Hong Kong Waterfront

I am not sure what to make of Hong Kong. There is something about all that glass and steel which is very appealing. But the Kowloon markets, alleys, narrow streets, dodgy goods, poor lighting, gazillion product types, and general hawker atmosphere that tugs even more firmly at my sensibilities than the western elements of this town. Perhaps in the end it is an amalgam of all these things that make Hong Kong unique.

Hard and Buff Kitbag

This travel advice, intended to make your vacation (sorry, evection) all the smoother by removing the aggravation associated with creased clothes, and other issues to do with packing garments is a little gem that has been floating around in my PC for years. I have always wondered what the doohickey is and what dictionary provided such a translation. And I can only imagine that your adversary is the person you just spent 14 hours sitting next to in cattle class. Hit them with your hard and buff kitbag – but only if the airline has not lost it. Enjoy.(p.s. click on the image to yield a readable version)

Moslem Culture in Qatar

The community mosques, as distinct from the large buildings in the middle of the cities, are just that, focused on their communities. They are places of worship but are open centres of community life as well. OK, at least for the men. I remember talking with some men exiting a mosque in the markets of Dubai. They had been there for prayers but had stayed on to drink coffee and to chat, and to take some business lessons. Business lessons?! Someone in the congregation was touting his business acumen for free and attempting to help the less fortunate with whom he rubbed shoulders.

April 2005

Qatar: Dig a Little and Unearth the Local

Qatar is another one of those booming places in the Middle East that are a strange mix of old, ancient, modern, Arab and American. All popping up out of the desert. I walked this evening from the hotel, parked on the waters edge, out through the dark to a shopping mall. It was like walking through a new housing estate, with new roads laid out and services installed, street lights installed, palms planted and gently clicking in the slight breeze, but with houses yet to be built. In the middle distance I could see a large, unlit, multistory block house that I was told was the shopping centre. I wandered across a vacant lot, sinking into talc like dust and sand, plopping along creating my own mini sandstorm. The sun had sunk into a saffron sky a few hours earlier but the stifling heat meant I was carefully pacing myself. Stepping inside the mall was like stepping into another world – from the velvet quiet of the night to the blurring speed of a hectic mall, with thousands shopping or making the most of the airconditioning.

April 2005

Starbucks Religious Police

I am often confronted by people who are surprised I want to travel to Saudi, or other places in the Middle East. There is an assumption that it is not safe. Saudi is as safe as most other places and I was able to walk the streets late at night without any concern for my safety, other than that too often there are no sidewalks.

The religious police are another matter. I was warned to be careful around them but was not sure what that really meant. What the warning really meant was that they are an unpredictable lot with no set guide about what they are supposed to police. Any enthusiast can be a member of the religious police and you need nothing by way of training except the passion of a zealot. In any community that is a dangerous thing.

I was sitting outside a Starbucks enjoying a slice of cake and an iced coffee. It was 48degrees C (118 Fahrenheit) and the still dry air was being offset slightly by a fine mist blowing across the tables. I had tried sitting inside but the air conditioning was turned to the other extreme, to 15 degrees C. The heat was a better option. As I sat down with my drink I was vaguely aware of all the mosques in the area starting their calls to prayer. A couple of people got up and moved off. The store was supposed to shut operations for the time of prayer but did not and the crowd I was with continued to drink and socialise. Two very large Hummers had just turned up and disgorged small crowds of young men who milled around talking and joking and ordering coffee.

Suddenly, without any warning at all a Landcruiser crashed up over the sidewalk and stopped among the tables. Out piled a team of religious police waving their canes (one had a length of pipe). The Hummers evacuated in a heartbeat (though I saw them cruise past a few minutes later checking things out) and the crowd scattered for their cars. I heard the doors behind me snap shut and locks clattered home. The misters stopped misting. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the lights in Starbucks flick off and the last of the staff vanish out the back. Suddenly I was on my own, with a coffee and journal and all these religious police.

For a moment of foolishness I fancied I would finish the coffee, continue the journal and ignore these guys. After all, business would be humming again in twenty minutes and the circling Hummers would reappear and start over (the theory is that the police chase you off to prayers but they are like dogs disturbing seagulls – everything mills around while they bark but once gone everything settles into the original routine).

In my case my theory evaporated very quickly. I was their only target and they were not impressed with my insouciance. Never mind that I was a visitor. Or that I was a non Muslim. Even my line about not knowing there whereabouts of a local mosque was lost on them. In the end they trailed me the thirty minute walk back to my hotel. The only pedestrian and the only vehicle on the road for about ten minutes of the walk. It was not the most comfortable of ambles – and amble I did, just to keep them crawling. Only a visitor, but without a Hummer with which to circle, I needed some other way to fight back.

By the time I got back to the hotel prayers were over and everyone was out and about again. After a quick lap of the foyer I walked back to Starbucks and finished my refreshments. From this point on of course I moved when all the other sardines moved and made sure I stayed lost in the crowd. Being alone with those zealots was not something I wanted to invite on myself again.

Girls of Riyadh

The book was making some noise last month, even though it was published more than a year ago. I confess to not reading it but the attention this book gets reminds me of the cultural differences that exist in a place like Saudi. For all its Western ways, and veneer, there are some things that happen under the surface that should not surprise anyone – but they do when they are revealed.

Some of those differences are intriguing. If you think of our own culture and then remove women from every facet of life, other than seeing them in the shopping malls, you start to get an idea of the main and obvious difference. No women in any of the businesses you deal with. Absolutely no women behind counters. Not even the perfumery or lingerie sections. That was something I never really got used to seeing. In some malls specialising in fabrics I saw material that was so luxurious and lush I was amazed that it was completely outside my ken – even outside any of my New York 5th Avenue experiences. Colours and sensations that I have never seen anywhere else. In bolts of cloth but especially turned into gorgeous garments. And not a single woman around to measure, fit or entice. Weird really. Almost as weird as having to stand in a “men only” line to pick up my burgers and fries in a food court. Women and children in another line, although some outlets are now allowing families to line up together – radical stuff. And if you want some idea about the challenges young men have in shopping malls this article from Arab News captures the weirdness nicely.

After a few visits to the Kingdom a Saudi colleague, who I had gotten to know well, confided the more well to do women in this place, though apparently repressed (can’t drive, work, move about on their own, have to take care when out shopping that their intentions are not misunderstood, even under all that black cloth) can live a very colourful, even hedonistic lifestyle. There are all sorts of undercurrents if you know where to look, which I guess is part of the point of the book by Rajaa Alsanea.

To help make his point he took me down to one of the shopping malls and suggested we wait at the parcel pick up drive-through. In a short period of time he pointed out to me a well tinted car drive past with a cell number in the window. He reappeared about five minutes later and helped a woman with her shopping and they drove off. No big deal except this was one way young men and women can meet each other (euphemism for “can have sex”) without the religious police, or their families knowing about it. If, when he drove past, she liked the look of him (or his car) she simply called his cell phone and he drove around the block to pick her and her shopping up. Then its off out into the desert for some dessert.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone that this will happen in a society that so assiduously represses sections of its community. You can’t be appalled by it. Indeed, there was a part of me that applauded their inventiveness and nerve – it was happening under the noses of the religious police, who all behave as if anything pleasurable is a sin. Even a cup of coffee. My bet is that as teenagers they never got a call on their cell phones when they drove past in their hot yellow, black tinted Supras.

Network Heaven`

Remember these two? Maybe not. Visit them here. Two girlfriends, orphaned in the streets of Sanaa, the capital of Yemen. They come to mind again as I help Anne with her work at Network Heaven. A few years ago she stumbled over an opportunity to donate corporate goods, otherwise headed for the rubbish dump for minor quality infractions, to the poor and needy in places like Sri Lanka. Hence the emphasis placed on “network” – and for many of the recipients of her work it has indeed been a little taste of heaven. There are some quite amazing stories of how even simple things like unwanted golf umbrellas helped street vendors stay out of the sun after their stalls were washed away after the Asian Tsunami. Its all very inspiring stuff and aimed squarely at the likes of these two kids in the markets of Sanaa. Anne now has a blog that is telling a bit of the story. Its worth a little bit of “travel” to get across and have a look at what she is doing. www.networkheaven.org

Sydney or Melbourne?

Getting more attention in the Sydney Morning Herald today than the collapse in the share market is the news that Robert de Niro has snubbed Sydney and elected Melbourne as the site of his Tribeca restaurant, Nobu. de Niro may well settle his refined nosh shop in Melbourne for all the right reasons and I am not one to argue with him. But having lived in both places, and being a son of neither, it seemed like an opportune time to list those things that make this town (Sydney) a whole lot more appealing than our southern sister. OK, so it’s a perennial debate that everyone gets sick of hearing and we all like to think we are mature enough to ignore. But there is a secret part of Sydney-siders that truly believes the best view of Melbourne is in the rearview mirror (I do have a photo of same!) and we just can’t help ourselves.

That harbour – you just can’t go past Sydney Harbour for sheer beauty. Its a crown jewel to be sure and we all bask in its glory.

Its a working harbour. Not as much as it was but cargo vessels still push in and out and warships, including visiting US aircraft carriers, are regular sights. That hustle and bustle on the water is a pulse that is part of the city.

The pulse. Period. This is one place that lets you know it has a heart. An intangible thing but the zest of this town is part of its appeal. If you want quiet (and that is OK by me) then Melbourne is a better choice.

The icons. Walking into town across the coathanger (Sydney Harbour Bridge) is a perpetual delight. That working harbour beneath your feet is some of the appeal of that walk. And drinks last Wednesday evening in the Opera House as the sun set into the far reaches of the harbour has nothing comparable. Anywhere.

Real beaches. With real waves. Right on our doorstep. None of this driving three or four hours to find the surf. The smell of the salt air and the roaring southerlies that whip us around in late winter, early spring all add to the zest.

We have our seasons when we are supposed to have them. The “four seasons in one day” cliche about Melbourne is, sadly, true. Regardless of the time of the year. Not their fault I guess but I do enjoy the temperate climes and humid summers we have in this town.

Have I mentioned the Harbour? A ferry ride up to Manly. The occasional whale or two in it. Drinks at Manly. Or Bondi. Thai octopus salad by the water. Visiting the zoo which sits on the water line. The bush fringe that circles a large portion of the harbour and gives a garden feel to the place.

That bush pushes its way into many parts of the city – and I live in an area that is blessed by plenty of bush and all its attendant critters – parrots, possums, bandicoots, – and spiders and snakes. Best of all, I don’t have to drive out of town to enjoy any of that.

Japanese Kill Sailors – Then Shake Hands

I understand those of my grandfathers generation who never wanted to speak about the Japanese (or Germans) or only spoke about them with hatred. But I am always moved by those who experienced those times and who have been able to get past the wrongs, and if unable to forgive, are at least able to make up. There are numerous stories about former adversaries who have not only made up but who have been active in social programs in each others countries building something positive and of use to the citizens. A story of a group of Australian soldiers going to Japan after the war and building an orphanage comes to mind – at a time when everyone else was screaming for revenge.

Camel Headshot Marks the 200th Post

I arrived back in Australia today and opened an email from younger brother who previously featured with his latest toy at this post. This photo, down from the Northern Territory, shows him with another toy – a Ruger 30-06 in stainless steel. And the end result of messing with that toy – if you are a camel that is. Now a feral pest in Australia these things are also exported to the Middle East, live and in sauce. Did you know Australia has the largest camel population in the world? More Australian camel data than you can eat just here. A photo that is about as far away from London, New York and San Francisco as you can get. A part of me is glad of that. All I have to do is stop talking about going up there and do it.

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