Noise Noise Go Away

As I enter my later years, the idea of spending it in peace and quiet appeals. I  have never been big on noise and at my age even minimal consequential sound rubs me up the wrong way.

Let me explain my predicament.

A chronological time line in a day in the life of a phonophobic. 

I live in a middling suburban area 4 miles from the town centre as the crow flies or in this part of the world, the egret. 

The houses are very close together and are generally made out of plywood or similar material. Being in the tropics and in a poorer part of town, ( no air conditioning ) the windows are always open to let whatever cooling breeze there is do its  job, so hearing the neighbours’ slightest movements or conversations even 2 or 3 houses down is common place.

The house I live in is half way down the street.  Most dwelling here have dogs.  Not the pet type per-say, but the so called guard dog variety.  The idea apparently is that the dog will warn the owner of an intruder and save the day.  Great in theory but… From 3 am onwards, 3 times a week the local garbage collection takes place.  This street is a dead end and the truck is reluctant to drive down it in a normal manner stopping at each house and emptying the refuse in the back.  Oh that would be too easy.  Two men are dropped off at the top of the street and walk down emptying the bins along the way and dragging the contents to a central location for collection.  This process takes about 5 or so minutes, a time when every dog in the street goes mad wanting to tear these men to shreds. 

 These dogs are never walked, never leave their yards, so have a lot of pent up territorial frustration.  Believe me, it’s like the Hounds of the Baskervilles. The funny thing is these dogs at times don’t react to more suspicious activities such as roaming packs of local youths walking by. Go figure.

To the left is a place where maybe a dozen plantation surveying workers reside.  Generally, they are fairly quiet apart from the period between 5.30 and 6 when they are getting ready to go to work and sit outside waiting for the companies vehicles to pick them up. On most days, a rather rotund man with outlandishly oversize shorts and workman’s singlet sits on the outside of the house adjacent to my dwelling, sawing and whittling away pieces of wood to make into surveying pegs.  This process starts at 6 am and finishes maybe midday when the sun has finally reached that side of the house.  Constant chopping and gnawing away on wood is the most irritating noise known to man; well at least this man.  These workers also have a tendency to shout at each other, even when they are standing 2 feet apart.  Either they are deaf or insensitive, or both. 

 Just as this is going on, my mother-in-law for reasons unknown to all but herself wants to sing renditions of P. Ramlee’s classics at the top of her voice.  Oh how I long for the morning chatter of the songbirds and the gentle mooing of the cows as they walk towards the milking shed.  Ahhh Bliss.

Turning to the other adjacent house, lives an old couple whom I would have expected to be longing for a quiet peaceful existence.  No such luck.  I might get myself into trouble saying this, but what the heck. The old man is deaf, so as most deaf people do, shouts at the top of his voice when he wants attention.  As luck has it, a mere dozen times a day.  The lady, I call her in my fits of annoyance a fish monger’s wife. My own wife gives me a dirty look when I state this bleeding obvious fact.  For I can’t imagine a better proponent of the art of shouting out “ Fish for sale tuppence a pound . Cum and get ya fresh snapper ‘ere. Cook the old man somefing fresh for din din’s.”  In the most high pitched irritating squark possible… Well - she would, if she could speak English, but you get the point. 

By early afternoon most days, the gas cylinder exchange truck barrels along the street honking its horn incessantly; nothing subtle about its message.  The double advantage of being on a dead end road - get to hear it twice in 30 seconds!

The area opposite the house is owned by the Girl Guides association even though I never see them there. The hall is rented out for various functions or activities, bamington in the evenings ( only hear the occasional grunt ) and mainly weddings that can occur any day but mostly on the weekend. If I am really lucky it’s twice a day, a constant ear splitting band belting out local favourites at 80 decibels, with a singer who thinks they can sing screaming, sorry - calm down now, blood pressure up -  I mean, hitting high notes, a little off key.

To top it all off as evening approaches the local discotheque, which is 300 metres away, revs up to terrorise the neighbourhood until 3 am. Pure bliss, sandwiched between a wall of noise. 

Not all is lost though. You know how I said I longed for the sounds of the country, the neighbours 2 doors down have procured a rooster. This kindly animal allows a brief respite from the disco music and doesn’t offer a cock a doodle doo until 4am.  I now have company in the mornings when the garbage truck doesn’t come.  

Now dear reading you might be thinking all this has everyone around here tearing their hair out in frustration, but I can assure you, no such thing.  It only bothers me. Yes, only little old me is going grey through the battle ground of the sound waves.

I have only one more thing to say before I sign off. 

Are there any decent ear plugs in Sandakan?

The Long Thin Line

A crack in the curtains allowed a sliver of light to penetrate the otherwise dark room. A pair of eyes followed the illumination to its final destination, a threadbare crumpled bedspread.  

Eugene could not gather his thoughts.  The scene was baffling to his ever increasingly befuddled mind. Nothing made sense anymore even the primitive emotions that swelled up from the deep recesses of his once productive brain.

Fear, frustration and anger surfaced now and again with no meaning or substance to connect too.  They were just there hanging like the Sword of Damocles over his increasingly lifeless soul.  The fine thread would soon break; whether he lived or died, it mattered not to him.  

A fly walking up the wall, an inexplicable mystery.  The dots didn't connect, the picture was incomplete.  

The door opened slowly, Rosemary’s head appeared along its edge. 

“Hello, my dear, I hope I’m not disturbing you.  I’ve brought you some of your favourite cup cakes, you know, the ones you love so much.”

Eugene’s expressionless face didn’t change.  It didn’t show any acknowledgement to the woman he had been married to for almost 50 years.The face and the voice meant nothing. He momentarily gazed into that face, but the flame of recognition did not flicker.  

Rosemary for her part found it difficult to let go of this man. She was determined to remain stoic and show her love until the bitter end.  What she could see still belonged to her. It was still her Eugene, the man she raised 3 beautiful children with. The man who supported her throughout life's roller coaster journey. 

Yes, it was still him even though deep down she knew his earthly connection with reality was now lost forever.  His body no longer held the memories, his heart grasped no secrets they had once shared.  She alone held the key now.  He could never again open that door.

Rosemary sat next to him on the bed and held his long bony hand in hers.  Stroking his fingers, she talked incessantly for the next half hour, not pausing for a reply that was never going to come.  It was as much to do with her own sanity as anything else.  He was lost, but she still lived in a world of  memories. 

“How cruel; what was the point of all this,” she thought. 

A tear rolled down her cheek as it had often done during the last few long years.  Wiping her face dry, she whispered into his ear.

“ See you next week my dear.  Same time, I’ll be here."

Eugene stared blankly at that thinning slither of sunlight progressing up the wall.

Bedtime Story For Leela

It was time for bed.  

Leela and Jack cuddled Mum and Dad, gave them a quick peck on the cheek and quickly scampered up the stairs and down the corridor to their bedroom.  

It had been such a long, long day and both were so tired they kept rubbing their eyes.  

Jack jumped onto his mattress and pulled back the sheets to get in. 

Leela, being the good sister she was, tucked Jack in and gave him a good night kiss on the forehead.  

"I love you Jack." she whispered into his ear, but he didn't hear her as he had already entered dream world.  

Leela smiled and climbed into her own bed. 

She lowered her head on the pillow, closed her eyes and tried to think of all the wonderful things she had done that day.....

A strange sensation of soft silky bristles brushing her face and a sharp persistent sniff woke Leela up from her deep, deep sleep. 

She opened her eyes ever so slightly, but couldn't make anything out clearly except for a browny grey blob next to her nose. 

"Whaaat!" she shrieked.  

The blob moved back into focus. 

Startled, Leela sat up quickly, "Who are you? A rabbit?"

"Excuse me Miss, do you mind, I'm not a common rabbit, let me introduce myself. 

Harry Hammerhead Hornbill Hop along Hare the Third at your service, you can call me Houdini for short, and to whom do I have the pleasure?" the big grey thing stuttered and muttered back.

"Harry Hammerhead Hornbill Hop - Along The Third at your service"

Leela turned her head sharply left and then right, looking around. 

Where had her cosy bed gone, and her and Jack's bedroom? 

How strange, in fact to her astonishment she was sitting on the ground in a soft bed made of multi coloured hundreds and thousands. 

In front of her was a large grey and brown rabbit, um I mean hare, wearing a yellow tweed jacket that was too tight, and a baggy loose fitting pair of pink stripped orange shorts that fell down below his bony knees. Finally to top it all off, the most disgusting tattered old black running shoes you have ever seen.

Oh, did I mention he was standing up on his hind legs looking rather menacing with his long pointy ears and scraggly white whiskers?

"Well Miss, what's your name, I can't stand here all day waiting. 

I'm a very important hare you know, very busy, mustn't dilly dally, wasting time with drop in visitors wasting my time to dilly dally,dilly dally etc etc" mutter,mutter,stammer,stammer.

"My name's Leela of course."

"Ah! Not Princess Leela! Oh me, oh my, it's Princess Leela from the internet tree. 

I thought I recognised you, Oh! I can't wait to tell the others."

"Hey wait a minute," shouted Leela "what's an internet tree and besides where am I?"

"You're in Sparkle Dazzle Razzle land of course, as if anyone in this whole wide fantasy world wouldn't know that. 

Then again you might know it as Wonderland, the name we had before that awful Alice girl stopped us using it through the fantasy land patent office. 

Awful girl she is, simply awful, should have minded her own business,” mutter mutter stammer stammer.

"You haven't told me what an internet tree is yet."

“Oh that. It's where the mummies and daddies post all the photos and videos of their children. 

On every branch and every twig hangs an image, on a fine thread of gold. 

We have a great old time sitting around the ancient tree and seeing what the children are doing on the other side. 

I've seen you many times in your princess dress, wearing your sparkling tiara, posing in front of the camera looking all regal and grand.”

Jack and Princess Leela on the internet tree

Then Leela suddenly remembered something. 

"Where is Jack? I mustn't lose him! I'm his big sister you know and if I do lose him Mummy and Daddy won't be very happy." 

Just as she finished saying that, Jack appeared from behind a mulberry bush with a big smile on his face, and a large dollop of chocolate on his left cheek! 

"Oh me, Oh my, he's found the chocolate puddle!" 

A thoroughly exacerbated Harry Hammerhead Hornbill Hop along Hare the Third, or Houdini for short announced. 

"No chocolate before lunch, it’s the rules you know, mustn't break the rules, it just isn't done, no siree it isn't,” mutter, mutter stammer, stammer.

Jack rushed up to Leela and gave her a big cuddle, then nestled down into her lap.

Leela finds Jack with chocolate on his face

Houdini suddenly looked startled. 

“Oh, Oh, Oh, I almost forgot, to many distractions, I remember now. 

Thomas Toad is in trouble, I have to help him, Oh, I almost forgot,” mutter, mutter ,stammer, stammer. 

And with that he jumped up and hopped away down the path and into the forest without even saying a goodbye or anything like that. 

Leela looked at Jack and Jack looked at Leela. They were now all alone in this very strange world.

Fortunately soon after, along came, or should I say blew along, a large plastic bag full of other plastic bags. 

Two small beady dark eyes and thin puckered lips told Leela and Jack this was no ordinary plastic bag.

Just as it was about to roll past it jammed itself between a rock and a tree branch. 

"Oh my word, I'm stuck again," proclaimed the bag. 

Up until then he hadn't noticed the other two. 

It wasn't until Jack ran up and pinched the plastic very hard that it let out an anguished cry of pain and discovered it wasn't alone.  

Jack, startled by the noise, jumped back and looked for Leela's hand. 

"What are you doing little man, that hurts? Just because I'm a lowly Plastic Bag doesn't mean I don't have feelings. Anyway, now that you are here you can help me off of this branch."

Leela and Jack obliged and freed the plastic bag.

"Thank you, thank you so much, I now forgive you little man. 

Let me introduce myself, Peter Plastic esquire at your service. 

No job is too big or small with almost cheap rates."

"What job are you talking about." enquired Leela 

"What do you think!" snapped back Peter Plastic. "Rubbish disposal of course, can't you see I'm a garbage bag. 

I'm the only one in Sparkle Razzle Dazzle land and do a very fine job, even if I do say so myself. 

At this very moment you caught me delivering 40 delinquent shopping bags that have been blowing around our beautiful country side causing havoc and distress to our perfect residents. Yes, very much so, I have a very important job. 

By the way who are you?”

Jack and Leela meet Peter Plastic

Leela explained to Peter how she woke to find herself here but had no idea why or where she was other than it was Sparkle Razzle Dazzle land and full of strange things.

"Oh! one of those you are," Peter said knowingly, “we get them sometimes, escapees from the internet. 

Did your mummy leave the computer on last night? 

Oh never mind, to late, to late for a very important date..... Oh forgot, this isn't Wonderland now."

Peter had a little chuckle to himself, but Leela had no idea what he was on about. 

"Anyway, we need help to get home, can you help us please, pretty please, Mummy and Daddy will be so worried," pleaded Leela.

Before Peter could answer there was this enormous splash from the nearby forest. 

Leela ran, while Peter rolled over to where the sound came from. 

Low and behold there was Jack, waste deep in..... wait for it...... MILK! 

Yes milk, he was sitting in a creek flowing with milk. 

Jack, with a big cheesy grin on his face, was taking a sip. 

'Yummy," he said. Jack was a small boy of few words!

“Well I'll be," Leela looked in wonder at the scene. 

Milk in the creek, honey dripping off the pencil pines, and best of all, a small shop that made the most scrumptious honey milk shakes. (Or so the sign said.)

"This is Wonderland, Oh I mean Sparkle Razzle Dazzle land, how beautiful."

"Yes it is, but we need to help you get home, but how is the question?" 

Peter looked up with those beady eyes and puckered his lips even more so. 

If he had hands he would have rested one under his chin... arrrh if he had one. 

Anyway you get the picture. 

A picture of concentrated intelligence focused on the problem. 

"Aarrh I have it," Peter said with a knowing look on his plastic face, “we will go and see Mr. Thomas Toad, he knows all the answers in the whole wide world."

"Isn't he the one with a problem right now?" asked Leela. 

"Yes, yes I forgot I'm supposed to be helping him, I forgot silly me, too much plastic on my mind. Come, let’s go and find him."

So off they went, deep into the sweetie smelling forest to find Mr. T. Toad.

Mr. Thomas Toad was of the horny back spotted variety. 

He was big with leathery brown skin that had zillions of bumps and lumps. 

This gave the impression he was tough and mean, but really he was a big happy softy who would help anyone in need. 

Everyone loved him, or so he thought. 

When Leela, Jack and Peter finally found him sitting under a toffee covered rock, he was looking very miserable.  

Leela, before saying hello, asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong, what's wrong, the worst possible thing, that's what wrong. 

My toadstool has been stolen and I have nowhere to sit. What's a king without his throne I ask you?" 

He then let out a deep sad croak.

"It was just in front of my favourite toffee coated rock last night, but was gone this morning.  Who could do such a thing? 

How can a toad in my position sit on the cold milk covered ground. 

I mean to say, I'll catch a dreadful cold or something."  

Thomas Toad not looking very happy!

Everyone looked at each other and felt sad for Thomas. 

(Well, not really but they were good at pretending!)

Just then an email arrived on the back of a huge lumbering tortoise. 

"Out of my way, express delivery for Thomas Toad. Move it."

No one had to "move it" because tortoise was so very slow. 

Leela thought to herself, ‘How can an email be delivered without a computer! Then again, anything’s possible in S R D land.’

The back of the tortoise glowed red and the golden coloured words shone out, it said: 

‘Dear Mr. Thomas, Help! I have been kidnapped by a pack of mushrooms that I suspect have  bad intentions, save me as quickly as possible. 

Your favourite seat always, Toadstool xx 

P.S. you can find me down in the cookie and cake playing field, next to the second rainbow lollipop tree on the right.’

"Oh, we must hurry," announced Thomas, and with that they all dashed off down the lane, past the milk creek and over the gingerbread mountain till they reached the playing field.

" Out of my way, Email delivery"

To their astonishment they found Toadstool surrounded in a sea of Mushrooms.

"See here," snapped Thomas sharply. "You just can't take my comfy seat and get away with it. It’s just not right you hear. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

The Mushrooms were stunned. 

They looked at each other, formed a ring and muttered to each other in a high pitched squeal like only mushrooms can. 

After a while one stepped forward, with his head bent so low it was almost touching the ground. Then spoke in a very squeaky voice.

"Sorry sir, we know we have done wrong. You must understand we became so jealous with envy.   

You see Toadstool here is so tall and straight with the most beautiful red skin dotted with green and yellow spots. On the other hand we are just plain Janes, dull grey and uninteresting."

Leela then thought how much she preferred eating mushrooms to toadstools but decided it was best not to say so. 

A tear rolled down the stalk of the mushroom. 

Upon seeing that, Thomas became all soft and jelly like inside.

"Oh! Not to worry, no real harm done as long as you have learnt your lesson. 

Jealousy is a waste of time and energy. 

Beauty is only skin deep and in the eye of the beholder and all that." 

(He read it in a book once but didn't really know what it meant!)

"Oh thank you, thank you," all the mushrooms shouted out at once. 

Before you could say mushroom pie, they had formed a circle and proceeded to dance around Miss. Toadstool, singing and laughing. 

Toadstool in a sea of mushrooms

Everyone was now happy and Sparke ,Razzle, Dazzle land was back to its Wonderland best. 

Then...

In the distance a deep rumbling sound could be heard, and it appeared to be moving towards them! 

Houdini lifted his nose to the sky, took a deep sniff and froze for a moment.

"Oh! It's the Giant Green Bowl of Jelly who lives deep underground: he's on the move, take cover."

Everyone darted this way and that. 

Leela and Jack were left alone in the middle of the field as the ground began to shake. 

In the next valley over grew the Internet tree. It also began to shake and quiver. 

All of a sudden the photos of all the boys and girls started to fall off the branches and twigs, and smashed to the ground. 

Leela felt something brush on her face. "Stop it Harry, I don't like it."

"Harry who?" whispered Mum

Leela opened her eyes and let out a shout. "Mum, you are back."

"I haven't been anywhere," she laughed. 

Leela quickly looked at the bed next hers and saw Jack there, sleeping peacefully.

Only a dream or...

In the corner of the room on top of the highest shelf was a stuffed toy... a toad sitting on a toadstool with a smile on its face... 

Until Next Time

The night was a wild one.  The wind lashed the coastline sending plumes of sea spray out over the esplanade to soak everything within a hundred metres of the beach.  The row of palms swayed and buckled in a fight with nature's irresistible force.

This evening, the sun had disappeared a lot sooner than usual behind the heavy rain laden clouds that had been around for most of the day.  The red neon light of the hotel shone overtly into every nook and cranny of the deserted street.

Olivia stared at the room’s window focusing on the water droplets as they trickled down the glass forming little pearls of clear red tinged liquid on the glass and wondered why he hadn’t arrived yet.

It was always like this, waiting and hoping.  The knot in her stomach tightened, a constant reminder that this was wrong.

It had started three years previous.  At the age of 37, she needed a new direction after having worked in the small printing office of H. J. Young and Sons since she had left school.  The small village she was born in, had up until then, been her only world.  The last child of loving, but overly protective parents, she was painfully shy and felt awkward around others.

By the time she started work Olivia was attractive, though most would say, not a great beauty and because of her acute shyness, never socialised outside working hours.  No one paid much attention to her for she was hardly seen and never heard.  Life was slow, predictable and dull for many long boring years.  Olivia lived with her parents up until their deaths and after much mental anguish, decided it was time to leave her comfortable existence behind in the hope of creating a new life.

The change brought with it a new job and a new city.  The large industrial conglomerate she found herself working in was far removed from the small office she had come from; big, noisy and impersonal.  The first 6 months were very hard, she felt depressed and lonely, though she was determined not to go back.

Then, he entered her life.

Steven Muirhead was a man of some fifty years of age who was, in most people’s eyes, a respectable successful  businessman.  Fit and toned for a man of his age, he was part owner of the industrial complex Olivia worked in.  She had become aware of him a lot sooner than he of her.  That all changed one late evening when most in the office were working back to finalise the end of year accounts.

Being one of the last to leave the office, Olivia was getting ready to go when quite out of the blue a deep manly voice behind her asked if she needed a lift home.  Turning around, she was surprised to see who it was, she hesitated a second before saying yes.

That’s how it started.  He didn’t seduce her at first, but it wasn’t long before she succumbed to his well-crafted charm and wit.  The attraction for her was not his fatherly looks or strong irresistible personality, but that he paid a lot of  attention and treated her, for the first time, as an object of desire. The thoughts of him being married with a family were pushed firmly back into the recesses of her mind.  She lived for the moment and didn’t want to focus on anything that would detract from that.

It was approaching 8 pm and he hadn’t arrived.  She was starting to worry.  Was this the moment she had been dreading for so long?  When the knock on the door came it startled her nevertheless.  Olivia’s heart missed a beat as Steven entered the door; a sense of relief prevailed.  Throwing his arms around her made all the difference, the knot inside her stomach unravelled.  Gently kissing Olivia's left cheek, he drew her head into his chest.  At that moment, nothing else mattered.

The curtains remained open and the rain belted upon the windows diffusing the little light there was into the room, to fall upon their bodies embracing on the grey coloured settee.  Olivia’s dark long hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders.

He whispered into her ears the things she wanted so desperately to hear.  How much he loved her; how he would never leave her; when the time was right he would leave his wife for her; she was his one and only true love.

Many times the same words had left his mouth over the years, but every time she clung to them like they had never been spoken before.  How she felt so wanted within his arms; the arms so strong and reassuring, the arms that protected her from invisible insecurities. All was well within those arms.  The love making took her to another world that was far removed from her daily reality.  This was now the only life worth living.  The drug of love had complete hold.

Two became one, bonded by a universal force so strong it defied the laws of physics.  The spark of existence itself engulfed the intertwining souls transferring the energy of love back and forth until there was no longer anything left to give.

Then, just as quickly as it started the bond was broken, one became two.

Even the wild weather outside seemed to pause to acknowledge the event.  The sounds of their ecstasy joined the forces of the wind and rain to let the world know of their unspoken illicit love.

Quiet, nothing but the silence that greeted the end.  He leant over, kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m sorry, my love I must go before she gets home.”

“It’s ok, you know I understand.”  But she didn’t really.

He got up and quickly dressed, turned around and smiled, blowing a kiss as he left.

Olivia lay there looking up at the ceiling. The spell had been broken and she just wanted to cry.  Guilt replaced comfort, fear replaced security.  The cycle had begun again.

She wiped the tears rolling down her face and proceeded to dress.

Until next time.

Courtesy of Google Images

Three Months of Being a Blogger

Saturday morning and I'm sitting in my favourite coffee shop devoid of ideas.
It's been 3 months since I started blogging and time to reflect on the experience so far.
As I have previously explained, somewhere, writing has never been a big part of my life until recently. When I did write it was because I had to and not because I wanted to.

My, how things have changed.
I always thought my ability to express myself in English was limited. English was not a strong point of mine during my school years and I didn't believe I possessed the required vocabulary or grammatical structure to be able to write successfully.

Things changed somewhat when I came to South East Asia as a middle aged teacher of English.  Doing a TEFL course to teach English helped to galvanised my rambling thought processes into a more coherent style for writing. ( Some may say it didn't work) For 7 years I taught mainly listening and speaking skills to high schools and university students with the occasional foray into the written word.

It wasn't until I came to Malaysia to live that I had some idle time on my hands to use to express myself on paper. (Just thought how interesting it is I used the word paper as I write this on my ipad.)
The blog started the end of October last year after spending time at the coffee shop I'm currently sitting in, talking to the owner who is himself an avid blogger of some 2 years.
Having already written a few short stories for my classes I decided to first dip my toes into the water by posting those.
I read a lot about how to successfully establish a blog and tried at first to encourage my friends and family to view what I had written on my blog via Facebook and Google +.
Then came a series of social observation pieces with the occasional short story thrown in that up until today totals 30.

Observations thus far.  Blogging is addictive. I find myself elated when I finish and publish a story and a feeling of steady pressure building up when I haven't submitted for a week or two.
Each morning I open the blog to see who has  read it the day before. The statistics don't uncover a lot  apart from what story has been looked at and from where.
 Of course, it doesn't tell you if it has actually been read and appreciated. Most people do not comment and those who do, give scant feedback.  Still, looking at the numbers gives a certain level of satisfaction, especially if there is an unexpected flurry of activity.

Talking about activity, its not always positive. Stats companies sometimes visit the site for whatever reason and artificially inflate the hits. Days vary with little or no activity to say for example 100 visits from someone or some group in Israel. The United States is by far the greatest hit source followed closely by Malaysia. I have had hits from every continent apart the antarctic and even from such obscure places ( for me)  as Tunisia.

The first few stories I posted were too long and I soon discovered people won't read anything that takes time to read. Pieces less than a thousand words work better and generally receive the highest hits. At this stage, my most successful piece so far has been a satirical look at weddings in this part of the world.

A good title is all important when it comes to being found on the Internet. Being at the top of the search results requires a website that receives a lot of traffic and advertisers. Mine has neither, so to find what I have written by various search engines can be difficult.

The main purpose for me to blog is not for adulation but to encourage my creative writing class students to read.  In Malaysia like most other parts of the world teenagers don't read. The art is being lost to television and computer games. If the blog succeeds in this, I will be truly satisfied.
I would encourage anyone who has something to say to blog.  It's very therapeutic to write and not at all important who or how many read it. In a sense, it's like in the old days when people kept a diary to write down their thoughts and aspirations. It's certainly a good way to express yourself and if you're lucky make others think a little differently.

Trek To Fraser's Hill By Planes,Trains, Automobiles and Buses

I always look forward to getting away, so when the opportunity came to disappear for a few days to West Malaysia I jumped at it.  My wife was asked to speak at a conference on the environment at Fraser's Hill, so I would tag along to do some much needed walking. 

Leaving Sandakan at 9.40 a.m.  for the 2 hour 45 minute' flight with the aircraft on time was a good start.  I tend to fly Air Asia these days as they are at times half the cost of MAS and apart from their lousy terminal in KL, fine to fly with. 

After an uneventful flight, we looked for a bus to take us to the KL Sentral station - the main meeting of all rail lines for West Malaysia.  So far so good; about an hour later, we're on the KTM Komuter platform bound for Kuala Kubu Bharu, a small town North of KL.  This place as the crow flies or by private car is only  a journey of some 60 kilometres but due to the state of the line, a 2-hour trip and not only that a two-train trip.  Four stations before our destination we had to change trains in Rawang.  Sounds simple but, with my ever suspicious mind I noticed the station markers above the door that flashed red when you have passed a station and green for the ones not reached, showed KKB on the same line.  

"Hmm..."  I thought out aloud.  "Does this mean this train does go all the way to KKB?"   

The last thing I wanted was to get off to discover we could have stayed on the train and saved a half an hour.  My wife had been told by one of the participants of the conference that you needed to change trains, but I wasn't convinced.  I pestered her to ask some intelligent looking commuter whether this was so.  Reluctantly, she did and to my relief, he said the train would continue on to our destination without the need to change.  I had a self-assured smirk on my face. We proceed until just before arrival at Rawang, the train auto voice announced those who wanted to continue to KKB needed to alight and transfer to Platform 2.  Wife 1 me 0.  Of course the train didn’t arrive on the said platform 2 but platform 3; despite that we managed to catch it.

About 4 p.m., we arrived at the KKB station which was nowhere near the town centre.  We had been told there would be taxis here to take us the final 30 odd kilometres up into the mountains, but all we found was a driver with his privately owned car who was willing to do so. 

The final leg up is extremely windy and not for those with a weak stomach.  Along the way, you will see the occasional Pigtailed Macaque scavenging at the side of the road from rubbish disposed by passing vehicles.

Now you might be wondering why this place is called Fraser's Hill.  No doubt you have worked out somebody called Fraser founded it and you will be right. 

Centre of Fraser's Hill

In the late 1800's Louis James Fraser a Scotsman came across the region looking for gold. He didn't find any but did discover rich tin deposits.  With the aid of Chinese miners, he established a series of mines on the top of the hill as well as an opium and gambling den to extract back the wages he payed the workers.  Obviously, he became too successful, for he went missing a number of years later and was never seen again.  

By the 1920's, the hill was established as a summer retreat for the wealthy colonials who revelled in its cool misty climate.

The last 8 kilometres is a one way twisting track that lifts itself from the bottom of the valley onto the top of the thick jungle-laden range.

The town itself is underwhelming, a central clock tower marking the centre with some original colonial buildings, a few ordinary looking hotels / resorts and a nine-hole golf course. 

The real highlight here is not the manmade structures, but the intact natural forest and wildlife.

After checking into the hotel and seeing about the program for the next day's conference, we settled in for a quiet night.  Well, almost quiet if it wasn’t for the room full of men next door who wanted to scream at each other for no apparent reason other than to be noisy and the family with 2 inconsolable children that didn’t seem to appreciate the ambiance of the place. 

After breakfast, my wife went off to her meeting whilst I decided to go bush walking.  Before  she left, I received a stern warning that the jungle was a dangerous place to get lost in, especially this place as it has a history of people getting lost.  Of course, I scoffed at the suggestion this could possibly became my fate as I was a bush walker of some 40 years experience and besides the paths would be well maintained and easy to use as they were open to the general public.

Little did I know... 

To placate my wife, I said I would text her my intended route which in hindsight was an excellent move. 

The first walk I decided on was Hemmant trail just behind the golf course and a short 500 metres long.  The path was relatively flat and wide at first that crossed a number of small streams.  There had been guide ropes in place at some stage but most of these were no longer attached to the post that held them.  Needless to say, the crossing would have been easier with them although not impossible for an able bodied 57 year old to transverse. Feeling confident I pressed on.  I passed an old Japanese communication centre from the last war and saw numerous small birds of various species darting through the dense undergrowth.  The occasional glimpse of the golf course let me know exactly where I was.  In a very short while, I was at the end of the trail so proceeded to find the entrance for my second sojourn.  Starting at the forest, 200 metres up the road from the end of the Hemmant trail was Bishops trail.  It was well signposted giving plenty of information about the area.  A little way in, I caught sight of some leaf monkeys feeding on ( I think) leaves at the top of ginormous tree.  There were other numerous rustling sounds coming from the surrounding jungle although I could not see anything because of the density.  The macaque called constantly to each other in the valley, so it gave me a sense of the primitive.  I was alone in fact during the duration of the walks, I saw no other person.  Man Vs Wild… well not quite but you get the picture. 

Spider hunter

The track after the first half kilometre deteriorated markedly and I found myself climbing over or going under fallen trees and bamboo and it had become a lot more slippery due to some light morning rain.

At this stage, if my wife was with me, I would have had to turn back.  Where I am a little too gung-ho at times, she is much more cautious.  The track was passible but the going was not that pleasant.  Anyway to cut a long story short, I ploughed on and in due course managed to reach the end intact.  

This is where I should have stopped but…

The end of Bishop’s Trail (can’t imagine too many Bishops walking it) was the start of Maxwells.  The small map I had with me was little more than a diagram with little detail.  It told me this walk was about 2 kilometres long and ended at the local Tamil school at the base of the hill I was on.  

“No problems,” I said to myself.  I was a little dirty by now, scummed my knee on a branch of a fallen tree, but most importantly kept the camera intact.

I pressed on like an explorer awaiting his fate.

The track was level and wide at first and except for the occasional fallen tree trunk and bamboo thicket, it was ok.

About the half way mark, things changed.  

Sunlight streaming through the treetop canopy

The track started to descend to the valley floor and narrowed appreciably.  It was very slow going and I found holding my SLR camera annoying as it prevented me from using one of my hands to steady.  The path did have guide ropes on the steeper sections, though almost of all them were not anchored to their original positions. 

At one stage a massive tree blocked the route; too big to climb over and with the gap underneath too small for me to fit, I had to dig a bigger hole under to scamper through.  I was now hot and thirsty having broken rule number one when walking in the wilderness - bring water. 

The track became quite steep with the edges collapsing if my foot got too close. 

You may well ask why I kept going.  A very good question indeed.  I have been known to be a little pigheaded at times and this was one such occasion.  Pride got in the way of common sense and I was determined to finish.

Onwards I pressed until the unthinkable occurred, the path seemed to vanish. I turned around but couldn’t make out any discernible markers.  I ventured another 10 metres hoping to reestablish the route when disaster occurred.

You know the moment when you're on your feet walking forward and without warning, find yourself face down on the earth.  I slid maybe only a few metres down a slope until a tree impeded my decent.  I remember hearing a cracking sound coming from my left ankle and feeling a sharp hot stabbing pain like being struck by a poker that had just come out of the fire.  

Stunned for a second or two, I attempted getting to my feet, but found it impossible.  Panic? Not quite, but a feeling of great unease came over me. 

My wife was having her big day and I was lost and injured in the jungle.  Ohhhh.  What a fool!

Fortunately I could hear cars passing that seemed not too far away and that spurred me on.  I sat for a few minutes and looked at my ankle.  It was swollen especially on the outer aspect, but appeared to be inline with the other one.  I found a vine nearby and used it to pull myself up but as soon as I attempted to walk, I fell down again.  The third attempt, I managed to stay on my feet and discovered I could weight bear a little and with the aid of a small branch I found myself scrambling down the slope looking for a way out.  It became quickly apparent that approach wasn’t going to work.The jungle was closing in the further I went. 

I climbed again with some difficulty and decided to move parallel with the slop in what I thought might be the direction of the descending path.  After traversing a small knoll, there it was.  My heart missed a beat and a sense of relief descended over me.  Five minutes later I hobbled onto the road and slowly dragged my left foot the 2.5 kilometres back to my hotel. 

Wife 2 Me 0.

Fungi growing on a dead log

The remainder of the day, I lay in bed after seeing the local first-aid man who filled me up with medication and bandaged my ankle. 

My wife’s meeting went very well, so I was very thankful I didn’t spoil it for her.  If I had been further up the track or had severely sprained or broken my ankle, then things might have turned out a lot worse.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and we had a pleasant though short stay in Fraser’s Hill.

I will recommend the place to anyone, but with one proviso - stay well clear of Maxwell's trail.

PS. Just this morning, I read how Maxwell's trail is infestered with leeches, so not too many  people bother to walk it.  Ohhhh if only I had known.