(from book “People & Places: Walk My Journey ”; published by HK Publishing, 2022)
“…… I recall the mad rush that early morning of 2nd September, trying to get everyone on to the tour van heading towards the Central Train Station in Dongcheng District to board the Trans Mongolian Express. The Beijing Central Train Station was a sea of people and the van dropping us was unfortunately not allowed into the station. Judging by the size of the crowd building up, it probably would take an hour or so just to get inside the station. I have never seen so many lines queuing up to buy tickets before.
There were at least 30 lines that morning. Getting into the main building was no mean feat, given the pushing and jostling. It was absolute madness. I remembered Sam, the Chinese van driver, telling us “In Beijing, there is no time to be polite”….”
The Trans Mongolian Express, K3 train stopped at Ulan Bator station. Passengers alight to take a break.
Kinkaku-ji (Golden Pavilion)Temple is a Zen temple whose top two floors are covered in gold leaf.
“…….. Kyoto’s history is tangible and accessible on many levels. Going about Kyoto meant coming face-to-face with that heritage on a daily basis. While walking on the street towards a bust stop, glimpses of that traditional life surfaced with every step we took. We came across an old wooden entrance gate: a sweeping temple roof; a tree-covered mountain; a traditional wooden restaurant. Korean tourists in kimono walking on the streets in Arashiyama; a walk in Sagano bamboo forest in Arashiyama, among the soaring stalks of bamboo was like being in another world.
Despite having a population density just under 3.5 times lower than that of Tokyo metropolis, Kyoto exuded a relaxing atmosphere, compared to Tokyo. Going about Kinugasa Hills and Northwest Kyoto, reinforced the traditional values and heritage of Kyoto with its incredible temples, traditional ryokan and craftsmanship imparting an unforgettable small town feel.
A traditional restaurant, on the street we took to get back to Mountain Retreat in Kinugasa Hills.
On October 8th, 2025, I was privileged to hear a journalist, an editor, an award-winning creative writer and a columnist, all rolled into one, spoke with such humour and substance at a book launch held at the British Council in Kuala Lumpur. I was completely entertained by the humour he injected throughout his speech and the claps and laughter never stopped. TS JJ, short for Tan Sri Johan Jaafar, a man of extensive experience in the media world, gave a most encouraging speech at the book launch of “Those were the Days”. Nine writers of the book came together with British Council to organise a book launch. The book was a documentation of the experiences in the 1970s by nine ex-graduates of Loughborough University of Technology, UK.
TS JJ holds many positions on many councils and committees. On May 28, 2024, he was appointed as an independent Non-Executive Director of Star. Among many positions held, one was as Group Chief Editor of Utusan Melayu (M) Berhad from 1992-1998. He was made Chairman of Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka from 2006 to 2010. He was the 12th recipient of the National Journalism Laureate Award (Tokoh Wartawan Negara).
TS JJ, in his book launch speech, confessed he had never heard of the name, Loughborough , even though he was a student of Nottingham, UK. I do agree many had difficulty pronouncing the name. I was one of them. But TS JJ took it a step further by stretching the pronounciation throughout the first quarter of his speech in a deliberate malapropism.
The name “Loughborough “ derives from the Anglo Saxon word “burgh” meaning a town and probably, a personal name which became Lough.
This book, according to TS JJ, is about friendship. It is about students living abroad who have friends to replace their loved ones at home. As the synopsis explains, this book is about a collection of essays representing “ an interesting potpourri of emotions, a delayed outpouring of memories and personal experiences growing up in a society completely different from their own.”
Ladies Man Dato’ Ghazali bukan main lagi tepuk tangan utk kita semua…ha ha 😀
Tan Sri Johan Jaafar , the speaker at our book launch and our Book Committee chairman, Rahmanudin.
81 years old Dato Ghazali – full of life, one guest at the book launch at British Council.
“Book Launch
Those Were the Days:
Reminiscing Life Experiences of Loughborough University in
the 1970s by Nine Malaysian Graduates“
Edited by Askiah Adam, Husna Kassim and A Ghaffur Ramli
Published by HK Publishing, 2024
8th October 2025
British Council, Jalan Ampang
Speech by TAN SRI JOHAN JAAFFAR
Loughborough? I found out that it is just 26.5 kilometres away from where I was in 1991, the better known Nottingham City. Or to put in imperial perspective, hardly 16.5 miles south. The truth is, during my one and a half year stay at Nottingham, I have never been there – to Leicester further south, yes, to Derby in the east yes, or even to Sheffield in the north and Boston and Spalding in the west. Even during my days traversing the entire British Isle many years later, I did not visit Loughborough.
No offence there, pleaseI was going through Engel’s England, Thirty-Nine Counties, One Capital and One Man by Mathew Engel, probably the funniest, wittiest and atrociously frank book on the land of the English, but I couldn’t find Loughborough in the index. Yes, he wrote about Leicestershire and mentioned Melton Mowbray, once the fox hunting capital of the world and Ashby-de-la-Zouch and even Bosworth Field – but no mention of Loughborough!
How could he!.
And I was going through the horribly interesting – frank and brutal – You Are Awful: But I Like you: Travels Through Unloved Brittain by Tim Moore. He went through places that people didn’t go – the bleakest of towns, the shonkiest hotels, the scariest pubs, even the silliest sea zoos. He was at the least interesting points in Britain, the most dismal place in Scotland (twice crowned as such) and tested horrific local cuisines. Again, no mention of Loughborough. Perhaps in this case a blessing in disguise.
But still, how could he!
Loughborough I was told is better known as home to John Taylor Co Bell Foundry, touted to be the largest bell foundry in the world? If you are curious about what they manufacture – bells, yes those things – from where the ear-splitting sounds from cathedrals are heard. They are world experts in bell-making, restoration and tower-services, relating to what else, bells according to Wikipedia. They cast many famous bells, including the largest one at St Paul Cathedral, London, weighing a staggering 17,002 kilograms. Now you know about the reputation of Loughborough in the annals of bell history.
So, imagine my excitement when I was shoved this book, Those Were the Days: Reminiscing Life Experiences at Loughborough University in the 1970s By Nine Malaysian Graduates. It is about life in Loughborough told by Malaysians who were there 50 years ago. You can’t blame me for being curious. I read the book and I liked it. And here I am, standing in front of you, talking about this interesting book by those who have lots of interesting anecdotes to tell.
First of all, I am honoured to be here, to be part of this auspicious event. It has been an incredibly interesting experience going through the 12 narratives, 11 actually, the last one “Jasamu DiKenang” is more about the appraisal for the government policy that enabled Malay students to study abroad, including all of them.
I am a writer myself, and an orang surat khabar lama , an old newspaperman, literally, who lived on writing – creative works or otherwise. Many of you may find writing a laborious endeavour. But for us writers and journalists, with deadline looming, pressure from bosses and blank spaces to fill in, it is all about survival – to write or to get fired.
It is amazing that a number of those who contributed for this book are probably penning serious writing for the first time. I read in the book that the idea to compile these essays was mooted in 2023 by Datin Mardhiah and inspired by Husna Kassim’s announcement of her sixth book. Norhayati Mustapha initiated the formation of a chatgroup, “Lboro Writers” reaching out to Alumni members from 1974-1979. The rest as we know it, is history.
I must congratulate them all, for the outcome is interesting, and more importantly readable. I would like to think that this is a work in progress – there are hundreds if not thousands of graduates of Loughborough University from Malaysia, I am sure there are more than nine individuals who are capable of recording the experience.
“To be a well-favoured man is a gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature,” Shakespeare famous said.
Not that simple Mr Shakespeare. But yes, I believe, we are all writers by nature, that part of us that want to tell a story, a narrative, an anecdote. We all have stories to tell. You don’t need to be prime minister, a celebrity or a legend to write a book. Ordinary people can write extraordinary books. Probably some of you have heard of the late Frank McCourt. He was a teacher and he wrote about himself. A memoir of an ordinary man who happened to be a teacher. Angela’s Ashes which was published in 1996 sold millions of copies. You think a teacher from Limerick, Ireland had little to tell? Just read Angela’s Ashes. Not only that, but Angela’s Ashes started an entirely new genre in memoir writing – the so-labelled “misery memoirs.”
That reminds me of a former teacher I used to meet at Taman Jaya, Petaling Jaya. He surprised me one day in 2009 when he gave me a book he just published, Big Lungs and Other Stories. It was a memoir of sorts. His name was Harry Chin who hailed from Kuala Lipis, Pahang. Like Frank McCourt, Harry was nobody. His own daughter Chen Su-Ai wrote in the foreword, that the book “is not about the extraordinary events of a superman.” Harry himself admitted the book was his humble attempt to “to put together a few stories and vignettes.”
That is the catch, “a few stories and vignettes.”
This book is about all that and more. It is not just about experiences – personal or collectively – of students, in their formative years – living in faraway land going through culture shocks, new realities and alien environment, but about the joy and challenges of living in foreign land. Those were the days, now 50 years have passed – but the memories linger on. There are many interesting stories in the book, but I’ll refrain from repeating them here, for it is best that you folks read and savour them yourselves. Just to give you a glimpse of what to expect, imagine a couple unknowingly living in the same flat with a prostitute. That is good enough reason to read this collection of essays.
Husna Kassim in her Introduction reflects on the world of the English in the English Midlands back in the 70s. She mentioned the houses, the gardens, the people, the food that represent “English traditions.” It brings back my own encounter with such values and traditions when I was attached to a world famous publishing firm for a few months in London back in the late 70s, In the City people speak funny I found out. Most of them don’t speak the way I was taught to speak when I was studying in an English school since 1960 – Queen’s English or BBC English. Some speak like Sir Alex Furgeson the legendary manager of Manchester United Football Club (MUFC). I have perfected the art of deciphering funny speak back then. Imagine the English spoken by English speakers from all over the British Empire and the Americas. I began to believe at the time our English was better than most.
I reckon that was about the same time as Husna and her friends were in Loughborough. And like Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire where Loughborough is, weird English was notorious. I cannot imagine how young Malaysian students had to deal with Loughborough English back then.
I learned my things about English stoicism, they are the calmnest chaps in times of crisis. What the German bombs did in World War 2 “inconvenienced” them. I saw that myself amidst occasional IRA bombings in London in the 70s. Londoners simply carry on with their lives. Nothing embodies the real London than its underground trains – The Tube – all 11 lines, 269 stations and 645 kilometres of tracks. Old, creaking, occasionally dirty, but working.
It was interesting for me, at the time, watching how “Englishness” was posited in a firm that make up of all nationalities the world over and of course, those who were introducing themselves as Welsh, Scots and Irish. I learned a lot about being British and being English, Welsh, Scots or Irish in a firm like that. I imagine identity contestation was as furious back then, as it is now.
And that reminded me of an essay in Harper’s magazine in 2009 lamenting the fact that there was a cataclysmic change in British society. The title of the piece by Theodore Dalrymple was The Quivering Upper Lips. The gentleman-ness of the English or British as pointed out by Husna, which was associated with certain values, etiquette and even a smirk of obnoxiousness that makes an English an English is fast disappearing. Perhaps the image of an English gentleman who has a wife, a lover and a cat and wears a tie in the kitchen and while tending the garden is the thing you see in old movies.
Dalrymple has this to say about about the lost of what he termed as “British restrain.” “Extravagance of gesture, vehemence of expression, vainglorious boastfulness, self-exposure and absence of inhibition.” Seriously, do we need boastfulness and extravagance of gesture? I wanted to believe that what Husna and fiends saw were glimpses of the best of Britain – the one portrayed with maniacal excellence and exactitude in the 1981 hit movie, Chariots of Fire.
I lived for more than a year in Nottingham, unlike Husna and friends, we have 4 children in tow, living among the blue collar populace in “cottages”, in an area known as Cecil Cottages a stone-throw from the famous Raleigh Bicycle factory. The neighbourhood was rough.
My immediate neighbour was a 70-year old man, a true-blue, literally hot-blooded Irishman who owns the only Robin car in the neighbourhood. Neighbours branded his car “The Polluter.” He seemed like an unreasonable man. The 2nd day we moved in he threw the bulky Yellow Pages into our lawn. I introduced myself to him. He hardly looked at me and uttered the scariest words I have heard in my entire adult life, “As long as you are not Muslim or English!”
But I gained his confidence, taking care of his Robin when he was away, helping him with his chores, even cleaning his house and planting cabbages in his garden. I used get a call after 11.00 pm for his Robin was stuck in a pub somewhere downtown. And we had another neighbour, a couple who sunbathed at the slightest opportunity whenever there is sun. The Robin Man pampered my children and cried unconsolably when we bade farewell a year and a half later.
He must have thought we were good Muslims after all, though I believed we were the only Muslims he had ever encountered.
My attachment at the publishing firm in London in the late 70s and living in Nottingham as a graduate student in 1991/1992 widened my understanding about the complexities of British societies. Britain and particularly England have changed dramatically the last 50 years. Just like ours. It even had the first non-White Prime Minister albeit for a short while. But the notion of Englishness or Britishness has certainly went through dramatical changes over the last five decades. Loughborough too has changed I am sure.
But one thing remains – the memories. And the friendship moulded during those years in the land of the English. Unlike my experiences, studying and living among graduates and PhD students, the writers of these pieces were under-graduates. The bond is certainly different. Friendship meant a lot at the time. I can understand why under-graduates developed meaningful relationships over the years, the case proven by the writers of this collection of essays.
Friendship for me is a notion as elusive as truthfulness. Take it from someone who have gone through some rough times as former journalists, former editor and chairman of the largest media company. Back in 1998, at the peak of the Dr Mahathir-Anwar imbroglio, I was famously fired from my job as the Chief Editor of Utusan Melayu group. The media was cleansed of the so-labelled Anwar’s men. I got the axe in July 1998. Those were the years before social media, newspapers and TV were extremely influential. Control the press and you control the political narratives.
The stigma attached for being an Anwar’s man was horrendous. I leaned a lot about “true friendship” during those dark years. Those were the years of living dangerously for editors. I lost not only my job but many friends I have known for many years. Many avoided me like I was a leper. Perhaps like the old days, carrying a bell to announce my presence was less humiliating. But I knew political correctness at the time was defined by who you are and whom you were associated with. You were guilty simply by association. I persevered because someone gave me a good advice: Be good to everyone you meet on your way up, you are meeting the same people on the way down. I lost some friends, but I retained the best ones.
They say true friends are hard to come by, truthful friends even harder. Oscar Wilde the satirist, famously said, a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies, but one has to be extremely careful with his choice of friends. Someone else said true love is rare, but true friendship even rarer. I like to believe that you are being defined by how many true friends you have in this world.
True friends are like diamonds, they are forever.
This book, more importantly, is about friendship. It is about students living abroad who have friends to replace their love ones at home. As the synopsis explains, this book is about collection of essays representing “an interesting potpourri of emotions, a delayed outpouring of memories and personal experiences growing up in a society completely different from their own.”
I find the book interesting, the narratives arresting and the stories compelling.
I would like to recommend it to everyone, a book worth reading. It is not just about graduates of Loughborough, but those who had the same memories of campuses they studied and lived in, anywhere in the world.
I assure you, it is a great read.
Dengan lafaz Bismillah… Saya melancarkan buku Those Were the Days: Reminiscing Life Experiences at Loughborough University in the 1970s By Nine Malaysian Graduates.
Extract from Essay No 5:“People & Places: Walk My Journey”;
published by HK Publishing, 2022
“…. Mohamed and his co-driver Ahmad, prepared a delicious Tunisian cuisine for dinner. We were treated like Sheikhahs that evening with all the attention and the good food. After dinner, we climbed our way up to the campfire. The camp fire warmed our bodies but our feet still felt cold. The trick Ahmed taught us was that if you dig into the sand and place your feet inside the hole, your feet would keep warm all night. I was rather anxious that scorpions or rattlesnake could have crept into my being.
We stayed this way for about an hour, braving the chilly winds, singing endlessly while straining our necks looking up at the beautiful stars. The song Starry, Starry Night by Vincent floated in my head. We kept on singing and talking. There we were enjoying the company of two Tunisian Arabs, who knew absolutely no English and two female visitors, who knew absolutely no spoken Arabic. All we did was to nod at each other, signing all through the night.
Just being there among the sands of the Sahara, under the desert sky was an experience of a lifetime, enjoying a small campfire minus the poetry and the mint tea, with two total strangers.”
Two Tunisian Arabs/Berber, Mohamed & Ahmed, who knew absolutely no English and we, knew no spoken Arabic, enjoying a small campfire in Douz Camp Mehari Zefraane.
(from book “People & Places: Walk My Journey”; published by HK Publishing, 2022)
“….. By night time, life around the beach house would change completely. It would be dark outside with no street lights and so quiet around the house, you could only hear the sound of an old, noisy fan, working its rusted blades. Occasionally you could hear the sound of the waves. With no television, no phones and no internet, I was off the grid, so to speak. On these dark nights, little flickers of light, the fireflies, fluttering around the room would entertain you. And if you listened intently, you could hear the buzzing and the clicking of the cicadas, a sound almost musical in the wetlands, and once a while, the piercing sound of a motorcycle negotiating a corner on the asphalt in the distance.
A few hours of sleep afterwards and the alarm would go off again. It was time for the usual meeting between a creature and the Creator…….”
Kampong Mangkuk of Terengganu, backed by the South China Seas
In the month of February 2024, I took a train up north, just to pick up ten packs of comfort food. It seemed a trivial effort and a waste of time, having to travel 440 kilometers just to pick up a pastry that cost RM80, while travelling on a train ticket that cost RM300.
But I did it for the love of the taste and the flavor of the filling in the pastry. Taste and flavor are biologically wired to form strong memories. The ‘karipap’ triggered childhood memories of days spent with my sister in law cooking the filling for the pastry using fennel and black pepper besides the usual potatoes. Of course I had nothing better to do that February. Or so I thought, until I reached Alor Setar itself. What I thought to be trivial suddenly became an unforgettable nostalgia after meeting up with some friends in a nice cafe.
Alor Setar, a fascinating town in the state of Kedah, a PAS ‘country’, not the Party of Action and Solidarity (as per Moldovan version) but Parti Angkatan Se-Islam of Malaysia, was where I grew up. Kedah has many credits to its name. If you drive along any roads to anywhere, you will be greeted by vast, golden yellow padi fields stretching as far as the eyes could see (Figure 1). With the help of the Wan Mat Saman irrigation canal, Kedah became the biggest rice producer, earning the title, the rice bowl of Malaysia.
Right in the middle of Alor Setar itself is the fourth most beautiful mosque in the world, after Masjid Nabawi in Saudi Arabia. The mosque is Masjid Zahir, built in 1912 (Figure 2).Alor Setar is also the birthplace of two prime ministers of Malaysia, Tunku Abdul Rahman, the founding father of the nation and Dr Mahathir Mohamad, the longest serving Prime Minister of 24 years. Figure 3 shows the birth home of Tun Dr Mahathir at No 18, Lorong Kilang Ais Sekolah Kebangsaan Jalan Pegawai, Alor Setar.
But being back in Alor Setar stirred long-forgotten feelings, a longing for days past, when time had no meaning and not a care in the world then. Playing in the swamp behind the kampong house in Lorong Kilang Papan; catching little fishes swimming in the swamp, quite oblivious of any hissing snakes around; flying kites in the football field; playing from dusk till dawn. Back then, life was a total bliss.
Walking down Jalan Tunku Ibrahim once again, brought back memories…..Pekan Rabu, the bridge, the old bus station, now completely overtaken by fancy retailers. Then there was that train station on Jalan Kolam Air.
On the morning I arrived at the train station from Kuala Lumpur, I was greeted by a touch of humanity. It has been awhile since I was ever approached for help by total strangers. People move fast in Kuala Lumpur. Here in Alor Setar, the pace is slower. While waiting for my taxi at the train station, an old woman, 95 years old I was later told, approached me to ask for help. The old woman needed help to step down the pavement to her transport. Six inches step-down would have been effortless for a younger person. But not for the aged; she was very fragile and was afraid of a possible misstep and a fall. She was hardly 4 foot tall, so thin the wind could have blown her off, and with her mask on, it was difficult for me to see her full face. I held her fragile arm, careful not to exert too strong a grip less I break it. While hanging on to me, the old lady carefully took her step down and walked the pavement towards the car. As the son drove off, multiple hand waves left me feeling warm inside. I helped someone that day.
Meeting people makes all the experience especially memorable. The reason I wanted to write about my visit to Alor Setar that day in February, was to remember my friends. Before I left Alor Setar I had a wonderful lunch with a few old friends from a secondary school, St Nicholas Convent, at a café called Café Diem. Cafe Diem had an interesting Chinese celebration dining room upstairs, with walls covered in paintings and images of its clientele. It used to be, at one time, the haunt of two Prime Ministers (Figure 4).
While having lunch, I could not help but remember friendships that went as far back as 55 years ago (Figure 5). Helping that old lady down the 6-inches of step made me realize she came from a generation when bias was almost non-existent. At least I was unconscious of it. We did not differentiate by race or beliefs. My friends and I cycled together to visit friends to celebrate Hari Raya or Chinese New Year almost every year. Whatever happened to those days……what changed?
“There are friends, there is family; and then there are friends that become family”. (16th February 2024)
Figure 1: Padi fields, miles and miles of it
Figure 2: Masjid Zahir, 4th most beautiful mosque after Masjid Nabawi
Figure 3: Inside Tun Mahathir’s birth home in Alor Setar
Figure 4: Cafe Diem, Alor Setar
Figure 5: Childhood friends at the museum- (Back)Hamidah, Lean Looi, Suat Hwa, Poe Su, Miew Siew, (fore-ground) Za Nuzwir.
Back in the 1950s, the only way for me to get to my school was to cross a canal called Wan Mat Saman Canal. The canal connects Sungai Kedah in Alor Setar to Gurun in the south, a distance of 36 kilometers. 36 kilometers may not seem impressive by today’s standards. However it must be remembered that this canal was constructed between 1885 – 1896, using simple tools during its construction. Initial diggings were done at night, guided by rows of traditional torches made of dried coconut leaves tied together, and lighted up in a straight line, called “jamung” so as to ensure the canal ran straight. The structure enabled Kedah to boost its rice production, earning the title of the Rice Bowl of Malaysia. The force behind the construction of the canal was Wan Mat Saman, the Mentri Besar of Kedah at that time.
Today, the canal remains as part of the state’s landscape. Malay houses, Chinese houses, some traditional ones, some new ones, new schools, shops, mosques and cemeteries lined the canal but the remaining part in Tandop have been covered for purpose of road-widening efforts. Several bridges are laid across the canal to enable people to cross over to the other side of town. One such bridge was the one I used daily to get to school located in Sungai Korok.
During one rainy season, the canal became swollen with rain water. The wooden bridge was bobbing up and down, swaying precariously from side to side in tempo with the wind. Some planks got dislodged from the intense shaking leaving gaps in the bridge. These gaps revealed torrential waters flowing underneath and a horrifying reminder of possibility of drowning……at least to an eight-year old.
8 year olds like me were too scared to cross to the other side to get to school. So I decided to give up the idea of going to school that day. Beyond the bridge was another hurdle to cross..the stilt-platform that lay between the bridge and the school. The stilt platform were constructed low in the midst of the mangrove swamp and easily ‘lost’ in the floods.
In those days school-going children at 7 or 8 years old, did not get chaperoned to school even if crossing the flimsy bridge was deemed dangerous. We were raised to be quite independent. We did not have parents marching into class-rooms to reprimand a teacher for punishing their daughter. We were raised to make our own decisions and to be responsible at a very young age.
The next morning, I was up and about quite early, strutting in my white-washed canvas shoes and my starched-stiff school uniform. I was ready for school. I picked up my rattan school bag and made my way towards the bridge. I walked slowly towards the bridge, picking my way carefully so as not to get my white-washed shoes soaked in the puddles of mud.
As I reached the bridge, I noticed it was completely gone. The flimsy bridge, hanging precariously over the swollen canal the day before was gone. The bridge that was supposed to take me across the canal has disappeared completely. How am I supposed to go to school?
Kyoto is synonymous with incredible temples, cherry blossoms, parks, markets, serene gardens, tea ceremonies, traditional ryokan and craftsmanship. It was once the imperial capital of Japan for over 1000 years and the finest gardens have been developed over centuries by many levels of society namely the aristocrats and the monks. It is no wonder that Kyoto was voted by travelers as the world’s best city, twice.
Figure 1: Kinkaku-ji (Golden Pavilion)Temple is a Zen temple whose top two floors are covered in gold leaf.
Learning that Kyoto was nearly bombed during World War II, was shocking . Kyoto was the first target proposed to test out the capability of a nuclear bomb, the Little Boy, if the military brass had its way. The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki would have included Kyoto as well. On that fateful day in April 1945, when a meeting in Pentagon was held, the Target Committee decided to play God and met to discuss the selection of targets for nuclear bombing (according to Alex Wellerstein on blog.nuclearsecrecy.com). Had it not been for the personal intervention by Henry L Stimson, the then US Secretary of War, Kyoto would have been nuclear-bombed, its gardens destroyed and buried under a sea of rubble.
It took us about two hours by limousine bus over a distance of about 100 kilometers from Kansai International Airport to reach Kyoto bus station. Our first destination was the air b&b accommodation, Mountain Retreat. Mountain Retreat was neatly tucked in the quiet neighbourhood in the periphery of the mountains in Kinugasa Akasakacho Kyoto-shi, in the Prefecture of Kyoto in the Kansai region of Japan. Kinugasa Hills was a convenient choice because museums such as the Insho Domoto Museum of Fine Arts and the Kyoto Museum for World Peace were within walking distance. Located at the foot of the gently-sloping Kinugasa Hills is the famous temple Kinkakuji, the Golden Pavilion (Fig: 1). Taking a bus from Kinkakuji temple, would bring us to the Central Bus Station in downtown Kyoto.
Kinukake-no-michi Road runs between Kinkakuji Golden Pavilion Temple and Arashiyama. Along the way it passed through many of the famous world-heritage sites such as the Ryoan-ji temple (famous 15-rock Zen garden), Ninna-ji temple (Fig: 2) in Omuro and Tenryu-ji temple in Arashiyama, also campus of the University Ritsumeikan, Museum of Fine Arts of Insho Domoto and the Museum for World Peace.
Figure 2:Kyoko-chi pond in Ninnaji temple with the pagoda called the Kondo Hall, in the background.
Koji and his son were already waiting to greet us when we reached Mountain Retreat that morning. Koji was a slight built man of about 37 years of age. He and his partner were tinkering with plants in his greenhouse. Growing the plants was by no means a mere passion but one that paid him well. Koji spoke very little English but was always ready with a smile. I later found out that a little greeting of “sumimasen” or “ohio” and a slight bow will get you attention and possibly answers in English.
I was excited to be able to get a feel for traditional Japanese style accommodation. Tourists can experience staying in a washitsu (Fig: 3) in a ryokan or a temple to get a feel for Japanese living. The room called a washitsu, came with tatami mats and a futon mattress. This futon mattress can be folded and stored away during daytime thus giving the room an impression of space. The tatami mat is made of dried, woven rushes which are then wrapped around and sewn to a core. Traditionally, the core consisted of rice straw, though now it is often synthetic material. The washitsu room was introduced during the Muromachi period and was used by the nobles as a study room.
The washitsu came with a low table for us to eat from and a low, legless chair called zaisu tatamichair. I may be Asian and used to sitting on the floor with folded legs but having to sit in a zaisu tatami chair to eat was tricky even for me. There was no sliding door, thank goodness for that. The downside to this accommodation was that the bathroom was located outside, some four flights of steps below our room.
Figure 3: A typical washitsu in one of the temples we visited in Kyoto.
The next thing we did was rent bicycles from Koji at ¥500 each. Cycling around Kyoto is a must. It allows a more intimate look at the regular Japanese going about their life. We did not manage to cycle through the oldest streets of Kyoto i.e Sannenzaka and Ninenzaka but as we made our way back to Mountain Retreat, we did see traditional wooden shop houses like this one below (Fig:4).
Figure 4: A traditional wooden shop-house, on the street we took to get back to Mountain Retreat.
For most locals, cycling is a normal mode of transport. I saw mothers packing their little ones in baskets, the small one in the front basket while the bigger one was seated behind. I also saw an old lady, in the 80s, effortlessly paddling on the road. Her stamina would put you and me to shame.
Kyoto is voted to be one of the best bicycle cities in Asia for so many reasons. The city is relatively flat, the roads are well maintained and more importantly, Kyoto drivers are sane and patient. There were also plenty of places where you can easily rent a bicycle. Besides, there were ample parking spaces for bicycles in the grounds of the temples and museums. And the Japanese in Kyoto were so honest that you could actually leave your bicycles unlocked. Visiting the city in May would be perfect for cycling.
Among the stops we made while cycling, was the Kyoto Museum for Peace. It is the world’s first peace museum, established after two world wars and tens of millions of lives lost. It was established by the Ritsumeikan University, as a social responsibility to reflect upon history and promote the development of a peaceful society it thought was necessary to build a peaceful world. The museum was located far down the road parallel to the Ritsumeikan University campus that you could almost miss it, if you were not careful. After going through the two floors of the museum for about two hours, I came to appreciate how going through natural disasters and the World War II have conditioned the Japanese into a resilient, tolerant and disciplined people. And more importantly, they were able to draw on a sense of social order, unlike scenes in natural disasters in Haiti and New Orleans. There was little anger or looting amongst the Japanese, according to abcnews.go.com/ report, following the aftermath of such natural disasters like tsunami, earthquake in 2011, 2014 etc.
The first day we cycled a total distance of 15 kilometers, with some stops in between, mainly for a gasp of air. We visited at least two temples (namely Kinkaku-ji and Ryoan-ji). Another stop we made while cycling around Kyoto was for vanilla ice cream at an ice cream parlor on Nishioji Street. The cafe made beautiful concoctions of fresh fruits and ice cream. The second day we cycled another 12 kilometers to Ninnaji temple and the two museums. On other days we took buses and trains.
Cycling along the streets of Kyoto gave me a sense of being in the midst of an ancient centre of Japanese culture. Kyoto’s history is tangible and accessible on many levels. Going about in Kyoto means coming face-to-face with that heritage on a daily basis. While walking on the street towards a bus stop, glimpses of that traditional life surfaces – an old wooden entrance gate; a sweeping temple roof; a tree-covered mountain; a traditional wooden shophouse (Fig4) ; ladies in kimono walking on the streets (Fig:5); a zen monk wearing a traditional kasa straw hat walking past (Fig: 6); and a traditional hand-pulled rickshaw (Fig: 7). Kinugasa Hills in north western Kyoto was perfect, being completely surrounded by nature. The nature, the old buildings, the surrounding mountains and a population density almost 3.5 times lower than that of the Tokyo metropolis, all convey a small-town feel to Kyoto.
I love Kyoto….the big city with a small-town feel.
Figure 5: Korean tourists clad in traditional kimono walking towards the entrance to Tenryu-ji Temple, Arashiyama.
Figure 6: A Zen monk (?) in traditional Japanese robes and kasa straw hat walking past. I did not notice any straw sandals.
Figure 7: A traditional hand-pulled rickshaw, in Sagano bamboo forest in Arashiyama…a muscular young man tucking the ladies in the pulled rickshaw.
Cherry blossoms painted on a hand-fan symbolizes richness and good luck.
Kyoto is synonymous with incredible temples, cherry blossoms, parks, markets, serene gardens, tea ceremonies, traditional ryokan and craftsmanship. It was once the imperial capital of Japan with the finest gardens developed over centuries by many levels of society namely the aristocrats and the monks. Kyoto was voted by travelers as the world’s best city, twice. Seoul, SK is another thrilling city to visit
Figure 1: Another view of the Golden Pavilion, the beautiful Kinkakuji temple
It’s common knowledge that Japanese regard religious practices of Japan as part of the nation’s culture rather than a matter of individual belief or faith. As such many Japanese observe many rites: rites of the native Shinto religion, and those of Buddhism and even some of Christianity. It is therefore not surprising for a Japanese to celebrate a local festival at a Shinto shrine, hold a wedding at a Christian church and conduct a funeral at a Buddhist temple.
But when it comes to gardens, Buddhism shapes the way Japanese gardens are designed. The style of a Japanese garden both depicts the core of Buddhism as well as the anxiety of civil wars that raged throughout the country in the second half of the Heian Period (8th century to 12th century). The wars made people recognize the precariousness of life. The incessantly altering state of the garden echoes the Buddhist teaching about impermanence of our being and the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. People find reasons to be more sensitive to the momentary beauty of nature and the changing of the seasons – plants budding, flowering, changing of the leaf colors and magnificent blooms dropping off with the approach of autumn, and colourful foliage that fade in the bitterness of the winter.
While the Heian gardens mirror the unpredictability of life, the Muromachi rock gardens completely rejected transitory facades of the material world. Garden makers in this period stripped nature bare. Zen gardens were created mainly out of rocks and sand in order to reveal the true substance of life and nature. During this Muromachi period, the growing influence of Zen Buddhism and its emphasis on contemplation led to a change in garden design. The purpose of the zen gardens were to provide the monks with a “place to walk and contemplate Buddha’s teachings.” The design of the garden was supposed to promote a feeling of peace and harmony in a space. By the 13th century, Zen gardens were heavily integrated into Japanese life and culture.
Figure 2:The aesthetic kyoko-chi pond for contemplation at the Golden Pavilion, Kinkakuji.
The garden in one of the most famous temple in Japan, the Kinkakuji, is an extraordinary example of a Japanese strolling garden of the Muromachi period. A path leads around the kyoko-chi pond (Fig 2) offering great viewing access for beautiful shots of the temple. The richly-decorated golden temple seemed to float over the pond.
The Ninna-ji temple represented a balance between aristocratic elegance and Buddhism simplicity (https//jal.japantravel.com). The temple was established in 888, during the Heian period, and is situated in north west Kyoto, a short distance from the Ryoan-ji temple. The gardens of Ninna-ji temple became the model for many Japanese gardens. The white sands were raked to perfection (Fig 3) to reflect waves. Figure 4 shows the pond in the North garden.
Figure 3:Neatly-raked sand at Ninna-ji temple to reflect waves.
When it comes to garden fencing, famous temples like the Ginkaku-ji and the Kinkaku-ji have their own styles. Traditionally materials like bamboo and wood or brushwork are used for fencing. Bamboo is is one of the most versatile, fast-growing and sustainable material. It is an integral part of daily life in Japan and provide material for many Japanese traditional crafts. Bamboo ages gracefully over the years – the fresh green fades to a honey colored gold and ages with time to a silvery grey. Moss has also been a central element of the Japanese garden for centuries. There are over 120 types of moss used in the Zen gardens. Figure 5 shows moss growing around a tree near the entrance to the Ginkaku-ji temple garden. Moss can keep water up to 20-30 times its own weight.
Figure 4: The Ninna-ji north garden pond with rocks, arranged together with the trees. The 5-story Pagoda formed a balance in the background.
A well-constructed Zen garden draws the visitor / viewer into a state of contemplation. The garden, usually relatively small, is meant to be seen while seated from a single view point outside the garden, such as the porch of the hojo , the residence of the chief monk of the temple or monastery.
Reduced colors and little vegetation let the eye rest and calm the mind, giving the garden a peaceful atmosphere. This is where a subtle, yet intriguing design feature of Japanese gardens comes into play – The carefully raked gravel patterns of rock and sand gardens. When the low morning or evening sun casts long shadows in the garden, the texture of rocks and gravel take center stage.
Figure 5:Beautiful moss growing around a tree in Ginkaku-ji zen garden, temple of the Silver Pavilion.
Zen stones are placed in Zen gardens to represent various elements of life (Fig 6). Stones are natural and reflect the balance between man-made structures and nature. Zen stones represent what is not actually featured in a Zen garden, such as islands and water. Each rock shape and formation has a different name and is represented by one of the five elements- kikyaku (earth), shigyo (fire), shintai (water), taido (forest) and reisho (metal).
Reclining rocks that are placed in a Zen garden to represent the earth are called Kikyaku. This stone is often known as a root stone and is placed in the foreground to bring harmony to the garden. Shigyo represents the fire element. When placed in a Zen garden, Shigyo stones are called branching and peeing stones. Shigyo stones arch and branch out, the way a fire looks. They are placed next to other shapes in a Zen garden. Stones which are horizontal and flat represent water in a Zen garden, and also the mind and the body. These stones called Shintai, harmonize rock groupings (Fig 7). Stones which are vertical and tall act as high trees in the garden and are also known as body stones. Taido stones are put into the back of other rock groupings, much like a forest is the background to other scenery. Reisho stones (also known as soul stones) represent metal. These stones are vertical and low to the ground. When placed in a Zen garden, Reisho stones are often put with tall, vertical stones such as Taido (www.sciencing.com).
Figure 6:15-rock Zen garden in Ryoan-ji temple, the famous rock garden was created by a highly respected Zen monk, Tokuho Zenketsu. Only fifteen rocks and white gravel are used in the garden. Fifteen (15) in Buddhist world denotes completeness.
Figure 7:Totekiko garden in the east of the Ryogen-in temple is the smallest stone garden in Japan where the small traces of wave pattern remind visitors of the far-reaching ocean.
For curious tourists, who may not be a follower of any particular faith, participating in a meditation session in Ninna-ji or any other temples under the guidance of a monk (Fig 8) should be an interesting eye-opening experience. However, one Tripadvisor member warned to not walk into the meditation room during a session, because the monk might just give you a very unholy reprimand.
One thing that I took away from the temple garden visits in Kyoto, was one profound saying. The saying I found in Ryoan-ji temple was as follows: “When I change, everything else changes”. Someone used this saying during a management course I attended a very long time ago, a Zen philosophy we could all use in our daily lives.
Figure 8:Student monks I met at the front gate of Ninna-ji entrance. These student monks were trained on various areas such as tea-ceremony, meditation, etc.
I was suddenly awakened by the cold breeze sweeping through the tent. The morning was so still I could hear the thud of a tiny casuarina seed on the roof of the tent. The entire stretch of the beach suddenly came alive with squid rigging. A local boy strutted past happily with his meagre catch of four squids. As I turned to take a peep at the sea, I was greeted by a delightful shimmering carpet of calm sea in the first blush of the sun.
Fig 1: The fishermen’s boat getting a push out to sea to the waiting fishing vessels
I was suddenly awakened by the cold breeze sweeping through the tent. The morning was so still I could hear the thud of a tiny casuarina seed on the roof of the tent. The entire stretch of the beach suddenly came alive with squid rigging. A local boy strutted past happily with his meagre catch of four squids. As I turned to take a peep at the sea, I was greeted by a delightful shimmering carpet of calm sea in the first blush of the sun.
The azan rang clear, breaking the silence. The birds were chirping excitedly, exchanging calls while perched at the top of the casuarina trees. A shoal of tiny fishes jump in and out of the water in chorus, fleeing the relentless pursuit of predator fishes. A small boat was chugging by, with the fisherman standing stoic on the bow, a posture reminiscent of a warrior in anticipation. It was the break of dawn. The sun was bursting through the myriad of pink and orange clouds, like cotton candies suspended in the horizon. It was truly a sight to behold. Telaga Papan was the perfect setting for one seeking spiritual inspiration and closeness to god through endless hours of zikir,dua and night prayer. But for me, I was just grateful to be a temporary guest of utopia (Fig 1&2).
Fig 2: If you’re an avid rider, Telaga Papan will give you hours of riding pleasure
Telaga Papan is no longer the exclusive enclave it once was planned to be. It was targeted to be a high-end development project of a serene, quiet beach resort for the rich by the Terengganu state. The estate development was designed to be large, wooden resort-like beach houses. Unfortunately many were built too far out to sea. The sea had been fiercely eroding the beach-front, uprooting the casuarinas, washing away the sand and depositing it elsewhere. A few of the resort houses were laid to waste by the relentless sea and the state development project was duly abandoned.
Telaga Papan is now a hive of activity, although of a different kind. The fishermen have invaded the exclusive beach. They found the beach rather convenient, bringing in their fishing boats (Fig 3) and selling off their catch of the day on-site. It has lately become a routine for the village people, coming to Telaga Papan on their motorcycles or lorries, armed with baskets, waiting for the fishing boats to come ashore with their catch. But of late the fishes have gotten smaller. The bigger ones have been netted off by the big fishing trawlers belonging to Thai nationals.
The monsoons will be coming again this year. For four months a year, from end of October till February of the following year, there will be a lot of rain and little sunshine. But the other eight months more than make up for it, promising beautiful dawns, exceptional sunsets, clear skies and memorable riding experiences on the beach of Telaga Papan. Then there is the fresh fish……bakar tawar, where little spice is used. Its delightful flavor is derived entirely from the freshness of the fish and the hot black chilli dip.
