Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Port Moresby Updates and More of the Same

I know you've been dying to ask, “Secret Asian Man, what's been happening in Port Moresby?”  

Well, let me tell you!

Since I was last there 7 months ago, they've put the finishing touches on their airport. The A/C works much better.  There is a shiny, new duty free store. The old bus terminal seats have been replaced with new bus terminal seats and are intermingled with couches and some bar stools.  It is now a much more comfy terminal.

There are several new airport eateries. And they even sell crepes!  Crepes! I saw no where else where they sold crepes in the whole country

Things around the rest of the country are improving at a slower rate. In fact, there's been a recent uptick in crime with more carjackings and robberies.  One man was relieved of his phone, wallet and car keys right on the putting green of the local golf course.  An expat woman was dragged from her husband’s car one afternoon and gang raped for three hours before being released.

The locals call this time of year “Mango Madness”.  When everyone gets a little more amped up. It's mango season and also the end of the dry season. It has been an extended dry season.  Reservoir levels are low.  Mines have closed due to lack of water, so many are out of work.  In addition, there was a late frost in the mountains that killed a lot of the sweet potatoes which many people eat. Plus, it's nearly Christmas.  So there are lots of pressures.

I read of a family feud involving a bus that they all shared.  Seems there was a dispute over who owned the bus and who was to help pay the loan and help drive customers, so they jointly drove the bus to the center of the village and set it on fire. Yes, conflict resolution continues to be a problem.


Do they sell crepes anywhere else in the country?  Who knows? Port Moresby is still not a safe place to be.  You still can’t go out without a solid escort and a plan and definitely not after dark. I don't really know if they sell them anywhere else. I kind of think they don’t, but hopefully one day, I can get out and find out first hand.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

On Paris and Libtards

I woke up on Saturday morning to two bits of news. 

First, someone launched a grenade toward the front of of a mall on the outskirts of Jakarta.  It was in a mostly Muslim section of the city. Everywhere is. No one was killed or injured.  The attackers will likely never be caught and no one claimed responsibility.  This sort of thing happens not infrequently. They're very good at identifying what happened, but rather slow on the whodunnits. 

Then there was Paris which, as near as I can tell, erupted around the same local time as the local grenade.  

During the morning it was interesting to watch the sides form up.  Prayers came while I was in the shower. Speculation while I cooked breakfast. Blame came with the morning coffee. Blame Obama. Blame Bush. Blame the refugees.  Blame ISIS. Blame Muslims the world over.  One post seemed to advocate the nuclear annihilation of an entire religion. I know ther is fear and anger, but this seemed rather extreme.  

I learned those expressing compassion toward refugees were called Libtards by some.  What a difficult place one must be in to come up with such a term.  This has rattled around on my head all week.

Later that morning, Mrs. SAM volunteered me to participate in a conversation club whereupon I make small talk with total strangers in an effort to improve their English language skills. This is penance for a sin I'm not yet aware of.  

Nonetheless, I participated and there I found myself in a circle of vibrant people. A Lutheran, a Catholic, a Hindu and three Muslims chatting about the Talking Heads, Jane Austen, restaurant order mix ups where Muslims are served pork by accident and what we planned to do with our lives.   No one proselytized. No one threatened. At the end, a Muslim boy was exchanging numbers with the Catholic girl. If I had to choose which person or people to annihilate to save the rest of us I would have a difficult time. 

Thinking back over the last two months, I've seen the following:

I've written in the past of the call to prayer 5 times per day.  A solitary human voice over a mediocre PA system is often a beautiful thing.  It doesn't call me to prayer, but it does cause me to pause for a second and remember where I am, and maybe that's what prayer is at a basic level. 

In Manila, some 90% Catholic, there was a large sized chapel anchoring the local mall.  During prime shopping hours, it's pews were full with those seeking a quick mass.  The buses are emblazoned with scripture and air brushed Icons. 

In downtown Bangkok, the Buddhist Erwan shrine was bombed several months ago killing 22.  We stopped by two months later.  The place was spic and span. The main golden statue was so burnished it was difficult to look at directly. Aside from the guards, you wouldn't know there was a bombing there.  I don't know the draw, but sitting and watching you could see people walking by touching their hearts and saying a quick prayer in reverence. Even those high up on the subway cars took pause rolling by.  

Inside the shrine, those more in need of spiritual nourishment can stand in line and pay some money and  kneel before the shrine while musicians and Thai singers stand behind you and chant a prayer over you.  One by one they come. Kneeling and rising, singing and dancing.

In Samoa, they're predominantly Christian of several denominations, Mormon, Catholic, Assembly of God. Early one morning, I walked along the seawall and came upon a single guitarist and 2 dozen singers belting out great hymns of praise, keeping time with the waves as the sun rose.  I climbed the seawall to find seat and have a listen.  I thought it may be choir practice. In the water, I saw three church officials ministering to three adult worshippers. I thought perhaps it was a baptism, but Christianity is so ensconced here I find it hard to believe that babies aren't plopped right out into a baptismal font. The folks in the water were crying. Perhaps it was some sort of healing ceremony.

Which brings me back to Paris and my new circle of non-native English speakers. I think we all want the same thing.  We say it in all sorts of different ways and sing it in lots of different tunes, but the message is all the same.  We want things to be the best that they can.  We don't want to suffer. We pray for money, for comforts, for that little red-headed girl to notice us or for protection from the bogeyman.  Some may even pray for the bogeymen for they indeed must be suffering. 

Jeez, what a libtard!


Thursday, November 5, 2015

Tusitala



One other thing that I did not know about Samoa is that it is the final resting place of Robert Louis Stevenson.  He of “Kidnapped”, “Treasure Island” and “Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde”   I completely forgot or, indeed, never knew, that he wrote “Dr. Jekyll”.  I guess I thought that it was sort of autobiographical.  But, anyway, Mr. Stevenson is here.  


He came here in the late 1800s in search of a better climate for his TB which he’d had for a ver long time.  He was here for just 4 years, but he must have made quite an impression on the Samoans, for they gave him their own name which was easier for them to pronounce.  “Tusitala” means story teller which I think is pretty cool.


Here are some other things I learned.  


His father was an architect who built the first lighthouse in Scotland.


He slept in a separate bedroom from his wife, but he cut a window in the wall between their two beds so he could talk to her through the wall.



He had a really nice office and desk, but he did most of his writing in bed because he was sick a lot.




He is responsible for introducing the pineapple to Samoa, bringing it when he came from Hawaii. 

His wife was responsible from bringing Samoa the cocoa bean which Samoa is know for.




And then there was this. We were got a guided tour of his house, set up like it was when he lived there.  We came down to the end of the tour and the guide was pointing out furnishings that were RLS originals.


Guide. “Original furnishings are the mirror, the chest of drawers and the painting of Christopher Columbus who was his very good friend.”


Me: “What?  Do you mean the artist was his friend?”


Guide:  “No,no.  Christopher Columbus.  He was the one who discovered America.”


Me: “Yes. In 1492.  When was Tusitala here?”


Guide:  “In 1869....... Okay, so I am actually a student at the University of the South Pacific and I’m doing these tours to get work experience.”


Me:  Yeah.  Check on the story about the painting. I think you may be a bit off.


So, really, all that other stuff I learned, may be wrong too. The pineapples, the bed, the window in the bedroom wall. All of it may be just made up.  I did read that he really did live there and died in 1874.  


He’s buried at the top of the mountain behind his house.  You can hike up there. Is quite a slog, but I figured, if Robert Louis Stevenson could do it with tuberculosis, I could do it, too. The view over the city is worth the hike.






Here’s what is inscribed on his tomb:


Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the see,
And the hunter home from the hill.


Several days later, I was passing through the Sydney airport.  I needed some cufflinks  (Don't ask), so I asked the lady at an Australian souvenir store. She said "We have these aboriginal designs.  These here are a representation of a story teller sitting around a meeting spot.  

Seemed like a fortuitous tie-in so, I bought 'em.  A good end to the trip.

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

On the Edge of Tomorrow


It's been a pretty long trip this time.  I'm winding things up with a drop in on Apia, Samoa. Just near the International date line.  You can see me on the map to the left. I'm the little yellow pixel, just below the letter 'A' in Apia

Since mid-September, I’ve been to Ohio, Minnesota, back to Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand, Cambodia, New Zealand, Fiji and Samoa and then back to Indonesia.  I’ve changed my watch ten times.  Including my own, I’ve slept in 11 different beds. Now, part of this was with family and wasn’t work related, but I was on my own for a while.

Pre-mid life crisis, I used to dream of finding a job that would pay me to travel.  So here, I am.  Living the dream!

The upside, you can meet interesting people from all over.  You discover some unique and beautiful locations.  

A cab driver recommended this beach an hour so away. It was great to drive out and find it on a map and just camp out for the day.  Dozing in the shade of a fale, watching the waves far out on the reef. It's a great way to spend a morning.









He also recommended this waterfall. You can't hike to it, but you can pay the land owner $2 toview it from afar and imagine what it may be like to hike down to it.








Or there is this place, To Sua Ocean Trench.  Rated a “Place to see in your lifetime”  by someone who rates such things.  It’s an old lava tube that’s roof caved in.  The ocean fills it through an underground tube.  The only way down is via the ladder.  As swimming holes go, it is pretty idyllic.


You also stumble across some entertainment opportunities.  While out looking for dinner the other night, I found the Second Annual Samoan Jazz Festival, right there on the street. There was a solo, electric ukelele act who was simply wailing out the hits. Later there was a Cuban Salsa band and the night finished up with a Samoan/NZ Luther Vandross cover band.  It was amazing.  And throughout the evening. This was the view. Just a superbly unexpected evening.

The downside is the travelling by oneself. You don’t have anyone to share anything with.  No one to watch you dive into the deep blue hole No one to look at the sunset you’re pointing at. No one to shimmy with.

I guess this is long winded way to say, “Wish you were here!”