Truly Asia?

Slogans of "Malaysia, Truly Asia" pepper the angular, architecturally pleasing airport. Two passengers disembark from Singapore Airlines. The male worries about his meeting the following day. The female's elbows are sore from jabbing a sexist man that had sat beside her, thinking that because she was a woman she deserved no leg, arm, or breathing room. She smiles knowing that the ignorant man will have sore elbows too,and perhaps a sore rib or three.

The couple gather their bags packed with 6 days of clothes, step out of the airport, and, promptly, get bitch-slapped with a wall of humidity. But first, the backstory:

One week before my 30th birthday Bob came home with a hopeful/horror-stricken expression. He sat me down and said, "I have some bad news, but possibly good news."

He was told by work he had to visit Kuala Lumpur for a week. Unfortunately he had to go during my birthday. Not great timing. I called my boss. She was awesome and encouraged me to go, the pups could wait. Bob and I looked at tickets that night, but they were too expensive. Two days later, with a gargantuan stroke of good luck and a great deal, I got to tag along!

I had less than a week to learn about a country. But even more daunting, I had less than a week to try to get Bob and his brother Jim to be decisive. Putnam boys are not know for decisiveness. They're more of the "go with the flow" mentality. Which is normally great, but needing to make travel plans with companies without websites or telephone numbers takes a bit more forward thinking.

The week flew by and on Monday morning we left our home and cats, telling Darwin to be nice to Dingo, and Dingo to be nice to our house and not pee on anything.

A cab playing, "Eye of the Tiger" drove us haphazardly into the muggy, Kuala Lumpur night. A silver skyline glittered on the horizion, the elegant spires of the Petronas Towers welcoming us to the modern wealth of KL. We arrived at our beautiful hotel, then met Jim, who has been working in Malaysia for two months, and his boss for dinner. I was groggy from the 9 hour flight and dramamine, so I don't remember much of that.

Tuesday I went to breakfast with Bob. I was amazed by the varied dress of women. Depending on their religion (Islam is the official religion in Malaysia) women wore burkas, headscarfs, modest clothing, or fairly skimpy outfits. This wide scale of apparel was seen all about the streets of KL as women headed about the city. I chose to go with modest capri pants and three-quarter sleeves. Modest enough I was unlikely to offend anyone, cool enough I was a little less likely to pass out.

Bob headed to work so I took a cab to Thean Hou Temple, dedicated to the goddess, The Heavenly Mother. On either side of her rested Guan Yin, Goddess of Mercy, and Shui Wei Sheng Niang, Goddess of the Waterfront. I examined a painting on the outside of the temple and decided these are some handy goddesses to have around...particularly if you're being attacked by a tiger.

After admiring the temple, and the oddly tacky sculptures guarding the parking lot, I headed to Menara Kuala Lumpur. The tower rests within a small rainforest boarded by the bustle of downtown. I took in hazy views from 276 meters in the sky, then wandered by the "KL tower pony rides" to walk in a bit of rainforest. I strolled the paths for a short while, until the soggy trail, biting bugs, and oppressive heat reminded me I was unprepared for a hike in the mud. I went back to the tower, grabbed some water, and met Bob for lunch at the base of the Petronas Towers. There I had to withhold the temptation to sit on the escalator because, apparently, it was illegal. Bob had to work on the computer that afternoon, so I swam in the hotel pool and drank a martini, rough life, I know.

That night we met Jim at Central Markets where we perused aisles of souvenirs made in China. Jim expertly haggled with a cab driver that was trying to rip us off, then we shortly arrived at the dilapidated wonder that is the Coliseum Cafe & Hotel. A friend recommended the hotel to Jim as a great place for steaks. Built in the 1920's I don't think it had been repainted or cleaned since. I sat at our grim table, trying to not look like I was fearing for the life of my digestive track. We ordered 3 tiger beers, then our old waiter shuffled up. Turns out he'd been working there for over 40 years. He took one look at us, flipped past the 4 pages of mains, and stabbed his pen below the list of steaks. In rough English he asked, "Which one?" We promptly and politely ordered our pepper steaks, and another round of tigers.

Sizzling griddles were rolled out on a cart and our steaks, rare, medium rare, and well done (guess which one was mine) were plopped on our respective plates then doused in enough gravy to sink a boat. The boys dug right in. I took another swig of beer, looked at the cobwebs in the corner, then took a bite of the best steak I've ever had. So equally summing up my first two days in Malaysia: different than I expected, but hidden with pleasant surprises.

Dingo and his minions

Well, it's been a while . . . about six months. I took a novel writing course a while back and have been focusing on writing when I'm not walking pups. But still, a sorry excuse for my blog's abandonment. I'll try to be more regular in my posts incase anyone's been extremely faithful in checking. If so, kudos.

In an earlier post I mentioned our cat Dingo and how he got his name. Well in January poor, unsuspecting Dingo made the trip to Oz. He did great and is happily enjoying the warm weather and the ability to chase lizards on our deck. He had previously been staying with my awesome sister-in-law and had two feline friends at her place. Noticing (or at least thinking) he missed having some cat company, we fostered two feral kittens in April. They were staying in a foster carer's apartment where their mom had the stress of living with 17 other cats. Needless to say she wasn't the most attentive mother. We took two of her extremely thin kittens and with special diets and weekly vet checks got them to the appropriate weight.

Dingo hissed at them the first day, then became increasingly curious, often leaning over the divider to watch them play. We called the black kitten Pip, because of the white tip on his tail. And the gray kitten we named . . . Gray.We weren't sure which kitten to keep and which to adopt out, so the first week we had them Gray tried to help us decide. We have a loft house and the kittens finally found out how to go upstairs. Gray was so pleased with his accomplishment, he tried to jump on top of the banister. Unfortunately the banister is varnished and fifteen feet from the floor. So Gray fell . . . a long way. He couldn't put weight on his front paw so we rushed him to the emergency vet, because of course it was after hours. $250 later the vet concluded that he was bruised, but fine. So we decided we'd keep his brother Pip.The following week it was 11p.m. and I went to go to bed. A small blob of fur bumped down ten stairs, hit the lamp, the table, then hit the ground. It was Gray. Once again he was ok, but confirmed the suspicion that he was vertically challenged. So I decided, we should definitely keep Pip. Bob on the other hand, wanted to keep Gray. I did tell him the kitten would be his to pick and name. So Pip was adopted by a lovely family, and we kept Gray who is now named Darwin. I don't know how well he'd fair in the undomesticated world of natural selection, but so far he's surviving well in ours.

An Exercise in Sunsets

On a trail surprisingly close to the steel bones of the Harbour Bridge, discarded leaves rustle at the hurried slithering of lizards from my path. My feet brush the dirt trail in fluid strides as I run through a forest of ethereal eucalyptus trees.

Etched in gold by tendrils of a taunting sun, the trees shimmer in the day’s final, amber light. Jealous of the rich hues the sun swirls into the sky, a flock of rainbow lorikeets take to the air, their protesting screeches urge my stride.

Cresting the last ridge, I leave the forest as the sun dives into the waiting horizon, taking with it the scent of warm earth. Unleashed from their day’s restraint, shadows creep while the wings of a dozen fire-touched rainbows fold for the night. As the long black wings of bats battle the air, the evening and her creatures lay claim to the sky.

Year of the Tiger

(even though that's a picture of a rooster)

6:30 P.M. The sun is shading the fig trees in dappled brilliance, St. Mary's Cathedral looms over the lushness of Hyde Park, and a dozen Chinese performers are trying to say, "Happy New Year" in sync. Suddenly, a red-ribboned dragon rises from the ground to dance tauntingly around the Archibald Fountain, while men dressed in black gis kick and punch the air. It's an hour before Sydney's Chinese New Year Twilight Parade begins and the performers are warming up, practicing, and (at least for children dressed as tigers) practicing their roars.
With jubilant performers, thousands of spectators lined the streets of downtown Sydney to watch the parade. Bob and I headed downtown a bit early to take in the atmosphere. I wanted to watch the parade, and Bob wanted to drink. So we made a compromise and watched the parade from the window of a pub. The parade started at a slow, sauntering pace, but then picked up in speed and color. Glowing denizens of previous years trolled down the street, such as this friendly dog, portly pig,and slithering snake . . . oddly followed by women rollerblading inside tables.My only question, well besides, "Why are there women rollerblading with tables on their hips?" Would be, "If one unfortunately falls, how does she get back up?" And to usher in the new new year of 2011, a sneak peak of an illuminated rabbit tagged the end.Men dressed in freakishly fetid bunny costumes closed the parade in haphazard hoppings. They threaded the streets on wild pogo sticks, leaving little doubt that preparations for next year's parade will begin as harried, crazy, and quick as a bunny.

How a cat gets named Dingo

Once upon a continent, a young couple made a rash decision to move to Australia on a temporary work visa. They planted trees in the steaming tropics, the boy picked pumpkins, the girl picked limes. They helped refit a dive boat, took care of horses, mowed lawns, painted decks, drove from Cairns to Uluru, drove back from Uluru and on the way saw a white Dingo.

When their visas expired they returned to Chicago sunburnt and broke. The boy was starting grad school but due to scholarships wasn't allowed to work. The girl worked three jobs so they could have money, the boy got lonely. Boy said, "Do you mind if we go to the shelter just to look?" Girl knew the last word was a lie.

The door to the cattery was opened by the boy. Twenty cats lazed about a large room, and on the tallest ledge in the back of the room lounged a large white cat. He wasn't fat, quite skinny in fact. Just very long and tall. Cat saw girl and stood up, looked at the girl and sat with the self-confidence of a sphinx, as if to say, "Well mates, my people have come."

The young couple went to the cat and noticed his entire back was covered in scabs and raw skin. The cat had been found with his back greatly injured, and though he spent six months in a shelter in Indiana, no one came to claim him. Sadly, he was completely declawed, but cat had decided these were his people and no one argues with a cat.

Boy and girl adopted cat, but didn't know what to name him. Two days after they brought him home, cat ate the carpet. The young broke couple payed $428 to get carpet back, slightly used. Cat is named $428. Couple comes to the conclusion $428 is a bad name for a cat. Girl votes for Pica, boy says, "No." They go for a drink.

Upon walking home the girl says, "Hey, how about a cat named Dingo?" Boy says, "No." Girl's sister says, "Yes." Cat's name becomes Dingo.

An Australian Day of Beaches and Ferries

It's 1770. The HMS Endeavour is cruising around the south pacific, when crew on board, including Lieutenant James Cook, suddenly notice a continent 32 times bigger than the United Kingdom. Good on ya boys!(pretend it's an older ship and instead of the Opera House, the background is filled with wild shrubbery)

Shortly after they excercised their great skills of continental observation, they sail to shore. Without consorting the native aboriginal peoples, they claim the land for Britain. After their departure they have a few battles with unmoving coral reefs, and eventually return to jolly old England to deliver the news. And what did the British Empire decide to do with a large and lush tropical land? "By jove! What a perfect place to put all our convicts! Not to mention the practical distance. Let's ship them over there quick as a bunny!"

Fast forward at a moderately slow pace to January 26, 1788. When a bloke called Captain Arthur Phillip cruised into what is now Sydney with eleven convict ships. He raised the mighty Union Jack and ta-da! A reason to celebrate January 26th as Australia Day was born. Travel to Australia today, 222 years later, and you'll find a very different-yet-thriving, beautiful, multicultural country.

Bob and I weren't sure how to celebrate Australia Day, so we went to Sydney Harbour to view a few festivities before heading to the beach. Mainly, we watched Sydney's cute ferries - bedecked and spectated to the max- race eachother for honors to the Harbour Bridge. I took a few candid photos of drunk Australia Day Man, then Bob and I went to the beach and snorkeled with an octopus.

Inverted Christmas

Night falls prematurely, forcing temperatures to icy depths. While mutli-hued lights hang from homes, blazing color into frozen lands, pine trees are adorned indoors beside the warmth of the fire.

Revelers bundle in layers of clothing and holiday cheer, wandering decorated streets as they shop for gifts. With holiday spirit, decorations, and the ever-present chance of snow, Christmas in Chicago is a festive-infused sight to behold...and it's also very cold.

Bob and I have spent the past two weeks running around the States to visit family and friends. We've been snowed on in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennslyvania, and New York. I admit that the snow is beautiful and festive, but, like I said, it's also very cold.
When Bob and I left Sydney, bright orange flowers erupted in chandelier-like blooms, rose breasted parrots began to build nests, and the lovely Pacific Ocean warmed the turquoise southern shores. Two weeks and a day ago, we were snorkeling at one of Sydney's northern beaches spotting seahorses. Two weeks and two days ago we were surfing. Suffice it to say our bodies are now in a bit of shock.

However, it feels right to be freezing for the holidays. In Australia, Christmas falls in the heart of summer. While Sydney tries to embrace the spirit of Christmas, the 90 degree days makes decorations seem out of place.

On green lawns with palm trees, large inflatable snowmen wave with looks of grand disorientation. Families don’t huddle by fires in camaraderie of freezing weather. Instead they fan around the barbie, drawn by the sensational smells of prawns and lamb. After dinner is consumed with delight in the garden, families often end Christmas Day with a swim at the beach.

I admit the idea of a warm Christmas is slightly enticing, but the portrayal Santa wearing board shorts and carrying a surfboard is just too disconcerting.
Needless to say, Santa with a black mustache and coquettish pose is also, very disconcerting.