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.
Some say dreams are made of sun, sea , sand and coconuts, while some think a coconut is a definition of a taste of paradise. But where ever you are, the coconut has the ability to transport you to some beautiful tropical coastline in your mind. It is as if you were lying on some fine white sandy beach, sipping coconut water in beautiful Terengganu.
But do you know how much work goes into your coconut drink? And I don’t mean the sweat behind preparing some exotic coconut water cocktails in the bar or in the kitchen of a restaurant. I mean the hard work behind getting the coconuts off the trees, some reaching to more than 60 or 70 feet high. In coconut farms in Thailand, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Malaysia, India, coconut farmers use monkeys to pick coconuts. Thailand took coconut plucking to the next level by having a Buddhist-inspired school in Surat Thani to train monkeys. The school it seemed is funded to teach monkeys how to pick coconuts without use of force or violence. The practice of using pig-tailed macaques to pick coconuts started since around 400 years ago. Malaysia too has a school in Padang Halban, Kelantan, run by a 63 year old grandfather, Wan Ibrahim Wan Mat (news.com.au, April 2018) to train macaques to pick coconuts.
Figure 1: Sun, Sea, Sand and Coconuts in Mangkuk, Penarik, Terengganu
But while travelling around Terengganu one morning, I came across a young man (not a macaque monkey) picking coconuts off a tree on a beach in Mangkuk (Fig 1). Mangkuk is a peaceful paradise, situated in between the Setiu River and the blue South China Sea. It is a mix of old and new – traditional Malay houses, with unvarnished timber aged by sea breeze laden with salts and resort-like concrete beach houses. It is populated by hundreds of swaying coconut trees, casuarinas, grazing cows and goats. Occasionally a kampong boy cycles past. The fine white sandy beach stretches from as far as the eyes could see, sometimes tainted by discarded plastic bottles. The breeze blows softly from the sea on most days. The monsoon months however (between November to February), bring endless rain, strong winds and raging seas (Fig 2). During the monsoons, the raging seas would mean fishermen would have to look for alternative source of income.
Figure 2: The angry sea during the monsoons, raging on the beaches in Kampong Telaga Papan, Chalok
I met a Malay gentleman, his hand holding on to a line dangling from the top of one coconut tree. As I looked up, I saw a boy perched on top of the tree. The boy would select specific bunches, tie them with the string, and the man on the ground would hoist the bunches safely down to the ground. This the boy would do for several times until he was satisfied there were no more nice pickings. He would work his way down while clasping the trunk with ease without the use of any gadget or safety harness. Then they would pick another two or three coconut trees to select more bunches of coconuts. It seemed that even though the coconut trees grow in land belonging to some land owner in the kampong, coconut plucking from these trees are a gesture of charity by the land owner.
I remember some 50 years ago, seeing one Indian man climbing a coconut tree in my own kampong. He would use a ring made from plant fibre, attached around his ankles before he started the climb. This ring would really hasten his climbing speed. But this Malay boy Amin did not use any gadget on his feet nor a safety harness on his body. Amin, probably 15 or 16 years old, was slim, with an athletic build and long limbs, browned by the tropical sun. He was fearless. He had been plucking coconuts since he was 14 years old, learning the art from his grandfather.
Figure 3: Amin picked coconuts off the trees in Mangkuk, Penarik, Terengganu
It seemed a monkey can pick about 1,600 coconuts a day in Thailand, and about 800 coconuts a day in Malaysia. A boy like Amin probably could pluck about 80 coconuts a day. But the difference is in the delivery and the target market. Monkeys throw down coconuts from the top of the tree, which could break the fruits. But climbers like Amin would deliver beautiful green coconuts safely in one piece, perhaps more for tourists like me to savour the coconut water.
Figure 4: Amin happily climbing down the coconut tree with no harness of any kind.
But would you pluck coconuts for the money? Maybe, if it is the only means of earning a few ringgit a day. But plucking coconuts may not be for the faint-hearted though…
If there is one place I would rather be, it has to be Kampong Mangkok. Kampong Mangkok sits on a promontory flanked by turquoise blue waters of the South China Sea on one side and the mangrove river called Sungai Setiu on the other. On a clear day, you could see the outcrops of Pulau Perhentian, Lang Tengah and Pulau Redang from a beach called Pantai Penarik (Fig 1) . The shimmering blue waters reminded me of Hemingway’s fascination with the sea, “The sea is the last free place on earth”. There is something soothing about the sound of ocean waves, the repetitive slow whooshing sound as the warm sand get pulled back into the sea with every retreating wave.
Figure 1:Kampong Mangkok, facing Pantai Penarik and the blue waters of South China Sea.
Kampong Mangkok is a mix of old and new – kampong houses, with unvarnished timber aged by sea breeze, laden with salts; old traditional Malay houses transported from all over Terengganu, re-constructed;and new Malay and concrete beach houses. It is populated by hundreds of swaying coconut trees, casuarina trees, grazing cows and goats. Occasionally a kampong boy cycled past. The breeze blew softly from the sea on most days. The fine white sandy beach stretched from as far as the eyes could see, sometimes tainted by discarded plastic bottles and all kind of debris brought in by the waves, left half buried in the fine sand.
Straddled between two bodies of water, the village lends two very different kinds of charm. On one side, I saw two brothers fishing as a boat passed by on the Setiu river. This part of the river exuded a kampong charm that a film producer fell in love with and decided to shoot some scenes here for the 2018 production of the film “Pulang”. Parallel to the Setiu river is the asphalt coastal road, lined with coconut trees on one side and the sea on the other. As I cycled along this road, I chanced upon a Malay gentleman standing, with one hand holding on to a line dangling from the top of a coconut tree. As I looked up, I saw a boy perched on top of the tree. The boy, who I later learned was called Amin (Fig 2), aged 14 years old, selected specific bunches of coconuts, tied them with the string, and the man would hoist the bunches safely down to the ground. This the boy would do for several times until he was satisfied there were no more nice pickings. He worked his way down while clasping the trunk with ease without the use of any gadget or safety harness. Then they would pick another three or four more coconut trees to select more bunches.
It was hard work getting the coconuts off the trees, some reaching to more than 60 or 70 feet high. In coconut farms in Thailand, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Malaysia, India, coconut farmers use macaque monkeys to pick coconuts. Thailand took coconut plucking to the next level by having a Buddhist-inspired school in Surat Thani to train monkeys. The school it seemed was funded to teach monkeys how to pick coconuts without use of force or violence. The practice of using pig-tailed macaques to pick coconuts started since around 400 years ago (https://www.npr.org Eliza Barkley,2011). Malaysia too has a school in Padang Halban, Kelantan, run by a 63 year old grandfather, Wan Ibrahim Wan Mat (news.com.au, April 2018) to train macaques to pick coconuts. For Amin, unschooled and living at poverty level, climbing coconut trees was the only means of earning a few ringgit a day. But plucking coconuts is certainly not for the faint-hearted ..…..
Figure 2:Amin, agile as a monkey, as if “walking” up the coconut tree in Kampong Mangkok without using any safety harness or gadget.
If you keep driving further down the coastal road towards Kuala Terengganu, you would reach another village called Kampong Telaga Papan. Kampong Telaga Papan was where I found a Malay artisan working on a boat. You would see many boats moored (Fig 3) along the Sungai Chalok near Pulau Besar and along one side of the river is an open-air boat-building facility, located among the mangroves. When I first saw him, Pak Peng was busy smoothing and sanding some wood planks. He had been in the boat-building industry since he was 14 years old and his family had been at it for as long as he remembered. But the art of Malay boat-building is dying, Pak Peng lamented and it was sad that the young have no interest in the art, because according to one German Malay-boat owner, Christoph Swaboda, Malay boats built in Pulau Duyong is of high quality.
In Kampong Telaga Papan itself, you will find a small tributary flowing from Sungai Chalok into other parts of the mangroves. This tributary, flowing among the mangroves, is ideal for a late morning of kayak when the ocean tide rises and the tributary is filled with water. We have kayaked in Krabi , in clear blue waters, ending up paddling into caves and in between the small islets. But kayaking on the tributary off Sungai Chalok in Telaga Papan was a totally different experience altogether because here, the water is murky. We kayak down this tributary a few times but after finding out from one fisherman that there was a sizeable crocodile swimming in the murky waters, we decided to give up kayaking here.
Figure 3: Boats moored in the boat-building facility around Kampong Telaga Papan.
If you drive further south from Telaga Papan, you will arrive at Merang Jetty where you can take a boat all the way to Pulau Redang. I don’t snorkel but my friends love snorkeling and would spend hours swimming among the corals and the fishes. While the boat was bobbing up and down with the waves, I watched little fishes wriggling and tugging at the bread crumbs I scattered into the crystal-clear water.
Eight hundred meters before reaching Pak Peng’s place, you would have passed a small open-air kampong restaurant next to a mosque in Telaga Papan, right off the main road called Restoran Kak Zah. It is run by a family and friends and the restaurant is a popular breakfast place for truck drivers, tourists and locals passing by on their way to work. Fishermen spent hours exchanging stories in endless conversations, recalling their many fishing trips in the waters off Terengganu, while seated at a rustic wooden table in one corner, over a glass of teh-tarek. The girls serving breakfast there are friendly and you could get almost anything for breakfast here including Malay kueh. My own favourite breakfast is nasi dagang with fried chicken on the side. My friends used to laugh at me, saying the authenticity of nasi dagang is lost without gulai ikan tongkol ( tuna curry). But then I am not one who follow rules anyway and neither am I a “foodie”.
Terengganu culinary is heavily influenced by the taste of Thailand, apart from cuisines from the three main ethnic groups. This is to be expected as Thai influence has been present since time immemorial based on the geography and the history with neighbouring Thailand. Here the food is mainly rice-based. Some of the popular dishes are nasi kerabu, nasi ulam, nasi dagang, nasi lemak, ikan bakar tawar, sata, otak otak and keropok lekor.
Somewhere in Kampong Mangkok, there is this beautiful kampong house where I would spend days on end on the verandah, observing the changing colors of the skyline and the reflections upon the sea. The tranquility in combination with the surrounding nature inspired an atmosphere of utmost creative concentration. I would be tapping away at my keyboard for many hours, writing and rewriting perfect-sounding thoughts. However, on one particular evening, it was the beautiful sunset over Kampong Mangkok that captured my imagination (Fig 4). Silhouette of endless rows of coconut trees, standing tall looking like black soldiers against the brilliant red sky was breath-taking. It was not long after when my thoughts were interrupted by the azan call for maghrib prayers.
Figure 4: Sunset in Kampong Mangkok in Penarik, Terengganu
By night time, life around the beach house would be completely different. 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 with rusted blades. Occasionally you could hear the waves. With no television, no phones, and no internet we were off the grid,so to speak. But it certainly was a much welcome respite. On these dark nights, little flickers of light, fluttering around the room would entertain you. These are the fireflies. And if you listened properly, you could hear the raucous chorus of the cicadas, and once a while, the sound of a motorcycle negotiating a corner on the asphalt in the distance, piercing the still of the night.
A few hours of sleep afterwards and the alarm went off again. It was time for the usual “meeting ” between creature and Creator. Out on the veranda, rubbing sleep from my eyes, while seated cross-legged on the prayer mat, the ritual for early morning prayers and zikr, amidst the cold morning breeze commenced. Hours later, as I turned to take a peep at the sea, I was greeted by a delightful shimmering carpet of calm in the first blush of the sun. The birds were chirping excitedly, exchanging calls while perched at the top of the casuarina trees. Another day of endless tranquility filled with the sounds of life – the chirping birds, the chattering monkeys, the croaking frogs, the rhythm of the waves and the deep sound of well-mannered four-stroke fishing boat engine. It was the beginning of a new day.
Heading back towards Kuala Lumpur after such an exhilarating time spent in Setiu, was to me a kind of a punishment. Driving the 32 year-old Toyota Land Cruiser, the Spicy Mustard, was torturous. The engine would crank up so much noise, it was impossible to carry on any conversation throughout the entire 500 kilometer-journey. But we enjoyed the trips anyway: the stops for prayers, the snacking, the dozing-off on seats that had its fair share of wear and tear and the endless possibility of exciting unplanned stops. But driving the Spicy Mustard required skills because it tended to veer to one side, and the brakes sometimes failed. When parking the vehicle on a slope, little stops had to be placed underneath the tires to ensure the car did not roll off. Once, while parked on a gentle slope, the car did roll off. Spicy Mustard took on a life of its own and finally ended crashing the gate of a neighbour, missing a brand new Ferrari parked just inches away.
If not for the love of writing and blogging, it is impossible for me to stay completely alone. The box, the mobile phone, the keyboard, the 14-year old car, family and forward-looking friends, are enablers for the AAs (those aging alone). A lunch or tea and a good laugh at the nearest coffee-shop with girlfriends every once a while, is a good break. We would talk about anything from politics, travel, anti-ageing creams, arthritis, frozen shoulders, grand children to good food. This spurt of intermission is necessary for me to stay focused on my writing. Two hours of “girlfriends-therapy” and I am once again refreshed for another session of creative concentration in complete seclusion.
But creative concentration is not always achievable even in sedate Shah Alam. Life in Shah Alam is generally quiet, however, during weekends, I would hear squeals of children’s laughter coming from the swimming pool below. Sometimes, hysterical screams broke the silence with excited children racing down corridors to see who reached the door first. But late at night, it would be so quiet I could hear the sound of a drop of a coin on the floor above me. Then there is that constant dragging and shifting of a chair across the floor above late at night, and my creative concentration disintegrates.
But going by what the fiction writer, Stephen King advises on having a writing target of 2000 words a day in his “On Writing- A Memoir of the Craft”, I would be happy if I could manage 500. Perhaps for Stephen King, who thinks that writers should have the ability to remember the story of a scar, 2000 words a day is a breeze.
Wherever I traveled, wherever I stayed, my mind would wonder back to the promise of beautiful Kampong Mangkok. Sitting on the verandah, observing the changing colors of the skyline, basking in the realm of serenity and peace that a beach-front kampong life provides (Fig 5), while tapping away at the keyboards, is paradise to me. How could it not be, when you could capture the vibrant sunrise from the beach in Kampong Telaga Papan and the stupendous sunset from the mangroves in Kampong Mangkok
Figure 5: Pantai Penarik, Kampong Mangkok
Kampong Mangkok has everything nature could offer – shimmering blue waters, fine white sandy beaches, sunshine on most days, swaying coconut trees, friendly kampong folks, unique habitats of Setiu Wetlands and the chorus of the cicadas. The uninterrupted tranquility provided by nature surrounding the kampong, oozed an atmosphere of spiritual charm, a closeness to the Creator and a heightened creative concentration I desperately need to further explore my passion for writing and blogging. Another month, and I might be heading back this wayagain.
Pantai Mangkok with fine white sand, and the lonely coconut
(extract from my book“People & Places: Walk My Journey” )
Almost everyone I know dream of going on the Trans Siberian journey. This iconic trip has captured the imagination of travelers, poets, artists and writers. Steeped in history, writers still discuss the Trans Siberian railway at length, while travelers still include it in their bucket list. The railway track that was built in 1916 by the Russians, said to be “the fairest jewel in the crown of the Tsars” has travelers romanticizing the journey.
The Trans Siberian Railway network covers over 9,288 kilometers with international trains (K3/K4 & K19/K20) running between Beijing and Moscow and K23 / K24 running between Beijing and Ulan Bator. The network spans 2 continents and crosses 7 time zones. This makes it the longest journey one can make on a single train.
“While travelling on the Trans Mongolian Express in 2015, I remember standing by the window of the K3 coach for many hours, trying to catch glimpses of village life as the train snaked its way across the Gobi Desert and the Steppes. The Steppes, populated mainly by horses and camels, were huge rolling grasslands, some time dotted by one or two white felt yurts or gers, a symbol of nomadic lifestyle still predominant in Mongolia today.
Some travelers (like Paul Thereaux), love being on a perpetually moving train, watching the changing sceneries, or spying on some back-yard on-goings, interspersed with getting up for a cup of coffee or chatting with strangers in the corridors, or simply being lulled to sleep by the gentle rumbling of the moving train. It is the immense freedom of movement on a moving train and being left alone to immerse in your own thoughts while staring out that large window of the ever-changing scenery of mountains, trees and farms that I love about long-distance train travel.
I recall the mad rush that early morning of 2nd September, trying to get everyone onto the tour van heading towards Central Train Station in Dongcheng District to board the Trans Mongolian Express. The Beijing Central Train Station was a sea of people. I have never seen so many lines lining 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 crowd. It was absolute madness. I remember Sam, the van driver, telling us “In Beijing, there is no time to be polite”.
As the Trans Mongolian Express K3 train started rumbling and pulling out of the station, I felt a tingle of excitement. Our cabin was the 2nd class, hard sleeper that was slightly less comfortable since the berth was narrower. Furthermore there was no bathroom, only a toilet at the end of the carriage. Going 6 days without a bath was simply unthinkable for me. With a little ingenuity and a lot of patience, I managed to take a bath, leaving a wet toilet and an angry train guard.
The next morning, we all headed for the buffet coach. I managed to find a quiet corner, sipping some green tea. I began scribbling some half-forgotten details about Beijing into my note book. After some 30 minutes on my mobile phone, my text neck left me stiff and uncomfortable so I decided to refocus. In front of me were two white ladies, in their early 50s, maybe. I decided to say hello and they reciprocated. They were from UK , accompanied by one young male, a Russian model I was told. I had noticed him back on the platform in the train station. I could tell he was a model by his gait and his polished air of self-importance.
While walking down the K3 corridor towards the buffet coach, I met a Chinese couple on their honeymoon. In their early 30s, the couple had just been married in Beijing and were planning to take a photo on the platform of the Malinsk station.
Without doubt, there is something undeniably romantic about train travel.
Why are people more willing to chat to strangers on trains? Is it because train journeys tend to be more relaxed? Unhurried? Un-cluttered; and pleasurable with the changing scenery thus allowing freedom and time to interact? The next time you feel like indulging in some romantic ambience, try spending 6 days on the Trans Mongolian Express….you will never know who you meet !
Figure 1: Travellers taking a breather on the platform of the Malinsk station.
Figure 2: The Chinese couple (who got married in Beijing,) was taking the Trans Mongolian Express to St Petersburg for their honeymoon..
Beijing Central station was a sea of people and the van dropping us was not allowed into the station. It probably would take an hour or so just to get inside the station, judging by the size of the crowd building up. 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 the jostling crowd. It was absolute chaos. I remembered Sam the Chinese van driver telling us “In Beijing there is no time to be polite”. There was no dignity at the station that day. Proper queuing up would have been more efficient.
As the Trans Mongolian Express K3 train started pulling out of Beijing Central station, I felt excitement mounting. After all the trip was in my bucket list. I also felt a little hungry. I heard that food served in the restaurant on the Chinese buffet coach was similar to hawker food found in Kuala Lumpur. And the good news was that it was halal. On the contrary food served on the Mongolian buffet coach was rather bland, especially to a palette used to everything hot and spicy.
As I got to the buffet coach, I noticed it was nearly full. I was counting on meeting some interesting people travelling on the train. I found a quiet corner and began scribbling some half forgotten details about Beijing in my note book while sipping some green tea. Opposite to my table was a couple of bubbly middle-aged British ladies and a young male deep in conversation interspersed with giggles like two teenage girls, sharing some jokes. Thank God for mobile technology, I was sufficiently entertained so as not to feel completely abandoned.
After some thirty minutes, my text neck left me stiff and uncomfortable. I had to refocus. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to initiate a little conversation with my neighbour. I said hello and the two ladies, probably in their early 50s, responded with a smile. We started talking.
They were from UK; one was a business development manager and the other was in some hospitality services. The young male happened to be a Russian model I was told. I recognized him while we were all waiting for the K3 train on the platform back in Beijing Central station. I could tell he was a model by his gait and a polished look of self-indulgence.
When the train reached Ulan Bator, a young Mongolian girl and her friend boarded the K3 and occupied the cabin next to ours. A big buxom lady later joined them. The Russian lady was a teacher and even though neither she spoke any English nor I any Russian, I was able to learn through the Mongolian girl, that the Russian lady taught Russian language to a school in Ulan Bator. Russian language was a second language in Mongolia just like English was to Malaysia.
The Mongolian girl, Tsatsral, was heading to St Petersburg to register for a university education. It seemed that secondary school leavers in Mongolia tend to register for college or university education in Russia. Mongolian population was about 2.4 million(in 2014) and 50% of these were women. It was therefore understandable that Mongolia wanted to utilize their women workforce efficiently. Women’s high level of enrolment in higher education reflected female dominance in medicine, nursing, teaching and professional child care. This same trend existed in Malaysia from as far back as ten years ago. Unlike the concern with female purity found in southwest, south and east Asia (Malaysia included), the Mongolians preferred fertility to purity. Mongolian women however although not shy, remained subordinate to men, as in many Asian country, I supposed.
While walking down the K3 corridor towards the buffet coach I met a Chinese couple on their honeymoon. They were planning to take a photo on the platform at Malinsk train station. The couple were from Beijing and decided to celebrate their honeymoon in St Petersburg. Taking the Trans Mongolian Express seemed to be the most romantic journey to embark for couples.
There is something undeniably romantic about train travel. James Blunt in his song “You’re beautiful” dealt with fleeting moments of aching, unrequited longing experienced on a train journey. A study by East Coast Trains uncovered that 1/3 of Brits believed that rail travel was synonymous with finding “the one”. Why is it that people were more willing to chat to strangers on trains? Train journeys tend to be more enjoyable, with respect to scenery, more spacious, and trains always arrive right in town with no crazy long-line check-ins beside being more affordable. The next time you feel like some romance, try spending 6 days on the Trans Mongolian Express K3…you will never know who you meet.
UNFORGETTABLE ISTANBUL
“If there was one single glance to give the world, one should gaze on Istanbul” says the French writer, Alphonse de Lamartine and I share his fascination with the city. Just as Hollywood never had enough of the city, I try to visit the city every few years to reminisce and rediscover. Hollywood shot some top 10 movies in Istanbul. Imagine the opening scene of the movie “Skyfall” with Bond in a motorbike chase of an enemy operative on the rooftops of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar. Crime fiction British Dame Agatha Christie wrote her famous novel “Murder on the Orient Express” at a hotel in Istanbul called Pera Palas Hotel. The novel centred on a detective, Hercule Poirot, travelling on The Orient Express train that ran between Paris and Constantinople (Istanbul) from 1883 to 1977.
Istanbul’s Historical Journey
Istanbul has been known by several different names, the most notable besides the modern Turkish name, being Byzantium,
Constantinople and Stamboul. The different names are associated with the different phases of its history and the different languages. First it was the Greeks’s King Byzas who called the city by the name, Byzantium, a Greek name for city on the Bosphorus. Then the Persians ruled it briefly after which came Alexander the Great. Then the Romans under Emperor Septimus conquered the city after which Emperor Constantine the Great made Byzantium the capital of the entire Roman Empire and called it Constantinople (www.greatistanbul.com).
Istanbul’s later history was full of besieges: by the Arabs, then by the Barbarians and later by the Crusaders who destroyed and took the wealth. In 1453, The Ottoman Turks led by Sultan Mehmet II, conquered Constantinople. It was renamed “Islambol” (city of Islam in Turkish), the capital city of the Ottoman Empire. Ottoman rule lasted until World War I when Istanbul was occupied by the Allied Forces. After years of struggle led by Kemal Ataturk against the occupying forces, the Republic of Turkey was born in 1923. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the nationalist, was responsible for the birth of the Republic of Turkey.
Istanbul’s Districts
Istanbul is the largest city and a principal seaport of Turkey. The city is made up of 39 districts with 25 districts in the European side and 14 districts in the Asian side which include some districts that we probably passed through such as Besiktas, known for Dolmabahce Palace and the internationally renowned football team; Fatih (Istanbul’s largest district & prime tourism area including Sultan Ahmet area); Bey, Beyoglu (Istanbul’s Soho with Istiklal Caddesi as the main thoroughfare, Taksim, bohemian Cihangir); Atakoy (upmarket waterfront property), etc.
The Dolmabahce Palace is located in the Besiktas, on the European coast of the Bosphorus and served as the administrative centre of the Ottoman Empire from 1856-1887 and 1990-1922. It has 285 rooms, 46 halls, 6 baths (hammam) and 68 toilets. The palace was home to 6 sultans (up until the abolition of the Caliphate in 1924) and where founder of the Turkish Republic,Kamal Ataturk died..
The bosphorus
A cruise down the scenic Bhosporus Strait is worthwhile. The Bhosporus waterway runs between the Black Sea on the north, Marmara Sea on the south, continent of Asia to the east and Europe to the west. Lining the Bhosporus are beautiful homes of the rich and famous. Seaside estates along the straits cost anything between 28 to 300 million Turkish Lira (according to mansionglobal.com). The most expensive property was sold to a Qatari businessman Abdul Hadi Mana Al-Hajri in 2015 for a whopping US106 million.
Sultanahmet Area
The tours we took to heritage sites were mainly around Besiktas, Beyoglu and Fatih districts in Istanbul. Sultan Ahmet area is in Fatih, where attractions like the famous Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, Topkapi Palace, Grand Bazaar, Spice Bazaar are located. The Blue Mosque is the most important mosque in Istanbul standing next to the Byzantine Hippodrome in the old city centre. The mosque (also known as the Blue Mosque because of its bluish tiles on the wall)was built between 1606 to 1616.
Unlike many great architectural monuments built to signify victory, the Blue Mosque was built by the 13 year old Sultan Ahmet 1, after the Turkish military was defeated by the Persians in 1600s.
In the quieter part of the Sultan Ahmet area, are shops selling beautiful colourful mosaic and pendant lamps . And if you walked further towards Gazi Atikali Pasa Camii, you might come across a Turkish peddling prayer beads or sometimes people call them worry beads for zikir purposes .
Beautiful Turkish pendant and mosaic lamps, seen here in Anatolian colours and signified Turkish culture. The traditional form of lamp were first used in Istanbul bathhouses, mosques, and similar places
Zikir beads or tasbih being peddled by a Turkish near Gazi Atikali Pasa Camii in Sultanahmet area. Zikir beads or prayer beads, also called, worry beads are made from kuka wood or boxwood, or semi-precious stones such as agate.
We visited the Spice Bazaar as part of the Dolmabahce Palace & Two Continents Tour we signed up for. The Spice Bazaar was originally named the Egyptian Bazaar, built using the revenue from the Ottoman eyelet of Egypt in 1660. The bazaar was and still is the centre for spice trade in Istanbul but other types of shops have been added on in the recent years. There are over 700 shops in the bazaar. Ceramic shops were some of the shops that you can find in the bazaar. You can also find beautiful shawls and pashminas at a bargain in the Spice Bazaar.zikir purposes .
Beautiful Turkish pendant and mosaic lamps, seen here in Anatolian colours and signified Turkish culture. The traditional form of lamp were first used in Istanbul bathhouses, mosques, and similar places.
The Spice Bazaar, is one of the largest bazaars in the Eminonu quarter of Fatih district of Istanbul (after the Grand Bazaar). It is one of the biggest covered bazaars in Istanbul.
Taksim Square, Beyoglu
Taksim is situated in Beyoglu, the European part of Istanbul and the heart of modern Istanbul. It is a major tourist and leisure district, famed for its restaurants, shops and hotels. The most important monument at the Square is the Independence Monument. Taksim Square is an important hub for public transportation, acting as the main transfer point for the municipal bus system for Istanbul. Taksim Square promised a vibrant nightlife if pub-crawl is your thing. It is where most festivals are held such as the recent 2017/2018 New Year celebration. Taksim Square is also a landing for flights of doves and you can actually feed seeds to them. If you happen to be at the Square, be vigilant however, because nothing is as it seemed. I was caught off-guard by an innovative form of begging by the Birdman
The Birdman in Taksim Square, feeding the doves. This was where the 2017 New Year celebration was held. Taksim Square is an important hub for public transportation, acting as the main transfer point for the municipal bus system for Istanbul.
Istiklal Street
The Taksim Square led to Istiklal Street. If you walk down the Istiklal, you can listen to some street performers playing their music, or stop for kebab at the restaurants, or shop at the department stores, art shops and bookshops, displaying priceless Sufi books such as Shems Friedlander’s “Forgotten Messages” on the life and time of the famous Sufi, Rumi.
At the end of the Istiklal Street, you can actually sit down to have a cup of tea or cay, or a glass of pomegranate juice or sample the roasted chestnuts . Pomegranate is native to Turkey, both in the coastal as well as the mountainous areas up to altitudes of 1000 metres, mainly in the Aegian, the Mediterranean and the South western Anatolia regions.
A vendor selling roasted chestnuts on the busy Istiklal Street in Taksim. The Istiklal Avenue-Tunel nostalgic tram line starts in Taksim.
A Symphony Of Sounds and Scents
Istanbul is the place to be. There is the Turkish cuisine, the hammam experience, excellent museums, the architecture, open-air markets and bazaars, grand imperial mosques and historic churches. Istanbul is a symphony of sounds and scents.
The haunting call for prayer or azan by the muezzin reverberating over Istanbul five times a day, from the minarets of over 3000 mosques. Then there is the sound of the bustling city; the street musician playing the accordion on the corner of the Istiklal; the sound of laughter; and the distant sounds of the sky larks flying over the Bosphorus. Then the scents emanating from all corners of Istanbul. The unmistakable aroma of Turkish coffee; the hookah tobacco; exotic spices and herbs at the Spice Bazaar; the heavy oriental musk perfumes on the street; the sweet smell of apple tea, not forgetting the smell of sweat on the tram on Istiklal.
Then we have the onslaught of Istanbul by tourists with an endless appetite for the exotic. A lady tourist travelling alone on her way back to Bangladesh from Rome. She was engaged with United Nations (UN) and currently working for the UN funding body and the Bangladesh government. She must be doing well because the next time I caught up with her, she was ready to buy off a carpet for TL6000 without so much as a blink. And I always thought bargaining is part of Asian culture..
And then there was the expatriate from Kerala travelling with his spouse. He looked like a retired Hindi film star. He had been employed in Bahrain for 34 years at a time when the Bahrain Dinar was three times the value of the US Dollar. It seemed quite a number of Indian tourists on Istanbul stop-overs were expatriates working in the Middle East. There is another wave of tourists that landed on the shores of Istanbul….loud tourists with deep pockets from Mainland China.
Watching the Bosphorus at sunset from the grounds of the Dolmabache Palace, reminded me of a famous Napoleon Bonaparte saying : “If the Earth were a single state, Istanbul would be its capital”.
Trains are just enticing: picture windows, freedom to move around, time to bury yourself in a book or socialize, yet moving smoothly at a speed that does not upset your cup of tea. Last month, I took the ETS to Sungai Petani, meeting up five other friends with their wives for a lesson on history, culinary and hospitality. It turned out to be a delightful three-day trip down memory lane for those born and raised in Kedah.
For me at least, having overstayed my welcome in the big city of Kuala Lumpur for the last 46 years, and now completely retired, the trip presented the perfect opportunity to reconnect with the serenity of kampong life once more….the green paddy fields stretching as far as the eyes could see, the spectacular mountains in shades of green, the soft breeze blowing, carrying with it a rhythm of kampong chatter.
I constantly visited Kedah in the past, at least to reconnect with whatever was left of my early life: my nieces, my nephews, my cousins but largely my memories. The migration of kampong folks to the big city seeking new opportunities, have brought with them practices and tradition peculiar to Kedah, especially the cuisines. I have tasted Laksa Kedah, Pindang Ikan Temenung, Curry Ikan Kering, Asam Pedas Keladi, while eating out around Kuala Lumpur but I have never heard ofJeruk Maman, let alone tasted it. JerukMaman is part of Ulu Kedah cuisine, popular among the kampong folks in the district of Baling, Sik and Kuala Nerang.
Maman plant, is a national treasure, according to a farmer growing it on a large scale in Gemencheh, Negeri Sembilan. The maman leaves, bitter though they were, actually prevented a war with the Johorians at one time, only because the Johorians fell in love with the maman dish served (initially, an idea as a nasty prank) (http://www.straitstimes.com, October 2017). The scientific name for Maman plant is Cleome Gynandra and it is popularly-grown in Negeri Sembilan and Terengganu. The name Maman most probably originated from the name of the town Kemaman in Terengganu.
Maman leaves is sometimes used to cook rendang. But it is Jeruk Maman that I am more curious about.Jeruk Maman is prepared using young leaves or shoots, salt, water and some cooked rice. The young maman leaves and some stems are placed in a plastic, together with some generous amount of salt and topped by a cup of cooked rice, and a cup of cold water, all placed aside to allow fermentation. They are best eaten with rice, preferably steaming hot, but sometimes made into a kind of kerabu or eaten plain with some shallots and chilli padi. It was my first time. I tasted this dish during a generous dinner spread in Kampong Bukit Pak Kuning, Kuala Ketil, courtesy of Taib’s family. Kuala Ketil is a small town about 21 kilometers from Sungai Petani by road.
The entire Taib’s family practically participated in the cooking of dinner on that particular evening, but for a family running a restaurant next door on a daily basis, cooking dinner for 16 people was no big deal. It was a dinner drawn out over two hours of eating, interspersed with endless conversations and sometimes, thunderous laughter. I remember changing seats three times just to make sure everyone were comfortable and had a good proximity to the dishes.
In Kampong Sintok Bugis, in the district of Kota Kuala Muda, we had another big spread of lunch, courtesy of Ismail’s family. The family served fried meehoon, fried kuey teow, nasi lemak, and many other dishes. But the one thing I have never tried before was Nira drink. Nira (or Neera) is a sweet natural drink made from the Nipah palm or mangrove palm, native to the coastlines of the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Its scientific name is Nypa Fruticans. It seems Nipah palm produces a sweet edible sap collected in a bottle or plastic normally fitted to the trunk. The sap can be turned into a variety of products such as gula nipah and cuka nipah or vinegar. The Nipah sap can also be fermented to produce alcohol. Cars fueled by alcohol is not a new idea at all. For decades experimentation with alcohol and bio-fuels has been conducted.
To top it all off, was the brunch in Kampong Setar, in the district of Yan. After brunch, some of us pulled out a bike each (courtesy of Salleh’s family). I hesitated at first. But after a few minutes, I was able to balance myself and managed to stay comfortable on the bike in perpetual motion. With the breeze softly blowing in my face, I felt an overwhelming rush of nostalgia. I remember visiting cousins who lived in wooden houses among paddy fields when I was young. I cycled almost everywhere in the 1960s. My initial plan was to photograph a real farmer on his rounds on the old bicycle complete with a big straw hat and a parang. But we could not find one.
If you look to the left, there is the majestic Gunong Jerai, with clouds still hanging around them like white cotton balls . And to the right, are paddy fields half buried under irrigation water, with luscious green paddy plants sprouting from underneath. Miles and miles of paddy fields is a common sight since Kedah is an agricultural state and the biggest producer of rice. I can imagine Salleh’s uncle cycling around the bunds after working the fields in the early hours of the morning many many years ago.
Before the close of the evening of the second day, Ismail took us for Mee Udang (or prawn noodles) in Kampong Pulau Sayak in Kota Kuala Muda. There are about six or seven such stalls in the kampong. The beach-front restaurant called Yaakob made a delicious Mee Udang, using prawns from the sea . To be fair, I didn’t try other Mee Udang stalls. But this stall was exceptional because of the picture-perfect, fast-fading sunset, laid out in front of us, the sun casting its last colourful hues over the sea as we dined.
If you had a chance to visit Sungai Petani on your way up north towards Langkawi Island, try stopping at the Hotel Seri Malaysia, a convenient stop since it is just opposite the train station. But there is a beautiful homestay nearer to Gunong Jerai if you prefer.
“People will forget what you said, forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel” and Taib’s family, Ismail’s family and Salleh’s family all made us feel extremely welcome in their homes. The 2Fs: Food and Friendships, made me feel truly blessed……of course it’s not always about food, but who you eat with that matters most to me.
(*Yaakob Mee Udang Segar, Pulau Sayak, Kota Kuala Muda, Kedah, Google or call 019-542 9812 if you are lost).
2 Months of Pain Over Little Red Pills
It was a real hot, dry afternoon with no sign of relief from the rain clouds. I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my neck and elsewhere even as we sat underneath the shade of some coconut trees with the wind softly blowing from the sea (Fig 1). Even cold, sweet pineapple juice in tall glasses could not douse our hot discussion about drug use and remand prison time with two pill kuda users.
Pil Kuda is locally referred to as methamphetamine. In Kelantan, its retail price is RM10 but in Terengganu, it is RM15 – RM20. The pills are smuggled from Thailand into Kelantan and are what some people term as a poor man’s drug. Ketamine is called pill kuda because its use was for calming horses. Then we have syabu or pure methamphetamine, heroin, ganja (whose real medicinal value is as a pain killer), cocaine (like cocaine tooth drops to relief tooth ache) and ecstasy party pills (methylenedioxymethamphetamine). I did not realize how bad the drug problem in Terengganu was until that morning in Permaisuri.
Seated in the front row of the lower court that morning, I had an opportunity to listen to many remand cases while waiting for the specific case of interest to be mentioned. It seemed that out of 24 remand cases mentioned that morning, 23 were drug related and all involved Malays. This is an alarming trend. One remand case I heard was a well-dressed 65 year old man with dark glasses called Cikgu (teacher in Malay). He looked more like a headmaster of some remote school than a drug user or a drug peddler. The 65 year old drug user made an appeal for the magistrate to reduce the charge of RM6000. He made all attempts using poetic language in his appeal to impress the magistrate. The magistrate, a sweet young lady with hijab and beautiful painted lips, granted him a reduction of RM2,500. But he was far from satisfied. As he was being led out by a policeman, I heard him swore under his breath, with a look of disgust on his face. The “headmaster-look” completely disappeared and in its place, the face of an unrepentant drug peddler.
A young drug user on remand failed to attend the lower court hearing that morning , forcing his old man to present himself at the court since he was the one who posted bail. In Malaysia, you can pay bail to go home instead of going to jail while waiting for hearing. The lady magistrate did not hide her disgust and threatened to take away the old man’s bail money if the son failed to attend the next hearing. Then there was a young man about 20 years old who presented himself. He was dressed in short-sleeved tee shirt revealing old scars on his arms indicative of intravenous drug use. Almost all prisoners made gestures of defiance as they were being lead away. Many were young men maybe in early twenties and a few seasoned-looking hard-core drug users or drug pushers. One was a fresh-looking man in his early forties whose charges were duly dropped. And later when we met him outside, he related to us how he tried to help my friend’s worker during a raid by ADDK. But having watched too much American cop movies, his story made us a little skeptical. Could he be an informant?
Mezoh, a Patani who was working on my friend’s house, is a recreational drug user, resorting to pil kuda once or twice a week when he felt a physical burnout after his daily work on site. He is only 45 years old and very lean-build. Although from Patani, he spoke little Thai. On the day he was arrested in an ADDK (Agensi Anti-Dadah Kebangsaan or National Anti-Drugs Agency) raid on a house in Permaisuri, 2 months before, he was with some friends, smoking. The raid happened suddenly and quickly. ADDK officers appeared out of nowhere as if an informant had a hand in it. Mezoh suddenly found himself in jail waiting to be charged (Fig 2). If the court decides to put you on remand, it means you will go to prison until your hearing at a magistrate’s court. Mezoh was kept in jail for two months due to investigation by the police who had to be extra-careful with cases involving foreigners.
Mezoh related how much he suffered mentally and physically while on the two-months remand in Merang. 65 prisoners were confined to a space of about 30 feet by 30 feet. Space was so tight that if he left his spot to ease himself, he would find his space “gone” by the time he got back, duly occupied by another prisoner. The same space was also used for sleeping and there were no beds. Food was scarce. Prisoners were allowed five spoons of rice twice a day. Tea drinks were without any sugar and sometimes prisoners fight over tea. He looked like he did not lose much weight but then none of the prisoners did any physical work. They were not even allowed to attend weekly Friday prayers. Mezoh thought such conditions were unheard of in a Thai prison, on remand or not.
Lae, a 60 year old seasoned drug user, was constantly in and out of jail for drug use making him almost resilient. How he “got over” the drug habit was actually a result of an attachment to a tablir group during his parole years. It seemed to have straightened him out a bit, although it is anybody’s guess when he would cave in next. He had been taking drugs on and off since he was 20. Now he seemed to show some promising signs of discipline and resolve. He now keeps a dairy to jot down his duas and daily expenses from the little money his children gave him. This was seen as positive step towards recovery.
It made me wonder why these youngsters and even a few elderly men like Mezoh and Lae (residents of Mangkuk, resort to drug use? According to a 2018 AADK survey of drug addicts, (https://www.adk.gov.my) by state, showed Kelantan to have the highest number of drug addicts at 4,153 followed by Kedah at 2,693. Out of 25,267 drug cases surveyed, 82% are Malays, 6.3% are Indians, and 96% of this number are males.
Among the drug users, the top most prone to drug abuse are the unemployed (3,650), the general workers (5621) and the part time workers (8,086). Socio-economic factors such as poverty and lack of employment opportunity are cited as some of the causes for high drug use among fishermen, according to Malaysian Crime Prevention Foundation (MCPF)(August 2017,nst.com.my).
Malaysia may have the strictest drug laws in the world, but the rising trend in drug abuse may require a rethink of its drug control strategies.
(April 2019, 1222 Words)
I Have Never Flown A Kite
My mother, unschooled though she was while she was still alive, taught me one thing about life and relationships. She used to say “Being in a relationship, is like flying a kite – you pull a little, let go a little so the string won’t break”. I am not too sure if that valuable lesson did anything to my relationships but it sure did not improve my kite flying ability. The closest experience I ever had with kites was when my brother allowed me to hold the harness of his airborne kite very briefly when I was 7 years old.
I confess I am more into ceramics and oil painting but kite design is somehow intriguing to me. I made a trip to Kota Bharu recently to meet two kite makers, an arrangement made by a retired Prof Abd Aziz Shuaib, who taught architectural design in UMK. He happened to be an ardent traditional craft enthusiast. That morning when we reached his beautiful house near Pantai Cahaya Bulan, I was surprised to find a kite maker of Chinese blood in an arguably 98% Malay tradition. His name was Tan Sheng Hai. The other artisan was supposed to be Anuar, a young man about 30 years old, son of the late legendary kite maker, Pak Shafie Jusoh, who used to launch his Wau Bulan on Pantai Geting beach on the outskirts of Tumpat.
While one has made it big commercially at such a young age of 30, with one workshop and a thriving business, selling his enormous 7 feet wide kites to Italian tourists for a neat sum of five thousand ringgit, the other remained a passionate artisan, working from the house at 53 years of age. Tan Sheng Hai is an active member of kite associations and participated in various local and international kite competitions.
Tan grew up in predominantly Malay communities throughout his life. Growing up in Malay communities exposed him to Malay and Siamese traditions like wayang kulit, dikir barat, menora, mak yong to name a few. Tan moved around a lot during childhood even staying in Tanah Merah. He was brought up by his grandmother in Kampong Kulim Wakaf Baru, Kelantan. While he lived in Wakaf Baru, Tan was surrounded by neighbours who spoke Siamese so Tan could speak both Siamese and Malay beside his mother tongue, Hokkien.
About figure – An intricate design or pattern ready to be tebuk orcut out to be pasted onto layers of colored paper in a 4 feet wide kite frame.
He showed keen interest in kite making since school days. At 10 years old he made his first kite. At 15, he made his first big kite. A big kite could measure as wide as 10 feet from one wing tip to the other or 4 feet as in Fig 2 above. Some of the popular traditional kites are Wau Bulan, Wau Puyuh, Wau Barat, Wau Merak, Wau Kikik, Wau Kuching, Wau Jalabudi to name a few. Tan’s first real entry into kite competition was upon encouragement by his father who was also an active kite maker himself. Anuar , the young man in a hurry, entered the kite world at age 16. Upon his father’s insistence (when he was in secondary school), he entered a competition but did not quite make it.
What makes kites fly? What is the science behind kites? The four forces of flight – Lift, Weight, Drag and Thrust, affect kites as they affect aeroplanes and anything else that flies (https//airandspace.si.edu, Mike Hulslander, 2012). To launch the kite into the air, the force of lift must be greater than the force of weight. To keep the kite flying steady, the four forces have to be in balance. Lift must be equal to weight while thrust must equal drag.
Lift is the upward force that pushes the kite into the air. Lift is generated by differences in air pressure, which are created by air in motion over the body of the kite. The force of weight pulls the kite towards the earth. Thrust is the forward force that propels the kite in the direction of the motion. While an aeroplane generate thrust with its engines, a kite rely on tension from the strings and moving air. Drag is the backward force that acts opposite to the direction of the motion. Drag is caused by the difference between front and back of the kite.
And to think that 7 or 8 year old boys, some of whom didn’t even know how to read, living in the kampongs during the 1960’s times of innocence, have actually crafted simple diamond kites (in the shape of Wau Kikik) using bamboo sticks and newspaper, then flew the kites and kept them flying in the air, truly amazed me now. We thought nothing of it back then.
That Saturday morning at breakfast of nasi tumpang et al, a gesture of Kelantan goodwill, Tan explained the play of factors affecting the flight of kites. He mentioned about teraju, the three strings that control the flight of a kite. Manipulating this teraju (Fig 3) requires skill. But the most interesting gadget was the busor. Tan explained that a busor is a structure made of bamboo, shaped like a bow. The busor is fixed to the back of the wing of the kite. Once the kite flies, it will make a sound similar to waauuu…and that, it seemed, was how the name wau was given to our Malaysian kites.
Happy flying…and watch out for my next post when I will catch up with Anuar flying his big kite on the beach of Pantai Cahaya Bulan.
(10 January 2019)
THE BEDOUIN
Going down the road towards Madinah, reminded me of one particular taxi driver, who drove us from the Hajj terminal to Madinah on one of those soul cleansing trips. Since most passengers were flying into Jeddah for umrah, we were brought to the Hajj terminal instead. Despite the crowd, the immigration processed the passengers fairly quickly that evening and we were soon out of the terminal.
About figure – Women pilgrims leaving the Masjid Nabawi after prayers
Going down the road towards Madinah, reminded me of one particular taxi driver, who drove us from the Hajj terminal to Madinah on one of those soul cleansing trips. Since most passengers were flying into Jeddah for umrah, we were brought to the Hajj terminal instead. Despite the crowd, the immigration processed the passengers fairly quickly that evening and we were soon out of the terminal.
About figure – Three lorry drivers stop at R&R on Highway 15 between Makkah & Madinah
Going down the road towards Madinah, reminded me of one particular taxi driver, who drove us from the Hajj terminal to Madinah on one of those soul cleansing trips. Since most passengers were flying into Jeddah for umrah, we were brought to the Hajj terminal instead. Despite the crowd, the immigration processed the passengers fairly quickly that evening and we were soon out of the terminal.
Once out of the terminal, we went looking for a taxi. Finding a taxi to take us to Madinah proved rather troublesome since there were very few private taxis at the Hajj terminal. One taxi runner quoted SAR1500 just to take us the distance of 250 kilometers away. We thought it was rather steep. We were then directed to a private taxi presumably an arrangement of mutual benefit for both runner and taxi driver. After the SAR1500 shocker, any lesser offer was deemed reasonable. Later we found an even cheaper fare of SAR500, but only if taken from the international terminal. It was already late in the night and we settled for the only taxi-driver to drive us to Madinah in his Toyota sedan for SAR1000.
The taxi-man, Muhamad, was a Bedou, for the Anglicised term “Bedouin”. The word Bedouin comes from the Arabic word Badawi which means “desert dweller”. Badawi are nomadic Arab people who have historically inhabited the deserts of North Africa, Arabic peninsula, Iraq and the Levant. The Arabic term Bedouin was traditionally used to differentiate between nomads, who made a living by raising livestock and those who worked on farms or lived sedentary lives in towns.
Bedouins tend to be small and thin. One reason for this is that food is scarce in the desert. But Bedouins love freedom thus the appeal for nomadic life. The number of true nomadic Bedouins however is dwindling. There may be less than 3% nomads left in Iraq, Libya or Saudi Arabia. According to Wikipedia (https://en.m.wikipedia.org), there are over 10 million in Sudan, about 2 million in Algeria, some in Egypt, Iraq, UAE, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Libya etc.
Calmness and patience are valued traits. But the one thing that struck me that particular evening was Mohamad’s Bedouin hospitality. Bedouins, it seemed are well known for gestures like breaking bread with a stranger. Since we wanted to reach Madinah before 2 am, we didn’t stop to have a bite to eat before boarding the taxi. Needless to say we were grateful when Muhamad stopped along the highway and bought us cups of good strong coffee with a pinch of cardamon added. Bedouin kahwa is a strong aromatic coffee made with cardamon powder, saffron and rosewater. Later on along the journey he again bought us bananas and juice.
Arab drivers in Saudi were not much different from Malaysian drivers. They both have little patience when it comes to driving. I have seen similar mercurial drivers on highways and roads in Malaysia. Muhamad, small built, his face brown and drawn, probably in his forties (though he did look older, maybe because of the dry desert winds), was blowing his horn ever so often when he wanted to overtake other vehicles. He seemed like a dangerous driver, keeping to the fast lane and weaving in and out between trucks and buses while overtaking. Even though we were exhausted from the flight and the journey, I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was rather anxious watching the way Muhamad drove. I thought 75% of road accidents were caused by young Arab drivers but Muhamad was in his forties. One driver had his headlights on and kept pressing the pedal as if saying “Get out of my way”.
It was close to midnight and Muhamad was probably very sleepy. He found many innovative ways of keeping awake while driving on the highway. He sometimes turned on the radio way up playing traditional Bedouin music, singing and clapping loudly. And as if he suddenly remembered we were seated behind, he would turn down the music. Then he would unwound his head-cloth, put on his keffiyeh and silence returned as he drove quietly on. Sometimes he would smoke and this routine he would repeat every now and then throughout the 250 kilometers journey.
We arrived in Madinah in the wee hours of the morning. We had little exchanges with Muhamad since he knew absolutely no English and we do not speak Arabic. He had no use for the GPS to locate the hotel. All he did was stop fellow drivers along the way. After doing this for a number of times, one driver relented to show us the way. What a colorful character Muhamad was, reminding me of Lawrence of Arabia movie…. a Bedouin with a curved sword in a scabbard ornamented with silver, laid across his knees, or the Arab-speaking nomads in Hugh Kennedy’s “The Great Arab Conquests ”, who rode their horses over 200 miles a day to spread Islam. It seemed the Bedouins possess the same endurance, strength and loyalty as the Arabian horses they rode.
