Tales to Tell

I said I'd write a little about the recent trip to Singapore and Malaysia. So let's get an overview of the trip's logistics in our heads from the get-go, shall we?

Wednesday: Leave Japan (7:00)--arrive in Singapore (1:00 AM)
Thursday: Sleep in the airport. First subway/train of the morning (6:00), then a bus (7:30), next a taxi (9:30) to a port city (11:00) in Malaysia, finally a boat to our island (2:00)
Friday-Saturday: Island Resort Time.
Sunday: Leave the island (boat--taxi--bus), and spend the afternoon/evening exploring Singapore. Catch the last subway/train back to the airport.
Monday: Get up insanely early (3:00), go through security, and board the plane (6:00) back to Japan (2:00)

Here are a few highlights.
*As we were filling out our embarkment (or disembarkment or disembodibarkimentosmentalminniemouse) cards on the airplane to Singapore, we got our first real taste of draconian Singapore, a little message box that read: "-Warning- Death to drug traffickers under Singaporean law." It was a little intimidating knowing we were about to enter a country that likes to brag about killing offending foreigners.
*We got our second taste when we entered the subway system and saw about 20 million signs telling us everything you could do on the subway to earn yourself a fine, including a $500 fine (~350 USD) for eating or drinking anything whatsoever. I guess my brain wasn't working properly at such an early hour because at our second stop I made no hesitation in busting out a piece of candy and popping it in my mouth--to the utter horror of Travis and Denver. Well, it was a piece of hard candy, so swallowing it whole and chewing it were out. And if I had spit it out, I was sure the nearest old lady on the subway would've pulled out a handgun and executed me straight-away, so I had nothing to do but sit and let it dissolve in my mouth, the whole time in utter fear that a police officer would jump through a nearby window, beat me down, and arrest me on the spot.
*When we finally got to the bus stop in Malaysia that first morning, we stood out like a bunch of whities in a country of dark-skinned people. One taxi driver who spoke broken English accosted us immediately, guessed our destination (apparently most white people in southern Malaysia come just to visit the island resorts), and offered to take us for 30 Rng apiece-- thus 120 Rng. He even generously offered to knock off 10 Rng to make it 110. The only problem was there were only 3 of us, and 3 times 30 is 90. I attempted to explain to him his error, but the generally accepted laws of arithmetic apparently have no power over taxi drivers in southern Malaysia, and he wouldn't budge. So after scarfing down some McDonald's, we got in his cab and sat back to enjoy a 100-mile ride.
And enjoy it, we did. Largely because of the personality of the cabbie, that ride turned out to be one of the most memorable parts of the trip. He told us all kinds of things, like learning English from British soldiers after WW2, and how Malaysia is 70% Muslim, 35% Buddhist, a little Christian, and the rest aren't religious at all. We drove past rain forest/jungle the whole time, so he assured us at the start that we might well see tigers, elephants, or monkeys. That kept us awake for most of the trip, but to no avail. But what really got our hearts pumping was when he made a quick exit off the highway, telling us he had to "deliver a package," and taking us down a bumpy road toward a run-down warehouse--in a predominantly Muslim and rather poor nation. As we waited on him inside the car, I went through various mental scenarios, wondering how fast I could jump into his seat, release the brake, and drive his car in reverse back down the dirt road. But he soon returned, and the men with uzi's never left their complex. The other bit of excitement the old guy caused was to pull abruptly to the side of the highway, muttering "tiger area." As he climbed out of the car, we shook off our sleepiness and made ready with the cameras. Unfortunately, either there were no tigers in the area or "tiger area" was code for "pit stop," because all we saw out our back window was an old Malaysian man peeing on the side of the road.
*At the island, our first morning there we had beautiful weather and decided to put it to good use. We went snorkeling and kayaking for 3 and a half hours--and I managed to acquire the worst sunburn of my life, despite applying sun screen before starting out. We should've brought it with us in the kayak, I guess, but who knew the equatorial sun would be so potent? Despite the sunburn and despite being hit-on multiple times by the gay concierge, our time at the resort was great, and we met some interesting people.
*On the cab ride back down toward Singapore, we did indeed see a monkey. It was walking across an electrical wire over the highway.
*Sunday night in Singapore, we stopped at the only church we could see, St. Andrew's Cathedral (Anglican), a national landmark building. We went in to have some private meditation time, but being informed there would be a worship service in 20 minutes and being weary, we decided to stay. We figured it would last an hour at the most. Wrong guess. The sermon alone was 80 minutes. It was given by a man who appeared to be a native Singaporean, meaning he probably spoke English as his native language but still sounded like someone who learned it in a language class: Singaporeans speak "Singlish," and it's difficult to understand. For Gabe's information, this preacher mentioned the problem of "postmodernism" in his sermon, which caused all of us to exchange a knowing glance. Also, there was a band that played at the service, and they were quite good (though I don't have much to compare them with). And it was indeed touching to see so many people of different backgrounds in the middle of Muslim-thick southeast Asia offering sincere praise to the Lord of the universe. That may, quite honestly, have been the most amazing part of the trip.
*Throughout the trip, several people, upon learning we were Americans, wanted to offer us their opinions on US foreign policy. Amazingly, everyone who commented had favorable things to say. Our first cab driver, a Buddhist in a heavily Muslim country, told us he thought we were very smart, very clever, to go in and take down the bad man Saddam before he could get too powerful and control everyone's lives, like the Muslims do. Also, one of the ushers at church stopped me to ask if I pray for President Bush and the troops. I told him "yes." And he said he had heard many people in Iraq were now being evangelized, which he thought was wonderful. (I don't offer these necessarily to start a political discussion on my blog. I just thought it was very interesting that some people were so eager to discussion politics with us while we were so eager to avoid doing anything that would highlight the fact that we were Americans. In fact, in Malaysia, when most people assumed we were from Singapore, we didn't contradict them, and the few who directly asked where we were from, received the puzzling response of: "We're from Japan." Smile.)

That's all! And all too much it is. Good luck making it through the jungle of my experiences. I assure you they were less tedious when lived than are now written. God bless!

P.S. Because of the sunburn, my skin is now flaking off in sheets and I'm afraid may have done permanent damage to my laptop. That's how much I love you people.

Wanderlust

I just arrived back from the not-so-roady "road trip" with Denver and Travis, and boy, it was a doozie. First of all, I have lamented and lament now again the fact that our fourth man, Blake B Blackwell, was unable to attend. During the trip, many times did our fellowship express sentiments of regret that he was unable to come, things like, "Man, this would've been even cheaper if we'd had a fourth guy!" or "Shoot, if Blake'd been here, we could've rented two kayaks instead of just one!" or "Oh, man, I bet Blake would've eaten that!" and so on. (I'm kidding, OK, Blake? We really did miss you, and not just because it's more practical to travel with 4 people instead of 3! Wish you could've come, but we'll just have to make up for it next summer--road trip to New England, anyone?)

For Denver, this marathon-esque tour began even earlier than it did for Travis or me (he traveled around Japan with his family the week leading up to this trip). But for Travis and me, here's how it went: on Wednesday afternoon, a bike ride from our schools--bags (and a few last-minute errands!)--scooters to the church building--on foot to the bus stop--bus to the airport-- Denver's waiting--flight to Singapore (7 hours)--about 2 hours of "sleep" on the floor in the airport--earliest train to a bus stop in Singapore--a bus to a market area just inside peninsular Malaysia--a taxi-ride over 100 miles to a city on Malaysia's east coast--an hour-long boat ride to a secluded island--then, finally, alas, freedom to relax a little! It was timely indeed, arriving after 24 hours of almost uninterrupted travel. Whew! We stayed on the island for 4 days, 3 nights--and then did everything all over again, this time backwards of course. That's where I am right now. That's the me that is attempting to compose a post right at this very moment--hours and hours of boat rides, taxis, buses, and air voyages between me and anything approximating good sleep. And I'm feelin' it!
Did I have a good time? Would I do the trip again? Yes, indeed. But you won't here any details that might clue you in as to why, until sometime after TONIGHT--which starts... now. Nighty-night!

A Road Trip Minus the Road

Today I'm set to start a roadtrip minus the road. Denver, Travis, and I are headed to Singapore and Malaysia!

I plan to take lots of pictures (don't laugh, if you please!). I plan to sleep in an airport or two. I plan to spend some good time exploring some crystal-clear stretches of ocean. And I'm considering pretending only to speak Japanese and seeing how far that gets me!

If I make it back in one piece, I'll try to tell you a little bit about it here on the blog. God bless!

Call me Ichabod

If I remember correctly from the Bible bowl days, "Ichabod" means something like "the glory has gone," so actually, just keep calling me whatever it is you've been calling me before you read this post. I simply wanted a means for introducing a great author I know: Charles Dickens. Perhaps you've heard of him.

I reread his David Copperfield recently, upon which I had for many years bestowed the illustrious and much-sought-after title of My Favorite Novel Ever. Quite appropriately, time has a way of making us question things we valued in our younger years, and I found myself granting Mr. Dickens (and especially Mr. Copperfield) no exception to this rule. I am happy to report that after a second reading of this wonderful book my esteem for it has undergone no relapse--in fact, I think it's grown. And though I no longer hold strict categories in my brain for my favorite this and my favorite that, I can confidently report that David Copperfield is among my favorite novels of all-time.

But this isn't meant to be a post about books. One of my favorite things about David Copperfield is the characters. They are simply amazing. I actually read most of the book while traveling about Japan on trains this past weekend--with my friends Travis and John--and on one notable occasion, the cohorts of Mr. Copperfield made me laugh so hard and so long that every Japanese person in the near vicinity stopped their respective conversations to gander at the crazy foreigner sitting there laughing his head off over--all of things--a book. The only other person I know who has discovered fully the beauty of this cast of characters is my older brother Andrew. And if he weren't such an adept conversationalist, I would truly lament only having one other person with whom I could appreciate these treasures. (But how many treasures have only we two been able to appreciate, Andrew?--the "special" seeds in the backyard, the baseball cards, the epic GI Joes battles, and a little thing called Super Shine.)

But this isn't meant to be a post about books. Sorry, I have to repeat myself, or I lose track.

Reading this book, I realized what an amazingly Copperfieldesque bunch of friends and family I have myself. I won't mention everyone who deserves mention, and those left unnamed need not assume themselves minor characters. I'm simply going off the top of my head, and maybe, perhaps, possibly giving special preference to those people who are mostly likely to drop a comment. (And besides, many of a man's best treasures are too precious for a public forum.)

There's Blake, flinging himself to the front of my mind--thrice mangled, disjointed, rent asunder, arm not akimbo and not really even akin (to the rest of his body)--a laugh known and loved by all, save those few snobs who frequent the Art Cinema in OKC--and the most diligent proponent of Pow-Wows known to his race.

There's Dad, hopelessly, boyishly intrigued with myriads of minutiae: plants, cultural oddities, historical tidbits, stretches of road he's never seen--but these mere filler, mere gap-minders, tartar between the broad teeth of life, duty, faith, and the status of his single son's dating life. Jovial, lively (unless he gets too much sugar), and a mind like a steel trap, though sometimes a thing or two gets mangled in the teeth (especially names of young ladies, Starla/Charla, Julie/Joy).

Joy! There's a young lady I'm incapable (or afraid) of writing up properly. Vivacious, pleasantly cunning, a "hoot"--in the lingo of my youth--honest to a faultering breath (yours if you've done wrong). Her rebukes strong, pointed--and sweeter than honey. A compassionate, diligent soul. Rich in faith and good works. A person to trust, and whose trust never to abuse.

Supreme enigma, puzzle beyond rendering, not merely rough at the edges, but amorphous, ungraspable, un-pin-downable--Gabe. Staunch inhabitant of iv'ry'd towers, iconoclast, Kerouac'd, most well-surfed blogger on the web, and SGA President in days of yore. Faithful friend, future brother-in-law (just kidding, Dad), philosopher and thinker, a man of deep, deep sensibilities (and a few that aren't). And above it all--I'm now convinced--the man single-handedly responsible for all remaining usage of the word "postmodern."

I didn't mention that David Copperfield is a very, very long book. Lest I be accused of rivalling Dickens (an empty claim), I shall have to stop there, though I've certainly left some glaring ommissions (including the entire AET group). Send me a comment if you want to be written up! I like to know who's needy.

*Note: In case you're confused regarding the relationship between Charles Dickens and the name Ichabod, let me assure you that all confusion on the point begins with me. For some reason, as I typed up this post late last night, my brain decided upon the first name of Ichabod--rather than Ebenezer--for that famous once-humbumger of Christmas, Scrooge (created by Dickens, as you no doubt know). If the inconsistency continues to bother you, just pretend I put a comma before "Ichabod" (thus "Call Me, Ichabod"), meaning to imply that Irving's Ichabod Crane and the repentant Scrooge were early pioneers of the telephone and that, at this particular point in time, Scrooge was urging Ichabod not to be lax in maintaining their intercontinental verbal correspondence.
Or content yourself with the knowledge that I am, on occasion, an idiot. That is all.