Keep Lift

After nearly 20km of dead straight busy dual carriageway through the flat grey desert, speed limit 120kmh (observed by some), a small fluorescent green sign announces "KEEP LIFT". Twenty metres later the inside lane and hard shoulder disappear behind road-work blockades. My understanding of stopping distances suggests that lift-off would indeed be the only sensible solution in the circumstances.

Hot wind

A hot wind is blowing. The temperature which has risen slowly since February is suddenly soaring. It feels as if someone has left one of those hot air hand-driers on. Sitting at the beach, I noticed that the wind direction has changed, and now instead of coming from the North and East, Iran and Iraq, it is a straight Westerly. This air has travelled over Saudi, probably the Sahara before that. Quite a thought. No wonder it's less refreshing.

Cross-dressing

From today's Gulf Times:

Preachers at mosques focused their attention during the Friday sermon on the strange phenomenon of girls dressed as boys in Arab robes and headgear and roaming in public parks in Doha, according to reports published in the local Arabic press.

They have also been noticed smoking cigarettes and hubble-bubble. This is a sign of the predominance of destructive ideas and values from the West on the minds of the youth in this country, said many of the preachers.

They also attributed this to the prevalence of chatting on the internet, blind aping of Western lifestyles and the spread of the culture of consumerism.

They called upon the authorities concerned to take stringent action against those indulging in such behaviour.

Girls roaming in public parks? Whatever next!
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The oryx farm, Shahaniya

A few decades ago, the Arabian Oryx was all but extinct - the only remaining specimens being those held in zoos in various parts of the world. The oryx farm at Shahaniya is at the hub of the project to save this creature and I can only say it seems to be doing a pretty good job.

After a look round the centre, a talk and video filled us in on everything I could possibly have wanted to know, although I'm afraid to say it still left me slightly unclear on things like dates and numbers, so I won't go into details here. It was heartening to meet local people who are passionate about conservation in this region where oil-fuelled consumerism is king.

The organisation also runs two large reserves where the oryx, and other species of antelopey things, live in a more natural or wild habitat. These can not be visited, but the video gave an impression of suitable huge expanses of flat desert. The video was at great pains to reassure us that although these reserves took up a large amount of land, they had been strategically placed so that they didn't get in the way of building or development. Heaven forbid.

The farm is well worth a visit, but you'll need to call first - it's not open on a public drop-in basis.

Camel Race Track

I met Ros on the visit to the oryx farm and when we left there she took me for a look at the camel race track nearby. This is somewhere I've been meaning to visit for ages and it was even better to go there with someone who knew the place, not to mention someone whose company I enjoyed.

It was a bit late in the day for much action, but as we got there we saw the last few groups of camels trotting around or leaving the track after their morning's training. We were greeted heartily by all and sundry, though language barriers kept conversation to a minimum. For many, the opportunity to shake a woman's hand is a chance to good to miss.

During races, camels are 'ridden' by robotic riders - essentially, remote-controlled boxes with a short whip whisking round in a circular motion that takes in the camel's rump on each rotation. So camel races have the added spectacle of a herd of land-cruisers zooming round the inside of the track with owners controlling their robots and urging on their camels. But the training looks a much more romantic affair. Groups of camels wearing stripy blankets were shepherded round at a trot (well, this might have just been for their cool-down lap), usually with just one or two riders. I hadn't even had time to reach for my camera when the first came by, a dashing Sudanese man dressed in a deep rich blue waving his crop in flamboyant circles over his head as he greeted us.

Opposite the camel race track is a sort of Camel City, where all the stables are. Here you can wander around and will feel very welcome. Buy a whippy robot or a cart-load of camel-feed. But we didn't go... I'll save that for another time. And then there's a day at the races, although that will be harder as it's typically impossible to find out when they are on.

Return to Qatar

The beige buildings dot the beige landscape which blends into the beige sky.

Ending on a high

A move to the Meridien for a splash of end-of-trip luxury. This place is a far cry from my usual backpacker haunts. Gorgeous pool, an exotic cocktail and oh, what a welcoming comfortable bed. It's definitely been worth the splurge, although I simply can't bring myself to pay RM16 for a soft drink - how do they justify that? So am having the best of both worlds by eating delicious cheap Indian food in Brickfields and shopping there for my own drinks etc before swanning back to this world of opulence for a long island iced tea by the pool.

And then last night, the best possible end to this trip. I met up with Margy and Karin and Chong in PJ and the afternoon turned to evening as we caught up over dishes of hokkien mee, taufoo and porky things, moving gradually up the street from one Chinese coffee-shop-come-hawker-centre to the next. I love these places, full of semi-mobile stalls each dishing up its own speciality amidst the cacophany of clanging woks and shouted orders that bounces through the cooking smoke and sizzling smells. I stood in a grubby kitchen waiting for the toilet, watched a rat run by and thought with pleasure how normal this is, how at home I feel here, in this place, with these people. We talked on, laughing and gossiping until suddenly, quite a few kopi-o and beers later, it was heading for midnight and time for goodbyes. Time to realise how much I miss these friends, this place.

Today has been a lazing by the pool day. When the afternoon rain came I sat in a little gazebo and watched the storm, marvelled at the power and persistence of the downpour. Then in the early evening Martin came (what a treat to find him back in KL!) and we sipped mojitos and watched the daylight fade through my favourite twilight shades as the lights came on and everything twinkled, still wet from the rain. I felt quite overcome by how lovely it was, this place, my friends... and probably the mojitos. Another downpour meant getting soaked running to the poolside bar to pay the bill, where the barman kindly (stable doors come to mind) draped me in towels for my wet dash to the hotel. I splashed through three inches of water and tumbled indoors, loving it all.

Then another farewell - KL seems to be a city of goodbyes - before heading off for my wee hours flight back. Not much to say about that, except for spending a very pleasant hour in Dubai airport discussing Shakespeare and Chekov with a rather dashing Ukrainian seaman.

Kuala Lumpur

Food heaven. I've been staying in Bukit Bintang, half a stone's throw from Jalan Alor... What else to say? I've feasted on Chinese roast pork, la la, kai lan, durian and even had a real bacon butty with a beer in Finnegans. This on top of all those other old favourites - mee mamak, nasi lemak, nasi campur and roti canai. The streets round here are buzzing with people, food, bright lights and shady taxi drivers. I've had foot massages, back massages, been shopping for books and DVDs, with plenty of breaks for coffees in pavement cafes while watching the world go by.

I ended up in The Pavilion shopping mall, to find the Emirates office to delay my flight back. This has to be the most scary mall I've ever been in. I'm surprised I'm not still there. The place is huge. It has banks of escalators and lifts that only service certain floors so you have to go down to go up (well, I did), then across to another wing to go up again. It took me fourteen of the fifteen minutes till the office closed to find it. Then returning to the ground floor where I'd started, I found myself in an underground car park. On the positive side, it has a good bookshop and outside there is a nice collection of eateries. Including La Bodega, so I treated myself to a small plate of my favourite chilli garlic prawns, feeling I had earned them with my frantic exploration of the Pavilion.

What else of KL - not much that I haven't said before. It's been great to catch up with old friends, visiting old haunts and discovering new ones. There's a strange but not unpleasant sensation of being a visitor in my home town. And some things never change. I've quickly reverted to Manglish, been repeatedly mistaken for a man and played the shop-assistant-shuffle. This last is a simple game based on the fact that shop assistants are contracted to stay exactly 16 inches away from a customer. Therefore your slightest movement will be followed inch for inch. I managed to get a girl in the Body Shop to follow me twice round the same display unit and very nearly got her out of the door. Imagine my disappointment when she pinged back as if I'd snapped her elastic on the threshold.

Langkawi

And now a couple of nights in the delightful Beach Garden Resort. I love this place. It's friendly, personal and so well looked after. More sea, sand and sun, lazy days and good food. I walked here from the other resort, jauntily flaunting my legs in very short beach shorts, even enjoying the rivulets of sweat running down my face and stomach. It took me a second to recognize another old familiar - that delicious sweet smell of clove cigarettes. Two men gave up trying to saw through a tree by the road and having cut two thirds of the way through its trunk, they took turns in running at it and delivering a high jumping kick. They saw me watching and showed off even more, laughing at themselves.

In the evenings I walk along the main street, trying to choose from the all-to-tempting restaurants and food stalls. The place is buzzing with life. So touristy but so Malaysian. There's a cheesy spring in my step.

So far removed from my normal holidays - I'd always seen places like Langkawi as weekend getaways and couldn't imagine spending more than two days here - but now I wish I had a whole week. Maybe I'm getting old, or just worn down by this illness, but right now I can think of nothing better than this. Total relaxation.

Frangipani resort, Langkawi

This place is a bit upmarket by my standards, although the rooms are nothing to write home about. It is easy to spend a day lounging on a lounger, dipping in to either the lovely pool or the gentle sea. And of course there are frangipani trees here and there, spilling their flowers and scent into the evening air. A very comfortable place to stay.

And then the afternoon rain. Had I really forgotten how thunder ruptures the sky, tearing overhead from somewhere behind to right out over the sea? The slowly moving sequence of explosive, cracking bursts that we would call just one clap... and the power of the rain. I drew a chair as far into the cover of my little patio as I could and sat and watched. The sky emptied and emptied, the cascades of rain almost as potent at the run-off from the roof. The flower beds filled with three inches of water. I watched for an hour or so, me and a large resident gecko, until there was little more than drizzle. Then I went into my room to find the tiniest gecko on my bed. Is there no end to the enchantment of this place?

By the time I'd showered and changed, the rain had stopped and the sky had brightened enough to promise a dramatic sunset amongst the clouds and islands.

Langkawi

Descended into KL through rain, a solid, constant wash across the window. Landed in sunshine. Then stepping out into that friendly familiar humidity, breathing in the heady, moist green-tasting air. Home again.

Then to Langkawi, arriving in time to watch the last of the colour drain from the sky. Cicacadas ring their evening song till the sound is replaced by rumbles of thunder. The sky flickers with a distant storm. My ankles itch briefly with mosquito bites as I sip on a cold Tiger at the top of the beach. I can hear the waves gently sucking at the shore, geckos chirrup, frogs croak and the occasional bat flaps by. I am overcome by this onslaught of sensation, of pleasure. From sensationless sterile Doha to this. It is too good. My fatigue drops away.

Airport thought

Do these people (always Chinese or Japanese or probably Singaporean) who wear semi-surgical face masks in airports wear them anywhere else? Are airports really any more germ-ridden than busy supermarkets, cinemas or doctors' surgeries? Just a thought.