Castaway on Pulau Tioman

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Castaway on Pulau Tioman

Preface:
What started as simply jotting down notes of the places I have been has changed in Tioman. I felt more inspired writing about this place than any before, so it actually reads more like the chapter out of a novel. Let's call it realistic travel fiction ;). If anyone is in contact with publishers who might be interested in material like this, you have my email! :)

March 28

Castaway.
I've grown wild in the two weeks on the remote Tioman Island ;)

“Take the bus at Boogey station to Jahor Baru. It’s my home town, just across the border. From there you get a ticket to Mersing. If you are lucky, you can get the last ferry to Tioman. When you are on the island, head straight to Juara Beach and stay there, you will enjoy it. If getting away is what you are looking for, Juara Beach is your best bet.” I soak up the words of the Malayan guy at my hostel reception like a sponge. “Man, I just realize, I haven’t done an island vacation in a long time. I should go to Tioman some time soon myself.” That’s it, he’s sold it. 

I cannot wait until I get to the Cameron Highlands to chill out in a hammock there. I’m off to Malaysia. Tioman Island! I change around 450 $ in cash, because there are no ATMs on the island. That should suffice for a little bit over a week, unless I decide to learn diving, which might just happen. Let’s see how long I last away from everything. I really need time to sort my brain out, calm down. I’ll take as much time there as I need.

I start to apply mosquito repellant for the first time in Southeast Asia after I get bitten severely on the bus. This is not Singapore anymore! The roads are more shaky, the landscape more rough. The border crossing is surprisingly easy, however. If you are ok with the fact that your bus drives away as soon as you hop off. It wouldn’t be so unsettling if you knew another one was coming in fifteen minutes and that this was standard practice.

I miss the last ferry in Mersing. There’s sure to be some guy with a fishing boat to still go over, right? Yes, apparently. He wants around 80 Dollars. There are seven of us, so that would work out. One of us tries to talk to him, negotiate. Suddenly the boat man decides he does not want to go anymore. He’d rather stay here. So we are stuck in Mersing.

The only reason this town exists is really because the ferry port is here and it brings people to the islands. It’s ugly and uneventful. For lack of other excitement, Alison – the Canadian girl I met at the border – and I go to Chinese food after an Odyssey of finding a bed-bug free bed in Mersing. THE Lonely-Planet-recommended backpackers place caused us to revulse (people that stayed there later tell me they moved to sleep on the floor because the beds were so disgusting). We find different hotels, then meet up under the eyes of what must be Mersing’s entire Chinese community to have some veggies and sea cucumber. I use the wifi-opportunity to say my goodbyes to the civilized world before going to bed. It’s about three hours before I have to get up again and catch the ferry. It’s hot, it’s steamy and I am not looking forward to wake up in the middle of the night.

March 29

The ferry is surprisingly punctual – leaving at 4 o’ clock. Inside it’s cold due to the air condition and a couple of Japanese divers are sleeping on the leather benches. I pull my Science Fiction book, The Lifecycle of Software Objects and ponder over philosophical questions of mind development, my relationship to Caro and a vague decision whether I should try and learn how to surf on the island. I decide that a sexual relationship with a robot / digient is no more problematic than an emotional one, although highly more stigmatized by society, that freedom and freedom to make mistakes is an essential part of any relationship and that I want to stand on a surfboard on Tioman. Then I fall into silent slumber until heavy waves wake me up.

We've arrived. At the dock, "Bushman" is waiting to pick us up. He runs the place Allison is staying at, "Bushman's." That’s great, because it means I get over to the other side, Juara, as fast as possible and at a third of what a regular Taxi would charge me from Tekek. Bushman drops me off at Beach Shack… or Beach Hut… or Beach Shack Hut “They change name again, this Beach Shack,” Bushman assures me.

The Beach Shack from the ocean

I walk into an open, low roof porch area through the dark and feel the breeze of the sea around my nose as I approach the deck.

Sunrise over the South China Sea

My feet on the wooden planks, I realize the ocean is right there in front of me and I have arrived just in time to witness the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen, as the bright disk slowly crosses the line of the horizon over the ocean and paints the sky in a wonderful array of oranges and purple. Two figures sit at the side of the porch, staring in amazement at this magical spectacle. One is an older, gray haired man with stubble covering his face. He is very thin, wrinkled and incredibly tanned. The only thing he wears is a pair of board shorts. On the sun chair next to him is a smaller woman with shoulder long, black, slightly curly hair and a facial expression that makers her look a little like a monkey. Her skin is brownish and her smile spreads across her entire face and beyond as she takes photographs of the picturesque scene. Bound by the view myself, I somehow manage to confirm this is the right place and they run it. I’ve met Tim and Izan and this is enough introduction for us. Together we continue to watch the day break and the sun move up the brightening sky, reflecting on the calm water of the South China Sea before a slight rain begins and washes away the stupor spell, slowly waking us from the dream that is this sunrise.

Chalet with beach view

But the sun does not keep me up for long. I’ve hardly slept the night before. After I drop my heavy backpack (I travel with way too many things, did I mention?), I have just enough time to set up a tiny bookshelf and admire the view from my honeymoon chalet that looks down on the beach front. Then I fall into pleasant slumber on the giant bed that sits in the room like a fairytale with its thin blue layer of mosquito net cover. The sound of the ocean carries me over into the land of dreams, but careful: sharp rocks at the bottom!

The "honeymoon" suite. Basic, but wonderful!

I wake up from a pinch on my arm. What? Rocks? No. Mosquito? How did you get in here? Oh no. This is not a mosquito. I see a little black something scrawling over my pillow, trying to hide in the dark. It looks like a tick. May I introduce? The Cimex Lectularius. Oh, so this is what bed bugs look like, I think as I unsuccessfully try to squish the little bugger on the bed. It won’t budge, then it disappears. No way, that’s not cool, come back here, you took my blood! Don’t let the bed bugs bite, I was told. As I look around the edges of the mozzy net I become fully aware of the intensity of this encounter with my new six-legged friends. Hitchcock’s The Birds comes to my mind as I look up and see black creatures hovering over me, staring down only to wait for an inattentive moment to attack. Chose your battles! I get my clothes on, open the window to let in some light and indulge in a mass killing. My hands bear the bitterness of the murder as I leave the room to wash myself clean in the pacifying waters of the ocean.

Somewhere beyond the sea

I have the Shack nearly to myself. There is an Australian couple here that helps out. There’s also a Scandinavian couple, but they never come out of their chalet. It’s pretty much all mine, except for the boys, Tim’s nephew and a friend of his: Azeen and Jay. Paradise is mine!

swing low

But when has man ever been happy in paradise? Feelings of relaxation and a strange tenseness go back and forth in me, just as the hammock rocks me from side to side at the beach front. I worry about overspending my budget, which I have done indeed so far, then frolick at the beauty of the islands with its palm trees. I worry about what to do with my life, then stare at the waves and try to find the patterns in their movement. Most of all my mind is bothered by the fact that I am on this island by myself. Isn’t it paradoxical? I venture out to be by myself or dive into the adventures of live and then long for the vicinity of a girl. A girl back there, that is, back there where home was, only weeks ago. Already I am considering skipping Central America and taking her to South America in July. STOP. What nonsense. There will be no computer, no cellphone, no contact over the next few days, maybe weeks. Maybe that will knock some sense into my head.

I go to bed at nine. I have moved to a different chalet. It’s dark, I am tired and there is nothing else to do anyway. Wonderful. Nothing to do!



March 30

When I wake I hear the rooster cry to announce the crack of dawn. I stand by the window with the wind blowing from the sea until the sky starts to slowly illuminate. I move to the restaurant porch and watch yet another sunrise that sends it’s rays through an array of purple and orange clouds. “That must be the most beautiful sunrise I have seen this year. It’s spectacular,” he boasts as he passes me a cup of Earl Grey. It’s easy to believe him. The rooster cries again to finish off the scene. What a cliché!

"The most beautiful sunrise ever"

I head down to the beach to practice some Aikido and get rid of the rising thoughts of “I wish I could have shared this sunrise with her”. I tear my skin on the sand, I sweat, I drip. It’s wonderful. The dip in the ocean stings on my skin, but I feel alive, SO alive. I’m exhausted and yet I have so much energy in my body. I get some clothes on in my room and throw a quick glance at my cell phone. Caro has written a supportive message. “It hurts me to know that we are living parallel lives right now. I miss you. But you are doing the right thing and I would do it just the same way. I hope you are enjoying YOUR life right now.”
I am!
And since I am indeed, I don’t feel compelled to answer right now, although I appreciate the support. Instead I take my fresh Guava juice and breakfast with Tim.

Tim on a fishing boat

Tim is a weird character. He’s the generation of my parents, young during those wild hippie years. Except, while my parents never quite made it into the scene and shied off at the hash to begin with, Tim was an acid-dropping hippie all the way. Or so he says. The classic rock music, the look of his worn face and body and the slightly anachronistic habit of calling anybody “dude” make for a coherent picture, throwing in the surfer culture reflected in his board shorts as well. When he was young, Tim would work on a lobster trawler during off-season and spend the surfing season on the board. The low ceiling restaurant shelfs carry pictures of surfers and trophies. What a life that must have been! Then again, there’s been times where he and his four-headed family survived on 100 Ringgit from muzzles they collected and sold in the market.

We talk about money and how people get too stuck on it and lose themselves over trying to get more and more. That was my problem, too. Not trying to get more money, but loosing myself in the task of finding myself. My lifestyle was too busy and too hectic to really get in tune with myself. “You’ve lost yourself. If you find yourself, your new journey begins.” He throws me a worn, yellowish brown book. “Kook,” it says on the cover. “This is written by a guy who’s had enough of it, you’ll like it.”

I skip through the pages and read a sentence at random:
“We need surf, or dance, or yoga, because it reconnects us with our animal bodies. For a little while we practice moving through the world with rhythm, with an intention of efficiency and power. Without it, we become just a bunch of walking heads.”

I think of my Aikido practice on the sunlit morning beach. Tim invites me to a trip into the jungle that afternoon. He and the guys will make some wood. Maybe in two days the waves will pick up for some surfing lessons. I’m on board!

Into the jungle, equipped with a chainsaw

Tim and I slowly move into a working relationship. Having proven myself useful on the woodmaking, he asks me for help on other small works. Michael and Megan have gone off to China to teach English there, so Tim can use a hand. Not that he doesn't have enough personnel. There's a guy who takes care of the property, rakes the beach and keeps the walkways clean. Tim isn't exactly happy with his work morale, however. In fact, he doesn't think too much of workers in Malaysia in general. Nobody seems to show any motivation to get things done or advance. That's also the impression I got. Everybody is trying to work as little as they possibly can. Instead they sit around bored or watch TV. Anything, as long as you don't have to work. This is also true for Azeen and Jay, Tim's nephew and his friend. Granted, they're only nineteen and with the prospect of army service coming up for them in two months, they try to get as much holiday out of their stay as possible, understandably. Still, Tim can use somebody with motivation. I get food and or accommodation in return, depending on the tasks.

The team after 2,5 hours of making wood: all dripping sweat except for the scout.
I'm the mozarella white something in the back.

Room is scarce, as more guests are arriving. With the recent weather changes that saw more rain and the prospect of having to move to a tent, I speak with Tim. He has a new, unfinished place with no electricity and only half the building has a roof. But it’s dry and it’s free if I help out. On top of that, it is also a little more remote, somewhat down the beach, so I get some quiet area for myself while the place is bursting with people.

Half a roof is better than no roof ;)

From then on, I spend half the day training my arms and other muscles doing work for him. A particularly good training session is the day that the cargo ship arrives. It only comes once a week and this time Tim has lots of stuff coming in that he ordered from the mainland. Everyone from the village gathers at the pier to unload the boat as fast as possible. Tim didn't even ask if I can ride a motorbike a couple of days earlier (I've only rode one once before, when I was 16). I didn't protest either, so today, after I've had a couple of days of practice bringing stuff back and forth, he hands me the keys to the old machine with the side car and sends me off to the pier to load the bike. We're in a hurry, because the boat wants to leave.

As is usually the case with this old bike with wonky gears, the chain jumps off when I go too fast in the third gear. It happens at the most inopportune moment. Just when I am about to turn the corner, the bike chokes, I miss the corner, wheel the bike into the mud and jump over the handle to the front so I don't hurt myself. Grant! A local woman with a head scarf on a scooters stops and helps me to pull the bike out of the calves deep mud. I'm not the first to miss this corner. Pushing the last bit back onto the street, I burn my leg on the exhaust. It makes me laugh at my own stupidity.

At the pier, unloading about 400 brick stones that somebody has brought in is one of the rare opportunities to get friendly with the local islanders. So far they haven't been too social, hardly crack a smile when you greet them in the street. The woman on the road was the first friendly encounter outside of Beach Shack. In the chain from the boat to the pier where we all gather the dust of the bricks on our sweated bodies, we exchange encouraging smiles. Later on, they offer me a drink to cool down and regain energy while Tim rides off to unload the bike at home.

"Illegal immigrants" coming to Pulau Tioman.
Found the log with crabs floating towards the island while snorkeling on the beautiful reef.

The other half of the days on tioman is a bit more pleasant. I bathe in the sun, sip fruit shakes and devour the book or play Nada with some of the other guests. Nada is Tim’s favorite game in which you throw dice and count numbers until you either stop or you get Nada. Nothing counts. You suck. Tim’s an ass to play with, too. He hardly ever stops, always wins high numbers. He rubs the dice on every part of his body for good luck, every part, then makes sarcastic remarks before, while and after you play. I love it. “Animal body,” I think. When he pinches me, it’s the first time I realize the strength in his arms. Surprising, as they look more like matches than arms.

Each night I go to bed, I wander off in my dreams to a place far away, where a girl lies waiting for me. Thoughts about her occupy most of my free time, whether I’m on land or in the water. I begin to lose track of time. I am starting to realize that living MY life might mean not living a life with Caro. After a few days I find out the WiFi password. I check my mail but decide there’s nothing important and I will keep pretending I haven’t been online. No new text messages, either. It feels good to just be unavailable for now, really good.
It’s just much more fun to go out on a fishing boat and drag in dinner than sit at a machine writing emails.

Fixing a net on a fishing boat

Work is slowly getting more intense, I’m actually considering taking a day “off” on the weekend to think. One of the new guests is starting to occupy some of my thinking time as well. Aimée is a German girl. She has been here before. She fell in love with Tim’s pet monkeys, although “we think of them as friends, not pets,” as he insists. I don’t trust the monkeys, so I don’t really care what he calls them, but she’s in love, clearly, spending nearly her entire day with them. Aimée seems to be a nice girl and we get along. She gives me some tips for Malaysia, we flirt. She’s kind of cute, too. My thoughts wander off to Germany much less in this company and I catch myself feeling a bit guilty about that.

Sunrise is the time to think.
While it's still cool and windy.

It’s not even been a week of true isolation. Isn’t that a bit early to start forgetting about her? But wait, isn’t this MY life? Why am I still caught in what I'm "supposed to" do instead of doing what I want to do? Everything seems to be dragging me away from that life that is mine. I just want to sit and read the book Tim gave me. I almost feel too social playing games two consecutive nights. Not to mention the work. It’s strange. Again, the questions hit me: what is MY life, really?

I've lost track of how long I've been here when I hit my motivational and emotinoal low. Painting logs in the mid day sun, I catch a scorching sunburn on my back and don’t realize until the end of the paint job. My quest to find soothing Aloe Vera remains unfulfilled as the entire island seems to be completely devoid of it short of a Danish family who gives me a thick layer straight onto my back. The night before hadn’t been much better.

With lots of people coming in and little space, Aimée moved to the unfinished shack as well, occupying the other, half-roofed room. As I somehow expected, I did not catch much sleep that night. Scared shitless from some noise, she cried for my help in the middle of the night. The gunfire was indeed somewhat disturbing. Images of Lord of the Flies come to the mind on this remote island.

So, rescue the girl. First I moved to her room, realized she didn’t have a mozzy net (or roof), then got her to move to my room. I spread the net over the make-shift-matresses, but that doesn’t leave too much space and so we lie snug together. I put my arm around her in an effort to get comfortable, but with her tossing and turning, listening for new noises, the night remains more or less sleepless. Hence it is surprising, but not too much of a shock when we get a visit from what we think is a monkey. It looks at me, draws back, then looks at me again. Strange noises on the wooden planks. Yes, I admit, this is somewhat scary, but the figure disappears.

Nothing to steal in this room, for sure.

Aimée is determined to spend the next night at the restaurant terrace, which I welcome as she is actually going on my nerves by now, a feeling that will increase over the next days. It might be unfair to her, but she has become a mirror for me. Only she is showing everything I want not in a woman and missing everything I have found in Caro. The following night I sleep sound until about 3 am, when again somebody jumps up to the open part of the roof and stares in. Yes, it’s somebody. We’ve been told by the neighbour, who himself looks a bit like a monkey, that there aren’t any monkeys on this part of the island. None as large as I described them on the entire island, actually. However, somebody tried to break into the neighbours house the night before. Time to move and move on. This is not the life I want!

But then the waves pick up a bit and so does my reading. Tim is busy and I venture out into the wild waters of the ocean with the boys on boogey boards. I’m not incredibly successful, but it is good to feel the power and force of the ocean. Animal body. The Kook has come to Mexico to learn surfing and he’s brought along his girl friend to give the relationship a real try. I haven’t, I’ve gone off by myself . . . I miss her smile. “What a wonderful woman I left there,” I think, indulging in memories of the imaginary photo book we created, for the safe keeping of moments together that we want to remember. Right now, I’m writing only in my own book.

Got surf?

Tired of waiting for a really good surf, the boys and I get Izan to show us some basics of surfing on a day when Tim is on the mainland. The waves are probably no higher than two feet, but it’s fun nonetheless. For two hours we paddle back and fro, smashing ourselves into the waves, attempting to catch and ride the flow of energy that runs through the water. The long boards are much easier to float on than the bogeys, although I have some issues with balance. Once the wave picks up the board, gives it the speed and raises you above the water level, however, there is no more wobbling! It’s all fun from there and the waves give us a smooth ride to the sandy beach. Right on, dudes!

I’m starting to grow weary of the place. I feel ready to move on, in many different ways. The easiest sign to notice: I long for different food, as the greasy fried rice and omelets are not only starting to bore me, I wonder how healthy I can keep my body this way. Fruits and vegetables are rather rare on the island. Everything needs to come by cargo after all.

The work is busying me a lot and I haven’t had time to do any thinking recently, except immediately related to what I am doing. The project Tim does is somewhat disturbing to me and so is the thought that I am supporting it. He is building new chalets down the beach in an area where right now, there is a swampy biotope with a river running into the ocean slowly. It’s filled with water plants, monitor lizards, dragonflies, butterflies, there is a weaver bird’s nest and the other day we found a python the locals had slashed. It pains me to see how this environment is going to disappear. Tim says the government has agreed to dig out the riverbed deeper, so the biotope might be able to come back and reclaim the landfill, but I remain doubtful.

Without roof, the power company doesn't install electricity.
Without electricity it's a pain in the ass to build a roof...

It reminds me of the surf book I’m reading. The protagonist feels bad about the quickly built tourist resorts where land was only developed in order to attract tourists. Of course, he is part of it all, “asking for a campground, a restaurant or two and an airport to fly in.” Really, traveling like this does not seem sustainable and it is bugging me that I am not only part of it on the tourist side at this point, but also on the development side. Tim is destroying the natural land patterns while at the same time buying red light bulbs so as not to disturb the turtles from finding their nesting grounds. It’s paradox.

The rules for these little crawlers are easy:
Centipede, one pair of legs moves at a time, poisonous.
Millepede, two pairs of legs move at a time, not poisonous.

I take an afternoon off to do a little hike with Viveka, a Dutch girl staying at the Shack. We walk up through the jungle and an array of spiders, insects, lizards and all other kinds of creatures until we arrive at the waterfall we aimed for. It is a beautiful setting and we have some very good conversations on traveling and life. She helps me to realize that I have come to not live my life, but spend my entire time working for Tim. When we return home much later than expected and later than Tim had hoped I would come back so we could do some work, I decide it’s time for a break. I will work tomorrow, then stay as a guest for a bit, I tell him.


Tim is not too pleased about it. I’ve told him before that I am restless and I think he knows what is coming. But he doesn’t say a single word, does not complain, although I can tell he would like me to work. What a beautiful relation. It’s that easy. I dictate the terms again, but I’m not going to use that. I need time to think.

The next two days are actually amazing. With work off my mind, I manage to relax again and the first time after a long while, I escape the train of thought that whistles “I miss her”. Instead, I have some clear thoughts about my relationship with Caro. I’d been hoping, deeply hoping, that she would still like the person I would change into through the travels.

When I go out for a long morning swim into the ocean, it comes like a revelation to me: I don’t even want to develop into somebody else without her being by my side. I don’t! There is no point in us leading parallel lives. Not at all. Wouldn’t it be much better if instead, we traveled together, changed together, lived together, not in one but many places? I don’t want us to drift apart and if we are serious about this relationship, what is the use in deferring it? If we are not serious about it, then what is the point of keeping this alive at all – and if I’m not serious about it, why exactly am I planning my life with her in my head right now?
I've made up my mind. I will call her and ask her to join me. Not now, I need a bit more time for myself. I’m not quite ready for the company yet. I am playing with the idea of giving myself four more weeks of single adventure. Doing it right now? Something in my mind screams – NO, not yet. What about all the limitless fun? Find out who you are, go enjoy your freedom, do some wild experiments, get drunk, stoned, get with some women! I don’t know what to make of that yet.

What I do know is that feel a growing sense of: “I want to share my life with that woman” while other things become less important. What if she is my key to finding who I am? What if I am hers? Or maybe we are not the others’ key to anything. Maybe we find each other this way, maybe we find we are not actually made to spend our lives together. But we can still help each other on our searches until our paths separate and maybe one day join again.

Footprints in the sand...the rest is silence

I step out of the water and walk along the shore, one little step after the other, searching shells for a necklace I want to make. The waves touching my feet wash back and forth the thoughts of her and me living our lives together. Tomorrow afternoon I will take the ferry back to the mainland, towards a place where I can place the adornment around her neck. It’s time to move on.

Singapore on the Back Track

Want the full story? Klick here to start with "Question Authority, Question 3v3ryth1nG!" - the post that started this little travel adventure!


March 28

I am finally entering the gate to Southeast Asia. The Emirates were not exactly what I had gone traveling for. In this state city, there is little to feed the stereotype of the dingy city of pirates and seafaring people, however. Singapore is a busy modern city with a reputation for strict laws that appear ridiculous. Don’t flush a public toilet: get a fine. Throw away trash: get fined. Every bathroom advertises the “right way” to wash your hands, every escalator has a sign reminding users of the “correct” way of riding it.

The more surprised am I when I arrive at the station in Little India and find trash on the street. Seems like even Singapore isn’t resistant against the Indian way of life, ey? ;) (to be fair, there are many other places with trash around the city). My first impression of the dorm room in the hostel: one night. No more. I’m staying here for exactly one night. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I sweat, I have NO space and there are 10 beds in this tiny room. No fun. German voices everywhere, some dutch, some Swedish.

I go out, around the corner to a hawker center to get some food. A Karaoke shop closes just the moment I walk in and I get turned away. Fine, I wanted to eat anyway. On the doorstep I find a single Chinese dye (I decided it’s Chinese, since the one is a single big red dot). It shows a three. What is that supposed to mean?

Rolling the dice in Singapore - wait, is that even legal?

Hawker centers are where you get your food in Singapore. Full stop. Around open courts with fixed chairs and tables, little food stalls are set up that offer all varieties of food. From Frog Porridge over Fish Curry, Fried Noodles, Vegetable Soup to Chinese Dumplings, they’ve got it all. This one place I've come to is not particularly good. After I decide not to go for the frog right away but opt for a chicken soup with lotus roots I realize both that I am not a fan of Lotus root and that it will be nearly impossible to eat vegetarian, leave alone responsible around here. Vegetarian meals are only a side note even in the Indian menus.

In this fusion of kitchens only some of its traditional elements survive, I realize. Everything is tuned to the Singaporian taste, meaning mostly that a bit of sugar was added to make the taste more pleasant. If sugar wasn’t available or suitable to the dish, chili is the choice of enhancement. I later learn that this is mostly the Malaysian influence. Singapore is a mixture of Malay, Indian and Chinese culture, with a little bit of Thai. The food is incredible, but to find Malayan food is actually kind of tough. If you do find it, the food is often ridiculously expensive.

Frog in dried chili sauce - it's HOT!!!

The next day, I explore Little India on a bike. Suddenly, the world seems to be a better place. Just being on a bike makes everything look so much better. Despite the hostel managers’ recommendation to do this “experimental” Indian food thing where you get a set meal on a banana leaf (I’ve been to India, dude, but thanks for the tip), I ride past along the restaurants that follow the gigantuos shopping mall where I exchange money.

I finally enter a Hindu temple and walk around. Feels much more like home than the city has felt before. Indian spirit, people are either smiling or dead serious in their prayers. I’m lucky, it’s time for the midday prayer ceremony (around 2 pm) and before that, they offer me some prayer rice. It’s a sticky conglomerate of overcooked rice with yellow/orange pumpkin. And it’s delicious! It also comes in banana leaf paper. Take that, common tourist!

Blessing in an Indian temple

The bike turns out to be more fun, even. I explore the marina part of the city, run into a building that is topped by a ship (what?) and find out Singapore has a Formula 1 track. How could I not know that? Hm, maybe because I don’t care about watching sports. Either way, I grab my cell phone camera and shoot a fun-video. On the bike. It has hidden insider love-messages to the only thing I couldn’t quite leave behind in Germany  although I quite successfully stripped myself of material possessions:: the smile on Caro’s face (and the rest of her that radiates behind it). I cruise around on the track, pretending I’m a news correspondent. This IS the most fun I have had in the last week.

The adrenaline goes down and so I decide to do what I came for in this area: go up the observation wheel (how much did you say you want for that? 30 Dollars?) and see the city from the Top to get a better impression. It’s not a bad sight.

View of the Singapore Skyline...and yes, that's a ship on the building ;)

The port is filled with an abundance of ships, there are pretty green areas, living areas, gold courses aaand: the skyline. It’s actually interesting because of the architecture, but that isn’t enough to convince me to see Orchard road, the main shopping street during the next few days. I just don’t care for shopping and all that at this point. It disgusts me. I battle the thoughts with a snack along the water and some free air Aikido. Nobody notices me until floods of joggers start to crumble in and along the bay. They must’ve all just gotten off work.

Singaporians are hard workers, Bobby tells me. He’s a Fillipino in his forties and manages a bar in China town. I meet himtaking a midnight snack at a stall a couple of days later after the night market in China town. He invites me for a beer and tells me about his life, working for the education of his children. His entire family is spread all over. His brother is in the USA, one in Canada, another brother in London. He used to have a drycleaning business, got rich too fast (too good too soon, he says). Lost everything and now he is scrambling to make both his living and the future of his family. It is tough in this city. The pay is good, but he had to get used to being an employee again - and not seeing his family.

With Bobby in the bar he manages

And in Singapore, you are expected to work hard. If he had all the money in this world, he would go traveling, he tells me. With his family, even his relatives. If I ever come to the Phillipines, he expects me to call him and let him know. His friend from Manila is a big shot in the major political party, he claims. He’ll show me the country from its best side, he nods assuringly while handing me his card. I take it, trying not to feel sorry for him. I’m living the life he would like to live right now. It just makes me sad to think of how a guy with such a nice heart is now driven by money, because he has to and endures a yearlong separation from his family every year, which hurts him badly. You can tell from the way he talks about it. Wouldn’t he be better off with his family? Living in the now instead of the future?

I lie awake in the dorm bed for a while that night, pondering over the conversation with Bobby and a long Skype call I had with Caro. Am I living in the now? Memories of the last weeks and fears about the future dominate my thoughts, before I fall asleep that night.

Santosa Beach 2010

Santosa Beach 2012

Santosa Beach Jump

Thoughts about your own being are bad for work ethic, but fortunately Singapore offers plenty of recreational opportunities beyond shopping. Probably the most proclaimed parallel universe is Santosa Island. It’s a theme park with all kinds of different rides, shows and adrenaline thrills on a small island just off the shore of the city where once pirates used to roam and work on the rough and romantic buccaneer image the Pirates of the Caribbean movies have revived.

I crawl up the hill passing a statue of a strange animal that is half lion and half fish. It’s the symbol of the city. Strong yet smelly? Big teeth and ungraspable? Threatening yet clumsy? I can’t decide what attributes the statue wants to symbol for the city, so I continue and take a little cart down the hill to the man made beach, happily checking off the stations I know Caro has visited. Strange feeling to be walking on the same ground she stepped on when really she is far away in Germany. Suddenly, I see a view I’ve seen before. I get out my cellphone and compare. It’s one of the pictures she has sent me of Santosa via e-mail. And suddenly I enter my own emotional rollercoaster. Nothing compared to the fun rides on the island. I obsess about half an hour to find the exact same angle of the picture she has sent me. Suddenly I embrace the fake island. I find a spot closer to the port and watch the giant ships go by. I still haven’t given up the thought of living on a boat. And I can tell I am done with cities at this point once again.

If you could live your life all over again, do it overseas!

Going back to the hostel, I realize there is no use in going to Melakka and Kuala Lumpur as I planned. I need to get out of this bustling, the concrete jungles, the busy streets. I need a break! The real holiday break I’ve been looking for.

Sticky rice and Pao...pure deliciousness, right from China, delivered in small, leafy packages

I get out to get some comfort food, stroll past Chinese pharmacies (in Chinatown) and watch old Chinese men playing Chinese Chess while I am munching on some Pao, a Chinese dumpling. It is a curious site and I wish I knew the rules so I could join them in their little secluded world in the middle of the busy and loud hawker center. But I can’t tell the symbols on one stone from the ones on the other. So I just stand and watch for a bit as the old men laugh at each other, wildly gesticulating about every move they make.

Chinese chess...like regular chess (same same), except very different and with pretty non-desript stones for anyone who doesn't know Chinese ;)

......“Take the bus at Boogey station to Jahor Baru. It’s my home town, just across the border. From there you get a ticket to Mersing. If you are lucky, you can get the last ferry to Tioman. When you are on the island, head straight to Juara Beach and stay there, you will enjoy it. If getting away is what you are looking for, Juara Beach is your best bet.” I soak up the words of the Malayan guy at my hostel reception like a sponge. “Man, I just realize, I haven’t done an island vacation in a long time. I should go to Tioman some time soon myself.” That’s it, he’s sold it. I’m off to Malaysia. Tioman Island!

DubidubiDubai

Want the full story? Klick here to start with "Question Authority, Question 3v3ryth1nG!" - the post that started this little travel adventure!

March 25^th

I arrived in Abu Dhabi. It is hot, no: scorging and I would not exactly call the place inviting. From the airport I made it to the city center and it is basically a giant mall. I’m open to everything? Uhhm, maybe not. Trying to get local food? Not a chance, so I settle for some chili shrimp rice dish at a KFC, which is expensive enough. All around is high rise buildings, fast food chains and sky high prices. But maybe I just need to open myself up even more?

A Shopping Mall in Abu Dhabi

I’m possibly supposed to stay with Simon, a German guy who lives here. However, I can’t reach him. Checking the local hotel rates actually makes you want to cry. I can completely forget my budget here. It turns out that Simon does not actually work – or live – in Abu Dhabi. He is in Dubai. Miscommunication. Darn. Well, it happens. So I try to get to Dubai.

After an hour of sitting in the sun on my backpack with a scarf thrown over my head and shoulders, the bus to the airport finally arrives. The bus at the connection an hour later just left. So I’ve got three-and a half more to wait until I can go to Dubai. I grab a local weekly and read at the airport, finding some article about sustainable city management and organic efforts. Finally, something I can relate to! But reaching Dubai, my jaw drops again from the skyrise buildings plastering the city, even more so then had been the case in Abu Dhabi.  Here I meet Simon and his girlfriend Maria in a shopping mall.

We go out for dinner and they show me around the marina strip and the beach. In front of us is the beach, in the back rises a wall of illuminated urban madness: banks, insurance companies, real estate offices and apartment complexes in a height of hundreds of meters.  Big culture shock! I was prepared for noise and dirt as I had seen it in Delhi, I was prepared for peaceful and quiet villages in Southeast Asia, but I was not prepared for this bustling financial center of crazyness.

The jaw-dropping continues as  Simon takes me to their apartment. It’s a huge condo in one of 6 towers situated in an area known as “The Greens” – named for the golf course that stretches along the neighborhood. From the balcony you can see the skyline in a little distance and you look right down upon the golf course.

"The Greens" earn their name from the adjacent golf course

To wind down a bit, we hang out with friends and beers in the living room. To obtain the beers, you actually need to apply for a license – like a driver’s license - that your boss and the government have to approve. Talking to people does not immediately appear to be governmentally regulated, or at least I am unaware of immediate restrictions.

So we chat about the character of the city and its people. Dana, a friend of Simon, says something that immediately strikes with my mood and makes the city interesting to analyze. Born and grown up in Malaysia and living in Dubai, she considers Australia her home, where she spent a couple of years. She likes the city, but says “Dubai is not home, Dubai can never be home.” It’s the perfect entry point for me to figure out the city.

March 26^th

Dubai, as I find out the next day, originally started out along a creek where today “Old Dubai” is situated. The area is home to spice markets, fish markets, gold markets. 

The spice market in old Dubai does have a target group! ;)

The creek once allowed people to settle here and eventually begin to trade from this place, with ships going to the Middle East, but also the northern coast of Africa. Water was the motor for this development. The area is pleasant to stroll, the skyscrapers can only be seen in the distance; it has character and I feel comfortable.

It looks as if it would fall apart any minute, but it's going to Iran!

Along the creek I meet Mouhedin. He stands on an old wooden ship on the creek that carries a net of pots and pans hanging on deck. Obviously, the ship – despite its shabby look – spends some time in the open waters. The boat belongs to “my father wife”, which I take to mean it is his father in law’s and he explains to me that it will carry orange juice and cables to Iran. That can take between two and ten days, he says, depending on the weather. I refrain from questioning that time measure and ponder rather what else the ship might possibly be carrying. I feel a sudden urge to join them on their trip to Iran, to be out in the open water for an indefinite time, arriving at a port so strange to me. I’ve already had the feeling that my ticket to Singapore is restricting me in my flexibility. Not cool. Why did I book all these tickets in advance? I don’t know. Not that Iran was my top choice, exactly, still.

Mouhedin on his vacation time.

The ship is loading and will be leaving in three days. Do I dare come back with my backpack? No, I  probably don’t, but I still cherish the thought. Maybe I can get on a ship somewhere further along my travels.

Mouhedin actually is not the captain of the ship anymore when I arrive. It’s a vacation trip for him as well. While he used to do this for a living, he is now working in the oil fields, the second motor of how Dubai became what Dubai is today.

Eighty per cent of Dubai’s population are expatriots. The reason: oil! When it became clear that the oil reserves would run out, Dubai started to attract investors by subsidiaries, getting them to build in the city and get a good return, then sell the property. The plan worked. Within a short time, the city boomed, grew immensely – in the middle of the desert – it became an important economic hub and every larger company wanted to have a branch in Dubai. That infrastructure has come to stay and attracts foreigners from all over the world to come and work there.

However, as Simon, Dana, David tell me: the city’s life cycle is fast. People who come here are looking for good money and good positions. If they find a better position somewhere else, they will leave. This way, each year, about a fifth of the population changes. The overall population does not shrink or increase, but people switch spots. The system is not made for stability, neither in the economic realm assuring loyalty among business partners, nor in the personal realm. Those who would like to stay will forever live on the level  of a second class, because you cannot – as a foreigner or even as a Dubai born child of foreigners – become a citizen. And hence, Dubai will never be home. You work, you play, you leave.

Work? I work out, do some Aikido. For now that seems like enough work around here. So I play. I hang around the pool, doing some thinking about family life when I see a couple with their kid in the water. I shop around and cook a seabream dinner for Simon, Maria and Dana.

Seabream about to be baked to yumminess!

At night we go out to party – Lady’s night. I’ve managed to accept the town for what it is. I can’t say I’ll never live in this place for a while, but only work and (restricted) play would get old pretty fast indeed. This is surely never going to be a home.

Simon, Maria and Dana lounging

Question Authority, Question 3v3ryth1nG!

March 24th

I'm sitting at Frankfurt airport.

My destination: the world!

I can’t believe it is finally happening.

My old apartment. Almost all my stuff I either sold or gave away.

It is a bit scary. I’m surprised by my own courage – or maybe naivité!? But it IS happening. I’m embarking on a journey into unknown places for… well, I don’t know how long. Strange to think that I don’t know how long I won’t be “home” or whether it actually still IS home?

Currently, home is in a travel backpack and a day pack that still feels too heavy anyway ;). Almost all the rest of my life as I knew it is gone – sold, given away – only a small collection of things, mostly of emotional value, remain in boxes with my Dad.

What's left of my stuff fits in two bags (and a couple of boxes at my Dad's ;))

I am questioning everything. I am open to everything. No idea what will come my way. I will be getting rid of all the little economic, social, cultural "shoulds" and other expectations that determine me rather than me living my own life. To find "home" in myself, wherever that may be in the end. I’ve been running in a maze of closing walls left and right for too long. Questioning my job plans, questioning my education, questioning the system of our society, questioning my relationships even. Everything is open.

Friends and family saying goodbye. The bets are 4:3 against me coming back ;).

What a Good... nay... Great Friday!!

As a land animal, we humans are inevitably bound to this surface called earth. It's gotten much more bearable since we found out it's not actually flat as a disc and we started climbing mountains and sailing on the oceans without constant fear of just dropping off somewhere any moment.

However, life on the ground still provides us with a rather narrow perspective and limited view.

In a generous effort to expand my perspective, my Mom gave me the gift of a flight over the Swabian Albs, the area in which I grew up. It is naturally hilly and the types of landscape change frequently between forests and fields, fields on hills, fields on mountains, fields in valleys and the occasional stone quarry next to a field, at least that's what you get from the ground... and that's cool, because it's a lot more interesting than just plain fields like in the US Midwest ;).

So off I went on the little power glider above to see the landscape that I had crossed so many times in my youth: from the Degerfeld airport, close to the small town of "Burladingen" to the Lake of Constance

Anyway, from above ground, things take a different perspective. Everything looks a lot smaller (surprise!), distances are shorter and the world feels a lot more connected. Here are some of the impressions from my flight. Enjoy!

The cockpit of the plane. 3 different systems for navigation are integrated: GPS, ADF a system which uses spots on the ground drawing directional lines from one to the other and VFR (Visual Flight Rules aka sight ;))

Typical for Swabia... "Realerbteilung", which meant that every child inherited an equal amount of land, split up and thus shrank fields for agriculture. On top of this, three different section of a field were treated differently in terms of crops. One year, a crop with high nutriant demand would grow, the following year one with a lesser demand, the third year the land could rest...

In todays modern, technologized economy, the dynamics seem to have somewhat shifted...

"Down" at the Lake of Constance lies the "Flower Island" Mainau. In the summer this island as well as the Reichenau (vegetable island) close by are great attraction for tourists. The yellow stream on the water to the right side of the image is pollen from spring flowers.

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From the lake flows Germany's greatest and longest river, the River Rhine. While the Rhine valley in mid Germany is probably the most beautiful part of this stream northbound, the Swabian Albs are also home to Germany's other great river, the Danube flowing East. This is the most extreme bend on our flight through the Danube valley, photographed at a 90 degree angle by the way ;).

Along the Danube are several little castles and other historical buildings. One of them is Kloster Beuron - an old monastery. The monks used to produce cremes, chocolate, liquor and meats after old recipes back when the monastery was mighty. These products are still sold here today actually and attracts tourists this way.

The last famous tourist attraction on our tour was the Hohenzollern Castle. I've been inside the catacombs with the jewels many times and sat on the cannon like any other child growing up in the area. But instead of looking up from this historical castle into the sky where the planes flew, this time, I had the unique opportunity to be on the other side. Purely amazing!!