12/02/09 Penang, “The Pearl of the Orient"

Finally I found what I was expecting from Singapore: an island blended of colors, flavors, scents, architectures and different cultures; a place bearing the mark of each silk merchant, pirate, adventurer, spices smuggler and British colon that had ever hit his paths.
Given by the Kedah Sultan to the Eastern Indies Company in change of protection, was a malaria haunt so infamous to gain the nickname of “white man's grave”, that until Captain Francis Light made it drain. They say that to reach that difficult and unpleasant task he ordered to load cannons with silver coins and then shot all in the jungle in order to encourage the men to work among mosquito. It was the 1786 and the quite citadel of Georgetown born as one of the most strategic port of international commerce, crossroads of any conceivable kind of exchange.
What is left nowadays of that “pout pourrie” is indeed all about food: it is the variety of different and mixed traditional dishes that tells about the genesis of such a border town, intersection of opposite continents and cultures.

Food and architectures: walking around Penang is a pleasure for both sight and taste, and the architectonic variety reflects the culinary one. It is enough to take a short walk in the center to see the influences of at least five or six different cultures.

A Mosque lies peacefully beside an old Chinese Temple, the colonial house of a former british colon is good neighbor with a moorish residence; walking few steps you can bump into a typical Malaysian food stall with its colorful curries and its fresh baked thin bread while the sharp scents of indian dishes are coming from few meters beside... on the seafront the Oriental Hotel is giving off coffee and tea flavors, but you walk a bit further in a back alley to meet an Hindu temple. It is night by now and the clubs boulevard makes its part in providing the western voice in this polyglot chorus: the performance is contradictory and laud, powerful and astonishing, is the comedy of history and human vicissitudes and the stage is once again the ground and the sea. The night is clear, and shining are stars.

07/02 THE GODS FALL.

07/02/09 Singapore, night.

First was Panama, now is Singapore's turn. These two citys used to stand in my mind (with Alessandria, and other few) for the nevralgic hubs of travellers circulation, mixtures of cultures, pirates, smugglers and adventurers. I did expect to find beautiful mixed architectures and neighborhoods full of history and charm, shaped by the passage of all the different and contrasting influences throughout the centuries; on my way to Singapore I was fancing me wandering around narrow canals and dark alleys, eventually moving aside a dirty courtain to step into the workshop of an old chinese foreteller who would have read my palm boosted by opium smoke.

Nothing of that came true. What I found is a cement-casting without the bless of any art or style, a strict agglomerate of shining skyscrapers as cold as a prision of ice.
This, at least, was my first impression while a logorrheic taxi driver was driving me from the airport through the city, then I reached my hostel in one of the many outskirts, in this case little india, and I started to suspect something...

What you can see in these outskirts is a completely different landscape: short, coloured houses with architectures recalling older styles.

No skyscrapers, no huge streets, just small shops and lanes, were people crowd very easyly. Here life is still in a human rhythm and walking around is agreeable.

However my visit to Singapore is fated to be short, tomorrow I will jump on The Train... emphasis is due as we are not talking about an ordinary train, we are talking about the Oriental Express, the legendary train running all the way from Singapore to London.
Well yeah, to be onest I will not take exactly the Oriental Express (that one is a luxury equivalent to the best hotels ever, and it costs accordingly, for the curious: www.orient-express.com) I am gonna take the normal passanger train, but that runs on the same route, and we'll try to be happy with that. I will go from here to Kuala Lumpur, then to Penang, finally to get to Bangkok after a total of almost 3000 km.







MODERN MIDDLE AGES
09/02 Kuala Lumpur, just exit a big mall.
I saw the light. The slight sickness that seized me as I arrived in Singapore, the very same oppressive sensation that I felt walking down the city center here in KL, is getting eased by a clear understanding.
The very concept of city that we Europeans bear in mind here is completely turned upside down. We are used to cities where the geographic center is also the historical and cultural center: not only it is the oldest part, but also the most beautiful, charming, and agreeable one. In the center is a pleasure to wander around, and streets and palaces are human-size. In the suburbs, on the contrary, big buildings and skyscrapers pile up, the streets get broader, and it's not convenient to walk anymore. There we use cars, elevators, escalators - things among other things - because all the spaces and the environment itself are on different size, not really human anymore.

Now what happen here is exactly the opposite: the center of these big cities is composed entirely by huge skyscrapers, and the everyday life is spent confined inside the big shopping malls. It is a modern middle ages: the core of the city is enclosed in cold walls without any art, while is in the borders that the different ethnic groups have built cultural structures. In the center people are confining themselves inside impenetrable walls, to escape the terrible heat of the streets; and actually the streets of the center are really unwalkable: overhead roads, eight lanes streets, choking quicksands of cement, make nonsense to wander around. It is in the outskirts that we can find some nuance of that idea of city we keep in mind: little India, Chinatown, the Muslim neighbourhood, in these kind of place we recover the concept of town. Here the life is lived on the streets, narrow and well shadowed, where people impress their culture and tradition.
The night markets are the best expression of that. Taking advantage of the better temperature, the streets get animated: is the time for relax and feast, everybody stay around till late. Here in Orient the night is really and fully lived.

MONTI MARI E FIUMI, ATTRAVERSERO'....

06/02 Somewhere in the border waters between australia and singapore....


Yeah, of course: mountains, seas and then rivers I will cross, but paper-made: bureaucracy, as sad as it sounds, is the real traveler's nemesis. The hardest legs of World to pass through are indeed the borders with their mountain chains of “international agreements” and their wall-ferns of controls and customs, the boisterous rivers of stupidity regularly swelled up by bureaucrats and the desolate deserts of niggling and uncritical enforcement of rules.
One of these requirements that I hate most is the necessity of showing with evidences that you will leave the country you are entering. Naturally I understand it, and I would even agree on the benefit of such a rule somehow.
The annoying flip side is that most of the times is not enough to show probative documents of personal liquid assets covering staying and leaving the country, but a payed outbound ticket (better on a plane) with a specific date is required.
Now, as clear as the day is light, this for me, and everyone who is willing to travel hitch hiking boats, is quite a problem as, when a new place is reached, both destination and transport further on are all to be searched (and found) in most of the cases. Even supposing to have already some kind of agreement with another boat, authorities will always scowl such kind of “onward transport” so that will be easily rejected or restricted to some impossible conditions (as happen to us in that caribbean island when they required the captain of the yacht to come at the airport with all the boat's document as proof).

Such a situation doesn't leave much choice to the traveller who builds up his destination day by day: three are the main options.
The only one perfectly legal is to buy an onward air ticket fully refundable, but that entails one big disadvantage and a second minor one: the biggest one is that this kind of flight is generally quite expensive, and even if soon or later will be actually refunded in the meantime it will hack personal liquid assets and the credit card limit for that month. The minor disadvantage is some cancellation fee that will be charged in any case, beside the waste of time involved by the whole operation.
Another option is to print a fake ticket or booking to be shown with nonchalant. This method works pretty well with immigration officers (who very unlikely will take the effort to check with the airline) and can be used on the spot; otherwise if you are flying inbound with the intention of looking for a boat it might not work as it is the flight company itself that, at the check in, could easyly verify the validity of the booking (on the contrary such a thing would required the immigration officer to do some bothering phone call or even to stand up from the chair). Moreover some company will very likely check as they are forced by the authority of the country they fly in to pay for the fight back of the passenger found devoid of all the due documents. In short, if we can manage somehow to board the plain, the likelihood of being rejected by immigration on arrival are poor, as we are supposed to have been checked already.
In the case of being actually checked trying to plead for a malfunction of internet booking never hurts. Nonetheless eventually we could be forced to actually buy an outbound ticket (don't be tempted to buy the cheapest one, very few times it will be cheaper than the cancellation fee of a more expensive one).
If for any reason the latter was not possible would only remain the third option: try to corrupt the controller. This third way is obviously quite risky and fully illegal, without saying that succeeding is quite unlikely in most of the cases. Those willing to pursue this path in any case should bear in mind some general rules:
once started is a one way game: the only chance of success is to actually make the controller accepting the money under the table, that means if we don't guess the right amount of money at the first shot we'll be forced to a prolong raise, without even be sure of succeeding.
It requires a ready to spend amount of cash that we will hardly have.
On a strategic point of view to catch the right amount of money at the first guess is as hard as important: if you bid low to rise later in case your opponent will feel free to rise at his own peace.
Make the corrupted officer empathizing is a key-factor and it needs to always play on the edge, with ambiguity and diplomacy: never be direct, it is definitely not about paying money in order to turn a blind eye to a violation of yours, it is simply about “find a little shortcut, an easier alternative more convenient for everyone in order to skip long and boring waste of time and money”...
In any case always bear in mind that fail in this kind of game can lead to a range of very unpleasant situations, from the loss of all your money beside the purpose to the loss of the purpose, all your money, and imprisonment for a quite serious crime.

So that is more or less what you need to know before approaching a border, and the bottom line I think is clear: be as prepared as possible, well informed on the rules and requirements of the country you want to enter, dress wisely and act so in order to avoid any unrequested attentions, and if you will really have to lie practice a lot home and support your effort with the best fake papers you can (it means credible but nothing too official, as nobody will see any malice in a questionable air ticket you definitely don't want to be convicted as a passport forger...)

Byron Bay

03/02 Byron Bay

One night as others...

There is a very tan rasta playing acustic guitar, people sitting around smoke marjuana at their own peace, a girl is dancing smoothly beside the sit of the player... Another girl beside me poke me and says: “listen what a gig...”. Of course, I had heard about: Byron Bay. Once upon a time an hippy paradise, now just used to host penniless smiling people with flowers in their head, as became more a radical chic paradise, with surfing schools and big money cars around.

Not necessary worst, I actually think it can even be better now: walking down the street in direction of the beach you can meet street bands amusing bunch of happy people dancing and enjoying, reaching the seaside is like entering a strange middle dimension. With one ear you can still hear the music coming from the bars nearby, but from the other ear the waves bring the sea song, while your bare feet touch the smooth sand and your lungs fill with the fresh air, you let your eyes wandering around thousands of stars, and your mouth is recalling the taste of the beloved hop... it is like each sense of yours was pulling you in a different direction... which one follow?

04/02 I surf, You surf, She/He surfs...
Pro wake up before dawn to get the best spot free from wannabes and crowd.
As completely novice I peacefully went to surf around 11. The first try is quite comic and the day ended without I could manage to stand on the board for more than 5 seconds. Of course the equipment didn't help: they say long boards are easier to ride, but to me is just an excuse to avoid renting an expensive board to a complete untrained person... Anyhow the weight of the motherfucker largely overcomes any eventual small advantage delivered by the length, as to pedal on that monster requires an olympic fitness, so that is a bloody work to reach the right position and catch a good wave:

I know I haven't been the first “prospective surfer” to spend 90% of the time rolling in the water smashed by waves like a sock in the laundry, but the poor performance needed to be revenged. The wannabe surfer (like me) is easy to spot: hard-nosed and slightly conceited smile approach the sea running with his board between the accurately inflated chest and his best biceps like a character of “Baywatch” (note that he thinks “How cool I am” even if the board is 3 to six times bigger than him); after one hour during which nobody has ever seen him eventually he crawl out of the water shuffle the board hopefully still attached to his feet by the apposite safe-line, completely defeated by the waves that barely allowed him to stand once, and not for more than few secs.
However, the picture sounds good, doesn't it?

Running.

22 January 2009,
Sydney, Australia.

"Time is the most expensive thing we can ever spend" once said the wise man. While I am sipping a cold beer in this hot afternoon I think how much I would have liked to sail into this beautiful bay of Sydney. But I spent two months in New Zealand, and sail here would have taken a couple of weeks, which I have not available on my schedule, as I am supposed to be in thailand for the beginning of February. I know what are you thinking: what on earth does push me to rush? The answer my friend is blowing in the wind... as anyone willing to sail around the world I have to follow the seasonal trade winds: if I am not in the right place in the right time, I have no chance to find a boat to continue my circumnavigation... nobody likes to sail in the bad season.

So I had to take some decisions, I chose to fly here and after Bangkok. I will have this way some time to see a bit around Australia and Thailand before getting on my next boat that will bring me throughout the indian ocean. Sure enough it is a pity to jump over the whole Indonesia, such a fascinating and unknown continent to me, but, as I sad, it is impossible to see everything (moreover who wants to see everything normally ends up seeing nothing).

Sydney Chronicle.

21/01
During my stay in Sydney I have tried for the first time in my journey to couch surf. For those who don't have the slightest idea of what it is about is very easy to explain: hospitality!

Former travellers from all over the world, presently settled down, offer to host other travellers in their place for a short while. The advantages are evident: beside the mere economic saving, we'll be meeting someone supposed to have similar interest (our host has read our profile on internet, and then decided if there is any compatibility) and willing to show us around. Normally is far better than hiring a guide, as we are introduced to a bounce of friends and brought where local people really go.
So another tip for those who are unsure if leaving or not: check couchsurfing.com, now – even if you dream to wander about overland – you can't even cling to the excuse of hotel expenses... couch surfing is as free as fun!


22/01
You can imagine the place as a little open air parlour improvised in a narrow back alley of a red-brick building. Sofas are three old armchairs not really neat, hosting holes and burns, but with a certain "je ne sais quoi" of antique / junk dealer... Through the wood floorboards you can catch a glimpse of the dirty street below... an ashtray goes around from hand to hand even if cigarette's stubs and shrunken packets are good neighbours with smashed cans here and there; in the meantime, tiny cathedrals are built up around by empty glass-bottles. Typical dozen 20something-flatmates' apartment scenes.
Sydney's night is clear and fortunately the torrid heat of last few days has been washed away yesterday by a nice rain, and now we can all enjoy fresh air and chat in these beautiful al fresco living room.

Half of those present are Asiatic, they have some remarkable common characteristics: they are shy to the point to seem afraid to make a move so that they looks like clumsy puppets, so emotional to seem easy touchy, they commonly fall in a immoble silence in which their eyes start wandering around herky-jerky, difficult to say if it is due to a language barrier or to an innate different logic. The girls are normally very shining though, with big smiles inspiring a natural empathy, while men are easyly a bit feminine.
Reeugy, told us some interesting things about asian aesthetics and culture, it sounds to be the real opposite of ours:
japaneses, in particular, spend a ridiculous amount of money to get hair transplant, as they are hairless. Many websites offer deals for combo of different parts of the body. Notably in europe and the States the laser depilation sounds to work in opposition: maybe in few years we'll have all the south-italian men smooth as babies and a bunch of superhairy calabrese style japaneses
while the reach western people (with very few to do and worry about) want to show the darker tan as possible, almost all over asia that is gonna label you as belonging to the lowest class ever (the workers)
on a similar basis, long fingernails (in western countries nowadays a bit out of time even for females) are grown proudly as unmistakable mark of have being away from manual work for a long time.
The list could be longer, the moral is very short: it sounds like everybody really was always after his opposite. Tao is it right?

28/01 PARTY ANIMAL

Even if I tried to dedicate my mornings to wander around the city and the hot afternoons reading in the delightful chill of the main library, I cannot deny that the main activity down here is: P A R T Y !!!!!!
Sydney rocks. Especially the hostels scene is bursting hot, it sounds like everyone here subscribed, as soon as he step on the Sydney ground, a commitment to get drunk every given night. What else can I say? The Australian day didn't really help to brake down a bit...
For those pour europeans who couldn't enjoy that amazing atmosphere I think the hostel is the closest thing to an american college ever: the "Fatti-Strafatti e strafighe" ("Dude, where's my car", the italian title is simply better)thing that everyone dream in his childhood here comes true. A permanent feeling of idleness ready to explode in a orgy of alcohol, drugs and sex...
The flip side of the coin (for those interested in the budget affair) is that was enough one week here to piss away the same money I spent in almost a month in new zealand... diavuli virtus in lumbis est...

PS. Of course I have been to the Sydney Opera House too see an opera: Cavalleria Rusticana and Pagliacci, soon I will add comments about, stay tuned
!

Risposta alla domanda: che cos'è viaggiare?

Il viaggio è bello così: ci si accorge di esser passati troppe volte per quella strada, di aver incontrato troppe volte quelle persone, di conoscere ormai da vicino quel tramonto. Quando ormai ci si sente a casa, la nemesi del viaggiatore ha già coperto di ombre familiari anche quelle strade poco battute, dove solo un carretto passa, e, di tanto in tanto, qualche randagio va a pisciare. Allora si sente che è il momento giusto per partire di nuovo, ancora una volta girandosi in direzione di ciò di cui non si sa nulla, e quella diventa la nuova terra promessa. Il viaggiatore ha bisogno di una terra promessa, sempre, ce ne vuole un'altra e poi un'altra ancora... non si accontenta. Il viaggiatore è il commensale mai sazio, per questo non può stare troppo a casa di nessuno: si tirerebbe dietro le antipatie di ogni afitrione.
Il viaggiatore cammina. Per definizione si sposta via terra o via mare perchè non è una distanza che deve percorrere, ma è un tempo da cui vuole essere attraversato. Il viaggiatore è in realtà immoto nello strenuo sforzo di afferrare l'immutabile nel continuo flusso del mutevole: così da sempre si tuffa nell'opposto per ridurre il tutto ad un'identità.

Una delle misrappresentazioni più comuni del viaggiatore riguarda la sua sapienza: il viaggiatore è esperto, dunque sa. Sa da dove viene, dove sta andando, e dove è: rappresenta la conoscenza totale ed è un modello auspicabile (soprattutto agli occhi del novizio viaggiatore, o addirittura per la sottoclasse dei turisti o vacanzieri). Il viaggiatore invero non sa nulla. Viaggia, ed il viaggio è la ricerca di quelle domande che anche lui, come il layman, trova senza risposta. Sbagliato.
Come dire... è più un inseguimento...
- "Maestro, ma cosa insegue allora il viaggiatore se non la Verità?"
- "Sei ancora uno stolto, non capisci? Non è il viaggiatore che insegue... dovresti aprire gli occhi, allora vedrai che il viaggiatore è in realtà inseguito..."
- "e non vuole farsi prendere?"
- "Egli va... capiresti anche tu che non sta cercando la felicità, sta piuttosto fuggendo la monotonia, ma questa è come la sottile linea d'ombra del tramonto che lenta ed incessante insegue i passi del viaggiatore nella sua corsa attorno al mondo..."
- "ma così, Maestro, quanto sarà lungo il viaggio?"
- "Zitto e cammina..."