Before I Lose My Mind

Sharing The Passion: Coaching The Staff Dragon Boat Team

2012-06-14T12:58:00.001+08:00

For those of you who have been following my blog, I'm still very much a newbie when it comes to dragon boating. I'm still nowhere as fit nor strong as my team mates (our coach's latest fitness challenge for us: 100 pull ups, followed by 100 push ups, 100 squats and 100 sit ups, the challenge is how quickly you're able to finish the routine. The quickest so far is 17 minutes.. I'd be contented if I can manage the 100 pull ups!), nor am I technically consistent enough yet. But it is a sport that I thoroughly enjoy, and both Kat and I have been very fortunate to have great team mates who'd advise us on our strokes, as well as a great tough-loving coach who's always making sure that our strokes are efficient and consistent. He's come up with loads of interesting drills to make sure that we get more power from each stroke because unlike the younger teams (like the universities), we simply aren't as fit nor strong as them. It's about being smarter.

My enjoyment of dragon boating got rekindled last year during my school's inter-department race, and subsequently, Kat and I joined Naga. Because of our travel schedule this year, I wouldn't be able to join my department for this year's inter-department race, but I decided to join them for their training in a coach's (ahem.. simply because I know something about dragon boat) role. What a great excuse to get out of the office on a mid-week afternoon and be a passenger in the boat for once!

The staff who turned up were a mixture of participants from last year, and also several new members, some of whom who aren't the most active. But hey, they were there and ready for an experience, so that's a great start. After paddling around a little, I got them to do some drills that my coach used on us to get our technique right, and then it was off to put everything together for more paddling around the river. It was a challenge trying not to be ambitious by doing too much with them in a short space of time, yet making sure that they are taught the necessary skills.

There's no better to gauge the effectiveness of your training than to have a race, so we got the other 2 departments who were also training for a couple of friendly races. After some final instructions, the race started! I was really pleased that the department were following instructions really well, focusing on getting a good catch and power on the paddle rather than worrying about the stroke rate of the other boats. True enough, although our stroke rate was lower, our starts gave us a good lead, and we never looked back. I was extremely happy that everyone kept rowing although they were tired, and nobody was terribly out of sync. On their part, my colleagues were so happy to see the outcome of their training. The spirit was high and they made plans to catch up over dinner at the nearby hawker centre. And that's what I loved about the sport of dragon boat, the building of comaraderie, and the usually sedentary members realising how much fun it can be despite the physical challenge. Although they were complaining about feeling tired, and aches and pain when they got in to work this morning, they were chatting excitedly about the experience, using dragon boat lingo (already!), searching for YouTube videos on draogon boating, and some even doing "air rowing" to practice their strokes.

It was such a great feeling and when I told my coach about it, he had this to share, "As long as they are willing to listen and learn, the sport is for everyone".

Food Places: J & J Special Beef Noodles

2012-05-01T20:20:00.000+08:00

As much as I love eating, I surprise myself with the fact that I've yet to write about food places yet, so here's my first entry. My inspiration came from our usual post dragonboat training early dinner, and last weekend, it was at the Old Airport Road hawker centre. For those of you who are not familiar with the Singapore scene (if you ARE from Singapore but don't know the hawker centre.. which rock have you been living under?!), the hawker centre is located just a 10 minutes' drive away from Suntec City, and for dragonboaters, a mere 5 minutes' drive away from the Kallang Water Sport Centre (where we train). The place is literally chock full of delightful eats, so if you want a place where you can try some nice local food in a wholesome environment, cooked by hawkers who actually run their own foodstalls.

We stumbled upon this stall purely by accident. It's located at the side closer to the Dakota train station, where it's quieter, and easier for us to find seats for our group. Most of us usually venture towards the famous stalls like the famous western food stall (known for its garlic sauce), rojak, soya beancurd, etc. The first time I'd ordered from J&J Special Beef Noodles, it was purely because I was too damned lazy to walk too far after training, even if I was starving. I tried the "Beef Muscle" while Kat had the beef tendon, and both were really tender. The tendon was really soft and gelatinous, and it just melts in your mouth. A friend of ours reckoned that it's full of collagen, something that the ladies would be interested to know.

We were back there again after training last weekend and some of our team mates who actually had no intention of eating because they were heading off to a gathering after that, tried what we ordered and decided that it was too yummy to resist. This time, Kathy ordered the beef ball noodle (it comes with only kway teow, or flat rice noodle) soup, with slices of onion and spring onion in the stock, and it reminded us very much of the lovely bakso that we had in Manado, Indonesia. The soup was kinda brothy without being too salty, and had a hint of sweetness which I reckon comes from the onion. Being the very boring person that I was, I wanted something without the carbs, I'd ordered the same "beef muscle" again. The beef and the tendon are cooked in soy sauce, and dipped in the chilli that comes with it, provides a great combination of flavour with just enough bite in your mouth without being too much heat. In fact, the soy sauce based gravy reminded our friend Kheng of "kong bak pau" or braised pork belly slices wrapped in steamed bun. And J&J does sell that combination of "beef muscle" with steamed bun. Our group ordered quite a number of items from the menu because they enjoyed what they'd sampled, and so we had a bit of a J&J buffet spread on our table.

If you're in the neighbourhood and wanna try something different or not willing to queue at the usual stalls, do give this shop a try! It's located at #01-162. And do check out our friend's food blog, this guy's a huge foodie and his pictures are lovely! The blog just started started, so do keep going back if you want some ideas of where to go for your gastronomical fix.

My lousy picture does little justice to the braised beef muscle, pictured here with the steamed bun

The beefball noodle soup

Living By "The Paradoxical Commandments"

2012-05-01T08:02:00.000+08:00

While I was on my way home after my evening gym workout one day, I swung into the supermarket to pick up some groceries to prepare dinner. While I was queuing at the checkout counter, I couldn't help but notice the glum faces in the queue, and customers were ignoring the politeness of the cashier to the point of being rude. Understandably, with each glum customer, her energy level just got lower and lower, until it came to a point when her Ps and Qs seemed so contrived and tired.

Just before I came down to the supermarket, I had the lift door slam in my face just as I was rushing to get into the lift but the lady in the lift just couldn't be bothered to hold it although I'd called out to her to hold the lift.

The book by Kent Keith

The whole evening made me wonder why should I bother being polite and nice to people when chances are, I'll be met with indifference and even rudeness. I know that kindness begets kindness.. but only occasionally, it seems. I've even felt that people would just think that I'm weak to give way to them. Then one day, I was attending the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People" workshop, and I came across "The Paradoxical Commandments", written by Kent Keith (when he was 19 years old!). The poem had hung on the wall of Mother Teresa's home for the children in Calcutta (India), and had been wrongly attributed to her, although the version below was rewritten by her in a more spiritual way. Anyway, I find great meaning in the poem, and I hope that you find the strength in the words, just as I had:

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Day 7- When A Flushing Toilet Is A Novelty

2012-04-28T18:47:00.000+08:00

Gemma, a buddy of Kat and myself, had mentioned that my blog included lots of references to toilets, so I thought I might prove her right again by including the subject of toilets in the title of this blog.

For the first time since the trek began, I had slept like a baby and not waking up once through the night! Perhaps it was because of the hard work of the previous day, or it could also be because of the fact that we're down at 3100 metres, where the air is richer with oxygen as compared to the past couple of days. Nevertheless, we still had to get up early so that the porters could take down our tents, and then there was the delicate matter of tipping.

I've always hated the intricacies of tipping, especially when there's no set rule such as a 10% charge off the total cost. I've read on several blogs that the matter of tipping requires some negotiations with the guide, and there's actually an interesting guide on tipping on this website which I'm sure would be useful for those of you who are planning a trip to Kilimanjaro. Thankfully, our tips have already been factored into the cost of our trip, and when Swee Chiow announced the tips to our entourage, they were happy enough to break into song and dance. It was a joyous display, and understandably so because we were the last big group of the season and with the rainy season upon us, this would be their last wage for a couple of months. I thought I'd captured all the singing and dancing, until I reviewed the clips and was horrified to see that only 1 miserly minute of the 6 minutes was captured. Nice... I must've left some of my already miniscule brain up on Uhuru Peak. Am sure it wasn't even much of a snack for the little four-striped mice anyway.

We weren't told of this beforehand but you could bring along your old (but working) trekking gear along as a gift to any deserving guide or porter. The locals hardly earn enough to buy the necessary gear, so if you don't want your gear anymore, it'd be much appreciated by them. Since I was thinking of getting a water proof hat when I get home, I decided to give Joseph my hat since it would be hot and sunny when the season opens.

It looks like a boulevard of nature, doesn't it?

I was glad that I brought along my knee support and I'd slipped it on just for the psychological boost, but because I'd transferred the weight to my left knee so as to take the strain off the right, my left knee was starting to hurt as well. Fortunately, there were less steps on the final day, and it soon gave way to long downhill slopes. The narrow trails gave became wide semi-paved tracks where we were told is used by the rangers' 4x4 vehicles, until finally.. the ranger's hut that marked the end of the trail! We had arrived! After 7 days on the trail, out of civilisation and seeing the same faces everyday, it sure felt good to exit the trail. We had to wait around to sign out off the trail (we had to sign in at the end of each day at the ranger's hut, which I thought is a great idea to keep track of trekkers), so we went to the toilet, which turned out to be a bit of a novel experience for us. Seven days ago when we first started using the field toilets, it felt so weird not flushing after we were done (we were half expecting the person after us to yell at us for not flushing), and it just didn't feel clean not washing our hands under running water although we used wet wipes or/AND anti-septic wipes. There was a bit of silly exclamations of "Ooh!" and "Aah!" at the flush and running water, but I'll tell you that it did a bit of getting used to, like remembering to wash our hands before we walked out from the toilet.

We'd finally arrived!

It was also at this point when we started being swarmed by groups of hawkers peddling everything from handicraft, maps to even boot cleaning. With the season closing, they were desperate to earn the last bit of dollar and were following us everywhere we went. Even when we were on the bus, it didn't stop them from knocking on the window to get our attention.

Although we had started the trek from Arusha, we finished in the town of Moshi (Machame Route is a circuit), which has the reputation of being Tanzania's cleanest town, thanks to some very draconian (and Singaporean style) measures. We stopped in Moshi for lunch (had some local fare and really quite enjoyed it) before making our way back to Arusha, and then we got caught in the middle of a roving political rally. Ok, here's the lowdown on the action that took place: the incumbent Member of Parliament had passed away, and hence the by-election. His son was standing to replace his father, and they are from the political party, CCM, which has been the ruling party since independence (the party was founded by the first prime minister of Tanzania). The previous prime minister was passing through Moshi to rally support for their candidate, and coincidentally, the strongest opposition, Chadame, was also passing through. It was a very interesting half hour as we got caught in the middle of the convoy, where one side of the road lined the supporters of CCM, while the other side of the road were the supporters of Chadame. Although it was a highly charged affair, but you can also sense that it was largely good natured. Our guide was telling us that the CCM is supported largely by the older generation who are grateful for the what the CCM had done for them since the days of independence, while the younger generation are craving for change and hence support Chadame. I was struck by how similar the political situation is with Singapore.

Here's a picture of me with our guide, Joseph. This picture probably gives a good idea of how gaunt and worn out I'd looked

When we finally got back to the hotel, it was many fond farewells as the students took photos with their guides and bade them farewell. I grabbed my bag and got to the room to have a nice shower. The first shock that I had was when I took my shirt off: I had lost so much weight!! I honestly got quite frightened! Haha! In fact, fast forward to a couple of days later, Kat actually wasn't able to recognise me at the airport. The next shock was when I blew my nose, and large clumps of dried blood clots came out. As much as it sounds gross, it was painful as hell because it was kinda like ripping off the scabs to start the whole process of scabbing again. This process kept going even a week later. And after a week on the trail without shower facilities, it took me 2 washes before my hair felt squeaky clean, and I was glad that I had my wash cloth with me and it served as a loofah of sorts to scrub me down. I've probably never had a such a long shower before, but it felt so good.

Climbed it, drank it

After the shower, I made my way down to the restaurant where I reveled in the fact that I now have a choice of food, rather than having to eat whatever was cooked. As I enjoyed my dinner and looked out at the pool, I took the time to reflect upon the last 7 days, and what I had learnt. It was unbelievable how the last 7 days had gone by just like that, and although I was delighted that I had summited, I had learned a great deal of humility. I'd seen how the mountains are no place for the ego, as it is an unforgivable place and will break you down no matter how strong or fit you are (or think you are). I'm so thankful for the support that Kat and dear friends have given me, such as Joanne Soo (part of the first all-female Singaporean team to summit Mt Everest) who kept encouraging me by sharing her own stories when she was preparing for Everest, and also to Swee Chiow for his little nuggets of technical advice that had gotten me through. Of course, the guides and porters who made it all possible for us. And finally, Mother Nature for being kind to us and allowing us to summit in the mildest of conditions. I honestly cannot imagine the kind of conditions that I had read about, the blustery wind and the snow that was expected during that time of the year.

So there you have it, my big adventure for 2012. Well, there's still my Technical dives in June, but that's found on my scuba diving blog. In August, I'll be tackling Mt Kinabalu again, but this time, Kat will be with me as I told her that it'd be a shame for her not to tackle her country's highest peak. Who knows? She might get bitten by the trekking bug and join me for future expeditions. To be honest, I'm so thankful that she's not only my partner in life, but also my activity partner. There were so many occasions on the trail when I wished she could see what I was seeing.

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Day 6- Day of Days

2012-04-27T19:16:00.000+08:00

So much for going to bed early to catch some sleep. My mind was super active playing through scenarios. My usual tried and tested method of plugging my ears with music didn't work either. Before I knew it, I could hear the voices of the students who were leaving an hour before the rest of us, getting ready to leave. Oh well, I figured that I would get up earlier to wish them well and see them off.

Getting out of the tent is always a rather painful affair because of the cold. After hanging around a little, a couple of the other students started coming out of their tents because they couldn't sleep either. More students soon started coming out from their tents and we were soon huddled in the dining tent for hot drinks and biscuits for snacks. Paul was going through everyone's packs to check on the weight, and he was really strict about the amount that we were bringing along.

As expected, the wind was blowing and I've got my down jacket, fleece and merino base layers on, but I was surprised that my hands and toes weren't feeling the bite of the cold.. yet. I had liners and outer shell gloves, and liner and merino wool socks on. At midnight, it was time to go: the longest day had begun.

The first part was easy enough, scrambling a little over the boulders which marked the entrance/exit to the camp, but soon, the long climb up the mountain of scree began. We were really fortunate that the expected blustery wind didn't kick up, and in fact, we felt a little warm from the exertion. Unlike other days, we were taking breaks every half hour, and on a day like this, it was especially important for us to keep our breaks to no more than 5 minutes. In fact, in that 5 minutes, we could actually feel the cold and our energy getting sapped.

My plan for summit day was pretty much the same strategy for the past couple of days: keep my head down, keep moving one foot ahead of the other with as little effort as possible, and keep my eyes on my heart monitor while monitoring my breathing. Knowing well that it was an estimated 7 hours up, I tried not to keep track of time so as not to concern myself with potentially demoralising thoughts like "how much longer to go?". When I decided to sneak a peek at my watch, I was pleasantly surprised to see what we were halfway through the expected 7 hour journey up the mountain, and I was still feeling good. Apart from the lack of blustering wind (hence no worries about windchill), there was no snow despite the fact that the rainy season had just started. However, the water in our bladder had frozen despite blowing the liquid in the tube back into the bladder. Thankfully, the water in our Nalgene didn't freeze, and that kept us going, and I was thankful for the oat biscuits that I popped to keep my energy level up.

We soon came to the toughest part of the climb, where the scree was so deep that a third of my trekking pole sank in and I punched my trekking poles into the ground just to get better support. Each step we took, we lost our footing and slipped down lower. It wasn't just a physically challenging time, but also one that tested us mentally, and it soon took a toll on many of the students as they started to fall behind and the group started to separate. Soon, it was just me and 2 other students, with our guide, Joseph.

To encourage the group, Joseph pointed out some lights along the horizon and told us that it was Stella Point, a major landmark for us as it would mark the end of the steepest portion of the climb. When we crested Stella Point, we were so happy because I knew that the summit was at most an hour away. By this time, we could see that the sky was starting to get lit up from the rising sun. It actually energised us and we found the energy to walk faster, only to have Joseph call out to us "Pole Pole!". Oops! Let's not throw caution to the wind although we have only less than 200 metres of altitude to go.

Sunrise, as seen from Stella Point

As we trudged closer, we started passing the first trekkers that we'd seen all night. The good thing about climbing during that time of the year, was that there was hardly anyone else. In fact, we were the only group on the summit trek (on the Machame Route) that night. We passed a pair of trekkers who called out to us, encouraging us to push on as it was just a bit more to go. At 6.45am, we were arrived at the summit. After months of training, mentally preparing for the possibility that I might not make it to the summit, the support and encouragement from Kat and many of my friends.. all of that emotion came flooding into me and I admit that I teared up at the summit. I had done it. Although I was feeling better than I'd expected all the way up, I just could not believe that after months of preparation, after all the worrying, I was finally at the roof of Africa.

At last!

There was another pair of trekkers who reached the summit before we did, and one of them was obviously very tired and was resting in front of the summit sign. We were in no hurry as we had planned to wait for the rest of the group to catch up, so I called Kathy on the satellite phone to let her know that I had reached the summit (she was waiting for my call) and then called my boss to let him know that we'd arrived. Joseph was concerned about the exposure and so he started to hurry us. We took our summit photos, and then proceeded to make our way down the mountain. We made a slight detour to the see the glacier, but my student and I quickly realised it wasn't the best idea because the volcanic ash was really soft and deep, so it took a lot of energy to negotiate the slope. We decided quickly that we'd seen enough and decided that we should preserve our energy for the descent.

As we approached Stella Point, we met the first of our group that were making their way to the summit, and we offered them all the encouragement and when we stood at the edge, we were daunted by what we saw: an impossibly long way down back to camp, covered with loose scree. What we had gone through in those 7 hours finally struck us, and honestly, if it was daylight, we might've gotten demoralised going up, seeing how much further we had. I decided to ski/run down the slopes and quickly realised it wasn't gonna be easy as my knee started to hurt and for the first time since the trek started, I was really starting to feel the fatigue. In fact, the two students with me were also struggling hard as well. Come to think about it, it was the longest day for us, after 7 hours of climbing, we now have to drag our weary bodies back to camp. We used all kinds of strategies, like skiing down and then taking breaks, to walking down slowly before taking a break. Either way, we were physically and mentally exhausted, and we fell plenty of times when the scree under our feet gave way.

It's a long way down to the glacier

Looking down the endless slope of scree

We finally arrived at a point where the landscape flattened out somewhat and when we turned a corner, we were confronted by another deep valley before we could actually reach the camp. That dealt another blow to us psychologically. The sun by now was blasting down on us. Well, there really wasn't any other choice but to just do what I'd been doing for the past week, that is to keep moving one foot ahead of the other. It felt so alone in the totally barren and desolate landscape, devoid of vegetation. The ground beneath our feet soon from scree to broken slabs of slate, and walking over them felt like I was walking over broken pieces of floor tiles. It honestly felt like an eternity and I just couldn't see where the camp was until I caught sight of the ranger's hut. After negotiating a few of the boulders, I realised that I was approaching camp, and as I walked into camp at about past 11am, some of the porters who didn't follow us to the summit came up to shake my hand, and after a drink from the kitchen helper, I throw my pack into my tent and collapsed on my mat to rest. However, I could hardly fall asleep because the sun was blasting down on my tent and turned it into a greenhouse, so even though we were high up on the mountain, it felt REALLY hot.

I managed to catch some sleep and got most of my packing done, and welcomed the rest of the larger group back into camp as they staggered in. Almost everyone had made it up the summit, with the immense help of the guides and porters, and even those who didn't make it, came back with an great sense of satisfaction knowing that they've done the best they could. We grabbed a late lunch and at about 3pm, we started to make our way down to Mweka Camp (3100m). Yup, the day was definitely not over yet, and after spending a good part of the week inching almost 4000m to acclimatise, we would descend about 1500metres in 4 hours.

Kilimanjaro was the reverse of Mt Kinabalu for me, where I had suffered during the ascent but breezed down the descent. My right knee was in total agony on the descent down Kilimanjaro because it was hurting so much when I bent it, and it came to a point when it was starting to lock up. I was massively grateful as I staggered into camp at about 6.30pm. Eighteen and a half hours after our day started, the day has finally ended. We were surrounded by the lush greenery once more, and I was so grateful to climb into my tent. As I was wiping myself with the wipe wets, I thought to myself "one more day" as my knee throbbed with pain. Off to dinner for one final dinner by the candlelight, one final briefing for the following day. Many of us had thought that it would be warmer after descending 1500 metres, but we were wrong as we started dashing back for our fleece, gloves and even down jackets. After dinner, no one really hung around much as fatigue really kicked in and by 8pm, I was already in my sleeping bag and fast asleep.

Here are the final numbers:
Total time: 18hour30minutes
Max Heart Rate: 155bpm
Average Heart Rate: 131bpm
Total calories burnt: 12150 calories

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Day 5 It's All So Close Now

2012-04-13T23:58:00.000+08:00

Frost, on my tent

Woke up today and found that instead of a tent flap, I had a tent door instead. Yup, it was another freezing night and my tent flap had pretty much frozen solid, and I had frost falling on me when I opened the flap. Another day below freezing temperature, and it's hardly surprising considering that we were pretty close to the summit.

It was a short day today, where we got into high camp, Barafu Camp (4600m), which was also our final camp before the summit attempt. As we were already in the arctic desert zone, the day's trek was a walk through the barren desolate land, under the gaze of the glacier. With this being the 5th day on the trek, my legs were starting to strain under the exertion of the climb. The inside of my nose was hurting like crazy too because of the freezing dry air, and it made sleeping at night really uncomfortable. The only solution was to pull the Buff over my nose so as to have a warm protective layer which might help warm and even put some moisture back in.

So close...

Swee Chiow was really happy today because we had become so efficient with our stops, we actually made it into camp in 2hours and 45minutes, better than the expected 3 hours. In fact, we had actually got into the camp before all the porters did, so we had to wait around a little while the porters caught up with our duffle bags. As we were on the steeper part of the mountain and was strewn with large boulders, it was really cramped. Thankfully, it was only our group at the campsite.

Due to the fact that we had to leave camp for our summit attempt at midnight (a couple of the slower students would be leaving at 11pm so as to have a headstart), we had an early dinner at 5pm. I'm not sure if it was because lunch was merely a few hours ago, or it was because of the nervous anticipation of our longest day ever (an estimated 7 hours up, 7 hours down, a quick rest at high camp, then 4 hours down to Mweka Camp, our last camp of the entire trek), but I just didn't have that much of an appetite that evening. "Wow... last camp of the trek... that's quick...", my minded wandered before I shook myself with the realisation that before I could get to the last camp, there's still the matter of 7 hours of a steep climb on a slope covered in deep scree.

After dinner, our head guide, Paul, came into the dining tent as usual to give our brief for the following day, except this day, it was different: it was THE brief for the most important day of our trek. Paul has done about 200 summits on Kilimanjaro, and he had this ominous message for us: all of the guides, almost all of whom have chalked up over 100 summits, still feel the bite of the cold on their finger tips and toes, no matter how covered up they were. There wasn't much we could do about it, but to put up with it and push on. A valuable tip that Paul shared, and one that I'd never read about is about preventing our Nalgene bottles from completely freezing. We had already planned to keep our Nalgene in a bottle insulator to keep the water from freezing, but Paul suggested that we keep our bottles upside down in the insulator so that if it does start to freeze, it would be the bottom of the bottle that froze first, ensuring that we would still be able to drink from the bottle. Genius! And because of all the exertion, we were told to keep our backpacks as light as possible. In fact, he told us to have just 2 litres of water because we wouldn't be losing much hydration due to the fact that it was night. That, I'm not so sure if trekking at night would mean losing less hydration.

Back to my tent after dinner, I took the opportunity to repack my backpack and change to new lithium batteries for my headlamp. I brought along less food, mainly just oatmeal biscuits that were bite-sized, ensuring that it'd be easy to pop whole into the mouth for quick energy. After a quick entry into my Moleskin notebook, I tried to turn in and catch some sleep before waking up at 11pm for supper. Yeah right.. wishful thinking. On the previous nights on the trek, I had SO many problems trying to fall asleep, and honestly, although I was mentally exhausted from the lack of sleep, all I could think about was the summit attempt. I kept thinking about scenarios, and how I could plan for the contingencies. "What if" kept going through my head over and over again. I honestly cannot remember if I managed to catch any sleep at all, and even if I did, it might've been merely minutes. Nothing I did could help me get some much needed sleep. Before I know it, it was 11pm.. time to go to the dining tent and get ready.

4 months of preparations, 5 days on the trek later... the time had come.

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Day 4 Scrambling Up and Down

2012-04-11T19:27:00.000+08:00

Up the wall we go

The night before in the dining tent, I was sharing that it was "hump day", meaning it was the mid point of the trek, between the start of the trek and summit day. There was plenty of excitement leading up to the trip, but now that the trek had started, and 3 days down, the nerve were starting to really kick in, and Barranco Wall would be an interesting challenge. We'd seen photos of the Wall and also videos of climbers going up the wall, and it was certainly no trek. I mean, it's called "Wall" for a reason, so there'd be times when we'd have to use our hands as well to get up the wall.

The morning was the first of the minus 5 degrees ones, and we were amused that the water in the wash basins (that the porters leave out for us when we wake up to wash up) had frozen into solid discs. After breakfast, as we were getting our backpacks on, we could already see that some trekkers had started their way up the wall, and I tell you, I had to squint hard to see them clearly. No, my eyesight was perfectly fine. It was because they were quite far away and so small on a large wall.

Click to enlarge the vid, and try to locate the climbers

As I'd reckoned that my hands would be preoccupied with the scrambling, I decided to dispense with Kat's Panasonic GX-1 camera and strapped on the GoPro on my head. I was hoping that I would be able to get some nice video grabs of the scrambling up the wall from a first person point of view (yeah, Blair Witch camera motion that makes you nauseate from motion sickness). No luck with that. Seems like the freezing temperature had wreaked havoc with the GoPro, and it was flashing through all the modes. I'd previously brought it down to 60m depth underwater and it still performed well, so looks like temperature had finally defeated it, albeit temporarily. Oh well, no luck then.

The amazing porters. Nothing stops them

I must admit that although I was nervous as I approached the wall, when I started the first bit of scrambling, I started to realise why people told me that the scrambling would be fun! It was definitely a nice and refreshing change from the last 3 days of trudging along on our feet, hands on the trekking poles. For the scramble up Barranco Wall, I had to figure out the best places to put my foot on to push myself up, and also which hold would be best to push or pull myself. I'd done a little bit of sport climbing before, so the prior (albeit limited) experience was useful, and even made the whole experience fun. I'd read in some places that the if you're afraid of heights, going up Barranco Wall would be scary, and to be honest, I've yet to decide whether I'm actually afraid of heights. But when I was on the Wall and I looked back, seeing how much ground we've covered, seeing how small our camp seemed from up where we were, gave me a thrill.

After an hour and half, the whole team had made it up to the top of the wall, and the view from the top was breathtaking. From the top of the Wall, you have a commanding view of the Kibo volcanic cone, and the surrounding landscape. It was the perfect photo opportunity and Swee Chiow practically set up an outdoor photo studio and got each member of the team on top of a rock for photo shots. Unfortunately, I've yet to get a copy of mine, so I can't post it here. But I still managed to get a student to take a picture of me up there. For the first time since the trek started, the whole team was together on the trail, enjoying themselves. The sun was out, the weather was warm, everyone was happy. Half an hour later, it was time to move on.

Going over the top, the trail continued with many up and down sections across small streams and then up to the Karanga campsite. Now, keep in mind that the Barranco Wall is a 250metre near vertical rise, so the descent on the other side wasn't going to be a walk in the park. It was rather steep and with numerous patches of wet boulders, and also parts of the trail was broken rocks, so it was rather dangerous at times. We were advised to use just one trekking pole so that we have a hand free to do a bit of scrambling. One or two parts required us to stretch and lower ourselves down to the next boulder because some of the boulders were pretty darned big. At the bottom of the descent (as you can see, it's a valley), it's a bit of a river flowing through, and once we were over that, it was another climb. Well, same ol' same ol' again, up we climbed.

3.5 hours after we started, we'd reached Karanga Camp (4200metres), earlier than what we had anticipated, and everyone was delighted at the efficiency with time. After identifying my duffle bag and it was sent to my tent, I took the opportunity to catch a nap before lunch, and another one after lunch. As we'd gotten into camp just after noon, it meant that we had a lot of time. I was glad to see some of the students sitting with the guides and some of the porters, chatting with them and finding out about life and the culture in Tanzania. When I woke up from my nap, I also had a chat with a couple of the guides and found out much about Tanzania, the politics, the people, and its post-independence policies to foster nation building. Overall, it was a very good afternoon for me, getting to know a country that its people had welcomed us.

View from the top

Down the other side of the wall we go

Down into the valley, up the trail that you see, and our camp is at the top

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Day 3 A Day of Ups and Downs

2012-04-10T19:41:00.000+08:00

Not again, yet another night of restless sleep, despite being really tired after evacuating the student to the ranger's station. All I got was a couple of hours' of good sleep, before waking up in the wee hours of the morning, shivering from the cold (the temperature had dropped to below freezing) and the strong wind blowing. A number of us were woken up by the banging of the toilet's roof which was blown up by the strong wind. Getting out of the sleeping bag, I could feel the nip of the cold.

Today, we would be climbing to the highest altitude than most of us had previously done so, which so far had been Mount Kinabalu (4095m). I knew it was gonna be a long day, and going up to an altitude that I've never been, I gotta admit that I was feeling a bit apprehensive, although I'd been taking Diamox from the day before Day 1 on the trek. As we got ready to go, I was feeling the slightest of ache in my legs, which got me paranoid. Then again, it could be paranoia that was making think that I have a slightest of ache in my legs. At the back of my mind, I was worrying if the lack of sleep and the late night evacuation just a few hours before was going to get to me.

Lava Tower

Trekking up towards Lava Tower (4630m), it was expected it was going to be an upward trek from the word "go!" (or in Swee Chiow's favourite words, "Let's rock and roll!"). Speaking of rocks, the vegetation started getting sparse, as the terrain became rockier and even the bits of vegetation were dwarf shrubs, with the only tall form of vegetation being the giant Senecios, a mutant pineapple looking plant that grew in the alpine desert. Trekking along, I was able to see the wide expanse of rocks of on the rolling terrain, with the cloud sweeping in now and then. The temperature would also vary depending on whether the sun is out or not.

The giant Senecios in the background

During on the rest stops, Swee Chiow took out his GPS to get a reading of the altitude, and told us that we were about 4200m, the highest that most of us had ever been. Of course for Swee Chiow, this is less than half of the highest he'd experienced (8840m). And since none of us had ever been this high, some signs of altitude sickness started showing for some of the students as we continued our way up to Lava Tower. Many of them were having the classic syndrome of a throbbing headache, while a couple of them were nauseous.

Barranco Wall at the back. You can see the trail on the left

We finally arrived at Lava Tower sometime after 1pm, where we stopped for lunch before going down to Barranco Camp at 3860m. Yup, after all that effort, we'd lose the 800m gain in height and end up with a net gain of.. *drum roll please*.. 20m over the previous night at Shira Camp. The whole purpose of climbing to the altitude and then going down to a lower camp, follows the climbing maxim of "climb high, sleep low", which aids acclimatisation greatly. Generally, it is not recommended to climb to a gain of more than 300m in a day, but with "climb high, sleep low", it exposes the body to an higher altitude to allow the body to adapt to the conditions (adapt to the lower oxygen level and increasing production of red blood cells), then descending to allow the climber to rest properly.

Lava Tower is a rock tower formed thousand of years ago by molten lava which formed the tower and then solidified and hardened as it cooled. As we trudged around the rock to get to a sheltered area away from the wind for lunch, we passed a couple of tents which had set up camp at that altitude. Sitting down for lunch, we ripped open our lunch packs to see the content: chicken, sandwiches and fruits. I wasn't so keen on the chicken since I found the chicken that we had during lunch on day 1 to be pretty darned tough, but I was so hungry, I just tore right into it and thoroughly enjoyed it. While we were eating, the familiar ravens and mice were hanging around waiting for the scraps again.

Going down from Lava Tower to Barranco Camp proved to be a teeny weeny preview of summit day. Some parts were quite steep, and covered with scree (broken rock fragments and loose rocks). Joseph took the chance to get us mentally prepared by telling us that the steepness was going to be something like 6 hours long, with the scree 3 times deeper. Descending to a lower altitude eased the headache for some of the students, but descending on scree also made the footing unsure. I was quite glad when the scree slopes ended and we scrambled over rocks. Stopping occasionally, the surrounding rock structures were breathtaking, with several caves and increasing number of Senecios, and with the fog rolling in, it was quite a surreal scenery: this was the Barranco Valley.

Just before 3.30pm, with fog getting thicker and obscuring the sun, it was getting a little dark, so we were ecstatic to get into Barranco Camp, almost 8 hours after departing from Shira Camp this morning. As we got into camp and started identifying our bags for the porter to bring into our tent, we couldn't help but notice Barranco Wall, 250metres high. What was daunting was seeing the trail that went up the wall, seeming so small, hence making the wall look a lot bigger and higher than the 250 metres. Oh well, "whatever will be, will be", we told each other, and that's basically been our motto so far. We'll just take each step at a time, and we'll reach the top when we get there. There was simply no point in stressing ourselves out ahead of time and worrying about the future.

As I walked around taking pictures of some of the desert flora, I made the mistake that Joanne (who was part of the first team of Singaporean women who summited Mt Everest) had warned us about before our trip: standing up too quickly. With oxygen getting increasingly scarce, standing up quickly would cause you to be dizzy, and it was definitely not a good thing to be feeling dizzy in front of some cactus. A potential "ouch!" situation.

Here's the numbers for the day:

Max heart rate: 145bpm

Average heart rate: 128bpm

Total calories burnt: 4935

Total time on trek: 7 hours 50 minutes


Garden of Senecios

Kilimanjaro 2012: Day 2 Finding My Pace

2012-04-08T21:10:00.000+08:00

I've never been a fan of sleeping bags, and the horrid combination of not being able to sleep in a new environment (even in a nice hotel on a nice bed) meant that I hardly caught any sleep all night. I guess it was also because of the excitement, looking ahead to the coming days ahead.

The amazing porters

Our typical breakfast comprised of oatmeal, bread (there was jam, peanut butter and margarine), eggs, sausages and food. Our usual routine before breakfast was to make sure that we clear our tents before going for breakfast, so we have to pack everything away into the duffle bag and leave it out for the porters, and the tents would also be taken down and packed, ready for transportation to the next camp. It's amazing how efficient the porters are (we had 50 porters for the 19 of us). We would leave camp at least an hour before they do, and yet, they would've caught up with us after an hour (mind you, they do it with 20kg packs on their heads) and raced ahead of us so that camp can be set up by the time we arrive. Of course, they're more conditioned than we are, therefore they are able to work harder without feeling so much the effects of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) or altitude sickness. But that being said, there's no doubting the seriously hard life that they have. I felt so sorry for a porter (from another group) who was throwing up at the side of the trail, presumably from the effects of AMS. While trekkers like us could afford to give up and turn back, he's dealing with his livelihood. Joseph (our guide) was telling me about how he started out as a porter (all the guides start out as porters, before moving up the ranks to being cooks/ kitchen hands or assistant guides, and then taking an exam to be certified as a guide), that because of the weight on his neck for the long period, he couldn't turn his head for some time. So whenever someone called him, he would have to move his whole body to look at the person.

Today's trek was definitely harder than day 1, with plenty of ups and downs, as we made our way to Shira Camp at 3840m. It was pretty much a whole day of of different terrains, with rainforest vegetation giving away to shorter ones, and vegetation was also getting sparse as we encountered more rocks. Certain sections were narrow and winding, even needing a bit of scrambling. There's something about moving up and down, climbing over one peak after another, and it kind of got to us mentally as we started asking our guides how much further have we got. It really wasn't about the fatigue, I guess it's quite disorientating going up and down when we expect to the going up... I mean, we were supposed to be climbing a mountain. The fog that kept rolling in and out made the mood a little depressing for me as well. Guess I was missing the sun already.

I was also careful of how my body might take the ups and downs, always worried that my body might start breaking down soon. While following Swee Chiow, he gave me a very good piece of advice that I reckoned helped me through the trip: if you find yourself breathing too hard, you probably are working too hard. He also explained that the reason why older climbers fare better is because they are able to breathe rhythmically. So whenever I found myself breathing harder, I'd take a quick look at my heart rate monitor and if it was indeed higher than 140bpm (that was the threshold that I'd set for myself because any lower than 140bpm, I felt very comfortable. If you wish to try my method, I'd advise that you find out the "magic number" that works for you), I'd tell myself "pole pole", and slowed my pace down CONSIDERABLY, and practically dragged my feet along just to make sure that work as lazily as possible (my rational was that I wanted to use as few muscles as possible). It was a tactic that worked really well for me all the way up, and it's something that I will keep using for my future climbs.

White-necked raven

We took a longer break on a plateau, where we got acquainted to the local fauna, namely the four-striped grass mouse and the white necked raven. These guys are really contrasting on the cute factor: the mice were scampering around, hoping for food to fall for them, but shy as can be, while the ravens were in your face, sometimes coming so close that I reckoned that it was going to snatch the food right out of our hands. They stand at 50-54cm with a weight of almost 900g!! Check out the beak on that face that only a mother would love.

Thankfully, just as the sun appeared, we caught sight of our camp. We were really pleased with the short day, finishing about 5 hours after starting. The camp was set up on a flat expanse of desert like land, and the first thing we noticed was that it was VERY windy and there were so many ravens hanging around. A couple of the students decided to take advantage of the sunny day to sun their clothes on the rocks, while keeping a weary eye out for the ravens that were hanging around. While they didn't have an appetite for socks, we did see the ravens tear up a plastic bag and eat it up.

Lunch was macaroni with minced beef, and it was such a welcomed meal! Not only were carbohydrates essential to replenish our body's fuel system, but being a meat lover like myself, I was grateful for a nice hot meal like that. Plus, with the early end to the day, I was grateful that I could rest up, pack up bags, and catch a nap to make up for my lack of sleep at night.

Shira Camp, with magnificent view of Cathedral Rocks

One thing I noticed was that a number of students were lagging behind and weren't back in camp even after we'd finished lunch. When they returned, I found that they were either suffering from fatigue or nausea (some even vomited), all of which are primary symptoms of altitude sickness. We were particularly concerned about one student who hadn't really managed to keep any fluids down. In the evening, Swee Chiow passed out the oximeter which measured our heart rate and the amount of oxygen in our red blood cells. Most of us were in the range of 80-90%, which was normal at altitude, but we were concerned about the student whose reading had dropped to 66%. Swee Chiow gave him a Diamox and his oxygen saturation raised to 88%. But the point of concern was that he still wasn't holding down any fluids, and didn't have any dinner either. We huddled together and decided that we would wait until the morning to see if his condition would improve further. However, just before dinner, the student came to us to tell us that he wasn't feeling any better and wanted to get off the mountain. It was probably the best decision for him because any further up, evacuating him would've require greater logistics (via helicopter) as it was the last camp where evacuation by road would be possible.

While his gear was being packed up, Paul (our local chief guide) administered oxygen, and some of the local guides were summoned to help with the evacuation. Swee Chiow, myself and my colleague set off with the local guides who were holding on to the student as they skilfully maneuvered him quickly over the rocks to get to the ranger station on a very blustery night, with just the headlamps for illumination. Following the local guides, I was full of admiration of the skills of the guides. When we returned to the hotel after the 7 days and I managed to speak to the student, I asked him if he was exerting much effort and he said that he felt as if he was floating along as the guides helped him along. Seeing how dehydrated the student was that night, it was really worrying, but he was still lucid as he was still able to laugh at a lame joke that I made.

After the student was evacuated and sent off to the hospital in Moshi for observation, we were joking on the way back that we were having our rehearsal for the summit attempt. And to be honest, it was really a rehearsal for me as I eventually used the same kit for the summit attempt. I had a chance to experience the blustery cold wind which was to be expected on summit day, and I was pleased to find that I was well protected. By the time we got back to camp, it was almost 2am and I was really tired (mentally) and I collapsed into my tent, mindful of the demands of the following day: the high climb to Lava Tower (4630m) for acclimatisation, and then descending down to Barranco Camp to sleep low. It was going to be a long day.

Here's my readings for the day:

Total calories used: 4935calories
Max heart rate: 145bpm
Average heart rate: 128bpm

Kilimajaro Expedition 2012: Day 1 Plugging Through The Rainforest

2012-04-06T18:10:00.000+08:00

Well, today's the day. We hopped onto the bus which took us from Arusha to Machame, where we will start our 7-day trek. For me, the first day would be a test because it's a 6-hour long trek, and I remembered that my last climb up up a mountain (Mount Kinabalu, 4095m) basically killed my quads. Granted, we'd be training heaps (8 hour treks), I'd also learnt my lesson of making sure that I replenish my salts, and unlike Kinabalu, the trek up Kilimanjaro is gradual (read: NO STEPS!). So many people had told me that climbing Kinabalu would be easy but they've obviously never climbed it in the kind of conditions that I climbed in: through a storm with the wind gusting, making conditions really cold. Some of the students were told that if they can't afford base layers, they could make it with several layers of dri-fit tee-shirts, a sweater and a jacket. What a massive mistake! I'm thankful that I had a base layer that I used for drysuit diving, a fleece that I'd had for some time, and a half decent outer shell. I had a hard time fighting the nip on my fingers and also my face because my gloves were soaked through (bad advice from a shop which reckoned that I won't need waterproof gloves because it won't rain) and my double layer of Buff just couldn't keep the rain out. Although I managed to summit, I was massively humbled, and I swore that I'd never take the mountain for granted anymore. I'd read up heaps about Kilimanjaro, made sure that I had the appropriate gear (thankfully, we had an experienced guide in Khoo Swee Chiow, an adventurer who'd summited Mt Everest three times, and he provided far better advice than what I'd received for Kinabalu).

While waiting for our local guides to sort out the administration for our expedition, we had lunch and tinkered with gear adjustments. After being introduced to the guides and some last minutes group photos, it was time to start. Walking through the gate, we could see blue monkeys scampering from tree to tree. Today's trek was very comfortable, and we were wearing the kind of clothing we would for the tropics, so there was no need for base layers. And we also learned a new word today: "pole pole", or "slowly slowly" in Swahili, words which would come to prove extremely valuable to me and eventually contributed to my ability to summit. I found the pace set by our guide, Joseph, to be extremely comfortable, and being the gadget freak that I was, I was keeping a close eye on my heart rate monitor to see how my body was adapting (yes yes, plus I wanted to see how many calories this fat man was burning). Today's trek was largely uneventful, apart from our first experience with the toilet (a really deep pit, though not wide enough to fall in, with a shed built over it). It also started to rain, which hardly came as a surprise considering that it was the start of the rainy season, which eventually proved to be a blessing as we were practically the only group on the trail.

Toilet

The most important lesson that I'd learnt today (and a lesson that I will hold dearly for future expeditions, especially in colder climate) was that we took way too much time during breaks. There wasn't a sense of urgency in getting things done fast, and we also struggled with our rain gear as we were not familiar with it and had not practiced with them previously. Swee Chiow said that we could get away with these "mistakes" or lack of urgency down in the rain forest area where it was warmer, but we could ill-afford taking such long breaks when the temperature gets colder. We took a total of about 6.5hours today, way past the 4-5 hours that he'd expected from us.

Seemed so close, but so far away

The day ended when we reached Machame Camp, where we caught the magnificent view of the snow capped mountain, which came at an appropriate time, reminding us our of our objective. Settling down for the first night, there were lots of things that we were uncertain about, like the routine of cleaning up, packing and repacking for the following night (absolutely essential as a time saver), etc. Dinner was in a larger tent when we sat around a long table, and we were greeted with snacks of popcorn, and hot drinks could be made with the tins of milk powder, Milo, coffee powder and tea bags. The first night of eating dinner was definitely a challenge, eating by the dim candlelight meant that we couldn't quite see what we were eating. Subsequently, we learned to bring our headlamps along.

Overall, it was a great day for me and I felt cautiously optimistic, none of the crazy aches that I'd felt after Day 1 of Kinabalu. Then again, while Kinabalu was just nothing but steps all the up to the camp, I'd hardly seen any steps on the first day of the trek. I gotta say that the pace that we'd been on had been very comfortable, and that might've played a big role in feeling fresh at the end of almost 6.5 hours. I was also thankful that our long training treks of 8 hours and the back to back treks (we did a long trek that started in the afternoon and ended well past midnight, and did another 5 hours trek the next day after resting for 8 hours), which was designed to get our body used to the demands of a 7 day trek. And for the number freaks amongst you, here's the data from my Polar heart rate monitor on the first day:

Time started: 12.30pm (East Africa time)
Total calories burnt: 3951
Max heart rate: 154
Average heart rate: 126

As you can see, it was really quite an easy day with an average heart rate of 126. Coming next, it's the trek to Shira Camp, another full day of trekking.

Click for the larger image to have an idea of our route

Kilimanjaro Expedition 2012: Flying is such a pain

2012-04-05T12:52:00.000+08:00

After 4 months of preparations, the big day had finally arrived. After a nightmare of a time trying to pack all the gear for the 7-days on the trail, I hauled the equipment off to the airport. As excited I was about the trip, I wasn't that excited about being away from my family, and to make matters worse, it's a 2am flight via Qatar Airways. Don't ask me why, but I hate flights that are in the middle of the night. Maybe it's because I have to wait for my flight at a time when I'm supposed to be sleeping. The flight was completely full, with most of the passengers traveling from Bali.

The flight was largely uneventful, with an excellent in-flight entertainment system (loads of movies, music, TV programmes, games, etc), which isn't surprising considering that it's Skytrax's 2011 Airline of the Year, and a 5 star airline. However, I felt that the stewardesses could be more friendly, even when you are polite to them and speak to them with them with a smile, it's still a pretty dour expression on their faces. The food was unremarkable although there was a good spread and the appetizers were pretty nice. Caught the movie "War Horse" (LOVED it!), caught a bit of sleep, and 7.5 hours later, we arrived in Doha at dawn.

Looking out onto the tarmac

I was interested in seeing Doha since it was one of the world's richest nation, and like its fellow Persian Gulf states, it's launched many multi-billion construction projects and showcase events, and most recently, winning the right to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup. In order for us to get to the terminal, we had to hop onto a bus to take us there, and there were a total of 3 different alighting points, namely for transit passengers, arrival, and premium cla$$ passengers (Oops! They actually have limousines to pick them up. Only the plebeians in economy class had to take the bus). It's not an ideal situation but apparently when the new Doha International Airport is up, things will be easier. From what I could see, there were no aerobridges that connected the planes to the terminals, thus allowing for passengers to get directly into the terminal. For all its gleaming new structures, Doha is very much like Singapore: all hardware but no heart. Travelers were greeted by stony faced staff, who can sometimes border on being rude. And I also noticed a large number of migrant workers working at the airport. I read recently that Singapore celebrated its close relationship with Qatar, that Singapore had been sharing its economic model with Qatar. I hope that Qatar hasn't picked up the Third World service standard that Singapore has.

To be brutally frank, I wasn't impressed with the Doha airport during my 2 hour transit. I had to use the toilet and I found the floors wet and even dirty, and I was mortified to find a HUGE glob of thick yellow phlegm on the toilet seat, part of which had flowed into the toilet bowl, and yet, due to its amazing viscosity, the two globs were still connected! Major gross out at 5am. I decided to walk around the terminal and it was the usual cafes and duty free shops. I took some pictures and proceeded to the glass panels to peer out on the tarmac as the sun began to break. I must express admiration for the Qataris with their battle to build over the desert. Anyway, before I could take anymore pictures, a security guard practically grabbed me by my arm and told me gruffly that I wasn't allowed to take pictures within the airport. I was perplexed because taking pictures in airports is something that almost all holidaymakers do. It wasn't as if I was taking pictures of some restricted area, like the immigration. Nevertheless, being a stranger in a strange land, I had no intention of being detained, so I put my iPhone away.

I had more opportunities to observe Qatar from the air after we took off for the Doha - Dar Es Salaam leg of the flight (yes, we had to bus out to the tarmac again), and while the city centre and waterfront developments were impressive, the outskirts of the city was very much brown in colour, which I presumed to be caused by the desert dust. This leg of the journey took us over the Gulf Peninsula, and over the Horn of Africa. Looking out of the window, it was mostly red dusty landscape, with long tracks cutting across the large stretches of land. I got a bit excited when the flight information display showed that we were flying over "Nazret". Silly me got it mixed up with "Nazareth", the childhood home of Jesus in Israel. Thing was, I was flying over Ethiopia. Apparently after World War 2, the then Emperor of Ethiopia renamed the city after the Biblical Nazareth. Since 2000, the city reverted to the name of "Adama", but "Nazret" is still widely used.

As we made the approach over Dar Es Salaam, I could see the beautiful islands off mainland Tanzania, which I later found out to be the old trading port of Zanzibar and the island of Pemba. I later found out from my mountain guide that many Western climbers would fly out there to relax after climbing Kilimanjaro. Looking at the beautiful clear azure water, it's definitely a place I'd want to visit with Kat for some scuba diving.

Disembarking from the plane, it struck us that we'd finally arrived in Africa, and continent so far away, and one that we'd never thought that we'd have a chance to visit. Moving from the international terminal to the domestic, we were greeted by a scrimmage of travel agents trying to sell us domestic tickets. The next 6 hours waiting for the Precision Air flight (Precision Air is a subsidiary of Kenya Airways) would be a restless one. The terminal was really small with just one cafe, and one bookshop. While the students sat at the cafe sipping from glass bottles of Coke (by the way, no one understood when I said I want a bottle of "Coke". I have to say "Coca Cola"), I sat at the hard plastic seat of the terminal and pondered what laid ahead, and realised that exactly a week later, I would find out if I'd summited Kilimanjaro. That made me even more restless. I'd also noticed that there were a fair number of Chinese at the airport, and remembered Tanzania's long ties with China, and that China has been making in-roads with Africa's construction, manufacturing, and exploitation of natural resources. There were also quite a number of Westerners there too, and I found out that a number of them worked for the United Nations (Arusha, Tanzania, hosts a number of United Nations' offices), although I must confess that after watching movies such as "Blood Diamond" and "Lord of War", they looked like smugglers. My bad!

Finally, it was time to leave! Boarding the little 70-seater ATR 72, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the interior of the plane looked much better than I thought it might, although the service is pretty gruff. The last time I'd flown in an prop plane was 20 years ago when I flew from Sydney to Newcastle (Australia), and that was a roller coaster ride. Remembering that experience, I was rather apprehensive about the flight, but it turned out much better than I'd expected. I had another chance to check out the city of Dar Es Salaam and I could see how densely populated the city centre was, and it was also sad to see factories spewing yellow fumes that lingered above the city sky. As we approached Kilimanjaro, Swee Chiow (our guide) pointed out a distant sighting of Kilimanjaro, and everyone got so excited.

After planning for four months and with loads of gear in our duffle bags, we were massively relieved that find that our bags have arrived together with us after the 3 flights. At almost 900m above sea level, the evening air was crisp, something that we had not expected of Africa. We were met by the local travel agent and after an hour's bus ride, we arrived at the Impala Hotel. After traveling for 24 hours, we were exhausted and just wanted to grab dinner and go to sleep. As expected, I was jet lagged and woke up several times through the night, including once at 2am (East Africa Time, GMT+3) when it was time to wake up for me at 7am in Singapore.

The following day was for us to just take it easy and recover from the jet lag, do a spot of sight seeing around town, some peer teaching for the students, and last minute packing for the 7-days ahead. For when we wake up tomorrow, it'd mark the start of the expedition proper. And the butterflies are starting to flutter in the belly.

Please feel free to leave any comment or questions on my blog!

The Mt Meru market.. stuff for tourists. As it was the low season, the stall owners were VERY persistent

The Arusha Clock Tower, popularly supposed to be situated at the midpoint between Cairo and Cape Town

Packing For Kilimanjaro

2012-03-18T17:22:00.001+08:00

I was kind of hoping to get the packing for the Kilimanjaro trip today but the amount of gear to pack meant that I needed to get a bigger bag because my existing duffle bag just couldn't fit everything in! The fact that we'll be on the trail for 7 days, moving from tropical climate to that of artic, means that I have a lot to pack.

Here's a snap shot of what I'm packing:
1. 6 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of liners
2. Gloves (2 pairs of liners, 1 pair of fleece and 1 pair of windproof)
3. Balaclava
4. Polar Buff
5. Buff
6. 3 sets of base layers
7. Down jacket
8. Fleece jacket and pants
9. Outer shell jacket and pants
10. Backpack (45 litres)
11. 1 pair of trekking poles
12. 1 long sleeve and 1 short sleeved drifit tees
13. Brimmed hat
14. Sunglasses (protection from the glacier glare makes it necessary protection)
15. 1 3litre Camelbak drinking bladder
16. 1 1litre Nalgene bottle with insulating parka
17. 1 1litre thermos
18. 1 sleeping bag (it's rated -19 degrees, so you can imagine how big it is) and 1 sleeping pad
19. 1 headlamp
Plus toiletries and trail food.

What's trail food? Well, it's snacks that can be eaten while walking to give us energy (we'll be burning calories like mad), such as nuts, dried fruits (I love raisins, I've been trying small boxes of those during training and it keeps me going for half a day), muesli bars, etc. Apart from nutrition, food can also be a source of comfort when you're on your feet for an average of 7 hours a day (it's 15 hours on the last day), battling the weather and also the thin air. For me, I've gone for the perennial favourite for many of us: bak kwa or Chinese jerky. Ordinarily, I'd avoid it because of its sweetness and saltiness, but the calorie rich slices keeps us going both physically and mentally.

Here's a snapshot of some of my packing for the expedition alone. Packing for the post-trip programs is easy enough because you can afford to get away with stuff you might forget.

Goodbye Encyclopedia Britannica

2012-03-15T12:54:00.002+08:00

Picture from britannica.com.au

The digital age has claimed another victim. First, it was the closure of several big bookshops in Singapore (Borders being one of them), now, it's the venerable Encyclopedia Britannica. After almost 250 years of publication, Britannica has announced that it will cease producing the print edition.

Does anyone remember the beautifully bound repository of knowledge and information? In the old days, whenever you needed a definitive answer on any subject, you'd say "I'll look it up in the Encyclopedia!". And when you call someone a "walking Encyclopedia", it means that that person is full of knowledge. These days, it's "I'll Wiki it!". And yes, where do you think the "-pedia" in "Wikipedia" comes from? While the content of Wikipedia is contributed by anybody, Encyclopedia's content is maintained and updated by 100 full-time editors and more than 4,400 expert contributors.

While I was reading the newspapers about the demise of the print edition, I was shocked to read that the entire set of Encyclopedia sells for a princely sum of USD1400! That made me appreciate my dad for making the purchase of a set 30 years ago, and I'm sure that it must've cost him a small fortune. Considering that my dad has always been a very thrifty person, it shows how much he values knowledge, sparing no expense in ensuring that we're well read. He even bought me the children's edition, which was also beautifully bound. I remembered spending hours poring over the pages, fascinated by the facts that I never knew, about faraway places and facts from a time so long ago.

It is with a tinge of sadness, seeing the passing of another era, a memory of my childhood going down the path of the dodo. I must confess that I've been reading magazines digitally ever since I got my iPad, because it's convenient and it also saves space (the clutter caused by the piles and piles of magazine is a nightmare). Wikipedia is also a large part of my life right now, being so convenient especially with smart phones nowadays, as compared to running to the book shelves to get them. Such is life nowadays, the convenience of having the information at your fingertips, and instantly. However, so many of the stuff from my growing up years, are now nothing more than fond memories, and as my memory deteriorates, these memories get hazier and more confused. The Encyclopedia Britannica wasn't just a set of knowledge, it was one of the greatest gifts my father gave me.

Pre-Kilimanjaro jitters

2012-03-14T18:48:00.002+08:00

Well, it started off as "4 months to go before the big trip", and in a blink of an eye, it's exactly a week before I'm due to fly off to Tanzania to scale Africa's highest peak, Mount Kilimanjaro. It's a school trip, meaning I'll be bringing along 16 students, together with my colleague.

I've heard about Mt Kilimanjaro since my older colleagues in the Physical Education department from eons ago climbed it way back in 1995. It seemed like a magical mysterious place so faraway, a place that I could only dream of. Suddenly, I'm a week away from starting my own summit attempt. To be brutally honest, I'd be lying if I said I'm not worried or anxious about it.

My summit on Mt Kinabalu (Sabah) in October 2011 was an eye-opener for me. Everyone I know told me that summitting would be a non-conclusion, that even old folks and kids could make it to the top. My experience couldn't have been further from that. It was storming heavily by the time we were near the top, and due to the exposure, a large group of students had to turn back. Even at the altitude of 4095m, the lower oxygen level made breathing very laboured. My group made it and even then, I strongly felt that they could've been better kitted. Seeing a Malaysian staff of IBM on their company trip shivering uncontrollably and on the verge of hypothermia (he was dressed in a pair of track pants, long sleeved cotton tee, and sheltered by a poncho the thinness of a supermarket plastic bag), was the epitome of how lightly so many people viewed the task. Although you don't have to be massively fit to summit it (You do have to be of reasonably fit and strong in order to enjoy the trip. Think of it as a day-long workout on the stairclimber), the other important factor is having the correct gear. Mountain weather is TOTALLY unpredictable, and you'd be an idiot to complain that you don't want to carry all that exposure protection for nothing if the weather was fine. Trust me, if the rain drives down and the windchill kicks in, you'd be thankful. Oh, and travelling with a guide/travel company with TECHNICAL EXPERTISE is so important as well.

Mt Kilimanjaro is a 5895m tall mountain with 3 volcano cones, with the temperature up at the top being minus 15-20 degrees celsius. Talk about the odds being stacked against a bunch of sea level dwelling folks from the tropical island nation of Singapore, where the highest point is only 163m high. Heck, the starting point of our trek in Tanzania is already 1830m high. Thankfully, the school had kindly bought its own supply of necessary exposure protection equipment such as down jacket, fleeces, etc, and we'll be travelling with an expert guide. We've been training a lot since the team got assembled, and training has been ramped up in the weeks leading up to the departure, comprising of stair climbing and long treks of 8-9 hours, just to get us used to being on our feet for long hours. BUT, all the training was done at sea level where the percentage of oxygen in the ambient air is 21%, but the percentage drops to as much as 50% at the summit.

So, do I think I'm ready? Apart from missing the creature comforts and the company of my best friend/wife, I must say that the prospect of being hit by altitude sickness and also the biting cold is what probably scares me the most. And of course, the crazy 12-15 hours of trekking on the summit day, where we would spend up to 7 hours making the summit attempt, then another up to 8 hours trekking all the way back down to the base camp at 3100m. And of course, it's the uncertainty of whether my body is gonna be able to hold up the rigours of working hard for 7-8 hours each day, for 7 days back to back. The one thing I know I can rely on is my mind, which has gotten me through a lot of physically challenging tasks. Well, here's hoping that my next post will be a successful trip report!

In the meantime, here are some nice illustrated maps of Kilimanjaro, taken from http://kilimanjaro.malinikaushik.com:

Click on the picture to see the larger version!

The maps shows nicely our journey for the 7 days

The amazing spread of vegetation reflecting the different climates on the mountain

The Day My Students Taught Me A Lesson

2012-01-13T20:32:00.003+08:00

What a week it's been for me. After a year and half, I've finally completed my graduate diploma course, reached crossroad of hard decisions, and today, on Friday 13th, my girls taught me a great lesson.

It's the inter-tertiary games now, and my floorball girls played today. The team was massively decimated by late withdrawals, and if you know the game of floorball, you'd know that it's a high intensity game which needs frequent substitutions (or lines) to keep players performing at the intensity that is needed to compete. The team has been "also-rans" for the longest time, and the game went the usual way: my girls tried hard but just weren't as technically gifted as the other team. In fact, it came to a point in time when even I got despondent with the score.

I've always been of the belief that as long as the team tries it's hardest, it doesn't matter whether they win or lose. As an educator, I love using sports as a classroom to reflect on the realities in life. There're battles out there that you just can't win, but as long as you try your best, there's nothing to regret. Even if they haven't done their best, what's more important is not that they've lost, but that they are able to learn from their mistakes. There'd be plenty of occasions when they'll be faced with that. Work on your weaknesses, play to your strengths.

Despite coming close to scoring on numerous occasions, we just kept conceding goals until the score became 0-13 in the final period of the game. I texted Kat and told her that it was starting to hurt.. the girls don't deserve the scoreline, but that's the reality. But you know what? Rather than hang their heads (well, one or two of them did, but they were soon back in the game), they kept trying, and hit the post a couple of times. Then they conceded again. Cruel, cruel, cruel.. My girls attacked fiercely again in the last minute.. shot.. and scored! The gallery erupted, and I just let out a big yell of elation. And even before I had time to reflect upon it, they attacked quickly from the restart and shot again, and the keeper fumbled the ball mere quarters of inches away from the goal, and came the final buzzer. Now I had time to reflect.

To be honest, I came close to shedding a tear, not just because we scored, but it was how the goal came about. There wasn't a single moment the girls stopped trying, despite conceding goals after goals. Sure they were disappointed, and it showed on their faces each goal but then it was back to business. They could've easily given up but yet, they persisted and then, they scored. Mind you, I'm not biased when I say that it's no soft goal. The opponents were desperately trying to defend their clean sheet, and the girls could've gotten 2 goals.

I've been in education for a long time, and been playing competitive sports for even longer, and I'm not ashamed to say that tonight, my girls sure taught me a pretty damned good lesson, and I'm proud to have that role reversed on me. They knew that they were a much weaker team than others, but they were playing for each other, and they knew they couldn't let their team mates down. Ok, I turned a joyous post-game atmosphere into a tearful one when I shared with them how I felt. Yeah, the kill-joy that I am.

As I'd told my girls, it's day like these, that I love what I do, and today, it's not what I did for them, it's the lesson THEY taught me. Everyone loves a winner, but I'd take my group of fighting "also-rans" anyday.

My Father

2011-12-22T14:53:00.001+08:00

As I write, my dad is warded with a bad case of pneumonia and the infection had spread to his heart, causing a heart failure. Considering how badly he was doing, he's now waiting to be moved back to the general ward, and the doctors are working to get him home by Christmas. I'd described his comeback from the brink as a fight on his part, one of the many that he had through his life.

Dad was born in a poor family of a widow and her 4 boys in Malaysia, working to make ends meet through harvesting pineapples on a plantation. My grandfather passed away while my granny was still pregnant with dad, so he was born into this world on the back foot. It was typical type of life for a poor boy in the pre-war years: you barely get a few years of school before your parents expect you to quit school and to start working. Somehow, dad knew that a good education was his way out of poverty, so he persisted. However, the start of his education couldn't have been worse, as the Imperial Japanese soldiers overran Peninsula Malaysia, throwing daily life into chaos. He often told me stories of how cruel the Japanese soldiers were, from kicking and slapping passerbys who did not bow to them, to accounts of how the soldiers were throwing babies up into the air and bayoneting them for sport.

When the war ended, dad started school but because he'd lost a few schoolyears due to the disruption of the war, he was older than most of his classmates. My granny didn't have money to buy shoes for all her four children, so they took turns to wear them, until one day, the principal told dad that he couldn't attend school if he didn't wear shoes. Dad went home and told granny about it, and promptly received a belting for wasting money for the sake of education. I can't remember how the matter was resolved, but dad did complete his education, and won himself a scholarship to study at Chung Cheng High School in Singapore.

Dad stayed in a hostel in school, and got by with very basic meals such a porridge with salted vegetables or pickled olives, a poor man's diet. He recounted how the other students gave poor students like himself a hard time, and I guess that how he built up a siege mentality, believing that no one but himself would help me succeed. It's a sad thing to believe so, but I guess, he was so determined to succeed, he built up these walls to keep himself going.

He did well enough to win himself a scholarship that earned him a place in the Nanyang University (now known as Nanyang Technological University), where he graduated with a history degree. He then received training to become a teacher in Singapore's infant years, playing a role in educating our young nation's future. However, as schools using Chinese as a medium of teaching started getting phased out, dad was redesignated as a Chinese language teacher. It was to be his first, and only job that he held his whole life.

His hunger for a better life for his family was what kept him going, and his belief that no one would do him any favours (apart from the scholarships, for which he's always grateful for) pushed him even harder. Whether real or perceived, it drove my dad to work hard and to put up with the injustices he felt that he had been dealt with. Sadly though, I think because of the wall that he had built up to protect himself, he might've limited his social circle as a result. He hardly had any hobbies, for whatever time he had, he spent reading the papers, marking test papers at home, and spending time tutoring us in Chinese (a major labour of love on his part, I can assure you). However, I do remember the very human and loving side to my dad: coming home beaming to a couple of excited young boys with a cake because it's our birthday (an indulgence in our household, I can assure you), playing table tennis with us and the best memory I have: dad watching me practice for my primary school sports day on the field, excitedly trying the hurdles, while he stood by the side watching me, and chatting happily as he took me home on the public bus.

He pushed us extremely hard, wanting us to strive for the best in life, memories of his own struggles very much on his mind. Academic excellence was of paramount importance, and he pushed us so hard that it frayed relations, especially during our rebellious teenage years. I must admit that I was the bum of the family, and was the only child who spent the undergraduate years overseas. But as the years went by, I grew to appreciate my parents' sacrifices for us. Without my dad's funding, I wouldn't have had an university education, meaning my career options would be somewhat limited. I remember a story one of my brothers told me of a visit to the supermarket with my father, how one cashier screamed excitedly when she saw dad. It was a former student of his, and subsequently, she ran to the backroom and reappeared with more excited colleagues, of all whom were his former students, and they gathered around him like a bunch of schoolchildren once more, catching up with their teacher. It's a story that I'd never forget, for it was one that showed me how his students viewed him.

When he retired years ago, he had served in that school for almost 30 years, and the students actually made him a sedan chair, and carried him around. Such was the respect that the students had for him. Anecdotes recounted by his former students revealed a caring teacher, respected and feared by students in equal measures, a strict teacher who cared about their progress. Now, as an educator, I want to be like my father.

The years since retirement has taken a toll on him. The arrival of my nephew gave him much joy, and he was nothing like the feared father that he was to us, in the way he treated my nephew. Once my nephew threw a tantrum and I disciplined him, his crying led to my dad popping him head around the corner and gently asking me to not tick my nephew off anymore. Even as I recall that episode, I can't help but be tickled by it. My dad, the strict disciplinarian, asking me to go easy on my nephew. Oh how the times have changed! One of my fondest memory of them playing together, was the two of them rolling on the floor, laughing joyously. Then, the years of failing health came.

He was struck down by stroke in the early 2000s, coupled with the onset of Parkinson's Disease and dementia. The giant of a man that I had known, feared and respected, slowly shrank literally. His once loud clear speech now slurred, his brisk gait now slowed to a shuffle. Mind you though, his mind is still as lucid as ever, and is ever game for a debate about politics and current affairs.

I am glad to write that when Kat and I visited last night, we were overwhelmed by the sight of him sitting in the armchair, all intravenous tubes out of him, and he's already on semi-solid food. In fact, the hospital is already ready to release him to the general ward. By the Grace of God and the prayers of our friends, dad is hopefully well on his way to a recovery. I'm pretty damned sure he had fought the illness with the same determination that he overcame his life of struggles. No matter what, my father, will always be the giant of a man that I've always known him to be.

It's Been A Year

2011-12-14T09:02:00.001+08:00

Usually, in the case of my blog, an entry with such a title usually means I'm melancholic again, but not this time! This time, it's about somthing completely the opposite: my first wedding anniversary.

There's been some confusion amongst my friends (especially those who stalk, I mean, faithfully follow, my updates on Facebook) about my wedding date. Ok, for the benefit of friends who are not familiar with the customs of Chinese weddings, here's the clarification.

Kat and I got married in a civil ceremony a year ago, which LEGALLY made us man and woman. However, in the eyes of the old folks, that meant nothing and that we were still living in sin until the relatives got invited to a wedding banquet, and tea is served to the elders in a Chinese tea ceremony. That didn't happen until June this year, hence the confusion.

Due to an unfortunate coincidence, I was supposed to attend a work-related training camp on the weekend which coincided with the anniversary. Fortunately, the training was postponed and I was able to spend our first anniversary together. With that in mind, I contacted a team mate of ours who owns an Italian restaurant in Holland Village, and he promptly got back to me with a lovely set menu. Of course, I kept Kat in the dark about the dinner plan, completely intending to surprise her.

Saturday was a a bit of a rush around for us, waking up late and then pottering around the house before going for lunch with my family. I was really surprised that she didn't ask where we were going for dinner, because if I'd mentioned Holland Village, I reckoned she might suggest Amici (the Italian restaurant owned by our friend). However, even when we got to Holland Village, she still didn't mention anything, so I guess my plan to distract her by talking about the new Circle Line (we took the Circle Line to Holland Village) somehow worked. By a stroke of fortune, she'd wanted to go to the bank to get some cash, and it happened that the restaurant was only a couple of doors away. My excuse to her for walking towards the restaurant was that I'd wanted to pop in to see if our friend was there (I knew he was away for an event, but she doesn't). It was only when we walked through and I told the staff that we had a reservation for two, then she realised. Naturally, she was delighted.

After a little bit of sorting out, we were shown to our table, and it was so thoughtful: the manager opened the door and there it was, a table just for the two of us at the little balcony. It couldn't have been better because as we were walking through the restaurant, I was thinking that it's a tad crowded for a nice anniversary dinner. The cool thing was also the looks that people were giving us when the manager revealed the special table.

The dinner started off with 2 glasses of Prosecco sparkling wine, which was perfect as the evening was a little warm and humid. For a wine that's supposed to be dry or even extra dry, it was surprisingly sweet, reminding us of our favourite Moscato wine.

Antipasto platter

First up: Italian antipasto platter topped with cold cuts. Finally! We could have our taste of Amici's food! To be honest, we were starting to get rather hungry, and we polished off the plate in no time.

Homemade wild mushroom soup

Next up: Homemade wild mushroom soup. As you can see, there's lots of nice chopped up pieces of mushroom, something I enjoy. I like the earthy taste of the mushrooms, which was pleasant without the need for salt. Actually, I was glad that the soup had a nice subtle taste to it as I'd tasted many with too much salt in it. Honestly, I'd read a nasty comment accusing the restaurant of using canned soup, which I thought is extremely unfair.

Gorgonzola beef tenderloin

And for the mains: Kat had the Chilean cod fish and the red meat lover in me went for the Gorgonzola beef tenderloin. I think Kat summed it up best: she normally shys away from cod due to the taste, but she thoroughly enjoyed it! We'd thought that it must be because it was fresh, but we were surprised that they use frozen cod. Wow! We really couldn't tell! We've always had apprehension about frozen seafood because they usually get mushy when defrosted, but the one we had was beautifully flaky. I guess it's a combination of a good supplier, as well as good preparation by the chef. As for the beef, it was beautifully medium rare, and tender, the way I love it! This meat lover was in heaven!

Chilean cod fish

The award winning tiramisu!

And for dessert, it's the award winning tiramisu. The strange thing about us, is that we were never really much of dessert lovers. In fact, I tended to shy away from them because of the sugar. However in recent years, we've been partial towards cakes mainly to go with our coffee (we both love coffee). Greedy me, while Kathy was still snapping pictures of her tiramisu, I took a quick shot and got down to business. Picking up my spoon, I cut the corner of the tiramisu: mmm.. nice colour, looks moist.. let's see how it tastes. The first words that came to my mouth was "Oh my God!". Honestly, my words can barely do justice to the tiramisu. It was beautifully moist, with the lovely taste of the alcohol and cocoa, and when it goes down, you get an immediate sense of warmth in the chest and goes right into your face. Mind you, I'm not a fan of hugely sweet desserts (pavlova being the only exception), and Amici's tiramisu was in no way overwhelmingly sweet. I kept bugging Willie (the owner) to share the secret ingredient in his tiramisu, but he was tight lipped about it.

It was the perfect way to end the evening, literally on a (sugar) high.

About the restaurant: Amici Authentic Italian Restaurant is located at 275 Holland Avenue (Holland Village), just a short walk from the Holland Village MRT station. It's a little cosy restaurant with an open kitchen, so if you like watching your food being prepared, you're in for a treat. Alfresco seating is available as well. I like the murals on the walls which has a nice feel to it. The restaurant is usually packed on weekends, so reservation is a must if you do not want to be disappointed. We were quite bemused with some unreasonable walk-ins who were actually upset when they could not secure a seat. There wasn't an available seat in sight the evening we were there, so do bring a little bit of patience on weekends, it isn't Pastamania ;) Actually, we have been to the Pastamania at Fusionopolis after gym once, and considering that there were only a handful of customers who were there (all of whom were already dining) and more than adequate staff, we weren't impressed that 2 salads and garlic bread took more than 15 minutes and 2 reminders before it was served.

DISCLAIMER: I am by no means a qualified food critic, so everything that is written here is merely someone who enjoys food, and I make no pretenses of being a food expert. This blog entry is just a recollection of a wonderful evening I'd shared with my wife over lovely food and drinks.

Pushing My Physical Limits

2011-12-05T22:37:00.000+08:00

It has been ages since I've been training as hard as I have been. It's a combination of reasons, from trying to get fit enough to tackle Mount Kilimanjaro in March 2012, the desire to do my very best in dragon boat, to the simple reason of vanity (if you're surrounded by super buffed team mates every weekend, you'd be self-conscious too).

I've always been involved in competitive sports, which meant that I'd be involved in a lot of intensive training as a team and extra training on my own. I know I risk sounding like an old man reminiscing his lost years, but I remembered how I used to be able to handle tough training everyday and yet recover well enough for the games on weekends. Age has certainly caught up with me. I'm taking forever to recover from my last workout, the "excess baggage" is taking an eternity to shed, and the improvements take longer to materialise.

The sudden passing of a 21 year old undergraduate at the recent Singapore Standard Chartered marathon shook me up somewhat. I was sharing with some friends that considering his 21km timing (1hour 50minutes), he's definitely no unconditioned slouch. "If anything", I continued, "he'd probably pushed his limits too far". And that was when I stopped... because I would've done the same thing as he did, and with me being twice as old, it might've been me.

Being a competitive amateur sportsman for most part of my life, I've been bombarded with slogans associating with pushing ourselves past our limits. In fact, it is a scientific principle that in order for the body to improve, we have to push the body harder than what it is normally used to. But the problem is, how many red flags can we afford to ignore until the body really gives out. So why do we take that risk and push ourselves so hard?

My body is telling me that I'm no spring chicken anymore, no matter how hard I try to run away from that fact. When I was in University and at my prime (oh dear, here I go again), I had a bodyfat percentage of 11% and a VO2max of 58ml/kg/min. That was half a lifetime ago, and I'll admit that I'd neglected my fitness for the last couple of years. An old friend of mine called me up a couple of days ago after seeing my pictures on Facebook and asked me how did I get that fat, and welcomed me to the "Fat Boys' Club".

Years ago when I was still playing club rugby, a senior player who was still playing some excellent rugby at the age of 40, told us that "if you want to enjoy your game, get fit!" (that's the succinct version of it, with all the colourful expletives removed). Getting back into competitive sports has given me the motivation once again. Although I'm a lot more chilled than when I last played competitive sports, I still expect myself to give nothing less than 100%, during training and in races. Fortunately for me, Kat is on the same team as me, and she trains just as hard (if not, harder) than I do, and she motivates me as well. There's this desire for us to do the best not just for ourselves, but for our wonderful team mates who keeps encouraging us. That's why it's called a "team sport".

We just had a long weekend of spending time with friends, so I had to drag my tired ass to the gym today for my lunch workout. I wondered why on earth was I pushing myself so hard, and that I should be enjoying my lunch break, especially at my age. Why do I even bother? The things is, I have no intention of wasting my life away on sedentary pursuits, and I'm inspired by the team mates who are older than me, and twice as fit as I am. I hope that I can be like them when I get to their age.

Singapore River Regatta 2011

2011-11-28T13:04:00.000+08:00

A couple of months ago, I'd blogged that Kat and I had decided to pick up dragonboating as a new form of exercise. After less than 4 months of training, with the encouragement of team mates and a spirit of adventure (might have turned out to be "mis-adventure"), we signed up to be in the team for the annual Singapore River Regatta.

I remember how excited yet worried Kat was when I suggested take up dragonboating, because she was worried about whether she could keep up physically. But I know that it was the perfect reason for us to get fitter, because we're both such competitive perfectionists, we would spend extra time getting fitter and stronger (and yes, leaner too). Although I'd done SOME form of dragonboating in the past, it was definitely not as competitive as what we're getting into, and so we felt like ducks out of water. It was definitely difficult at first (even now), but all we could do was to give our best. What made it even tougher for us is that we're newbies joining a team of physically strong and experienced rower, so many a times, we felt quite disheartened when we felt that we had let the team down. Fortunately, we both enjoyed the sport very much and so we kept encouraging each other, exchanging points of views, and that kept the passion for the sport burning. And of course, we were very lucky to have great team mates and a coach who's always encouraging us. Oh, and the age thing played on my minds a little at first, but seeing rowers who were older than us yet WAY fitter, spurred us on.

Despite being so new to the sport, Kat and I were given the chance to row in the Regatta. I guess it was a combination of luck (several key rowers were unable to participate) and that coach had wanted to give as many of us a chance to participate. It'd been ages since I was involved in team sports, and so the nervous energy was building up in the days before the race. It was also somewhat pensive time for me too, remembering how my first exposure to dragonboating was through my participation in the Inter Statutory Board games and the River Regatta's Public Service category about 10 years ago, representing my then employer, NTU. We got the captain of the of the university team, Stephen Loh, to coach us because he was such an obliging chap. The poor fella was probably feeling quite uncomfortable putting staff and lecturers to the whip, but he did manage to get the bunch of misfits competitive enough. He was always encouraging and yet maintaining the respect for the staff. Such as the wonderful person that Stephen was. I was delighted when he decided to be a teacher, as I know that his students would benefit from his personality. Coincidentally, Stephen's younger brother played on the same rugby team as I did. Sadly, in 2007, while on international duty in Cambodia, Stephen and 4 of his team mates perished under freakish conditions. I'm pretty sure that Stephen would be pleased if he knew that I'd decided to row again, so my race was in his memory.

My race was over in a bit more than a minute, while Kat's team was luckier, which managed to qualify for the semis, but failed to qualify for the finals on Sunday. So there it was, in a bit more than the blink of an eye, the race was over. I was disappointed that we didn't go any further in the competition because despite training hard for the last couple of months, the outcome was dictated largely by lane conditions. But the overall atmosphere was completely addictive: we wanted to experience it again! Bloodied and wiser, we're looking forward to next year's program. Dragonboating has played such a big part of our lives, with training on Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, the December break is going to feel weird without the usual routine. It's going to be a chance for Kat and myself to work on the off-season training so that we'd be fitter and stronger. We're also going to miss the hard work, camaraderie, post training humour and food sessions (they can REALLY eat! I wonder how they eat so much and yet be so lean). We'll be looking forward to seeing you all again in January, Team Naga!

Our family at the Regatta (picture taken by David Chan)

Mount Kinabalu 2011: Getting there

2011-11-04T11:47:00.000+08:00

It'd been a massively busy time for me during the school vacation of September to October, being involved in numerous leadership camps which called for me being present at the camps or just following up with the administration of the camps. The end of the 6 week period was marked with the trip to Kota Kinabalu, where we attempted to summit Mount Kinabalu (Malaysia's highest mountain, standing at 4,095m).

It was hardly a good time to be travelling for me because the renovations for our new home had to be confirmed before I left, and fortunately, Kat was a massive pillar of strength for me by handling the details of the renovation, leaving me to focus on my job.

From this weather...

As there were no direct flights which departed from Singapore on the morning of our departure, we had to take a bus from Singapore to Senai Airport in Johor (Malaysia) to catch our flight to Sabah. The flight didn't get off to a good start as a thunderstorm descended just before our departure. As mentioned previously, I love to travel but I hate the journey, and the two cute little girls sitting behind me morphed into little she-devils and decided that the back of my seat was a football. So much for catching some sleep as I'd only a couple hours of sleep the previous night. And flying for the first time with Air Asia, I doubt if I'll fly with them ever again for flights that are any longer than an hour. I'll save the disparaging remarks about their flight attendants, but what I'm about to relate, I find completely unacceptable.

I'm always pretty uncomfortable about flying through clouds, and for the flight from Senai, we were surrounded by clouds because of the storm. I've flown through some pretty "interesting" turbulence whenever I flew over Australia, which usually happens during breakfast and coffee will be flying through mid-air. However, the captains would always make announcements assuring the passengers, and keeping them updated about the situation. Nothing of that sort from the Air Asia pilots. Throughout the whole rocky experience, there wasn't a pip from them, not even when the plane dropped for more than a metre and people were screaming. Excellent job. Perhaps making broadcasts costs money too, and being a budget airline, every cent counts. And yeah, Air Asia's motto of "Now everyone can fly"? Well, that applies to the calibre of pilots they hire too. Think about it.

..To this

Suffice to say, I was immensely pleased to land at the KK Low Cost Carrier Terminal. When we alighted onto the tarmac, we were greeted by a brilliant blue sky and fine weather. My first impression of Kota Kinabalu was that it really was quite different from the major cities of Peninsula Malaysia. Development wise, it felt like it was 10 years behind the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur, but everything was so neat and well kept. The pace of life is definitely much slower too. We were driven past the beach front and the neat lines of trees by the road prompted one student to comment that it reminded him of Perth. As we made our way up to the Rose Cabin, located near Kinabalu Park, the pressure in our ears told us that we were making our way up the mountains. We arrived at Rose Cabin after about 2.5hours, we immediately felt the coolness of the altitude, as well as the wind chill. The group took a picture at the little garden with the mountain as the backdrop, but it was covered by heavy clouds, which was a sign of what was to come.

Storm clouds looming

Just like the rest of Kota Kinabalu, Rose Cabin is rather old but it was clean and well-kept. What was fascinating for me was the gas heater that they used for the shower. I haven't used a gas shower heater for a good 20 odd years now, and I gotta say, a gas heater gives much better heat than electric ones can! During the night, my colleague and I got out on the balcony which has a breathtaking view of the mountain, and I managed to get a couple of shots of the night view. We left the window ajar so that we could enjoy the natural air-conditioning, and it was a rare night of restful sleep considering that I usually don't rest well in a new environment. This would be the last time we would get a good night's sleep for the next couple of days.

Stay tuned for more stories of my little adventure!


KK's water front

Gas shower heater! Old school, but much appreciated

Looking out at the night view of Mt Kinabalu from our balcony

In A Blink Of An Eye..

2011-08-26T22:13:00.000+08:00

I've been following an excellent documentary about our local food heritage, named "Foodage", on our local free to air channel. Being a massive foodie (just a nice term to justify my gluttony), I love following any program about food, but this one was of particular interesting because it was about our history as well.

I love history very much, and it's also because of my interest in history that started me scuba diving (for those of you interested in scuba diving, you can follow my blog on scuba diving. Yes, I do have a lot to say about everything). It wasn't just about knowing the facts about what had happened, but I also enjoy looking at pictures reflecting the yesteryears. Last night's episode followed a local writer, Sylvia Toh Paik Choo, as she walked down Orchard Road and reminisced what stood where along the stretch of Orchard Road which had been massively redeveloped over the last 5 years.

Lots of wonderful old brand names were thrown up, such as the Fitzpatricks, Yaohan and A&W. I remembered vividly Fitzpatricks and Yaohan, both of which were located in Bukit Timah Plaza, a shopping centre that was a stone's throw away from my parents' home (where I grew up). For those who are familiar with the new Bukit Timah Plaza (that is provided, if anyone really does read this blog.. apart from my ever supportive wife!), Fitzpatricks used to stand at the stretch where the aerobics studio and Popular bookstore now is, whereas Yaohan occupied the present premises of NTUC Finest.

I remembered the fanfare of Yaohan's opening at Bukit Timah Plaza in 1982. They brought in daiko drummers from Japan and I could hear the drums as the bus I was traveling home from school passed Bukit Timah Plaza. There was so much buzz about it and all my schoolmates made plans to visit the store. It was massively exciting for everyone, and it also marked the entry of international brands coming into Singapore as the global trade became a fact of life. Yaohan, a Japanese retail group, first opened in Singapore at Plaza Singapura and it was a destination for my family during our family outings, which would start off with us bundling into the bus towards the famous old Swee Kee chicken rice restaurant along Bras Basah Road, followed by a visit to the games arcade at the top floor of Yaohan, while my mum would go window shop at the departmental store.

I honestly don't know much of the economics of those days, but I do believe that Yaohan opened in Plaza Singapura in 1974 to cater to the sizable Japanese expatriate community here, many of whom worked in the electronics, manufacturing and maritime industries. I was chummy with a Japanese boy named Takeshi, whose family was our neighbour. I remember him sharing his manga of Ultraman with me, and I remembered that neither of us could speak much of each other's language, but with kids, our common love of Japanese cartoons was a language we both understood.

I learnt from last night's program that the opening of the first MacDonald's at Liat Towers in 1979 (I believe it's where Starbucks and Burger King now stands) served up a world record for the most number of burgers served in a day. But the first fast food restaurant to come to Singapore was A&W in 1966 along Dunearn Road. I used to pass the restaurant on my way to secondary school where it stood along the canal with its distinctive Minangkabau style thatched roof. Many older (just slightly older) Singaporeans remember the famous root beer float and also its Coney dog, which is hot dog on a bun, drizzled with brown sauce with ground beef. Honestly, the sauce reminds of the consequences of a bad curry dinner, but Kat remembers "Coney dog Tuesday" really well. Singaporeans would squeal at the sight of an A&W restaurant when they travel overseas, and in fact, many who drive to Malaysia would stop at the Ayer Keroh rest stop along the North South Highway just to get their A&W fix. In fact, according to Wikipedia, there have been numerous online petitions to bring A&W back to Singapore (a check on Facebook turns up several such pages).

Before 7-Eleven opened in 1983, our grocery needs were filled by "ma and pa" shops as well as the ubiquitous "mama" stalls which were the forerunners of the modern convenience stalls. It sold everyday items like newspapers, cigarettes, snacks, simple medication, etc, manned by ethnic Indians who usually hail from India. They were literally corner stalls, and operating out of a literal hole in the wall and is usually stuffed chock a block with merchandise. There was one at my parents' place and I literally grew up with it. The place changed hands just once or twice, so it was basically the same faces since I was a kid. Typical of a mama stall, they knew almost everyone in the neighbourhood since they were the only convenience store for many years, and they were friends to many of the neighbours as well. I was surprised to still see the same man at the stall when I came back from my studies overseas, although he was a lot older. It was a sad indication, a reflection of how fast the years have gone by, how I've grown up, how my own parents have aged. I moved away from home and set up my own, and one day when I came back, the old mama stall was gone.

Much in Singapore has changed in such a short span of time, and in a blink of an eye, institutions that I had grown up with, are now no more, many of whom have lasted for age. Sounds a lot like life, doesn't it?

When It Is Time To Let Go

2011-08-18T20:50:00.000+08:00

I had fully intended to publish the second installment of my trip report to Thailand, but recent developments have meant that it would be inappropriate for me to post my trip report during a period of mourning. You see, my mother-in-law passed away on 13 August 2011. I had thought long and hard about the wisdom on blogging about this since it would mean opening up the wound each time my wife Kat reads this. But rather than recollecting the painful details, I'd like to celebrate her last days, and reflect.

My mother-in-law had been ailing for the last 11 years, and my father-in-law's life revolved around her, bringing her to her treatments and tending to her needs. I was teaching scuba at the island of Tioman when I received news of her passing, and I made a 7 hour journey to be with my wife during her hour of grief. During the funeral rites, various members of the family had spoken to me about my mother-in-law, stories of her last days, and through those unrelated stories, I was able to piece together her last days which lifted my sadness and gloom. And I hope that each time my wife reads this, she will share in the joy which I had gotten from the stories, and I hope that others will be able to find the sunshine in the passing of their loved ones.

I must confess that my parents-in-law pretty much spoil me rotten, and being the only son-in-law (she had two daughters) meant that I was well taken of whenever we made the trip up to Kuala Lumpur to visit them. One of my fondest memories of her was us watching Nick Park's "Shaun the Sheep" on cable TV together, a programme she always enjoyed chuckling along to. The last time I saw her was when Kat and I got married in our customary wedding in Kuala Lumpur in June, and as Kat mentioned, she looked so happy in the photographs.

Just like most parents, getting her daughter off to a good man was a matter of much vexing for my mother-in-law. According to a distant relative, Uncle Billy, who had been cutting her hair for years, she would often lament about how career driven both daughters are and how she would never be able to see the day when she would see her daughters married. Uncle Billy would always comfort by assuring her that the day will come, and it did this year.

She was really excited about the whole wedding affair, although to be honest, Kat and I were more interested in getting it over and done with just to please the parents. Just like with any families, my mother-in-law has had her arguments with other relatives, and I was surprised when those relatives turned up for our wedding. I later found out that she had made peace with them, and they duly turned up on our wedding day. Upon hindset, it must've been such a joyous occasion for her.

I had remarked to Kat during the funeral that the events that bring together long lost relatives are Chinese New Year, weddings and funeral, and true enough, the same faces that we saw at our wedding turned up for my mother-in-law's funeral. Indeed, it was under much sadder circumstances than the last time I saw them, but as they started streaming in to pay their respect, I realised that our wedding was the reason for her reconciliation with her kin. It warmed me very much to see them turning up, a sign that the peace had indeed been made.

About an hour from their home in Kuala Lumpur is the casino city of Genting, hardly like Las Vegas because it is wholly owned by the Genting Group, with little business and residences springing up around the casinos and hotels. My mother-in-law enjoyed the occasional jaunt up to the the mountain peak where the casino is located and played with the slot machines. My parents-in-law were often candid about their trips to Genting as Kat usually frowns upon it and sees it as a waste of money, so for their last trip, I stumbled upon the details from Kat's aunt and uncle-in-law. My mother-in-law had called them up days before her passing and invited them to join my parents-in-law for a trip up to Genting. My aunt recalled that they had an enjoyable time, with my mother-in-law teaching her sister how to play the various slot machines.

It was definitely eventful days leading up to her last moments. Uncle Billy was telling me how his wife (whom we addressed as Aunty Jenny) would often chat with mother-in-law on the phone, sometimes for even hours. According to Uncle Billy, mother-in-law was Aunt Jenny's closest relative in Kuala Lumpur, and through their last conversation, Aunt Jenny told Uncle Billy that mother-in-law sounded really happy, as if she was without care or worries. I had also found out that mother-in-law had also contacted almost all her old and some even long lost friends to catch up with them.

I'm pretty sure that there's one or two lovely stories that my darned brain is failing to recall at this present moment, but the point remains the same. All these anecdotes, as I had told Kat, are evidence that mother-in-law was at peace when she passed on. She enjoyed her last moments of pleasure with her jaunt to Genting, saw her daughter get married, made her peace with her relatives, and spoke to her dearest friends for one last time. I could almost imagine her smiling to herself as she ticked off the last task on her list, and decided that it was indeed time to go. It was time for her to leave her disease riddled body, and to release her family their duty of having to care for her. And as she looked down upon everyone who turned up at her funeral, she must be pleased to see the people who came to pay their last respects. Kat had painted a lovely picture when we had a discussion about mother-in-law's life after death, about how mother-in-law's spirit would leave the shell that she had been burdened with, and transform into the beautiful lady that she was before she fell sick.

Letting go of someone we love is and will always be difficult. I was deeply saddened when I first received news of her passing. But when I heard all these wonderful anecdotes from her last days, it gave me reasons to smile. Her last days were that of joy, and we should celebrate that. Yes, grieving is part and parcel of expressing the loss, but let us rejoice in the fact that she had found bliss, and leaving her body was just the final act.

To my darling wife: Cry no more, my love, dry your eyes, for it would be what she would want for you. Moving on is not about forgetting her, because we shall continue to celebrate the life that she had.

For those of you who are grieving, I hope that this entry has brought you some joy, and I pray that you will find your own anecdotes of joy before your loved one moved on.

Honeymoon to Thailand: Chiang Mai Day 1

2011-08-12T00:07:00.000+08:00

It's been a flurry of activities back at work after the short trip to Thailand, and I thought I better get off my lazy butt and start writing before I start forgetting the details.

This is the first non-diving trip that Kat and I had done together, and it's actually an overdue honeymoon for us. Her sister had very generously given us a 2 night stay at the luxurious Mandarin Oriental Dhara Dhevi in Chiang Mai for our wedding last year (this was the civil ceremony) and we'd been too busy to take the holiday. We decided that August would be a good time for a short break because of the National Day holiday. We also decided to do a one night stay in Bangkok so that we could visit our diving friends whom we've only "met" on the internet. Even then, it wasn't smooth sailing because we were scrambling looking for a dog hotel for Sophie (our miniature schnauzer) since the last place had to close. After many failed options, Kat's sister agreed to care for Sophie for the couple of days.

Approaching Chiang Mai

Being so close to the National Day holidays, the airport was naturally crowded with people who were looking to exploit the holiday period, but what was surprising was that there were so many people at 6am. The flight was largely uneventful, and after a nearly two hour flight, we landed at Bangkok's international Suvarnabhumi Airport, and next, it was the long walk to the domestic terminal. I played the role of a tour guide of sorts to Kat, since she'd never been to Bangkok, telling her the troubled beginnings of the airport as we walked along. We were also looking for free Wifi spots in the airport, and then found out that it was only for 15 minutes and we had to go pick up the log-in information from the airport information counters. Through our encounters with the airport workers while we walked to the domestic terminal, it'd occurred to me that the people are a lot less friendly then the wonderful warm hospitality that I had fallen in love with then I first visited Thailand in 1999. No doubt, this is something that is happening around the world, but it's just so sad because Thailand is a place that I'm really fond of.

After a long walk, we finally arrived at our boarding gate! I was really impressed that the plane was already starting to taxi at the time of departure. One interesting story as we were boarding: there was a lady who was holding up the line of passengers trying to get to their seats because she was trying to put her precious handbag in the overhead compartment in such a way that it won't be scratched, making sure that none of the other luggages would be in contact with her handbag, eventually putting the handbag on the handbag protector cover. This took a good 5 minutes, and why she didn't just put the bag in the cover or under the seat in front of her, I just cannot phantom why.

Flying over Bangkok to Chiang Mai, the scenery change is really dramatic: from the densely built-up areas of Bangkok, to the vast green expanses as we approached Chiang Mai, lots of rice fields neatly dotting the landscape. I did however noticed that there were some parts which looked like there was too much water covering the fields, which made me wonder if it was the flooding that was inundating the northern and north-eastern parts of Thailand.

Kat in the limousine outside the Chiang Mai airport

I'm a real worry wart when I'm traveling. Call it paranoia, but I'm worried when I'm moving around in a new city, particularly about safety. So as we were approaching Chiang Mai, Kat could see that I was starting to vex about finding our way to the hotel, and told me not to worry and that it'd all work out. Ha! I should've known better and seen through her surprise but I was so preoccupied with worrying. After picking up our luggages and walking out of the restricted area, I was looking around for the taxi booth and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a lady hotel holding a sign with our names on it. Kat had made arrangements with the hotel for our transfer! But that wasn't the end of it: when we walked out of the arrival hall, there was a classic Mercedes limousine waiting for us!! WOW! There was an old world luxe feel to it! Kat could obviously see my expression and I bet she was loving every minute of it. Such is my wife's love :)

It was a 15 minute ride from the airport to the hotel, and the staff was giving us updates on the weather, the length of the journey, etc. I'd seen pictures of the hotel via their website, so I knew what to expect of the hotel's physical features. When we arrived, we were greeted with a garland of jasmine flowers.. nice! I was quite "blah" about the hotel's reception, but upon retrospect, I guess there's no need for a large reception because the profile of the clientele meant there was no need for a large counter to deal with lots of guests. In fact, our check-in wasn't done at the counter, but at one of the cosy sofas. That was when the bouquet of roses was brought out for Kat. Ha! Very nice gesture for the honeymooners.

After the check-in, we were driven over to our Colonial Suite in the buggy (you can call for a buggy to transport you around the 60 acre compound, or just borrow a bicycle to get around. Ooh! There's even a horse drawn carriage that goes around the compound!), and when the staff opened the door for us, my jaw dropped again. The suite is beautiful! As the name suggests, it's got all the decor of the colonial era. There was also a chilled bottle of white wine sitting in a bucket of ice, and a heart shaped box of macaron.. all for the honeymooners! The decor was in the colonial splendour, but it was decorated with beautiful Thai traditional sculptures and lithographs of the Siam of old. It's just impossible to describe the beauty of the place, so I'd let the pictures do the talking. Oh, and incidentally, the suite is bigger than our pathetic apartment back in Singapore, which is 80 square metres versus 68 square metres! The bathroom was probably the size of our bedroom.

Entering the suite

It was a hard time pulling ourselves away from our gorgeous room, but we had to check out the sprawling compounds. There was just so much to see on the compounds, which includes private villas, buildings of traditional architecture (the designs are simply beautifully ornate!) and even rice fields! We had thought that there was some history behind some of the buildings but was surprised to find out that construction started in 2001 and was completed in 2005. Walking around the grounds, we were surprised to find that it's actually something that was recently built. You can find replicas of the Old City with its moats and ruins of fortified walls, and overgrown "secret" gardens.

We visited the shopping village (a cluster of shops located just outside the hotel's compounds) and after some thought, decided to get some tailoring done. It's definitely not as cheap as what it might cost in Bangkok (the tailor warned us that the fabric used may not be genuine cashmere or Egyptian cotton as claimed) but definitely cheaper than what you would have to pay in Singapore. I got a suit, 2 shirts and a pair of trousers made, and even Kat who was just tagging along got 3 shirts made (she had wanted just two but was so pleased with it, she made another one). The whole lot of clothes were made over 24 hours, which is a little scary considering that it's a rushed job, and while it was nicely done, if I was to be picky, I'd say that I was a tad disappointed that the finishing could've been better (loose threads) and they might've taken a bit of time to iron it. But like I said, I'm being picky.

One of the several sculptures in the room

We hopped onto the hotel's complimentary shuttle to the night market, and the first stop was the food court because Kat wanted Thai food. Hey, where else can you get authentic Thai food? Well, maybe not a food court that's charging farang prices (which is almost twice of what you might find elsewhere), but I gotta say that the food wasn't too bad at all. Kat left me to decide what to buy, so I bought the usual pad thai and tom yum koong, as well as a oyster fried in batter with bean sprouts and spring onions. It's a crispier (and according to Kat, it's nicer too) version of the local orh lua, which is softer (a whole lot more flour, I guess) with eggs and no bean sprouts.. more of an omelette.

The shuttle would leave the night market 2 hours after our arrival, and I thought it might not be enough time for us to walk around, but we actually managed to finish walking the place pretty quickly. I guess it's because after while, you realise that every other shop was selling the same stuff, and Kat wasn't keen on buying anything. We did however buy some singlets with the beer labels printed on them, my staple diving attire.

Arriving back at the hotel, we found a card from housekeeping under the door, to let us know that we missed the turndown service, and to call them if we wanted them to do it. "Too much trouble", we thought, and turned in for the night.

Stay tuned for the next post!


One of the two swimming pools. We didn't have time to swim!

The night view of the lobby building

Night view of the Colonial Suites

Paddles Up!

2011-08-01T12:00:00.000+08:00

I've been involved in team sports such as soccer and rugby ever since I was a kid. After deciding to quit competitive rugby when the injuries (and medical bills) starting mounting, I meandered from sport to sport, but all of them had been individual sports where I could practice at my own time without the need for the participation of others. Sports also helped me keep the weight off, though not necessarily successful. And there's just one problem with doing a sport that doesn't require a team: you lose motivation easily.

I gotta admit that dragonboating wasn't initially my cup of tea. I'd always enjoyed rugby because it's a (frightful) combination of skills, different types of fitness, having to think constantly and quickly on my feet, and the rough and tumble. The first time I got involved in dragonboat was years ago when my then-colleague. Celine, asked me to be part of the staff dragonboat team which was then newly founded to participate in the Inter Statutory Board Games. I was still playing rugby then, and it meant taking the season off to train for dragonboat as there were a few other races which we had been signed up for. I remembered during the first training, while it was at time physically challenging especially considering that it was a whole new different sport, I thought to myself "I could get used to it!". It was refreshing because I just had to focus on rowing (I was one of the pacers, so everyone had to follow my pace!), without having to think too much on my feet (or in this case, my bum), and biggest factor of all, I could row with a peace of mind, knowing that no one is gonna come along and tackle me off the boat.

But apart from the technical aspects, what I really enjoyed about rowing was the feeling of being one as a team when everyone is in sync (which back in those days, when everyone was new to the sport, was pretty much a rarity), and the boat moving along smoothly on the water. Hearing the collective splash of the paddles, all in sync.. it was something that captivated me. The team had some good runs, including qualifying for the finals of the Public Service Games, which was held at the Singapore River. I remembered getting ready at the start line and the Police boat pulled up alongside and taking a second look at them: it was a boat full of Gurkhas! That was the last time I saw their faces, because all we saw of them subsequently was their backs! It was like their boat was motorised! Nonetheless, it was an achievement for a bunch of misfits who hardly trained and were mostly out of sync towards the end of races. I moved on to another job not long after, and that was the end of my dragonboating.

A couple of months ago, staff dragonboating once again came into my life when it was included in an event that was part of the Public Utility Board's (PUB) Singapore International Water Festival. It was supposed to be an inter-cluster event (several departments and academic faculties form a cluster), and right from the word "go!", it was competitive! Everyone was training hard although I'd missed out on several training sessions because I was in Manado diving. The cluster that I belonged too won, and by then, and I was hooked on dragonboating again.

Kat and I have a friend who's a member of a dragonboat team (Team Naga), and so I spoke to her about joining the team. Kheng is a dear friend of ours whom we got to know through scubadiving, and is a sweet and cool person.. until I started talking about dragonboating with her. She is also the team manager, so she was made very clear her expectations, and I was really surprised at this side of her. Upon hindsight, I could see that she is very passionate about the team and wanted members who are able to commit to the team, hence her demands.

We arrived at our first training an hour earlier because we were petrified of being late, and it was a good opportunity for us to check out the place and people. The varsity and school teams had been training in the morning, and so there were lots of fit young bodies around. We were starting to have the jitters!

When Kheng came, she rounded up a couple of other guys who were new to the team, and gave everyone a quick orientation, and then, we were off in the boat. The regular guys were in their cool race boat preparing for their coming race, while a couple others and the newcomers were in another boat. After some light paddling, we beached and Alvin along with a couple of the other seniors started working on our strokes as a we stood in waist deep water. We hopped back into the boat and started rowing again, and Sean the coach got onboard from the other boat and started working further on our strokes. I was really appreciative of him coming around to every rower to correct our techniques, rather than just standing from a distance and yelling out instructions. To top off the day's training, the team celebrated the birthday of one of the rowers by having him row both boats (held together by rowers in both boats).

I'm really glad that Kat jumped at the opportunity to join the team because it was another avenue of getting fit, and getting involved in a team sport. And more importantly, it was another activity in which we could do together. We had lots of fun and really appreciated the hospitality shown by the team. We're definitely looking forward to our next training!

On a side note, I would like to pay tribute my ex-student in NTU who was the staff team's de-facto coach. Although dragonboat was managed by my colleague, Celine, I got to know Stephen through his capacity as the NTU dragonboat team captain. We later found out that his younger brother was my team mate in the club where I played rugby. When the staff team was formed, we badgered Stephen into coaching us, and he kindly obliged, although we could see that he felt a little intimidated coaching the staff, but he was always encouraging while pushing us hard. At a personal level, Stephen was the nicest boy I've met, extremely polite and humble. I'd stop and chat with him whenever we ran into each other, and I was glad when he came back to NTU to pursue his postgraduate diploma in physical education. He had all the qualities of a good teacher, and I know that he would make a difference in the students' lives. I lost contact with Stephen when I left NTU. Then on November 2007, I heard news of the tragic drowning of the 5 members of the national dragonboat team when their boat capsized at Tonle Sap River in Cambodia, and I was shocked when his name was announced as one of the fatalities. I remembered clearly the next morning, flipping through the pages of the Sunday Times, seeing his face in the papers. I broke down, remembering the wonderful person that he was, and how the families of all the young men must be feeling.

Steph, if you were still around, I know you'd be glad and would be ever so encouraging if I'd told you that I'm starting dragonboating again. You will always be remembered!

Moleskine® - Legendary Notebooks

2011-07-15T22:03:00.001+08:00

Image from www.fanpop.com

I'm a big tech gadget freak, and I'm always in the local Apple shop checking out the latest desirable Apple product. Yes, I'm an unabashed Apple fan boy, but the strange thing is, I haven't gone out bought myself the iPad2, not even the iPad. I'm typing away on the MacBook Pro, and I didn't hesitate spending on this lovely piece of equipment, because this is what I do my work with, and also for its style. But with the iPad, it's just an oversized iPhone to me. If I have to carry around the iPad, the only reason would be because it's friendlier on my aging eyes (stay away, presbyopia horribilis!). And perhaps for the purpose of sending mails. But apart from that, I won't carry it into meetings and start taking notes with it although there is a Moleskine app for iPad.

Earlier this evening, I was in Borders checking out Moleskine^® notebooks, and my wife was curious why I would looking at something that's old school (Yes yes, hold back the "old man" jokes, won't you?). I do bring my laptop into meetings and discussions to take notes, but only because the information would need to be archived or sent out to other parties, and there really isn't any sense in scribbling in a notebook, then transferring them into the laptop. And there's worry about this notebook crashing. I can shake it all I want, and drop it.

There is just something about the good old pen/pencil on paper. I have a nice trusty (very dog eared) spiral notebook which I had been using for years, in which I've scribbled ideas for work in progress, reminders, and pictures. I like scrawling some form of a mindmap, arrows all over the page linking one point to another, using different colours for effect.. it's just not something that a software could quite do as efficiently as pen and paper. And there's just something about the feel of paper. Plus you can flip through the pages of a notebook to look for something that you had penned some years ago, without having to worry whether you'd synced it from your other electronic devices.

What's the big deal with a Moleskine^®notebook? I wish I can tell you that I love the fact that it's made from acid-free, it's handmade, that their suppliers are ISO1400... but I have to admit that I'm shallow. For that kind of price (S$37 for a 5x8 inch notebook), I can easily buy a couple of these from an art shop. The elastic band that hold the covers together reminds me of the army issued ones that I used when I was serving my National Service.

Why do I find it desirable? There's just something in the way it feels: the cover and the paper.. then there're the sightings of Moleskine^®notebooks in movies such as National Treasure and Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain. Nothing quite sells like a well-placed product in a movie. Although I must say that I'm also impressed (yes, I'm easily impressed anyway) that each notebook comes with its own identification number for the purpose of reporting any defects.

Would I succumb to the lure of consumerism and buy a Moleskine^®? Perhaps.. but the cheapo that I am, I would probably scour for cheaper options first.