in a little valley, near the village of Tampaksiring. You walk down about 300 steps, and the landscape just gets more and more beautiful, those bright green rice fields, waving palm trees, flowers in every colour, the sound of waterfalls, and a little brook carrying very clear water down to another village. Gunung Kawi itself consists of 6 ancient chedi’s, carved out of the rock walls, about 20 meter in height, quite a sight. To show respect, you have to take your footwear off, so I continued barefoot on the scorching hot rocks, sweat pouring down my face, trying to find shade so I could gaze at this stunning site.

I then continued on my scooter, after spending some time talking to the villagers who maintained the site (I had my first salak there, or snakeskin fruit (Zalacca Edulis), with a thin crispy skin that looks indeed like the skin of a snake, and it has a soft yellow-white fruit, tasting almost like an apple). I stopped for some wonderful nasi goreng at a local warung (family restaurant) in a tiny village underway. I spent some time at the village of Penelokan in the north, where you have a beautiful view of Mount Batur. Now a dormant volcano, it erupted some 15 years ago. One patch of green had been spared, the trees forming a little oasis in the middle of a dark sea of black, solidified lava. On the right, by contrast the intense light blue of Lake Batur.

Passing through the little villages is so nice, there are so many temples, and community areas where people work together. In a lot of villages, the penjor is displayed, a religious symbol created during the special galunga days, once every six months. This 10-m high pole, made from bamboo, straw and banana leaves, symbolises the defeat of evil and the importance of modesty and humility.

Around dinner time I wasn’t very hungry, so I had some lovely pisang goreng and coffee, at this open-air kind of restaurant market. It was dark when I returned to Ubud, and sat on the porch in front of my room, listening to the sounds of crickets and geckos, marveling about all the beauty I had seen that day.

The day after I had witnessed the Balinese dances, I ventured out into Ubud on a rented bicycle. This eventually proved quite a challenge, as Ubud is situated in a reasonably hilly area, and of course I am a Dutchman with a fascination for hills and mountains but alas no experience with cycling over them (I remember a half day cycling in New Zealand, some six years ago, and I needed four days to recover from that). But this landscape invites you to stop and gaze at it, it is so beautiful with its green ricefields with different levels, the many coconut and banana trees, the beautiful houses with thatched roofs. The cutest little kids that wave and say “hello” about twenty times, with a proud mother smiling behind them.

In the south of Ubud, the famous ARMA is located, or Agung Rai Museum of Art, a must see for anyone visiting Ubud. Founded by Mr. Agung Rai and his wife, with the proceeds of the adjacent cafe, restaurant, and art gallery, ARMA is a complex consisting of several grand Balinese-style villas, enclosed by a stunning garden. A collection of paintings by both Indonesian and foreign painters is displayed in two of the villas. In the other buildings, classes of Balinese dance and music are taught to Ubud’s youth, as ARMA conserves and promotes Balinese culture. It is quite unusual to see an effort like this, as the Indonesian government isn’t known for its cultural stimulation. It is to the credit of Mr. Agung Rai that this gem of a museum exists in Ubud.

After having walked around for a while, I decided it was time for coffee (kopi), and I wrote a little in my analogue or paper version of this travel journal. Sitting at a table next to me, was a woman dressed in a beautiful bright purple sarong, wearing the make-up of a dancer, playing with a lovely baby boy. The woman turned out to be Mrs. Agung Rai, one of the dancers who oversee the teaching of the dances at ARMA. A man introduced himself to me as Zanzan, and he turned out to be the father of the boy, and very proud at it, radiating while he showed his son to me. Zanzan works closely with Mr. Agung Rai as Operations Manager at ARMA, and he will be accompanying the youth gamelan orchestra of ARMA on a tour of Balinese dance and music in Europe this November. We talked about history, culture, Indonesian politics (his uncle was the Minister for Culture in Megawati Sukarnoputri’s cabinet) and of course Balinese dances and music. After a while, he offered to show me the places in Ubud where tourists usually do not come, and where the environment and life more closely resemble the indiginous life of the Balinese. We made an appointment for the following Tuesday for the tour, and after saying goodbye, I continued to walk around the ARMA complex to admire the stunning gardens and guesthouses of the ARMA Resort. Little brooks, ponds with statues of animals made out of stone, waving palm trees, and in the distance those stunning green ricefields.

There are so many art galleries around here in Ubud that you could fill all the museums of the world, easily. There is some unremarkable art, and some stunning, abstract paintings, impressionist and realist. There had also been a Writer’s Festival, which would have been interesting, but it had just finished when I arrived in Ubud.

To my delight, I managed to find out where a kecak dance was going to be held, that evening at the Padang Tegal, a temple in the center of Ubud. I went there early to get a good seat, and by now it had become quite dark. The stage, inside the gated complex of the temple, was lit by a dozen oil lights. Around 50 dancers walked onstage, all men, dressed only in black and white chequered sarongs and wearing a flower behind one ear. They sat down in a large circle, and used only their voices to produce the accompanying music, a rythmic, hypnotic chant, changing rapidly as they performed their trance-like movements. Female dancers dressed in beautiful costumes appeared, and at times a male dancer, wearing the costume of a demon or ferocious animal, as they depicted great stories from their Hindu religion. They moved in between the 50 kecak dancers, they spun around eachother in what seemed to be a chase or a fight, a contest of strenght or the depiction of the sadness.

The large group of dancers alternated their trance-like movements very rapidly (during a real performance, without the tourists, they would indeed be in trance). One or two people would give the voice commands that would change the movements, or change the chants, and the movements and chants would frequently lead to a climax. Hundreds of hands in the air, waving and shaking, the whole group becoming one moving object, standing, sitting, swirling around, moving back and forth, suddenly standing up again and facing eachother, arms raised as in a contest, and suddenly they would cease their movements. The chants then changed, and they would continue along another rythmic path, that would lead to a new series of movements.

Later on in the performance, two small, delicate Balinese girls, elegantly dressed in yellow-white dresses, were literally carried onto the stage by a group of women, who then sat down behind them, singing. These two girls performed another trance-dance. They would increase their rapid movements along with the chants, during which they would exhaust themselves so much that they collapsed, and needed the support of the onlooking women to stand up again. They continued dancing, and collapsed again for several times. Although re-enacted, this was so very moving that the audience fell completely silent, the bright flashes of cameras ceased, and people just looked in awe at yet another immensely powerful display of Balinese culture.

The last performance was done by an old man, performing the fire dance. A couple of men lit a big heap of coconut shells, which radiated so much heat that I was afraid, sitting at about 10 meters from the fire, that the lens of my camera would melt. While carrying an animal on his back, made out of bamboo and straw, this man seemed oblivious to the heat and to the burning, walking in trance through the fire, over the coconut shells, kicking them around as in contempt of this force of nature.

After what had seemed 5 minutes, but was indeed more than an hour, the performance was over, and I left the Padang Tegal that evening feeling very moved, silently going back to my guesthouse.

The last image on my mind, before I finally fell asleep, was of those two delicate Balinese dancers, their movements accentuated by the light of the oil lights, their exhaustion almost too painful to witness.

Selamat malam!

The past few days were so filled with activities that I did not have time to write them down online! And already I received a worried text message from a family member.

After only a short time in Kuta, I decided I needed to leave that place, and quick. True, it’s got a lovely beach, but it is so touristy that it isn’t nice anymore, with too many hawkers and the wrong kind of loud Australians (sorry my Australian friends). So I booked a bus to Ubud, also known as the cultural capital of Bali.

Ubud is indeed a lovely village, and although still touristy, it’s pleasantly slow-paced and quiet. Upon arriving I checked myself into a nice losmen, or family guesthouse, and I have a nice room with fan and shower for around € 3. I immediately set out for a long walk to explore the village. Almost every house, like so many in Bali, seems to be a temple, with ornate walls and beautifully decorated gates. The richer families have large courtyards, with little pagodas with statues in the garden, adjourned with trees that have beautiful flowers in every colour.

In the evening, I attended an hour long performance of Balinese dances, at the courtyard of the Ancak Saji Ubud Palace, right in the center of Ubud. This was a beautiful setting, the dances were performed in front of a 15m tall gate, of course elaborately decorated with ornaments, and lit by a dozen oil lights. The gamelan orchestra was composed of two dozen men. Most of the instruments are Balinese-style xylophones, with carved wooden casings painted red and gold, and these are named according to their size, and therefor pitch. The xylophone with the lowest pitch, or ugal, is mostly used to enhance the rythm, and then going up in pitch, there are the: gangsa, kantilan, penyacah, kalung, and jegog, which produce a wonderfully enchanting melody that I cannot compare with any music I’ve heard before. There are several gongs, also named by size: gong, kempur, klentong, that produce that deep reverberating sound. One man plays a flute (suling), and then there are instruments that I can only describe as a row of bronze pots, kempli, riong. Finally, six drums (kendang) make the beat, and together this sounds amazing. And this was only to accompany the dances, a combination of classical and modern Balinese dances.

Six female dancers appeared, dressed in bright red, purple and yellow sarongs, decorated with gold, wearing golden necklaces and crowns decorated with flowers. They performed the Puspa Wresti, a modern ritual dance, bringing flower offerings to the temple. Their faces transfixed in a frozen smile, their eyes sometimes rolling from left to right, their fingers waving to the rythm of the music, the waving of their arms seemed to symbolise the shape of flowers. Other styles of dance then followed, for instance the barong dance, with a man wearing the boma mask, the face of a good demon. This face, with its bulging eyes and protruded teeth, is seen everywhere in Bali, as decoration on walls, paintings, clothing, as it brings good luck to the owner. One could not help but stare at the mask, while the dancer performed his elaborate movements to the rythm of the music.

Most of the classical dances have their base in Bali’s Hindu religion. I was thoroughly impressed with the amazing display that was put before me that evening, and I could not help but wonder how bland and boring my Dutch culture is, with its silly clog dancing. I wondered, could this be because of religion? Apparently not, as for instance the protestant minorities here in Indonesia have wonderful services with beautiful singing, much more elaborate and seemingly passionate than protestant church services in the western world. Could it be that the more modern a society gets, the more of its culture disappears? But in that case, what about Japan? Are Asians just better at preserving and promoting their culture?

I thought, as I walked back from the dance performance, feeling energised and inspired, that one more thing on my absolutely must-see list of Indonesian culture was the very intruiging kecak dance, so vividly displayed by Ron Fricke in his film Baraka, one of my favourite films ever. Little did I know that I would actually witness it the following evening. But more about that in my next post.

Sampai jumpa!

Friso

Hello everyone,

I have arrived on Bali, Indonesia. Click to view a map of Indonesia (opens in new window). You can locate Bali on this map by finding Denpasar, the capital city.

I spent my last evening in Singapore walking around the city center. It struck me again that Singapore is much more multicultural than (for instance) Holland, and I do hope the people get along as well as they seem to do on the surface. At the Chinatown night market, there were of course a lot of Chinese people and tourists, but also people from India or Bangladesh, their dresses in the most brightest of colours, their skin very dark, having a look at the night market after having said their prayers in a nearby Indian temple.

I am so fascinated by big cities. Walking around in the Central Business District between those incredibly tall skyscrapers, feeling very small, is quite something. I sat down near the water front after almost having strained my neck from looking up. The waterfront was lined with cafes and restaurants, and statues of lions, and I watched the Chinese-style boats with lanterns float by, allowing the tourists on the boat a nice view of the Singapore skyline. As I stared into the distance, I thought about my future travels, and the fact that the real exploring was about to start with my flight to Bali.

Again, that amazing friendliness you are greeted with, that I’ve also experienced in Thailand and Vietnam during previous travels, the huge smiles and people you don’t know saying hello to you. But also so many people trying to sell things to you, who try to drag you to their shop, with such persistance that I have to try hard to remain polite. I am in a hotel in Kuta, a littlebit expensive for my shoestring-style of travelling, so I might check into a cheaper guesthouse at a later point, but the pool and gardens of my hotel are wonderful. I really haven’t decided on how to explore Bali or its surrounding islands, I will have some quality pool- or beach-time and think about a possible itinerary.

On the way to this Internet cafe, I walked past the monument that was erected in honour of those who died during the bombings, two years ago, here in Kuta. Although the Balinese people don’t want to hold remembrance services as it is apparently not their custom, the families of the victims and the embassies of the countries involved clearly have. The enormous sign with the names of too many victims was adjourned with flower wreaths and very moving little notes and letters from the families, with little photos. It was very sad.

On a more brighter note, the tourists seem to have flocked back to Bali. I can’t compare it to pre-2002, as this is my first visit, but it seems very busy here.

Right now I could use a little food, so I will leave it at this and get me some pisang goreng and maybe some spring rolls. Yummm.

This will be my last evening in Singapore for a while, as I’ll fly to Bali tomorrow. It’ll be exciting to explore Indonesia!

Yesterday, it was the second anniversary of the horrific Bali bombings that left so many Australians, tourists from other nationalities and Balinese dead. I’m sure it will be on my mind when I enter Bali, I just hope the tourism industry has been restored as that’s the main source of income for the Balinese. We’ll see when I get there.

I’ve spent today not doing very much (lovely), walking around, and I went to the harbour front. Eating a sandwich while watching the big cruise ships float by was nice.

When I collected my Philippines visa yesterday, the consul had some questions, which I thought was funny She wanted to see my tickets, which I showed, and then I received my visa. Didn’t know that the consul approves every visa application? I wonder, this probably means trouble for my Chinese visa application (as I don’t have a flight in or out of China, I was planning on doing this all by land). But we’ll see when the time comes.

I already have the feeling that I’ve been away for weeks, while in fact it’s only been 4 days….

Visited the Botanical Gardens today. Although sadly there were a lot of renovations going on and a big part of the Gardens were closed, the Orchid Gardens were open, and I must say it was a stunning site. Never before have I seen so many different kinds of orchids, and the perfume everywhere was wonderful. They have created hybrids by cross-pollination, and dedicated them to various dignitaries from around the world, who came to visit Singapore. But I suppose that the Benazir Bhutto and FW De Klerk orchids, for example, have lost their popularity nowadays? There was also the Barbara Bush orchid. Hmmm.

Now we’re on the subject of Bush: when I exited the Gardens and walked back into the direction of the city centre, I walked passed this enormous building, which seemed to resemble both a medieval fortification and a modern-day prison. I actually thought it was a high-security prison, there were fences and cameras everywhere, seemingly to keep people in, and several guards with automatic rifles outside. Imagine my surprise when I saw the sign United States Embassy. I wonder when Americans will finally link their foreign policy of the past decardes to their present safety concerns and say: hey, let’s just think first before we meddle in the affairs of other countries? Or will they ever? The thing is, most (young) Americans I meet during my travels are likeminded, after all they have taken the time to travel to other countries and to learn more about their cultures. Anyway, I’m hoping for regime change in the US this November…

This city is indeed clean. It’s not true that you won’t find any litter on the streets, but still it’s the cleanest city I’ve visited.

The MRT Metro system is wonderful (and of course squeaky clean). Again the British influence, where else would you find stations with names like Sembawang, Yio Chu Kang and Somerset on one Metro line? This also must be the number one city to go shopping. I’ve never seen so many shopping centers on one street (Orchard Road).

I have arranged my visa for the Philippines, which I’ll visit from November 22 onwards, and have spent quite a while walking aimlessly around in the city, a big smile on my face with that wonderfully exciting feeling of freedom and travelling.

I might explore the old colonial centre in a minute and I’m going to get a nice Indian curry in little India tonight!

Hello everyone,

This morning, I arrived in Singapore, and I am now on the first day of my one year voyage through Asia. That is still quite difficult for me to comprehend, but right now I am adjusting to the heat (it was 29 degrees when I arrived at 6 am), feeling quite exhausted after the 12,5 hr flight, and a little dazed.

This is the richest and youngest country that I will visit during my one year travels through Asia. This tiny island gained independence in 1965, and the name means lion city (a snafu, it was probably a tiger that the namegiver sighted). Singapore has a delightful mixture of people from Chinese (majority), Malaysian and Indian descent, which became apparent when I took the ultra-modern Metro system into town. I have located a nice hotel in the picturesque Chinatown district, but as I had several hours to kill before check-in time, I have just spend some time in a nice park, listening to music on my iPod mini and reading my Lonely Planet South-East Asia guidebook.

British influences are quite apparent here, as this used to be a British colony until 1959. English is the official language, Mandarin the second one. People are driving on the wrong side of the road and of course lashes of apologies find your way when you bump into someone. But many lovely exotic things as well, for instance the perfume of fresh fruits, flowers and incense that you can smell almost everywhere, signs above shops in both English and Chinese characters, and little ghost houses with offerings for the ancestors.

Right now, I’m in the People’s Park Complex, a huge shopping mall in Chinatown. I’m going to one of the many foodcourts (could that be an Australian influence?), and get me some luvly Chinese food

Friso