Wednesday, 16 July 2014

Bookworm turned traveller





A picture paints a thousand words. But it takes imagination and curiosity to create a picture from a thousand words.

What are you reading? This is the question my parents still ask me whenever we meet. It is no coincidence that both my wife and I are prolific readers.

From a very young age, I was taught to read for pleasure, not just for schoolwork. To use my imagination, to explore the meanings — pushing the limits of my vocabulary and imagination. It is no surprise that I owned a dictionary from young.
Brightly illustrated books by American children’s author, Richard Scarry are my earliest childhood memory of reading. I was 3. I remember large colourful books of near architectural quality, technical cutaway drawings, detailing the mechanical workings of things like aircraft, ships and cars.
But my real quest for travel is probably thanks to Belgian cartoonist Georges Prosper Remi, better known as Herge and his Adventures Of Tintin comic book series. A young globetrotting, curious journalist, he is always accompanied by Snowy, his canine sidekick.
As a child growing up in Singapore, we would go to a second-hand bookstore in Holland Village. This was long before large bookstore franchises existed and buying books online was but a sci-fi dream. Once read you could exchange it for your next discounted read.
Likewise at my London boarding school. Most of my friends had new books every new term. Book swapping meant you could easily read 20 a term, for free.
During the 1980s I used to visit Foyles bookstore on Charing Cross Road in London. Not to buy books but to look at the atlases and maps of the world on display. You could also people-watch, see who bought which travel books and maps that would take them off to foreign lands. My curiosity for travel was sparked.
Later, as an International Relations student at Madrid University in Spain, I remember El Rastro, an open-air flea market famed for its antiques, old books, magazine and stamps. The exploring and the finding among the eclectic Mediterranean and Maghreb crowd of vendors was the real adventure.
My first experience with a large global bookstore franchise was in the late 1990s, a Borders store in New York’s World Trade Center complex. I visited after work to read newspapers, magazines and books, until 9/11.
Although relatively undamaged when the Twin Towers collapsed, it was later demolished as its structure was weakened due to the incident in 2001. So I went to Manhattan’s East Village, to the Strand bookstore’s “18 miles of books”, as proudly stated in its tagline. The pleasure was in spending an entire morning or afternoon, at weekends, exploring the shelves for large, hardback and discounted travel or underwater life photo books.
Nowadays, if I ask someone what they’re reading, they’ll probably say they only read online articles. A few may read eBooks on their tablet.
Rarely do they have a book in their bag or on their bedside table. Tablets have taken over as the most common reading media, usually to access the latest celebrity gossip or fashion items to buy.
Online search engines have made us lazy. Type in the search term and there is an answer. But what it doesn’t teach you is how to analyse and use that information. It’s there but do you understand what it means? Is it a legitimate source or one with a vested interest?
I often come across search engine Know-It-All individuals. They only read online but cannot remember their sources, often making me question the credibility of their knowledge. They often struggle to string together an interesting sentence, having lost the art of conversation and individual thought.
Reading is a discipline, an exercise. And also a vital fuel for the brain. Set aside time to read regularly — away from the screen — and let your imagination run riot. It should not only be an education but also a pleasure. 

Especially when you finally visit a destination, experience a moment or meet people you have only read about. And it is an even more beautiful experience than you thought possible.

This article originally appeared in my NST travel column - July 10th, 2014

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

Where are you from?


I dread this frequently asked question.

Being half Scottish, half Malaysian-Chinese, born in Singapore and lucky enough to have lived in seven countries, all my social and cultural references are completely mixed up.

There is no short answer. I am orang campur. Although in the rest of the world I am simply known as a Eurasian who has never set down roots and loves to travel.

But when I say this in Malaysia, I’m always asked how much Portuguese blood I have.

Not one drop is my response. For many it is a prerequisite to being Eurasian in this part of Southeast Asia.

The original definition of Eurasian was for one of mixed Anglo-Indian ancestry, although nowadays it is used for people of mixed European and Asian ancestry.

Half Scottish, half Malaysian-Chinese, for example.

I’m often asked which half is Scottish? I always respond that it’s definitely my lower half. Thanks Dad.

I’m also known as an orang putih and a caucasian.  If I’m half yellow and half tartan, how can I be white? I ask my orang coklat and orang kuning friends.

Yet my father-in-law still reckons I look Mexican. So do some immigration officers.

When I worked in the US, returning from dive trips in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula with a deep suntan, I was sometimes “invited” for a second interview courtesy of New York’s immigration department.

As soon as I opened my mouth, my British accent helped allay any doubts over my nationality.

And being called Caucasian? Now there’s a misleading racial category, as I’m not white, nor am I from the region of the Caucasus in Europe that borders Iran and Turkey.

So I’m considered a white man, Caucasian, Mexican, Portuguese and Eurasian. I’m confused.

The funniest was when I lived in The Little Red Dot, our southern neighbour.

Registering at my local dentist on Orchard Road I was handed one of those CMIO (Chinese, Malay, Indian, Others) tick box forms that asks for my personal details.

Under “Others” I wrote Eurasian.  And for my religion I wrote “Irrelevant”.

“Which country is the religion ‘Irrelevant’ from because you speak very good English,” asked the local receptionist. I kid you not.

When traveling overseas, street traders and shop-owners will ask you the same question. Where you from, mister?

It helps them to build up a quick friendly relationship with you. For them, bantering with their new friend and customer helps seal their sale. 

Knowing where you are from helps them to negotiate the price of goods with you. The less scrupulous among them will ask so as to determine how much to overcharge you.

The theory at least, is that if you come from certain countries you have more money to spend, and you can be overcharged with less or no guilt.

Another theory is that sales people will spend more time convincing you to buy if you come from certain nations, rather than waste time with those from countries where everything is bargained for, right down to the last cent.

My orang putih father will never get as good a price as my orang Malaysia mother.

When using a travel operator or travel guide, I’m often asked the second worse question. What job do you do?

Being friendly and a way to break the ice, it also helps them determine how much to charge you and how much of a tip they can expect to receive.

The job title of English teacher seems to do the trick.

A respected and respectful, albeit low–paid job, in most parts of the world. Yet one that doesn’t encourage you being ripped off too much.

Strangers abroad and locally will ask you these questions to determine what you have in common and where to start the conversation.

By pigeonholing people according to where you’re from, it helps some people to decide how to treat you. And that can be a problem.

Should we treat one another differently because of what we think you are like, because of where you’re from?

If you want to start getting really technical, lets take the “out of Africa” civilization theory. We are nearly all related to Africans going back 200,000 years.

So logically we must all have some African blood in us. Hakuna matata, my Swahili-speaking friends. Where are you from?

Scotland meets Indonesia

Scottish tartan meets Bali styling





Full article here:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/othersports/commonwealthgames/10952930/Glasgow-2014-Scottish-uniform-for-Commonwealth-Games-opening-ceremony-mocked.html

Sayonara KL!

Good things always come in threes

Tonight I fly to Japan on assignment for the first time. Hopefully. 

I just checked the weather forecast and all I can track is a typhoon across my flight path....

This is my third attempt at visiting one of the few Asian countries I have never been to.

The first time was cancelled due to my wife's asthma and my lung operation a couple of years ago. The second because I had a conflicting commitment in Hong Kong last year.

It'll also be the first time I fly with AirAsia X.  

2 X Pak Nasser's Nasi Lemak reserved already!

This is also my first ever blog. Crazy, right?

A journalist for 20 years and I have never bothered to have my own personal publishing outlet. I'm kicking myself for not having started sooner. 


I am seriously encouraged by someone I met recently in Bali for work. An insightful, clear-eyed, strong hearted writer, with a great future ahead of them.

A week in Central Japan and I should have some excellent photo opportunities. I will keep you posted.

In the meantime, some magic from my favorite Southeast Asian island, Bali, Island of the Gods.