Cut rice begins - and stops

The exact moment to begin cutting the rice demands considerable experience and precise judgement. The way Khamma talked about it and the seriousness in the tone of her voice suggested that there was exact moment to begin. For days she ummed and arghhed about the date, and then last Monday declared that work would begin on Wednesday. It seemed a consensus was reached in the village and at last everybody was ready.
Evidently the harvest is going to be good after the quantity of rainfall in the last few weeks and the sun drying out the rice at just the right time. So with the time confirmed there was a last minute inspection of the scythe and a sharpening and honing of the edge which was followed by by a good hearty meal and an early night to bed.
Wednesday dawned bright and still and work commenced but by mid day it started raining and work had to stop for the day. Disappointment all round and a lot of long faces but the hope was that by Thursday morning the rain would have stopped and work would start again.
No such luck I'm afraid and today was a right off. As usual Khamma is philosophical but it isn't easy waiting around and watching the crop in its prime.
It will take ten people about five days working for about 10 hours each day to cut the rice. It then has to dry out before it can be put through the milling machine. A very time consuming process but the sooner they can start the better.
The problem with farming is the same the world over - not enough rain when you need it most and not enough sun when you need it either.
Let's hope for a turn in fortune tomorrow.

A love story between Jazz and Gamelan

This was the title of a concert performed by Kua Etnika of Indonesia at the Esplanade last night. I had no idea what it was going to be like but the accompanying photos on the concert flyer were enough to whet my appetite. The band consisted of eleven musicians made up of two electronic organs / synths, tabla type drums, an excellent drummer using traditional kendang drums instead of the more usual drum set, three musicians playing instruments resembling xylophones but smaller and more crude, and an array of brass bell like bowls that could sound resonating or a harsh depending on how they were struck. There was also an electric guitar and a five string bass and the whole group was brought together by the main man Djaduk Ferianto and the delightful and powerful voice of Silir Pujiwati (very attractive female vocalist) who acted as interpreter as well.

The music is described as 'a fusion of Balinese, Javanese and Kalimantan musical elements along with jazz, reggae, rock and pop. Their performance is varied, dynamic and exciting'. It certainly was. Right from the first note there was excitement, pace and above all happiness. They actually enjoyed what they were doing and the interaction between all them was natural, well rehearsed and very tight. This engaged the audience and foot tapping and smiling faces were seen all around the small recital room.

It is impossible to name the tunes but they played a variety of pulsating exciting drum beats complemented by the bell / xylophone tones in simple but very together 'riffs'. This was contrasted by solo but atmospheric beats and sometimes silences of missing beats - the stuff I really like! Djaduk is a bit of a joker and interacted with Silir to good effect. His talent was exceptional and he played an array of objects from an old tin can and string (really) to electric drum pads as well as voice effects and interaction between all the other musicians.

But the the really exceptional piece was a duet between Djaduk and Silar in which he played a drum that I can only describe as similar in sound to a softer Jamaican calypso type oil drum but looking like a large wok turned upside down. He played this with his hands and achieved a slightly different sound and tone depending where he hit it. He could play loud and soft but the compliment of Silar's voice to this produced an amazing and lovely tune. The simplicity of the voice and a drum was evocative and very powerful. One of the all time memorable moments you could ever experience at a gig.

In contrast there was an amusing take on the Mission Impossible theme. Taking this familar western tune and looking at the activity on the set I was struck by the enthusiasm and interpretation. Their traditional instruments, clothes, bare feet, interaction between themselves and the audience are all images still racing in my head. I am now a fan.

If you are interested I have found a You Tube link.

Visa - Great News

Khamma has just phoned me to say she has the visa! So the effort, the trouble and stress of last week and the inevitable wait has been very worthwhile.

Thanks to everybody who helped in some way or other (Matthew and Richard in particular).

Thanks to Buddha same same.

The Green Fields of Thamuang

Each time I go back to Thamuang the landscape has changed depending on growing cycle of the rice. Now after the recent rains and just weeks away from harvest, the fields all over north east Thailand are a rich verdant green. The swaths of rice stalks swaying and swooshing in a light breeze generated by the hot sun. To the weary soul it is an idyllic sight. There is anticipation as everyone prepares for the back breaking work of cutting the rice. There is an optimistic mood as the maturity of the rice ensures a good yield. There is happiness.

Khamma was rightly proud of her rice fields, keen to tell me it was hard work, eager to show me all the fields. We stopped by the potato fields, the one that I worked on last May, and I even felt an inner glow of achievement even though Mama must take the credit.

If there is one sure sign that a child is growing up fast in rural Thailand it is when he starts to ride the family motorbike. Yo is riding around very confidently and although Khamma was a little surprised when he told her, it does at least mean there is no problem in going to the shop to get the missing ingredient at meal times. I suspect from the way he is handling the bike he has been riding for some time, like all the kids do! Yo joined us for the tour but quickly left as his attention turned to riding round on the bike.

We swam in the pond which was surprisingly deep, and it felt as if I was living in a different era, a time long gone by, a time of childhood memories of fields of corn and similar ponds where we fished for sticklebacks in simple nets and put them into jam jars and hurried home to show off our prize. I imagined a setting in the Thai equivalent of a Thomas Hardy novel. Far from the Madding Crowd was quite true, although the plot is very different.

We visited the temple where an impatient Khamma wanted me see our names displayed in recognition for the small but significant donation to the building fund. The local youth were training for the annual boat race on banks of the river acting like warriors proudly flexing and displaying their muscular bodies honed and sculptured through days and weeks and months of manual labour in the fields. No expensive fitness centre membership fees to pay in Thamuang.

During the early hours of Saturday morning an addition to Khamma's brother's household arrived. A new calf was born and mother and baby were absolutely fine in the warm morning sunshine. The affection of the mother, the panic for re-assurance from the baby, the inquisitive dogs who wanted to play, the protective mother who wouldn't let them.

It was so very relaxing that I almost forgot there was work to, and with the time going so fast I couldn't afford to lol around. Working out the next jobs on the house, tidying up outside (nobody else will do it), going to the shops and of course meeting everybody in the village from the leader to the Abbott and gentle senior ladies of Thamuang always ready to joke and press the flesh.

Many people in the village are now commenting on the number of farangs infiltrating the ranks. We are now seven and there is no sign of resentment, at least not shown, only the unassuming welcome as if you have been there all the time. There is Johnny from England, Johnny from Denmark, Adrian from Australia, a Swiss, another Brit who married in the village last week, a Norwegian who is never there but has a fine house, and me. We are the United Nations of Thamuang. I wonder what the economic and social effect on the village is as a result of the invasion?

The Submission of the Visa Application – or how I nearly ‘submitted’ to it!

The plan was thought out well and in its early stages everything was fine as I caught an afternoon flight to Bangkok arriving minutes before Khamma who was flying from Ubon.
We checked into the excellent Courtyard Hotel in the city centre (thanks again to Clare for helping me out) and finalised the files ready for submission to the authorities the next day. They looked perfect, and I do not know what else we can do to make the application any better, should we fail.
To cap everything off we walked the short distance to the Erawan Shrine on Sukhumvit Road to make an offering and pray to Buddha for good luck. I have visited the Erawan Shrine several times whilst in Bangkok and on one occasion I was confronted by a burly farang because I was taking pictures of his young Thai girlfriend in the act of making an offering to Buddha. I gave him the benefit of the doubt (mainly because he was of a threatening disposition) but in my view anybody in a public place is fair game to be photographed whatever they are doing. I reflected on this incident as I lit a candle and nine incense sticks whilst following Khamma’s lead very closely. I placed the candle on the steps of the Shrine and silently said a short prayer which was more like a one way conversation to a stranger. As I placed my small garland of flowers on the hundreds of others that surrounded the Shrine I felt as though I had joined the mass of the hopefuls and had passed the matter into the spiritual hands of Buddha and the very realistic hands of the UK Visa Officer.
The next day we left the hotel feeling upbeat and travelled by taxi arriving at the heavy white gates outside the British Embassy. It didn’t feel right so we asked the security guard for further directions and he pointed down the street to another entrance. However it became evident very quickly that we were not in the right place at all and the clock was ticking fast towards our appointment time. We were not at the UK Visa Agency we were at that part of the Embassy where the applications not processed through the Internet were dealt with. Technology!!!!
At these times even the ‘die hard’ farang experiences the full force of frustration and exasperation with the Thai culture. I felt my control of the situation slipping away in a heady mixture of confusion and lack of understanding because I couldn’t speak Thai and nobody else could speak English. Normally my patience becomes extended as I allow for my inadequacy in not speaking the language, but this situation was important. No doubt the Thai officials wanted to help, the problem was they couldn’t help fast enough for this impatient farang. I had clearly let my guard down when the hotel concierge directed the taxi and now I was paying the price. Losing patience never goes down well, especially in Thailand, but we were quietly and quickly rescued by a well meaning tout working for a private visa agency who explained to another taxi driver exactly where we should be taken to. Twenty minutes later we were 400 metres down the street from the hotel where we had stayed the previous night.
It was just 10.30 as several well meaning individuals ushered us into an office and I sat down trying to gain composure by saying to myself we had at last arrived. An attractive young Thai lady, fluent in English, checked through our files paying particular attention to Khamma’s details. The only points she made were that I had stated she would be staying ‘with friends’ in the UK. Well yes she is and that response seemed to me the most appropriate from a choice of ‘with family, alone, Father Christmas?’! Also we had included the land registration document which states the land where the house is built belongs to Khamma’s mother. I was a little mystified about this because there was no attempt (or point) in stating anything else. The whole point is to be as transparent as possible and we had referred to this detail in the application letter. The young lady ticked a lot boxes on an official looking paper, but I was still curious that the office had an unfamiliar atmosphere, one in which I wouldn’t expect an important government department to be.
My assumption was right and again we were ushered this time to the second floor and the official office of the UK Visa Agency complete with airport style security. So what all the checking and ticking of boxes in the downstairs office was all about I do not know. But the confusion was still not vanished because I was now being asked by a reception type person who spoke limited English, to pay for the visa in an adjacent room that was proudly displayed as ‘Travel Agent’. Either that or go to the bank! This was not making any sense at all because I could see the place where we should be and everybody was telling us to go somewhere else and do different things. The visa costs the equivalent of GBP60 and I wasn’t letting go of that amount of cash without knowing exactly where it was going. This time Khamma came to the rescue and told me everything was ok and to just do it. I did.
She then disappeared through security with the application, the files and the receipt for the cash. I tried to calm down wondering how high my blood pressure had soared to. I expected a long wait because we had missed the appointment time by almost half an hour. However twenty minutes later Khamma re-appeared as calm and as serene as ever saying she had explained what had happened and they brought her to front of the queue.
Everything appeared to be all right and Khamma said she felt better about it than the previous time she applied. We are now waiting the regulatory 3 to 5 working days.
Eventually everything calmed down and I apologised to Khamma for being an uptight farang. Khamma reassured me with that awesome put down ‘Never mind Tirak, never mind’.
We caught a taxi to the bus station and waited for the next bus to Ubon which left at 2.30pm. At 2.00am (next day) we arrived at Owerrrouse in Thamuang. We had spent a morning in Bangkok where the plan almost fell apart and endured a twelve hour bus journey on a local Thai bus that stopped in every town along the way. I was pleased to go bed and sleep. What a day it had been!

The next day was glorious, but that’s another story.

If that big burly farang happens to be reading this, which I doubt, this is the picture that for some obscure reason you tried, in vain, to prevent me from taking. I hope you agree it does not invade the intimacy of your girlfriend's spiritual respite but instead leaves you wondering what her prayers are for and captures a brief moment of beauty isloated against the chaos of a back drop called Bangkok. I at least understand more about Thai culture and beliefs by reflecting on this picture whilst simultaneously concluding that in this particular instance at least, farang confrontational tactics also leave a long lasting impression on the Thai observer at Erawan! Let's all chill out!

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Jazz in Singapore

I enjoy listening to jazz, but I love the blues! My favourite jazz musician is Pat Metheny the US guitarist who has been around for a long time but never stops experimenting and searching for a new line or theme. One of his cohorts is John Schofield and he appeared in Singapore last night with Joe Lavarno the saxophonist. Even though my instinct is to explore as much as I can in Asian culture, I couldn't resist indulging in this completely western event. Jazz and Asia are words not often used in the same sentence.
They appeared at the Esplanade theatre in a simple set as a quartet with a fine drummer and bassist. The audience was a mixture in roughly the same proportion of western jazz aficionados and a sprinkling of Singaporeans who find jazz interesting. This type of jazz can be confusing even for the most finely tuned ear so I was interested to understand what it was about jazz themes that attracted the Singaporean. I didn't get a direct answer but I did get a link to another blog site about the music scene in Singapore. Go visit http://www.musicartlifesg.blogspot.com/ for the latest.
Jazz can be summed up (for me) as a collection of accomplished musicians each playing an intricate piece of music that can sound at odds with everybody else but somehow comes together, at least at some point. I listen to the drum and it is playing a different beat to the tune being played by the guitar, which might even be in a different key! Jazz is like art, because it can be. There is no point in being snobbish about it - just enjoy it.
Well enjoy I did! John Schofield hunched like a mad professor in throes of discovering something or other played the guitar in the effortless way of a true master in his class. At times making the guitar sound altogether like a different instrument, sometimes angry sometimes so sweet it was melting in the mouth. He was clever in the way he integrated the guitar with a computer to produce repeated phrases so that he was accompanying himself and switching styles from heavy to light melodic often in the same tune. Then he would match note for note with Joe Lavarno (why was he wearing a janitor's smock?) and they would start playing off each other with obvious delight that comes from hours and hours of making music and melding individual styles achieving a sound that is greater than the sum of the parts. A great night.
I must mention the drummer (Matthew Watson?) was terrific. Often simple is the best and his modest percussion was completely maxed out by the skill and drive of keeping everything together. The bassist was also a first class act. Oh I wish I could play!!!!!!!!!!

By the way Pat Metheny does NOT play music you hear in the supermarket lift or elevator!! Despite several people making derogatory comments about his style I am defiant and I challenge anybody making these ill thought comparisons!

The Visa

I took the advice of Lloyd who left a message the other day wishing us luck with the visa application and suggesting I look at the on line application. He was right that it is straightforward and there is also the added bonus of the option of making an appointment to hand in the application and presumably go through a few questions at the same time. I did this on Monday and we now await our fate for this coming Thursday at 10.30am.

In some respects, having gone through the application process, it makes me feel lucky that I am a British passport holder and that my small 32 page British passport opens so many doors in so many countries without them asking so many questions. I recalled border crossings where my expectation was to be caught in between leaving one country and entering another. The time in Nepal where my visa had run out by one day and the cost of extending it amounted to a few rupees that I am certain were not 'officially' accounted for. There was a bun fight moments later at the Indian passport control as my passport disappeared under a small mountain of others only to appear an hour later with a splendid entry stamp, with no questions asked because the British passport is a strong statement that proves you are OK to allow across your border.

I think the border I have had the most problem with is the United States. Since 9/11 the Americans have become obsessed with 'Homeland Security' and make the whole process of entry one in which you can feel undue tension about answering the simple questions of why you want to enter their country. As if you are going say anything other than 'I am here to attend meetings' or 'I am here on holiday'. But in fairness they need to be careful, I just wish they were not as officious.

Another great border crossing was leaving Botswana to go into Zimbabwe. As British passport holders going into a country where British citizens were not welcome we did not know what to expect. But after a cheery smile and a wave we had no problem. And so it goes on.

A foreign passport holder applying for a visa to enter the UK must have mixed feelings about the application process. But it is there for a purpose and so long as it is successful in filtering out the good from the bad I don't have a problem with it. I am happy to help Khamma because I know it is worth the benefit of providing everything in perfect order for the review. The reward is to receive a stamp in the passport that in turn leads to the fantastic times and pleasures we will have in the UK at Christmas.

It is very tempting to think that the only outcome will be successful, but in my quiet moments I think of the disappointment if we are not. I can only hope our prayers to Buddha are answered because I do not know what else we can do to prove that Khamma is a gentle farmer from the north east. Is one of the kindest people you can ever to meet, with a loving family and a home and these are the very reasons she will return to Thailand. On the other hand she has the Thamuang Farang to look after as well and that might be held against her!!!

A side trip to Kuala Lumpur

The brilliantly floodlit Petronas Towers

A few weeks ago, when Khamma was staying with me in Singapore, we decided to go for a weekend to Kuala Lumpur the capital of Malaysia , or KL as it is colloquially known as. Singapore is separated from Malaysia by a narrow stretch of water but the contrasts between the two countries is obvious. We travelled on Friday afternoon by special chartered bus for the five hour journey. It was very comfortable and relaxing and it allowed us to see the lush banana and rubber tree plantations for mile after mile on the highway travelling north.

In my coolness as a seasoned traveller I decided the best way to get Malaysian money, which is known as the 'Ringgit', was to wait until I saw the nearest ATM. This wasn't a bad idea except where the bus stopped wasn't the exactly the middle of town but we found a machine eventually and then set about trying to get to the Renaissance (thanks Clare) on the monorail. We could have jumped into taxi, but where is the fun in that? The monorail was very easy and the hotel was a short walk across a busy highway from the station. It felt exciting to be a new place together for the first time.

Most of my travel, with notable exceptions on the trips I have done with Dave, have been solo efforts. I don't mind travelling on my own too much but I do get severely underwhelmed when I cannot share a discovery with someone. For example mootching round New York on your own isn't brilliant, neither was exploring Latvia and Estonia much fun with just my own thoughts for company. But this was different. KL was new to me and an exciting new experience for Khamma as well, who, don't forget, hadn't been out Thailand until twelve months ago. She put all her trust in me (foolish girl!) and just laughed and smiled with sheer joy and wonderment.

It was a distinct pleasure to accompany this beautiful lady throughout the weekend!

The hotel was opposite the famous Petronas Twin Towers which are 452 metres high with stainless steel and glass cladding on the walls. They are spectacular when lit up at night and represent the Malaysian national oil company with the same name. The design is detailed on Islamic geometric shapes, and the significance of this was not lost when comparing the building with other Twin Towers that no longer exist.

The view from half way up the Petronas Towers

Malaysia is predominantly Islamic and this is noticeable in the way the Malay women are dressed in traditional head scarfs, the ubiquitous mosques and the Halal food stalls, but it is also very friendly, relaxed and in some areas very modern. The juxtaposition of Islam and Walkman is interesting amongst the youth travelling on the monorail but we were not made to feel uncomfortable or unwelcome.

We visited the Petronas Towers and were lucky to be given a couple of tickets to visit the observation Skybridge on the 41st floor. The tickets are limited to 800 per day and they are free. We also visited the excellent aquarium and now we have to have one back in Thamuang as Khamma found them fascinating. I'm not against this idea actually as long as the cats can't get at it!

We visited the China Town market which is a raucous place that feels as though it is edging on the very dodgy and seamy side of KL, and just below the surface it is easy to imagine an underworld of activity that is best left alone if you have any sense. But having said that there were plenty of bargains for Johnny Foreigner ranging from fake LV bags to Puma trainers.

We also visited a mosque where I made Khamma wear a headscarf and cover her shoulders to respect the etiquette of the faith. She aged about thirty years in a comical appearance of half 'bag lady' and half of something like a 1960's teddy boy's girl friend. I couldn't help take her picture but promised to delete it later. (Note: I must get around to doing that one day). We found a pleasant indoor bazaar / market and I bought Khamma a beautiful white woolen shawl that really suited her with the Indian cotton dress and top bought in Singapore.

All too soon we had to return on the bus to Singapore but we both commented as we crossed the border how much cleaner Singapore is and somehow brighter and more confident.

Blogging Blog!!!!!!!! Plea to neighbour.

Today in between going into town to get photographs printed off I have been thinking a lot about blogs and how they seem to have replaced the old traveller's journal. I have journals going back to 1986 when I went to Canada on walkabout. Since then I have volumes of small hard backed books with thousands of words from trips all around the world. My musings, observations and memories are captured and when I re-read them the memory seems like yesterday. I would never be without them. The thing about a written journal is that they are permanent, unlike an internet blog where a slip of the mouse can delete things in an instant.

That has just happened to me and I am so annoyed with myself! What an idiot!

I had a few comments waiting for my approval including a note from a neighbour in Thamuang. Can you believe this? About 2 clicks down the road another Thamuang farang and we have yet to meet. I have seen his new house on one occasion but no one was in. I was so excited I deleted the comment by accident. I am so sorry about this - can you please contact me again?

News from Thamuang and Singapore

The news is - there is no news really. Life pretty much goes on each day in the village and now that there is more than enough rain there is a collective sigh of relief that the rice harvest will be ok. Khamma has been in the fields most days adding fertiliser and trimming here and there, whilst her brother has been making sure the field walls are well maintained and can keep the water in the place where it does its work best.

Harvest or 'cut rice' will take place in the first couple of weeks of November. This will be a period of intense manual back breaking hard labour and there will hardly be anybody in the village unaffected. From first light to dusk they will work in the fields only returning at night for a good meal, shower and sleep. I will have to be especially mindful when I speak to Khamma and make sure she does fall asleep whilst on the phone.

It also coincides with the project go live in Changi airport, so both of us will be very busy for a few weeks. There has been a slight delay and the end date to my time here has been set for 12 December. I am a little sad to think about this because I have grown to like Singapore over the last five months. It is clean, safe and not rushed. It has very a cosmopolitan atmosphere and is genuinely out to have a good time. The food is great, the people are friendly and the climate only varies between hot and hotter and rain or sun.

My next assignment is in Hong Kong and I shall be moving there when I return from the UK after the Christmas break. I am already looking at accommodation in the old colonial out post and I am looking forward to it. I am very lucky to have a job that sends me all over the world like this and I am pinching myself as I write.

That aside I am going up to the village in a week or so and really looking forward to see the fields in their full glory, at their peak before the harvest. Khamma says the fields look beautiful and green and perfect in the brilliant sunlight. I want to take lots of pictures to capture the atmosphere. Whilst there we will make plans to build a store for the rice after it has been milled and probably get a few things for the house.

We are meeting in Bangkok next week to apply for a UK visitor visa for Khamma so that she can come back with me at Christmas. After last year's abortive effort I have learned many lessons and it is becoming a mission to prepare the application to the highest standard I can manage. I haven't made presentations for work at standards much higher than I am preparing for this! There is so much emotion at stake if we fail, I can't think about it. It is the difference between a fantastic Christmas and the worst one one ever! But I am being positive and being attentive to the detailed demands of the UK Border Agency particularly paying attention to the comments they made last time. We decided it was best to go to the Embassy together next week, but it will almost certainly be a couple of weeks later before we find out if we are successful.

Khamma and I say a little prayer to Buddha each evening in 'good luck for visa'. It is quite a touching moment as I listen to the lilting sound of Khamma's voice chanting a prayer, in Thai of course. The mood she creates is deep and thoughtful and although sometimes the tone and sound of her voice is lost in constraints of Internet phone lines, it is for me magical. She soon breaks the mood of the moment with an unexpected laugh and shouts 'That's it - finished'.

The application is almost complete and when we meet in Bangkok the final touches and signatures will be made. Thanks to several of you out there who have helped. Wish us luck , I'm nervous already!

The Singapore Rainforest

Believe it or not Singapore has one of the world's two remaining primary tropical rain forests within city limits. It is about seven miles from the centre of the city, consists of 410 acres and is called the Bukit Timah nature reserve.

Never having been in a tropical rain forest before, Khamma and I visited when she was here in September. Travelling by MTR from Bedok and bus from Newton the journey took about 90 minutes and immediately it started to rain. Well I suppose it does in tropical rain forests! No surprises. It felt a little strange when we alighted the bus because the approach from the shopping centre at Timah was sign-less (maybe this is a Singaporean characteristic after last week's GP experience!) and completely unassuming in the only way it can be for Singapore. Here we are, only a stone's throw away from one of two urban rain forests in the world and nothing to tell you where it is or which way to go. Using instinct, or more precisely, a very good street map we walked in an easterly direction and there it was. At the entrance there is a rather good and helpful information centre where we picked up a map depicting the various trails you can wend your way upon. Full of anticipation and laden with juicy snacks of dried fish, durian quavers (actually quite nice), a bag of seaweed crisps and water bottles we set off down the well marked tracks.

Khamma was immediately into nature mode and with her keen eye she was spotting mushrooms and telling me which ones you can eat and which ones will give you a gippy tummy. She spotted birds, bamboo shoots and ants nests where I would have just passed by without a cursory glance. Although it was raining we not getting too wet because of the huge canopy of very tall leafy trees characteristic of the forest. Not only do these trees stop the rain they also stop the light and it becomes an arboreal battlefield for survival. Occasionally there is a gap in the trees where a lightening strike has claimed a victim, and light descends from the sky. The undergrowth is groaning with plant life in a race skywards and over the months and years the trees eventually win.

It was exciting as we saw our first troop of monkeys in the trees. Transfixed we watched for what seemed like ages as they played and rolled about. Then we came across a monitor lizard about 2 feet long swiftly making it's way across the undergrowth in search of tasty morsels.

Sadly the rain did get heavier and we had to shelter, but it was great opportunity to listen to the sounds of the jungle and slowly fall asleep. Eventually we reached the highest point of 163 metres, but there is no view because the trees block everything out.

It is a great place to go and both Khamma and I felt much more comfortable amongst the nature in this urban jungle than that other one seven miles down the road. It was interesting to learn that the island of Singapore was completely forested not all that long ago, but with the spread of man and his requirements, the rain forest has been whittled back so that just a few acres remain. The last remaining tiger was shot in in 1930. It seems they were a nuisance and they were in the way.

The next day we visited the zoo and looking at the relatively rare white tigers one cannot help but wonder about man's obsession with wanting to be the dominant force of the natural world. It won't happen of course, and that's the sad bit about the progress of man. We are very clever about putting men on the moon, routing mobile phone calls around the world and other such modern technological achievements, but whenever something gets in the way, we just obliterate it. Because we can! One day we will wake up and face the grim reality that we really have cocked things up!

The last tiger of Singapore (stuffed)

The beautiful White Tiger in Singapore Zoo (not stuffed)