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

The Sweetest Taboo

Possibly one of my favorite songs with a video to match.

Sade (pronounced shar-day) is as beautiful as her singing.

This song from 1985 represents everything that was right (and wrong) about the eighties in London. 

Right

A love of all things Spanish. Madrid was THE place to be and visit. The colours, the people, the styling, its music, the food and drink. And of course, love and romance.

The music video is London to a tee, in terms of fashion. Check out the band members.

Distressed denim. Blue, Levi's 501s were THE cut, paired with a leather belt and large silver buckle. Red bandanas tucked into pockets.

Note the zoot suit style of trousers with braces buttoned on. The pork pie hat.  The short back and sides, grade one haircuts. With a quiff. 

My youth.

The red shirt and denim jacket. The bass guitar up high, in his face, Mark King-style. All thumb strumming. Trombonists. Acoustic guitars. Black and white. And no second rate misogynistic rapping about byatches and bling.....

And her.

The large gold hooped earrings (I love). Red lipstick. Ponytail. Kohl-framed eyes. The brows.

Her high-cut light-brown suede jacket with silver clasp (very gaucho style) and cuff detailing. And the shoulder pads....

The way she walks, and moves across to the band.....absolute sensuality in a pair of old battered jeans. Evening gown or denim make no difference. She is the embodiment of her music. It speaks for itself. No novelties needed here.  

Sophistication. Beauty. In a class of her own.

And him. Strong Latino looks, crisp white shirt, and a pair of Raybans. Enough said....

And that tune.  The drum intro, sexy jazz bar style throughout. This was wine bar muzak in every way. That haunting voice....

Wrong

I love trying to interpret lyrics. But unless you are the song writer you will always find a different understanding to its original meaning.

Is it about her loving a man already in a relationship? Who knows. Written in the mid-eighties, a lot was still considered taboo.

But at the time it was rumored that the "sweetest taboo" was a reference to skag, better known as heroin. 

Something that will always be a painful reminder for those old enough to be pubbing and clubbing in eighties London.

Her riding the horse is supposedly a metaphor for "riding the horse", or taking heroin.

She was rumored to have been a junkie for several years, before becoming successful. And to have sold her body for her fix.

To know true happiness you must know pain first. And that comes thru clearly in this song.

Fortunately that rumor was proven to be totally untrue and its more likely to be about good old love, sex and romance.

The only certainty is that when she writes on the window at the end of her video, she is spelling out the word temor, Spanish for fear.

Is the sweetest taboo fear? Maybe. But a fear of what.....falling in love? 

(ADL)

What if....another tardy response

If I could share a PBJ with you at the beach, my day would be even warmer.

Washed down with ice cold tonic, I'd be your best performer.

Taking long beautiful walks together in the forest, I hope will never end.

Lost in time, one star at a time, each and every weekend.

If we can laugh until you hurt my gut. I'll know right there, you're the right nut.

But if I had one question for Atticus Finch, I would thank you, Ma'am.

If Bruno was my brother, I'd care for him like no other.

And if Lennon never met Ono? His work would just be so-so.

If I could name my black stallion, he'd be my lifelong companion.

If I could guard my heart from temptation, from what isn't mine.

With you right there, I'd still be the first in line.

If I could cheat death, would I? Hand-in-hand, shall we try?

What if...

The Human Face of the UK's War in Afghanistan

You will never see what he has seen. He will never seem the same.

After a three-week long patrol, the 1000-yard stare...

To see the BBC's full story and more pics, please click here

David Lynch's Twin Peaks returns

This quirky, awesome, weird, strange, amazing, far out, unusual, "special" series is to return next year.

And that means an excuse to watch the old series all over again.

Read full details in today's The Guardian here