Time Waster

Sitting in a local restaurant the other day, I happened to glance up and notice the table across the room. There sat 3 adults and a child interacting with 3 tablets and a smart phone.  When I walked to the counter, I could not help but notice all of them playing games.  Each and everyone in their own little world, eyes intensely focused on the screen. 

I myself confess to being guilty of using a smart phone or tablet when out with my feeble excuse of only wanting to catch up on the news, do some research or send an email or two.  Now, some will say plenty of people read the newspaper eating breakfast.  Isn’t that the same thing?  True in some respects, but usually some level of conversation is generated by this.  'Zombies V Plants' and 'Angry Birds' don’t reach such dizzy heights.

I am sure you have experienced the bus / train syndrome where people have their heads buried in the screen of their smart phone looking intently at the last Facebook musings whilst listening to music through ear buds.  Almost no one indulging in the old fashion concept of conversation.  My father would be turning in his grave to see this trend.  He would love to talk to anyone who within ear shot and over the years got to know many people through this activity; it was a very big part of his life. 

My own pet theories as to why?

One, time filling.  When we are not sure what to do with ourselves, we resort to pulling out the phone to check.  Checking what really doesn't matter as long as that awkward moment passes.  I myself look at phone some 40 times a day.

Secondly, notice how people who are bored with the surrounding conversation pull out their phone to show, in a not so subtle way “I have had enough”. 

“Facebook is communicating,” I can hear you say.   Can’t disagree with that, for me it’s quite impersonal - communication by remote control.  We become a lot braver when we don't  have to look into anyone's eyes with all the feelings that go with that and say things that we might not or could not say face to face.  

A lot of the conversations on Facebook I find is an exercise in banality, foodie photos, selfie photos, baby photos etc.  All a very self-deluding exercise in narcissism,  which in reality has little appeal outside the sender.  Am I missing something?  To me Facebook is more like, ”In Your Face,” book!

There, got that out of the way.  Back to the topic at hand.  Direct communication or lack of it.  With all the time we spend on our machines being constantly bombarded with stimuli, I wonder whether our ability to concentrate is being severely tested.  Few people especially the young can be seen sitting quietly contemplating, deep in thought. 

And those 3 adults and the child you ask?   All good things must come to an end.  Upon leaving, the child created a scene when he refused to give the phone to his father.  The magic, the spell had been broken.

The Day the Power Left Us

Nothing like a prolonged power blackout to remind you how dependant you are on electricity.  

Yesterday at about 11 am the State of Sabah lost all power. For a place that has frequent outages this one was a doozy - all ten hours.   Seems some issue with a power line in Kota Kinabalu tripped most of the main substations statewide. 

When I was a young lad in Australia many moons ago, I used to get excited about a power outage especially if it occurred at night.  Out would come the candles making the all familiar environment of the house seem strangely unfamiliar; ghost like shadows dancing on the walls to stir the imagination of an impressionable child.   Those days, we were far less reliant on electricity for our daily needs. Apart from lighting, the fridge and the television / radio, very little else ran on electrical power. 

Fast forward to today. 

The first hour without power was more of a nuisance value than anything else.  Living in a hot climate necessitates the use of air conditioning or at the very least an electric fan.  The modern building is predominately concrete, absorbing heat throughout the day, releasing it at night.  In other words, it’s generally hot inside regardless of the weather conditions outside.  Fortunately yesterday was fairly mild due to the preceding weeks' rain.

As the afternoon dragged on, it became apparent this was no ordinary outage.  Up until that time I was using 3G on my phone for the Internet.  Of course we all know modern smart phones may be clever with most things but power consumption is not one of them.  By late afternoon, my battery was almost dead. Disaster, no power equals no telecommunications! 

We all amuse ourselves in many different ways. I suspect these days most activities involve using some sort of power source.  My Achilles heel is the Internet.  I'm an Internet tragic. Not social networking by the way, but information seeking.  No TV for this boy.  Anyway, it didn't  matter, both require a power source.  Lost and hot was my afternoon. 

Offices in town ceased to function due to no computers.  Not all that long ago, give or take a decade, administration workers would have hardly missed a beat.  Everything was kept in files and manually accessed. 

Traffic was chaotic due to no traffic lights.  Cars playing dodgem with each other, no sense of order. He who dares wins.

By evening the full impact was evident.  The hall across the road was conducting a wedding reception. I bet they didn't expect a candlelit dinner.  Very quiet and eery.  Wondered if the bride was thinking whether this was a bad omen or not. You could read a lot into it if you were that way inclined.

By 6.30 we ventured down to the local shopping precinct to get something to eat as we couldn't see in the kitchen.    A few businesses had generators and we're doing a roaring trade. All the banks' ATMs were functioning for the same reason. The local supermarket was packed with people with the car park adjacent over full.  Bees around a lit honey pot.

After returning home and sitting in the dark for another hour or so the power finally came back on.  Up went a cheer from the wedding party across the road and the band immediately started up, amplifier operating at full bore.  After 10 minutes I was wishing the power would be cut again! 

Maybe only maybe life would be a heck of a lot simpler without our electrical appliances, but no, I jest, 10 hours without was enough to convince me that I'm a 21st. century being through and through.  

Footnote

The Internet for some strange reason failed to realise the power had returned and refused to work until the next day. Ahhhhh!  Life is way too short without the net.

The Science of Superstition and the Supernatural.

As we head towards the Chinese New Year, I have been thinking a lot about superstition, the supernatural and how it rules our lives, if at all. 

I personally don't believe in either and subscribe to the world of the rational.  Unless it has a solid scientific base, I'm just not interested. Of course, I know science cannot explain everything, but it can in most cases, through a process of logical progression.  Just because something can’t be explained today doesn’t mean it won’t be in the future.
Superstition, on the other hand, relies totally on an emotive belief system and a reliance on some form of ritual-based practice to comply.

Individual styled superstitions such as, putting your left sock on before the right, tying up the right shoe lace first etc, are quite common.  Sports people are especially prone to this.  What seemed to have worked for one winning game turns into a ritual that must continue to maintain the supposed streak of good luck. Even if all facts point elsewhere, it becomes an ingrained habit unable to be broken. Psychology has a name for this behaviour, Intermittent Reinforcement.  Suffice to say it's worth having a read about.

There is wider form of superstition the group/social phenomena that is taught through traditional "Old wives tales" folklore. Good examples are: never walk under a ladder, it will bring you bad luck; a black cat crossing your path brings bad luck, be careful on friday the 13th; never sweep the floor on the first day of Chinese New Year or otherwise, you'll sweep away good fortune. 

Notice two very powerful underlying themes at work here; no one wants to be unlucky and everyone wants to become wealthy.   Predicting the future as long as it has positive connotations has great appeal to the masses. 

Not much to hang your intellectual hat on here I fear.  Where do these examples come from? No one really knows or cares, but the idea of following a set of simplistic rules to bring the desired results is very enticing to most. 

Now I pose a question. Are we all inherently superstitious or is it conditioned through early childhood?

In my case, my parents did not, as far as I remember adhered to any superstitious behaviour, but I am sure I learnt a lot of the “Old Wives Tales” through my mother. Other members of the family I think have developed their own ideas but to be honest I am only speculating as we have never talked about it.

I suspect the answer is a bit of both. Early man needed to explain the meaning of what was around him.  Superstitions and the supernatural help give reasons for the unexplainable and gave direction for future outcomes.  Science in that age  could not help, so emotive explanations flourished.

Obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) is a condition were one has to complete a set of tasks in a ritualist way or feel uncomfortable and in extreme situations suffer severe anxiety.  Sound familiar?  I am not advocating that OCD is linked to most acts of superstition but what about those who  take it to extremes - maybe.  Lots of interesting reading on the subject can be easily found. 

This leads me to the subject of the supernatural.  The supernatural and religion are closely linked and I don’t think many people would disagree.  But superstition and the supernatural and by its association, religion is another story. Most main stream religions are hostile to the idea of linking the two together.  I am not going to go into the reasons here, (material objects vs deities) there is plenty of information on the Internet, but I personally think they are splitting hairs. Both rely on a belief system that is not and cannot be tested by scientific scrutiny.

Do you believe in ghosts?  A question that most people are asked during the course of their lives.  Most of us hate the idea of there being nothing after death.  That’s one of the reasons religion plays an important part in a lot of people's lives. So what form does “life“ after death take? No one really knows, but early man obviously imagined himself after death being delivered to a divine place to reside in or otherwise wondering around the earth for no apparent reason - lost souls so to speak.

This is the classic ghost.  Haunting because of some misdeed during life or seeking revenge on another. 

Having lived in Asia for sometime I have heard many stories of people seeing and interacting with ghosts; each similar in detail with the central character always being terrified of the experience. 

Never in my 57 years of being on this planet have I seen a ghost.  Why? I simply don’t believe in them.  People who do believe get all the sightings.  Funny, hey?

I’ll try to illustrate what I mean. The other night I was semi-dozing off when through the mist of my early dream I thought  I saw a monstrous rat standing on the window pane next to the bed.  I was startled at first and sat up immediately to observe it but of course, it wasn’t there.  Did it scurry away when it knew I was conscious?  I don’t think so, for I heard nothing and I would have because of a pile of stacked up old cardboard boxes graced the ground below the window. We frequently hear rodents scurrying around there in the middle of the night. Ghost Rat maybe?  Rat revenge?

Alas reality is not so exciting.  A dream me thinks. 

You see for the previous week, we had been catching rats in set traps, so the subject was fair and squarely on my mind.  Entering sleep, my mind in its quest to explain the shadows formed an impression of a rat. ( It hasn't returned since!)

Now, if I was a believer in the supernatural I would have probably read a lot more into what I saw.  The rat ghost could be a symbol or sign of impending problems or perhaps an old foe returning to create great mischief etc etc.  The interpretation would all depend on my original state of mind and / or  traditional background.  

Whatever one has been exposed to when young is a powerful force throughout life. If our parents believed in something and instilled that belief in us at a young age, then the chances are it will stay with us for the rest of our lives.  Even if completely irrational, as an adult we may still not be able to shake the strong imprinted messages that lie deep within our minds.  Our brains have been hardwired from a very early age.

There are many activities like Chinese New Year that are steeped in tradition that involves elements of superstition. Is there any harm involved? I think not.  Just lots of people having fun and trying to keep the old ways alive for another year. 

So there you have it.  I’ve just thrown a pinch of salt over my left shoulder and tapped the wooden desk three times and  with an ounce of luck,  I’ll see you next time. 

Footnote: Since the 1920’s, rewards from numerous scientific bodies have been offered for any one who could demonstrate under controlled laboratory conditions a paranormal or supernatural event.  Needless to say, the money is still in the bank.

Casper....who else?

A Rat's Life

The sun slowly set over the deep dense green jungle and beyond, the crest was slowly being devoured by the ever- darkening aqua blue sea; time to become active. The household would soon be quiet.  The human occupants go to bed early as they get up before dawn to work in the adjacent plantation.  Their footsteps are a constant reminder that danger is not far away. Though having said that Ratso did feel rather secure in the space below the wooden floorboards where there was only enough room for his friends, family, insects and the odd spider or two.  This didn't mean it was always harmonious, oh no siree, many a time there were scuffles over territory and food.  Ratso and his family easily outmuscled the others and had done so for a long time now; maybe 6 months or more.  No, the only thing they were really concerned about were the humans above.   Making too much noise could prove fatal.  Too many fights or scuffles amongst the underfloor occupants would result in some form of human intervention. 

Over time members of the family and other clans would go out hunting for food and never return.  Rats' memories are not very long so, they were soon forgotten.  The daily struggle for life saw to that; no point worrying about others when your own survival was at stake.

The security of living under the floor boards had its downside, the heat was stifling always and it wasn't possible to leave during the day to find relief.  The cover of darkness proved the only safe refuge for scavengers like Ratso; true kings of the nocturnal household travelling far and wide to find nourishment for themselves and their families. 

The humans help a lot, of course.  They are the perfect species to be living with. Not very clean, they leave plenty of food scraps for the family to eat: a reliable all year round supply that never dried up. 

The muffled sounds of the humans above, dimmed into nothingness as the last of them went to sleep.  Waiting for another half an hour to be certain, Ratso started his nightly routine by forcing his body through a small gap between the skirting and the floorboards. The kitchen was in a greater mess than usual, plenty of pickings tonight.  

Saturday night was party night.  The human occupants didn't have to work the next day, so enjoyed an evening of free flowing beer, food and music. 

Ratso raised his long triangular nose to the air and like the king of rodents he was, perused the multitude of complex odours that hung in the air. One simply delectable smell caught his attention.  A strong sharp pungent irresistible  odour drew him to a corner of the house he had never previously ventured to.  So powerful was the urge to get to it that he ignored the usual offerings he would normally indulge in. 

Total darkness wasn't a hindrance when it came to finding food.  A keen sense of smell was all that was needed.  This delectable rat perfume was irresistible and drew him trancelike to his final destination. 

He hardly noticed the long steel tubular frame, but as his front paws reached up to finally grasp the prize that awaited him, the snapping sound of metal on metal brought him abruptly back to reality.  Turning quickly to escape, he realised the entrance was no longer there.  Confusion reigned as he ran around in circles in a fruitless exercise for freedom.   

The first glint of sunlight graced the tops of the trees like a sleepy ballerina  trying her first movements out for the day.   Foot steps from in front of the house purposefully strutted down the side path. A hand appeared from nowhere and Ratso suddenly became airborne inside his steel prison.

A loud splashed followed and Ratso felt his fur being penetrated with frigid river water, while a cold shiver of fear ran down his spine.  Lungs engulfed, bursting, struggling to obtain air. Head arched back, legs rotating at a furious rate, frantic mouth movements; then a calming gentle realisation, the feeling of giving in and enjoying the last sensation of settling onto a cushion of the finest duck feathers, sinking deeper and deeper until there was nothing else to remember. 

Rattus Rattus

    

SHOPS

I find exploring retail areas interesting, not so much for shopping which I generally detest, but for observing the goings on. What works and what doesn't.  I'm far from being an expert in these things, so my comments are just personal ideas.  Do feel free to challenge anything I have to say about the subject. 

In central Sandakan, you will find the stock standard strip shops you find in this part of the world with Chinese metal shutters gracing the entire frontage of the premises. Most of these were built during the post-war reconstruction period and have not seen much change, including a coat of paint. These rows tend to have a back lane/small street behind that appears to have little purpose other than to collect rubbish. Even though the shop frontages have little aesthetic appeal, the lanes are worse.

The general feeling is that the centre of the city has been abandoned for new developments further out for reasons I won't go into here.

All the new shopping precinct construction follow a similar pattern. A grid like street-scape  with parallel lanes running behind each row. 

Again an arrangement like the old part of town, taking up a lot of space that never seems fully utilised in a practical sense; very similar to the old part of town. 

Why is this so?  You might ask.  In most cases, it’s convenient for hanging out the businesses washing, somewhere to let the mops dry out or put the rubbish.  Some of the restaurants use the area for outdoor eating.  When the lanes are usable, they’re open for garbage collection and access to the utilities, water, electricity etc, but in most of the newer complexes they are closed off to vehicles.  If you think about it, the overall area taken up by these under-utilised lanes eats into the space for creating wider frontage roads or even space for more shops.

I would have thought having the shopping rows back onto each other would make for a neater cleaner environment. Of course, there may be technical reasons why it’s done like this, but from what I’ve seen, most other parts of the world manage to do it differently.

Interestingly, when these complexes are first offered for sale the footpath in front of each shop is only a concrete slab. This means the individual owners/lessees have to finish off the surface to suit their particular taste or needs.  This leads to a hotchpotch of styles which at best makes it difficult to walk on or at worst dangerously uneven.  In a lot of cases the surface is never finished off, so the look and safety are far from perfect. While we are talking about footpaths, a lot of shops use that space to sell product from; an extension to their store. The local restaurants will put tables on it  and frequently electrical retailers will even have a marquee that extents onto the road.

Does this bother the locals?  Doesn’t seem to too much.  It’s what you get used to as I said earlier.  Here if you want to go to a particular shop you just park out the front whether there is a space or not.  Double parking is king in Sandakan.  The idea of parking and walking any distance to your destination doesn’t enter most people’s minds.  Even in the one and only under-roof shopping Mall, Giant where the open car park is right in front of the building, double parking reigns supreme. 

Notice the difference between a shopkeeper who tries to improve the footpath and ones who don't.

The drain covers are 20mm below the tiled footpath. 

A SMOKER'S STORY

I was walking into the bank this morning when I passed a young slender teenager who was looking rather solemn, leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.  The image created made me reflect on the previous evening's conversation.

Whilst sitting around the kitchen table, the talk turned to smoking or to be more specific the health risks associated with it.  The topic was very poignant because the grandfather of this particular family had died of lung cancer in his early forties some 30 odd years ago and currently his youngest son is about the same age and a smoker.

As I walk the streets of Sandakan, I often see many young and old smoking.  Of course I don’t know the percentage of  those who do smoke but I suspect it is quite high compared to other parts of the world. 

This is not going to be a piece on 'stop smoking or else', but of   the choices we make during our life.

In another life, I used to work as a nurse in Adelaide and in that capacity I had to deal with a lot of different people; some pleasant, some not so. 

 This took place almost 40 years ago. I don’t remember the the name of the man central to my story, so for the sake of this tale we’ll call him Harry.

Harry was the sort of person who you could take too almost immediately. Despite his debilitating condition, he came across as chirpy, cheerful and personable. He struck up conversations with almost everybody on the ward.  I was 19 and very shy but I immediately felt comfortable in his presence. At the time, he would have been in his early seventies but looked much older.  His craggy-character-filled face told of a life of excesses and through his constant stories, obviously one he never regretted. Ever the optimist he refused to look at anything in a negative light.  He must have been in excruciating pain but brought an immediate cheer to the otherwise depressing environment of the ward.

You see this particular ward was for amputees.  Mostly people who had experienced trauma of some sort, severe diabetics, or in the case of Harry sufferers of PVD or peripheral vascular disease.

Harry was a chain smoker and had been since the age of 12. He loved his cigarettes and couldn’t imagine a life without them. He enjoyed the odd beer or two and smoking went hand in hand with that activity.

I’m not going to go into the intricate details of PVD other than to say the majority of those who contract the disease smoke.

Harry’s feet and lower legs were almost black through lack of blood supply.  In other words, his limbs were dying.  On this blackness grew large fluid filled blisters that constantly burst giving off a putrid odour whenever the wadded dressing was changed around his ankles.

The afternoon he arrived, the doctors had decided that he was to lose both of his legs above the knee. Harry took the news in his stride and tried to make a joke of his predicament.  Everyone was amazed with his attitude, some thought he was in denial. 

Harry could not stand to be in bed lying down.  He said it was too painful but looking back I think in reality he just wanted to sit up so he could have a smoke.  In those days, it was okay to smoke in hospital, so even though he was about to lose his legs through smoking the idea of not having a cigarette never crossed his mind.

You could see he was in great discomfort but he didn’t complain. He lit one cigarette after another deep in thought between the storytelling.  This man had been a born entertainer.

Evening arrived and the anaesthetist came to see to Harry and talk about the next day's surgery.  He inspected his legs for a short time and asked to be excused.  Soon after a team of medicos arrived and gave Harry a more thorough examination.  After a short discussion among themselves, Harry was told the worst possible news.  The circulation in his legs had completely shut down. The creeping blackness had now almost reached his groins.  There was nothing they could do. 

From what I remember Harry wanted to be alone for awhile.  For the next half hour his only companion was a cigarette.

Later that night, I happened to go past his bed.  I felt awkward and he could sense it.  He smiled at me and that helped break the ice somewhat.  He started one of his life’s stories,  but stopped abruptly midstream and said,

“You know, I have done a lot of stupid things during my life. Things I am ashamed of.  But not for one minute do I regret the general direct my life took. 

I started smoking as a young boy; stole my old man’s tobacco and rolled my own.  You know this may sound strange, but if I had my time over again I would still smoke.  I loved it, those around me didn’t, but I did.  It’s going to kill me.  I can live with that.” 

Laughing when he realised what he had just said. The conversation went on a little longer; I don’t remember anymore. 

We said our goodbyes at the end of the shift and my parting memory was of a burly man sitting upright in an armchair, eyes fixed on some distant object with a sly almost indistinguishable smile,  a cigarette butt firmly fixed in the corner of his mouth.

He died at 2 a.m. sitting in the same position I left him, still smoking until the very end.

One of the night staff told me that the last thing he heard Harry say before he passed away was “They can bury me with a packet of cigarettes; with me in life, a reminder of what killed me in death.”  He was apparently chuffed with the idea.

The teenager was still there, cigarette in hand, as I started my walk home.  I wonder if he’ll be one of the lucky ones or if it does eventually kill him, accept his fate the same way Harry did all those years ago.   No regret?

      

Photo by BossDonkey care of Photobucket

THE TERMINUS

The first sliver of light appearing on the horizon.  Adam lay there as he had all night looking up at the ornate ceiling of his small bungalow; the patterns changing subtly as the light started to penetrate the dark recesses of the bedroom.  He was 37 years of age, tall and lean, too tall to be a successful jockey but he had proved all of them wrong.  His wife lay there still asleep, but unlike him had slept fitfully, hardly stirring all night.  The room might have  lightened up, but the darkness still hung over his mind. 

He had tried all night to focus on the good things in his life: his wife, his poetry, the horse racing.  The poetry had a small, significant group of followers, but  he hadn’t thus far made any money from it.  Only yesterday he had been told by a good friend, his latest collection, not yet released to the public, had already received critical acclaim from one of the nation's top newspapers.   

All this didn’t seem to matter now.  Depression had seen to that.  Bouts of melancholy often settled upon him like a medieval woollen cloak placed on his slight shoulders; heavy and uncomfortable refusing to be removed.  It became worse after the last fall; no more steeple chasing.  Horses were his life. They made him feel alive and carefree, though his riding antics always attracted plenty of attention and were regarded as reckless by some.

This night was different;  constantly restless, he thought of the accumulating debt he was unable to service and the supposed inheritance that had never materialised.  He thought of his poor Annie who would never know the joys or otherwise of adulthood. 

He didn’t sleep.  All night his mind had entertained the images that made up his life.  It was far from being all bad, but in his malign state, the negatives far outweighed the positives.  

Then just before dawn, the shroud inexplicably lifted: no pain, no seeking a direction, a meaning, just a calm simple dark emptiness.  A void where nothing really mattered anymore.  He knew, the train was in the station.

He shifted his body weight to the edge of the mattress, dropped his feet to the floor and slowly stood up.  He then knelt down beside the bed, ran his hand under it until he felt the butt of his rifle.  He took one last look at his still sleeping wife, bent down, placed a gentle kiss on her cheek without waking her and quietly walked to the next room to put on his boots.

The sun now was filtering strongly through the glass inlay on the front door and as he opened it, the cool sting of the crisp June morning air hit his cold expressionless face. 

The train pulled out slowly; two lines converging into the distance towards the final end point. 

Adam was the only passenger.

He walked slowly down the still quiet street wondering for a fleeting moment if he needed to see anyone... No, it was too late for that, the time had arrived.  The early morning bird calls were still active in the mostly deserted street as he strolled towards Brighton beach.

A man returning from a night's fishing nodded a good morning, but received no acknowledgement.  Eyes fixed staring into the imaginary distant, he meandered for a quarter mile until he reached a patch of tea tree scrub close to the beach.  

Finding a small clearing, he removed his wide brim hat and put it carefully onto the ground placing the contents of one of his pockets: a small pocket knife, pipe, some tobacco and a  silver shilling into it.  His hand slid down inside the other pocket and felt for the one cartridge case he had on him.  With purpose, he sat down resting against the trunk of an old tea tree and secured the rifle between his feet with the barrel resting in his mouth.  Running his hand along the length of the barrel he found he could not reach the trigger, so he broke off a small twig to use as a lever and then re positioned himself. The twig looped around the trigger and he pushed it slowly away.

The train was now picking up speed; the end point was clearly in sight. 

Adam looked upwards into the clear crisp blue sky as a silver gull glided effortlessly past and thought ... Nothing.

The deep blue skies wax dusky, and the tall green trees grow dim,

The sward beneath me seems to heave and fall ;

And sickly, smoky shadows through the sleepy sunlight swim,

And on the very sun's face weave their pall.

Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave,

With never stone or rail to fence my bed ;

Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers on my grave,

I may chance to hear them romping overhead.
                                   " The Sick Stock-rider"

Adam Lindsay Gordon 1833 to 1870

Adam Lindsay Gordon spent a number of years living in Dingle Dell near Port McDonald with his new bride before moving to Melbourne.

Short history of his life  

A MALAYSIAN'S PHOTOGRAPHIC INSIGHT OF SOUTH AUSTRALIAN BIRDS (Part 5)

Lake Mcintyre - a serene lake and better known as a bird sanctuary.  It is an old quarry made into a wetland reserve about 2 kilometres west of Millicent.  Skirted around the lake with my camera and ever patient husband which took about 30 minutes.  The lake is definitely a haven for water birds and  the bird hides makes it easy for the bird lovers to observe and capture pictures of them.  Listening to the small birds tweeting and chirping in the Tea trees aroused my curiosity of the types of birds that dwell in there.  Made me want to spend my time clicking away but there is only so much time on a short holiday.

A MALAYSIAN'S PHOTOGRAPHIC INSIGHT OF SOUTH AUSTRALIAN SINK HOLES (Part 4)

Believe it or not?  Mount Gambier, in the south east of the state, is a honeycomb of thousands of cavities under the city.

A MALAYSIAN'S PHOTOGRAPHIC INSIGHT OF SOUTH AUSTRALIAN BIRDS (Part 3)

A MALAYSIAN'S PHOTOGRAPHIC INSIGHT OF SOUTH AUSTRALIAN BIRDS (Part 2)

A MALAYSIAN'S PHOTOGRAPHIC INSIGHT OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA (Part 1)