The Bottom Line: Class Ass

Young and old. Saggy and perky. Sunbaked and sunburnt.

I get to see the latest swimwear fashions covering (or not) all shapes and variety of flesh, at my condo swimming pool, holidaying at a resort, or lounging by the beach.  

Nowadays (am I getting old?) nothing is left to the imagination, so streamlined and minimalist are current designs. Spilling forth what God has blessed some of us with.

"Tough world," I can hear some of you folks say.

But do we really need to see all of you, hanging over the edges like that, about to burst forth? 

Nothing is left to the imagination.

Topless and very perky, some women wonder why they attract stares and gawking from us local residents.  

The guys are worse. Banana hammocks, or slingshots, are a big no-no and should not be permitted outside the confines of swim competitions.

We don't even know you. Yet you present to all and sundry your crown jewels wrapped in the latest Speedo fashion.

Our teutonic and Ruski friends are the worse offenders, shameless in their displays of packaged burritos. Its indecent.

I have spent 35 years in this part of the world. And it never ceases to amaze me when women, and increasingly, men, flaunt it so unsubtly.

Less is more. Less flesh on display and let me eat my lunch comfortably. Without vomiting.

Go ahead and flaunt it. But less flesh on display is definitely the way forward.  Be subtle. Be discrete.

Display a class ass.  Its not about religion or race. Its about staying classy.

Read this article on sixties swimwear fashion here

Travellers Tale: Be Kind This Year

Travel isn’t about landmarks, shopping and souvenirs. It is about meeting people. Connecting with them. And sharing kindness, writes Andrew Drummond Law.

I meet new people every year. At work, through my social circle, and on my travels.

Some of us connect with so many new friends on social media we have hundreds, perhaps thousands of friends.

Robin Dunbar, a famous anthropologist and psychologist, found that the average maximum number of people that our brain can handle is a social group of 150. Relationships involving trust and obligation, where you still have that personal touch, and you are not just another profile picture and username.

Of these, 50 are close enough to invite home for dinner, but only 15 are your inner circle, with whom you can confide and turn to for sympathy. Five is your close support group of best friends, often your family members.

Sorry to all you social media addicts that claim to have 500+ “friends”. The big news is…you do not.

When traveling you meet random people in passing, either just to smile at, talk briefly, or share transportation with. Sometimes there’s a moment of need and a brief moment where you can choose to stop and help, or walk on past them. A connection can be made, ignored, or missed too easily. Open your eyes and ears.

There is nothing new about being kind and generous to strangers on your travels.

But it is becoming less common, as we insulate ourselves from our physical surroundings with technology, using our smartphone and its online reviews, rather than make conversation with strangers, asking for directions and opinions on places to eat, visit and shop.

Here are some suggestions and thoughts that are guaranteed to not only make you feel like a kind human being again, but will also help someone this year:

Compliment a complete stranger while on your travels. Say something nice, smile or wink at them. You’d be surprised how breaking the ice this way can sometimes lead to an invitation, or friendship of a lifetime. Travel is very stressful for some people. Make it enjoyable for them.

Look for opportunities where you can help someone. When boarding your flight, help that aunty with her heavy cabin bag, and lift it for her into the overhead locker. You too will be old and shorter one day, and also carrying double your permitted weight limit in your carry-on bag.

While waiting in transit at KLIA and KLIA2 airports, twice, in as many months, I have encountered foreign tourists needing local currency to buy a drink or meal.

With a very short stopover time and unfamiliar airport, it is not always easy to change money. So buy them that fast-food they crave, cup of coffee, or sugar filled chocolate bar that their poor jetlagged stomachs are crying out for. Help feed them.

Catching a bus from Madrid to London I met a guy who claimed to have lost his wallet. I paid for his bus fare home to the UK. He promised he would pay me back. The other passengers quietly suggested to me he was a conman. Maybe he was. But I helped him, and they didn’t. He never paid me back. I still believe he was genuine.

Until recently, I always ignored the postcard sellers on my travels. They would chase me down the street, harassing me as I explored local landmarks. I considered them a nuisance. I would argue with them. I didn’t want to buy from them, as I could take my own good photographs.

Now I realise the error of my ways. Maybe I did not want to buy the postcards for myself. But I should have bought them from the young children selling them. And shared the postcards with my friends and family members as souvenirs.

They are just trying to earn a living. Me spending five dollars on postcards has a far greater impact on their lives, than me saving five dollars.

This year I am making a concerted point to be kind to people I meet on my travels, because what goes around comes around. Kindness. Pay it forward for 2015. And if someone winks at you, it’s probably me.

BBC article: Post-It notes

Her husband was killed by terrorists. A very, very moving article.

Click to see the article here

Travellers Tale: Going Down Safely

With the tail end of monsoon season approaching, Andrew Drummond Law prepares for the East Coast SCUBA diving season.

It is an exciting feeling of anticipation and impatience that I’m feeling.

Monsoon will soon come to an end and the Peninsula’s East Coast SCUBA season begins.

The most popular destinations for Malaysia’s divers are Pulau Tioman, Perhentian, Redang and Lang Tengah.

Driving to the Mersing and Merang boat jetties from Kuala Lumpur on a Friday night, or very early Saturday morning, is the beginning of your typical East Coast dive trip.

After a 45-minute boat ride to your resort, within the hour you can be exploring Malaysia’s underwater treasures.

A good dive trip is all about planning, preparation, and safety.

I usually begin the season by dusting off my full-length neoprene wetsuit, checking it still fits, after all the excesses of Christmas and Chinese New Year.  

If it is too tight, I’ll have problems donning it, and it probably means I’m out of shape.

Next I ensure all my kit has been serviced properly. My buoyancy compensator (BC) dive jacket must be checked and serviced by a qualified technician from my local dive store.

The BC helps keep me afloat on the surface before and after the dive. It also helps me attain neutral buoyancy when underwater.

The deeper you go, the more you must inflate it with air, preventing you from plummeting to the sea bed, as the greater pressure makes you sink like a stone.

Next is the SCUBA regulator set, with the high-pressure valve and two hoses that are attached to the air tank. Rubber mouthpieces must be replaced, O-rings checked and greased. And your depth and air supply gauges tested.

Your fins and facemask must all be in good functioning order, and checked for broken straps.

Finally, check the battery and functionality of your dive computer; essential safety kit if you are doing multiple dives for consecutive days.

It calculates for you the length of the surface interval period between your different dives, reducing the likelihood of decompression sickness.

This year is very special for me. I haven’t dived for nearly four years.

Following a major lung operation, my level of physical fitness and stamina went south. And I gained ten kilos in weight.

I have a seven-inch long scar on my side where the surgeon operated on my right lung from behind. A middle and entire lower section of my lung were removed.

Post-surgery I was unable to even lift my right arm above shoulder height for nearly a year, and could not walk normally for nearly five months.

Regaining dive fitness and my self-confidence has been a real struggle. Knowing that our lungs are compressed and then expanded by the changes in pressure when diving, how will my smaller, scarred, right lung cope?

A high level of cardio-vascular fitness is key to safe diving. If you become out of breath quickly, you will use up your air supply faster, and at depth, could be in real danger. Look after your heart.

Upper body strength is another necessity when you are carrying ten to 12 kilos of equipment on your body, including your BC jacket and air tank on your back.

I won’t try too many dives.  It has been a very long recovery period, but I have managed to lose seven of the ten kilos I gained the past three years, and improved my fitness level considerably.

A refresher course to brush up on my dive skills set will also be necessary. Essential safety gear is the final box to tick on my must-do list.

A torch, to illuminate nature’s underwater beauty, but also to help signal my location to the boatman during poor light conditions.

A brightly coloured safety sausage will signal my location when underwater doing my safety stop, and the boatman can follow my location, despite the sea’s currents.  And a loud whistle is key, alerting your pickup boat to your location in low visibility situations.

Service your dive gear. Make sure you’re fit to dive. And carry the right safety gear. All are critical preparation to enjoying this year’s east coast dive season. Safely.

Travellers Tale: All creatures’ great and small

Dangerous or docile, small and large, Andrew Drummond Law recalls some animal encounters.

I am staring at a solitary animal’s leg, lying on the desert sand.

“It’s a bharal’s leg,” says my trusted Ladakhi mountain guide. The bloodied limb is all that remains of a Himalayan blue sheep, so called because of its slate grey colour that looks blue under certain light conditions.  “Looks like the remains of a wolf’s dinner from last night,” he explains matter-of-factly.

I’m in search of the Himalayan snow leopard in the snow-capped mountains of Kashmir. And now I am possibly downwind of at least one wolf hidden from view, looking for its next meal.

A few more hours trekking and we’ve ascended hundreds of meters up to the 4600-meter mark. My guide finds clearly defined paw prints in the powder-like sand.

We are not far behind the snow leopard, he says.

I suddenly feel very vulnerable in this isolated, yet heavenly part of the world, knowing that my guide and our three mountain ponies, are probably being watched by these two different predators from some vantage point.

We often forget that on our travels it is not just the different peoples, language and culture that make a foreign experience. There is also the wildlife that is often a part of a tourist attraction. 

I’m sure you’ve had your sunglasses, an earring or hat stolen by those cheeky wild monkeys you find on some beaches in Penang.

Or been warned by the guides at Uluwatu temple in Bali not to make eye contact with its tree-swinging inhabitants as you walk up the hill.

There are many of us who have taken an elephant ride tour of the jungle. It is standard tourist fare for this region. I am often told it is better for then to be used as tourist transport, than suffer long hours in the logging industry, where the harsh living conditions would bring tears to your eyes.

Stuck in a typical bumper-to-bumper Asian city traffic jam is where you often see what is on today’s menu. Trucks and motorbikes with filled cages on the back.

Chickens, rabbits, dogs and cats. Live ingredients for local restaurants.

As tourists we also visit the region’s zoos, often showcasing endangered species that are on the brink of extinction, yet presenting them to visitors in a cage that is like a prison at best, with filthy, inhumane living conditions.

Imagine a beautiful wild animal that is used to having sometimes hundreds of square kilometres for its daily activities, suddenly imprisoned within 30 square meters. Or less.

Some animal souvenirs I have seen fill me with horror.

We all know where ivory comes from. Turtle shells, animal horns, furs and skins.  Nearly always, the more expensive it is, the greater the status of owning it. And often, the greater the likelihood it is illegal.

I don’t apologise for preaching to you about animal welfare, their ethical treatment and the conservation of endangered species. Because it matters.

Malaysia’s elephants and orang-utans are increasingly threatened as logging, hunting, and plantation development envelope their environment.

I try to learn from my travel experiences. Educate myself and make up my own mind from information available from various sources, including Non Governmental Organizations (NGOs).

Locally we have the Malaysian Nature Society (www.mns.my). I have experienced at first hand the good work they carry out in raising awareness of Malaysia’s endangered species and their habitats. It is our national heritage after all.

Another excellent NGO I have followed for more than 35 years is the World Wildlife Fund (www.wwf.org.my).

Did you know you can adopt an endangered species, like a tiger? It’s the perfect way to educate, inform and create awareness among others of the plight of endangered species. Today there are less than 400 Sumatran tigers left in the world.

But there is one creature whose population continues to grow at an alarming rate that shows no signs of becoming endangered.

We are the ultimate apex predator with little respect for our environment, or its inhabitants. Read and learn about it. You can make a difference. Just don’t leave it too late.

Mortality is Life

I nearly died where I was born. Forty-three years later in  Gleneagles Hospital, Singapore.

There for a major lung operation, I was under general anesthetic and reacted very badly to it.  I had an asthma attack. 

My heart rate plummeted to a level low enough to give the surgeon and anesthetist cause for alarm.

I was having the lower part of the lung removed as a precautionary measure, after scarring showed up on an X-ray. Somehow I had contracted double pneumonia the previous month.

The X-rays showed up very obvious scarring, what could be cancerous tissue. The only way to be 100% certain it was benign, was to open up, remove a piece, and test it.

A straightforward, yet major operation. When you're cut and opened up on the table, its the worse time to be coughing hard and straining your body. 

And the extra difficulty in breathing to stay alive, isn't to be forgotten.

I remember reading patients' horror stories about the wrong side being operated on. So as I was wheeled into the OR that's all I kept saying.  "MY right side. That's the side to operate on. MY right side. Not YOUR right side."

I remember how cold it was, and waking up hours later in my room. I was so cold I was shivering. 

I was given an IV-fed opiate painkiller.  All I had to do was press the button and pain relief was almost immediate.

I had a nine-inch long row of stitches, plus a small hole below, that had a tube fed into it. This was to help drain the bloody liquid that would flood my lung until the internal wounds healed naturally. 

The tall transparent cylinder by my bed was full of bloody liquid, like a prop from a horror movie.

The overall pain felt like I had been mugged, beaten up, and knifed in my side. Well....I had been. And had paid one of the best for the privilege of going under his knife.

I stayed in the hospital for three nights before I was released. The four days I was there, really tested me. A grown, fit man, reduced to a bedridden state, pressing a button for the nurse to help him use the bedpan to have a crap, or a bottle to piss in.

Worse still, the throbbing pain of the incision and the drainage hole on my right side.

I hate hospitals. You go there because of pain. Yours. Friends. Family. Physical and emotional pain. You leave them in pain. They even smell of pain. And death. 

It took me three months post-op to be able to walk almost normally. My whole respiratory system was in a state of recovery. 

Just walking to the bathroom was painful.  And for the first week, I was producing enough saliva to fill up a pint glass every hour.

The muscle surrounding the incision collapsed, meaning flabbiness where once muscle had been. The nerves were cut so I couldn't feel the skin surrounding it either. 

Three years later, I am probably 60% of my former fitness level. And my right arm usage isn't as adept as it used to be. My upper body strength is now pitiful. Press-ups are a joke.

I still go for annual checkups to see whether there are any abnormal growths. I felt mortal for the first time in my life post-op.  

The positive was the time I had to read books. Time I wish I had again now.  A time to think. Analyse. Over-think. Over-analyse.

Prioritize. Think deeply about what's really important. And do it.  Or avoid doing what is no longer important. Cutting away the dead wood in my life. 

Remembering who regularly checked up on my physical and mental health. Knowing who didn't give a damn.

And now with the real knowledge that mortality is not an option. Knowing and accepting that, has made me stronger and even more determined to get what I want in life.

Friends, family, a lifestyle, a career that suits me. Not the other way around. 

Knowing mortality is living life to the full.

Rock chicks

Debbie Harry, AKA Blondie.

Ahead of her time. Independent. Eclectic. Beautiful. In control. Just a little bit sassy. 

And it goes without saying that she's talented. To the core.

Give her something everyday, and she'll turn it into something extraordinary.

Give her something boring, and she'll brighten up your day.

She glows. She knows. She smiles. 

Quietly confident. Noisily shy.

She's a magnet. In a quiet corner. It becomes the centre of the universe.

Pretend extrovert or not.  

You rock....

See Debbie Harry's photo story here