Strange Journeys

There used to be certain countries that do not welcome tourists. One is reminded of the former Soviet Union, North Korea and Communist China. Soviet Union is now history and we now hear people are trickling in slowly to see the sights of Moscow and Leningrad. China has opened up and is trying hard to catch up for the lost time. North Korea remain closed, although there are selected few lucky enough to get inside the country, but large scale tourism is still unknown.

Saudi Arabia is somewhere between the two extremes - there are countless umrah agents who at the drop of your hat would whisk you to the holy lands for the purposes of fulfilling the rites of the pilgrimages. You would be herded in a group and taken under escort to the two holy places, Medina and Makkah and nowhere else as the conditions of your visa strictly confine you to these cities.  On the other hand the Arabian peninsula is a huge place with ancient histories and there are other areas one wishes to see and experience but unfortunately unlike other Middle Eastern countries which would grant a visitor  a visa on arrival for a small fee, a visa need to be applied for before flying in and they are very selective in granting one, like no unchaperoned female is allowed and non Muslim are prohibited unless on business or working purpose.

I was therefore understandably excited when the umrah package I had booked for, included visits to two places that had never been seen by pilgrims from our country, that is, Al - Ula which is an ancient settlement is north of Medina and Taif a hill country east of Makkah, also full of historical background. It must be borne in mind that history in Saudi Arabia is treated differently compared to other countries. There is a plethora of archaeological sites dotting the country, but tragically the current authorities are trying their best to erase all the records as according to their belief, the only matters that counts in this life are the words of God and the Prophet. What before the prophet came was Jahiliah ( time of ignorance ) which is not worth preserving and what after was Bidaah ( unlawful innovations ) and should not be allowed to remain. With this simplistic view, when the Saud came to power after WW 1, all the man made structures that had existed and had been object of veneration such as tombs, mosques, dwellings and cemeteries were ordered to be leveled. Most of all they were hostile to tombs and graveyards. With a single swoop the famous Baqi' cemetery in Medina, where the wives of the prophet and his Sahabats were buried and Maala in Makkah the resting place of Khadija were transformed into  empty lots with all the markings on the graves obliterated. The Saud have only been in power for less than 100 years, but already many aspects of Arabian history, thousands of years old, are now gone forever.  In the name of the desire to return to the religion of Islam to its purest form, the old architecture of the desert is irrevocably displaced to make way for a stark and bleak landscape.  Even today we are hear the Prophet's tomb in Medina is not to be spared in their grand plan of purifying the land from contamination of irreligious edifice which in their minds are but obstacles in the steep and thorny way to heaven.

When we started early in the morning from Madinah, a number of pilgrims from our group declined to board the bus. Surprisingly there were people who were not curious of discovering what the journey could offer, instead they were concerned that their stay in the holy city would not harvest enough credits for their use in the after life. Communal prayers and supplications in the Prophet's Mosque were promised with bonuses and extra points. "Rugi" they said while shaking their heads at us meaning not profitable, as though heavens were for those with astute business sense.

When we arrived at Al Ula,  astride an ancient trade route from Southern Arabia to  Syria, we were met by Muhammad, an Arab tourist guide who informed us in his quaint heavily accented English that the "bibel of Betra had berished brior to the bresent bobulation who came later". Substitute the "b" with the "p" and you will break the code to understand the sentence. Well on the comical side he reminded me of John Malkovich as  Pascal Sauvage in Johnny English with his French accent. Surrounding the town we saw  remnants of ancient dwellings and  in the nearby oasis were date plantation which had been cultivated and had existed continuously for thousands of years.

We were bussed to the to an interesting geological site. Here we took photos of the red sandstone mountain carved by winds resulting in fantastic shapes, one resembled the head of an elephant and the place was called as such.

Next  was the tombstones of  Nabatean.  The place was once inhabited by the people of the same name and they had left behind structures carved into the soft rocks which remain standing until today. It is a famous archaeological remains and had been given recognition as one of UNESCO's heritage site. It is also a place where God sent down destruction on the people of  Thamud, as mentioned in the holy Koran for their cruelty to a female camel. The story is that after disobeying a prophet by ham stringing a camel, the whole community was punished by the earth shaking and crumbling leaving every one dead. Call it an over reaction by God, even how much the SPCA would have approved of it. Now we know that earthquakes are not caused by divine displeasures over man's actions but are just  one of the many natural events that shape our earth and had preceded man and will remain in activity, long after man is gone.

We also had our ustaz on board with us who guided us with supplications on starting of a journey, on reaching a new place and also a commentary on the place from an Islamic history point of view. It was said the Prophet once stopped here on the way to battle in the north. He did not like the place very much and urged his followers to clear away as soon as possible, like there was evil harbinger enveloping the area. It was to be avoided although there was no clear reason to do so and since the Prophet had expressed his dislike we too were asked to do the same. But the evening air was refreshing,  the sand felt cool in between my toes, the night sky was sparkling and the meals provided at the hotel was fantastic, that I could not hold any grudge against this poor town. I conclude that the story must had been apocryphal.

Medina to Al Ula, about 400 km

View Medina in a larger map

On the way to Al Ula, volcanic rocks dominates..

...which soon changes to red coloured softer sandstone

Fantastic shape like an elephant head and trunk  carved by wind

The ancient date groves in the valley of the red mountain

An ancient settlement which still survives and under rehabilitation.

A swimming pool which is empty of water, the plan would have been made outside Arabia. Desert people are not natural swimmers due to the lack of a large body of water to swim , hence the apathy in the pool maintenance.

The tomb of the Thamud people

Taif

The first time I came across Taif was when reading the elementary Sirrah of the Prophet. It was a place the Prophet went to during his first part of the Dakwah ( before the Hegira to Medina ) to spread the words of Islam. He was not welcomed, in fact was chased and hounded by the inhabitants and during the flight to escape, he rested near an orchard and a slave boy by the name of Addas offered him fresh grapes to eat. Obviously there must had been vine yards in the vicinity to produce the fruits, although there are no more traces of them left today to be seen. It was proof that the place was fertile and well watered unlike the stony desert of Makkah and as such vineyards were able to thrive. Today there is not much orchards left although the climate is still agreeable as we found out when we encountered misty and cool weather when we first arrived after traveling for more than 100 km from the Holy City. Taif is in the highland and we had to climb through the brand new mountain highway to reach the place.

There was not much to see in Taif. Asides from the religious historical back ground there remained nothing worthwhile, except may be the museum where we were taken to for a short tour and a memorable Arabic style lunch.  There were no old buildings to capture on cameras, no archaeological  sites to explore, only newly built mosques to pray in and even that the toilets were unbearably stinking. A short stay was sufficient, if it was just to tell that we had been to any where outside Mekkah and after a three hour journey we were back in the hot lowlands. It had been an unsatisfactory trip as Taif was a strategic fort and a summer retreat of the Ottoman Turks when the empire was once in control  of the holy sites of Mekah and Medinah before they were over thrown by the Sauds.  I had expected to see some of their relics as I had seen in Istanbul, their capital, but there was none to see in Taif as they had all been demolished and eagerly forgotten.

Makkah to Taif, about 100 km

View Makkah - Taif in a larger map

Old Beetle in the museum

Baboon frolicking in the sparse vegetation

Stark landscape which is almost surreal

One of the non religious attraction of Makah is the food, huge freshly baked rotis dipped in mutton curry with hairs and hooves of goats visibly swimming in the gravy

Triplets, very cute and sadly abused for begging

Miqdad The Bald

Well, well, another addition to the collection of grand children, this time another charming baldy. Meet the apple of the grandpa's eye and small brother to Qisya, Miqdad Ammar Mokhtar who came in a bit too early at 35 weeks, causing a  mad and anxious rush to the maternity hospital and some apprehension waiting by the incubator room until he was strong enough to be touched and fussed by family members.

Mr. Yusof, The Calligraphy Artist

It is the season of rain. It rains every day and the afternoon ride that I used to enjoy is now shelved temporarily. It got so bad that one day when I saw a window of sunshine opening up I took out my bike for a spin along the KESAS Highway from Kemuning to Bukit Jalil but was caught in a storm that was fearful and threatening to my safety. It first started to drizzle steadily after the Puchong Junction and I took shelter under an under pass. But I thought it was not the way to spend a cycling afternoon cooped in a narrow space, so I braved the rain and continued the cycling. At Bukit Jalil I made a U turn towards home and on reaching the Summit Junction all hell broke loose. It was the mother of all thunderstorm. As it was getting dark I did not stop but instead sloshed through the deluge and the wind. Needless to say getting soaked to the skin was an under statement. I learnt the lesson and the days following were spent on the static cycling on the trainer below. It is my saviour during this uncertain inclement weather, finding a rain free afternoon is now rare, and the next best option is cycling in one place under a roof. 

My trainer

It was during one rainy afternoon that I found my self at the PKNS Shah Alam and meeting with Hj Yusof a Hui Chinese, who was an artist in Islamic calligraphy. For a small price you can have one of his creation, done right in front of you, which you can frame and hang as decoration in your house. An added attraction was that the calligraphy was done in Chinese style, something you don't find common in this country. I would shamelessly promote this man and his art and urge those who are able, to patronise his works and support his effort by bringing home his art to your living room.

Hj Yusof in his studio

Slaloming Down Hill From The Gap

Starting from Kuala Kubu Bharu at 7.45.am. The town is at the foot hill of the mountain, and has just woken up when we arrive. This is where we park our car. We have light breakfast at a Mamak restaurant nearby and cycle down hill to meet the main road which gradually rises for the next 5 km. We meet joggers who are already on the way back to the town after an uphill jog.

The dam in view in the distance. The climb to the dam, a huge man made structure,  from km 5 is the first serious test of climbing and is a stiff challenge to the fitness. If you can make to the top without dismounting, you do have the minimum fitness to carry you to the summit of Fraser's Hill.

After this bridge, will be the start of the climb to the dam. It is through a road carved on the mountain slopes and the gradient is not made to please your average cyclists. Past the dam the contour climb starts at km 11. Roads following the contours are friendly to the environment, less cuts are made on the slopes since the giant machineries were still to come. Consequently, the gradients are not taxing and we are closer to nature but the trade of is the winding and narrow road, which to a motorist in a hurry, is an ancient curse that slows down travel time.

A fiver at km 20.

We stop for natural refill of our water bottles

Historical site, where the British High Commissioner was assassinated in 1951. This is at km 31. The sign is too cheap and easily overlooked for such a historical event. The murder, or elimination of an enemy, depending on which side you are looking from, is a watershed event that determined the future of British Malaya. If Chin Peng had won, I would be writing this blog in Mandarin characters.

The Gap is at km 33 and is reached at 10.00 am after 2 1/2 hours of cycling. There is a small kiosk where we rest and have carbonated sugared drink to replenish the body from the lost calories.

We pass the climb to the top of Fraser's Hill which is 8 steep km away as rain clouds are gathering and we want to avoid the cold mountain rain. I had done this stretch before at 1 hour 15 min, Mirza had done it in 40 minutes though I know good cyclists  who raced through in just 30 minutes.

Coming fast downhill

Right turn....

.....Left turn

Easy on the corner

A climb into the dam area

Keep climbing...

...and we are home on the flat.

Perth, My Old Friend

"Morals are paintings on the wall and scruples are money they use in Russia"- Sabrina speaking of Linus in "Sabrina"

Perth and I, we had been acquaintance for a long time, ever since I was  a twelve year old  in Sultan Ismail Primary School, Kota Bharu, Kelantan in the mid sixties. The headmaster was Mr. Durbara Singh, Class teacher Mr. Mohd Ali and English teacher Mr. Sarjit Singh. The head boy was Awis Pedik and the deputy Chan Boon Hoi. In the class I sat next to Zulkafli who splashed his ink on my white shirt and I then sat next to Bakri and together, we spent all our time drawing combat figures. One day, during English class, the teacher announced we were going to have pen pal from overseas, this one from Australia. Letters from school children of the same age in Perth were randomly distributed and I ended with one from Alan Plester who lived in Mount Pleasant. I remember writing to and receiving a few letters from this pal and I think it ended due to my inability to finance the purchase of postage stamps, which then was too expensive for me, and took a lot out of my pocket money. Even though the correspondence stopped, the names of the boy and the city were etched and stayed in my mind until today. This is a part of the childhood memories that lurk below the surface of  our consciousness and that can be retrieved at will. Another event that I could easily recall was the Kennedy assassination. One early morning after I had just woken up, in our rented house in in a small kampong in Jelawat,  Bachok,  my father asked me who the President of America was, and I proudly displayed my knowledge to impress, saying "President Kennedy" and next I heard from him was, "Son, he had been shot and died" or something to that effect. I could not remember my reaction, I was too small to be horrified by the killing, but the substance of this early morning conversation was already permanently imprinted in my filing system.

This trip to Perth was to translate the dream stuff into reality. It had been done in my virtual world and now I had to know whether this Perth was something that could be touched and sensed, whether the building up was equal to the punch line. Applying for visitors' visa was easy as it could be done on line. There were frequent flights between Kuala Lumpur and Perth, both on the low cost and normal carriers and one fine afternoon, after a five hour flight I arrived at the Perth international airport.   No adjustment in time was necessary as Perth and Malaysia were on the same clock, though it felt strange because normally after flying for such a duration a traveller would had been transported into a different time zone. We were forewarned of the prohibition of importing food stuff into Australia, and so it was an anti climax when we were let through the custom and immigration without any questions, although we were innocent of any wrong doing for having any of the proscribed items. I liked this laid back approach and wished it could be practiced in other airports such as Heathrow where even a senior citizen such as I, was treated like a potential overstayer. I always disliked the manners of the immigration guy, for instance, double checking me in a suspicious tone whether the owner of the apartment which I had booked for my stay, would be staying together, as though I would be squatting in a rent free place while waiting to disappear in the country for good. Come on guys, give an old man some slack, no sane person wants to start life in a cold and strange place at fifty plus.

PERTH

I  had been to a few airports before and I had taken it for granted luggage trolleys were part of the service that were due when we paid the airport tax. Admittedly there were airport liked in Bali where we had to be smart to get one of the scarce trolleys but we never expected to pay for the use as in Perth. Carrefour supermarkets would at  least gave refunds if the trolley was returned. Here it was slotting the coins, and lots of them, and not seeing them again. However I was tipped to get the trolleys that were lying around without any claims over them and I was happy to score one against this rip off.

Next surprise was the cash machine did not cough out the local notes that I wanted. This was a bit of a bother as I had intended to rely on these machines for my supply of cash. Later on I made the phone call to my banker and the matter was immediately resolved. It was just a security precaution as I had not informed them about my use of the card in Australia.  

Going to the city from the airport was a breeze. We purchased the transfer tickets for the bus ride to the city and even though it was a bus, we had sort of taxi service when we were dropped right in front of our  apartment. For money value, and if you are willing to wait for the hourly schedule, I would say it was worth the price. It was evening when we settled down and feeling peckish we walked to the town center and surprise surprise, found a food court where I had beriyani rice, which I graded an an "F" as it was gruel impersonating as a gourmet meal. But I should not be too critical. If I were in Australia, I should be sampling Australian food not Indian. So for the remainder of the stay we threw away the self imposed diet restrictions and opened ourselves to the grandeur of Aussie culinary delights. No, I did not indulge in the harams. I just allowed fish to my list of vegetarian diet.

Perth in spring was beautiful. The weather was balmy and we took long walks without feeling washed out. There were many cyclists moving around, they took their rides very seriously, in fact too seriously, and they looked frighteningly like cyclists  in a grand tour time trial. In Perth, I saw riders  all wearing helmets with proper cycling attires, riding expensive road bikes, and gritting their teeth,  looking like giving the maximum efforts. Nobody was cycling for fun or pleasure, every body was trying to squeeze the most out of this activity. It was like hammering and blowing away at full speed ahead with heads down. After this, I was not surprised Cadel Evans was Australian. There were exception though, in places like Freemantle train stations where cheap bikes are left in the station. The cyclists in this group would be tired commuters on the way to and from work and consequently the rides were short and brief, and done in formal clothing.

We did not try any cycling, there were cycling shops offering bikes for rents but we decided this was going to be a walking holiday. I loved cycling, but my better half did not think much of exposing herself to the elements and out of deference to her life style, I compromised on the mode of transportation for the duration of our stay. We walked and walked all over Perth. We walked through the Central Business District, we walked to the end of King's Park and we walked all over the places. We stopped when we got tired and when we were hungry and thirsty we stopped for food and drinks. Indeed Perth was a walking heaven. Daytime was not too hot and the breeze that came from the sea was cool and refreshing. The evening was cooler and after the sun set it could be a little chilly, but one extra layer was more than sufficient to keep the body warm.

FREEMANTLE

After one week we had to check out of the apartment in Perth. Before we came we had been advised that it was not possible to extend our stay and therefore we had inquired and booked another apartment, this time in Freemantle, a sea side town about half an hour by train. Freemantle was much smaller, it was so small that the town centre could be covered by merely an hour of strolling. At five in the afternoon everything shut down and the streets became deserted making the town appeared ghost like. It was definitely not a place to rock and roll

Once a week, for 3 days on the weekend the quiet atmosphere was disturbed by the happenings at the weekend market. Vendors and purchasers met at the improvised market and for the first time we heard loud and enthusiastic voices from the sellers hawking their wares. This was Freemantle with its hair let down. There were buskers entertaining the crowd but like everything Australian there was order. Specific site was marked for the busking and they, the buskers,  had to register before hand as there were even schedules for the order of appearances. There were a few good ones though the majority were just passable.

On other days we spent our time walking the streets. For a small town of this size, Freemantle had a disproportionate large number of book shops. It was a delight to browse in these bookshops, the books were not sealed in plastic covers as in MPH or Kinokuniya, neither was the sign "No Free Reading" anywhere to be seen. One type of bookshop that was a delight were the ones that offered discounted prices on their books. The selections available were very wide and did not at all reflect their reduced prices.  They were new publications in mint conditions, not the dog eared copies you would find in  second hand outlets. It was a pity my purchase was limited by my baggage allowance, as I would had bought the entire store.

As a foreign tourist, I found the historically high Australian Dollar intimidating. The news of the exchange dampened my spirits and depressed my purchasing will power. The real rise was not much really, something like 5 % for the last 12 months, but psychologically the decision to defer the buying was already made up in the mind. I suppose this was how free market worked. When the price rose we bought less, resulting in lower demand which would cause the supplier to reduce the price to keep in business. This current position would not last, there were opportunities to be made. Go short on Aussie Dollars would be the advice of the sage.

LAST

One common thread I found consistent in this trip was the wide and extensive usage of internet. The visa application was done on line, ditto for the airline ticketing and the reservation for the apartment.  My expenses in Perth were paid either through the credit card or cash from the cash machines. Before the days of the internet I had to be physically present to do all these things. I would have to go to the embassy to apply for the visa to travel and it would take more than one attempt to secure the document, first to file the application and second to collect the passport and this did not include the waiting and travel time. For the ticket I had to go to the airline office to book the seat. For the money I had to go to and wait in the bank to buy the travelers' cheques. The reservation of accommodation could only be confirmed by writing, and this means going to the post office to post the letter. It was indeed marvelous that a lot of time was saved by sitting in front of the computer terminal and having all the business of pre-travelling done at the key board.

Would I return ? Perhaps, but for only a shorter duration.

Perth City as we go into the final.

Surprise, surprise, baby strollers for use on arrival. Babies' voice must have been vociferous  in the airport management.

This is the aircraft we come in, a Malaysian Airline Airbus.

Our main form of  transportation in Perth.

From our apartment we can see the Swan River.

Aussie and Malay beauties are pleasing to look at.

From King's Park

Memorial in remembrance of the victims of the Bali bombing

Tom cat patrolling 

Like paying for your dates.....

A lone seagull in down town Perth

The lion and the unicorn show how English Australia is.

We subsist on this diet 

I also have this tree in my garden though the flowers are not that luscious.

Playing with sand in Freemantle

More Malay and Aussie beauties, this time they ( the Aussies ) are more modestly dressed

Sun set over the Pacific Ocean from our apartment in North Freemantle

Oysters are aphrodisiacs if taken in sensible proportions

Bicycles for commuting at North Freemantle train station.

Mr. Mah, The Goldsmith

Mr. Mah is one of the many succesful goldsmiths in Kota Bharu who trades in gold jewelleries and precious stones. He has been in business since 1957 and is recognised as a treasure trove and gold mine, excuse the pun, of information relating to gold business in Kelantan. Through him I came to know that  a few years back people were not allowed to buy or sell pure gold as in gold bars but they could purchase ornaments made of gold. This explains why the tok peraihs in the Kota Bahru wet market have their arms, from the elbow to the wrist, fully adorned with gold bangles, to satisfy the primal urge to possess this shiny metal but a the same time to keep on the right side of the law. These gold ornaments were cast in gold that is peculiar to Kelantan, graded as Emas Kelantan, which is actually 22K in international standard or Gold 916 in local. 

I have always been perplexed by the standard of measurement use by the Kelantan local in their gold trading. Gold is normally weighed in gram or ounce, but a Kelantanese lady who comes to a gold shop would tell the seller how much gold she wants as in Riyal Berat, like " Please let me have gold bangle worth five riyals in weight". Incidentally Kelantan men do not patronise the gold shop as there is a religious injunction against men wearing gold on their persons, that is the reason they stay in the back ground in the gold business. So how much is a riyal ? Get this, a riyal is a weight of gold equal to 10 pieces of saga seed. I know what a saga seed is. It is a kind of seed from a saga tree ( scientific name Abrus precatorius ), quite small, light in weight, red in colour and very shiny in appearance. I have seen them as common when I was a kid, they were part of my childhood fascination but I hardly come across them anymore. Proton Saga our national car is named after this tree, besides benefitting from the double meaning of  saga as in heroic tales. Nowadays with the scarcity of saga seeds, the weight of a riyal is standardised as equivalent to 2.7 grams of gold.

It is only for Kelantan Gold that the riyal is used as measurement. The current price is about RM400.00 for one riyal of gold. Mr. Mah says it used to be  RM10.00 many years ago. Thanks to him only now I understand the lingo of my mother and her contemporaries who collectively take it as a matter of course that all the value of the gold in the world is measured Riyal Berat, which until now has been a code that is only understood between the Kelantanese ladies of old.