Bali Even Higher

Bali Even Higher

Brief notes of Bali today as I'm spending the past few days in Ubud and the magic net of Bali is spun even wider in my imagination. Driving up from the coast to the high volcanoes and every cliche that one has about the island is true -- it is the archetypal paradise -- albeit, in 2007, we need to contend with the noisy roar of motorcycles at all hours of the day and the constant traffic. As Bali recovers from the devestating bombings of several years ago, the tourist business is off, but Bali and the Indonesian governments will need to make some major decisions on limits to growth if it's to preverse even the remotest sense of beauty. That is the challenge to preserve the island and still to provide a viable economic base for people to survive.
Major hotels have inundanted the southern beaches and turned it in a bland international brand of beach with palm trees, where one resort likes another. But Bali still retains its charms with its ubiquitious temples, and most precious is the smiling open faces of the Balinese. The other day wandered into a festival at a temple site and though I had no idea what the festival was for, I was so moved by the Balinese of all ages in traditional costumes where were entranced by the dance and festivity. The children with obvious joy were watching this dance that was hundreds of years old. The people hold great pride in their local customs and their spirituality is ominpresent. Today was a day for the Iron Festival -- where you made an offering to the Iron or Machines in your life... computers, cars, and tools. This seems like a good idea to ward off the evil spirits that wander into our computers and toys. It feels like a culture that will maintain its identity even in the age of the internet. But for all cultures the allurement of tv, pop culture, and the internet are an ever present challenge.

More to come - a taste of paradise.

Namaya

In the brief time, I'm here, I'm feeling the imperative to spend months here and discovering this quickly disappearing paradise.
More notes to come and photos, but I'm off

Jazz Poet NAMAYA'S Gig in Kuala Lampur

21 April 2007

SHOW TIME! Kuala Lumpur: No Black Tie

Show time and the “dead time” before a show. Though I love the show and the creative process, it’s such a huge time drain getting ready for a show and performance. For a two hour show, I prepare constantly, rehearse, select the right material for the venue, getting my music, slide and materials together, and constantly pushing myself to the next level of performance. But it really isn’t about pushing to the “next level” it is about discovering who the true performer is, what is my authentic voice.
At my soul I’m a poet and a story teller, and I am best where I can get into a space where I can be totally relaxed as if we are sitting across from a table in the café.

Before the show at NO BLACK TIE, Jon, Roslyn, and Joe had the place all set up, the stage was ready, there were ready for a sound check before I got there, and they had everything there. The slide show projector helped and they were fabulous about getting the show going. The equipment in place, the lighting perfect, the acoustics warm and well balanced, and they were fabulous about asking the audience to not smoke. Roslyn, Joe, Gi, Kamal, Jon, Shem, and Evelyn made me feel very welcomed and did a great job in bringing the crowds in. I wish I could have this much support in all the venues I perform in.

Then Evelyn, Jon and I sat down for dinner… beautiful vegetarian food, great company, and Evelyn the owner was a fabulous host! Same with the staff, they were all eager to help with the show and set up. Staff was terrific at the club! Evelyn was superb! Her boyfriend, the sound engineer Jon, was amazing. Evelyn and No Black Tie thank you for spoiling me! Reminds me of Erling at Café Teatret in Denmark and what a terrific host he was as well.
It was a good show and well received. Need to do far more and take the show to the next level, but I want to be writing more. I see the direction for the show in larger performance art venues, working more with the multimedia, working more effectively with the sound tracks. It would be nice to have a couple of backup musicians, but it’s fabulous not having to deal with other people's personalities before a show, just my own issues
I want to consistently get to the next level of performance spaces, small black box theaters, 100 to 300 seating, no bar noise or coffee machines, and the audience ripe. In (free) Ireland each county has a performance venue that is suitable for this. In England, it is a bit hit and miss, with some smaller club venues to theaters, so you can't always figure out what is the best set for an audience. Sometimes, you get hip hop slam crowds, others a theater crowd. Scandinavia, Berlin, there are good venues there for me.
I've been trying to organize also more of the Canadian shows which are actually fairly easy; Toronto, Vancouver, Ontario and I've just not put attention to that. As I am getting the show up to a truly 100% solid professional production I can easily do that, plus I have a fair number of contacts.
The audience was also very gracious. I often struggle with having a show where I can perform stories without having to worry about the entertainment value. Part of what I do is the poetry with the stand up comedy. It is a more fetching style, but there is another part that wants to have a show where I can have the freedom to weave a story without worrying if I'm going to mak the audience laugh. Always the challenge of art and performance, trusting that your performance will speak to people.
One of the things I keep discovering and appreciating about myself is that I am a very good improvisational performer, about 1/2 of the show I made up on the spot last night, taking certain themes, but freely improvising off of that. I need to continue developing that. This was amazing considering most of the audience were non native English speakers. the Malaya girls liked the story “Men of Enron: If Men Swore on their Dicks instead of the Bible.” One American who works for Siemens thought I should portray a more positive image of GW. Hmmm, I wish he would give me something that I can be positive about. At least we had a drink together. We toasted to our differences. As is often the case, US Americans, even ostensibly well educated ones are very ignorant of their history. Sure, they may know the basic facts, but they don’t really understand the role of the US as a colonial power everywhere from the Philippines to the Middle East. Though all Empires behave similarly, as a citizen of the Empire I do object and raise my voice in opposition to the empire.
I want to keep taking the show to the next level. As we speak, hopefully, my support staff is working on my sound tracks, and the CD of Amerike Uber Alles is under production. Anyway, rambling thoughts which I need to post to my log. Z liked the show and rated it as an A, I rate it as a solid B, and I’m looking forward to taking this to up the next level.
As I’m looking forward to Fall 2007 and booking for Europe in late October and early November – want to see if I can head up to Sweden, Norway, Germany, Holland, Denmark in Aaarhus, and then south again. I don’t mind traveling as long as I can perform, even though the show and the production, both before and during require great demands on my time. If I can get a solid week of shows I'd like to bring a sound/ tech person and hire a couple of musicians as backup for the tour. Though the sound tracks are fine and the slides good, I prefer live musicians, mixed in with the show. Even thinking of a different show that I started in December 2006, LOVE FIRE REDEMPTION.
It is good to experience the most gracious hospitality of KL and its people, the opportunity to gig here, but I’m more than ready to head back to Vermont. Looking forward to the Spring in Vermont, writing, starting on Luscious wet Kisses, and finishing Blue Heron Pond. I would like to see if I can get some bites on it. I miss tea time in Vermont and there is nothing more sublime.

Friday, 20 April 2007 Show Time and God Sex Politics
Last night with Evelyn and John from No Black Tie eating at this terrific Indian vegetarian restaurant chock filled with Indians, Sikhs, and all these other variations of Indians. When we walked in it was filled, but then it slowly cleared out. Fun. Exhausted. Enjoyed being out. A bit of anxiety about the show, but this is normal.
In the morning to Royal Selangor pewter factory about 45 minutes from downtown and appreciated the ease of being able to jump in a taxi and chat with the driver. Some of my better conversations in life are with cab drivers, the pulse and feel of the man on the streets. Of course, there is the polite loathing for US foreign policy, at least polite on the surface. The Royal Selangor Pewter factory with its production facilities and show rooms of pewter was worthwhile to see. Mining, processing, and production of time and from this coarse metal for these exquisite creations. My inspiration for creative work grows as I am there and see these large slabs of metal and think this would be brilliant for outdoor slabs of poetry. A garden of poems.
My long term goal is to create more of this fusion of art, poetry, and music. I’m inspired as I see different ways to express a poem. I could even see this as an installation project at the Vermont state capital; poems of Vermont and of the natural landscape scattered throughout the capital and welcome centers. In particular, I’m interested in the tall video screens of Art and poetry. Or I was seeing an unusual display of lights the other night I had this vision of hundreds of hands reaching up through the hands were reaching up and there was a fountain below, it was a vision of water fountains, and the hands were coming up and swirling about. This vision was very prominent – a sea of hands some 5 to 15 meters high reaching upwards and swirling. The idea of hands reaching to heaven. A quiet day today. Nice and easy. Getting ready for the show tonight. Looking forward to it.

Yesterday, at the Islamic Museum and tremendously enjoyed the exhibits. But the museum is far too difficult to digest in afternoon ore even a week. I spoke with the driver and he said, “You need a couple of hours to go through it.”
“No, you need at least a month to really go through it.” When I think I know something or I’m well acquainted with a subject then I hit a museum like this and I realize how little I really do know. The most astonishing work was the Chinese Islamic calligraphy and the best fusion of Chinese brushwork and Islamic writing from the mid 1500’s to the l8th Century. I have a few photos. There was the broad brush stroke of the Chinese style of calligraphy with Islamic characters. It’s always refreshing to see how in a very obvious way how to cultures converge and complement one another. It isn’t necessary that one supersedes the other, but finds the marriage of two disparate ideas and brings them together.
The other remarkable object is the covering for the Kaaba in Mecca some 30 meters in length with the rich brocade and embroidery with Suras from the Koran. It is quite moving to be actually reading a cloth from the Kaaba, though I can only read the most basic of scriptures, but even in reading and pronouncing the words there is great power. So much of the spiritual energy projected here and of course it is the word of the prophets.
I’m feeling renewed energy to lecture a about Islam, not from the perspective of a scholar, but “A personal journey through the Art and Architecture of Islam.” Westerner intellectuals have demonized Islam, it is unfortunate. Also, fault must be laid at the feet of the Muslims or theists of all stripes, who take their interpretation of religion as an infallible truth. I hold immense respect for the spiritual one who doesn’t wear his/her religion solely on their sleeve but holds it close in their heart. Though my writings are spiritual in nature, they are pantheistic and try to avoid pandering to a particular theism. My spirituality is most closely viewed in my pagan roots, my veneration for trees, forests, creatures of the woods, not as an icon of spirit, but for their spiritual presence

Everything settles down. Feel like the caged bird. Need to get out and walk around. Need to stretch my feet and soul. The focus for today is tonight. One of the few reasons why the shows are stressful, you prepare and prepare, and it takes up all of your creative juices.

Consumerism in KL
Outside of the downtown hotel room, I see the range of the short history of KL with a small tin shack in one corner, a home from the 1800’s, a more contemporary apartment from the l950’s and now the office towers looming above. How can you not admire the resilience of the early settlers, 84 Chinese tin miners came here, and only 17 survived. In this climate of humidity, malaria, and monsoons there is a hardiness that is needed. Afternoon before the show walked around Patronus Towers, what they call the Twin Towers. I am not a mall rat, but I was intrigued by this strange cross cultural experience. In Tokyo, for example, you will find international brands, but largely in the downtown malls it's all Japanese brands and stores, with hardly any English. In KL at Patronus Towers it can be virtually any mall in the US. I’d like to say in Europe as well, but as I don’t usually make the mall scene, it’s hard to judge. Six floor of shopping from Dunkin Donuts to Armani, Bos, Calvin Klein, and every major international brand. Looking at the prices, a shírt for 400 to 600 RM, about $100 to $150 dollars! Or at another store, an ill fitting shirt for $50? Where do people get the money for these products? Is this the consequence or benefit of global commerce?
Walking through the malls, the people watching is superb. Beautiful long legged Chinese girls in the latest fashions and high heels, boys looking generally sloppy in jeans and shirts, Muslim girls in the Malay talong (hejab) or headscarves. It is odd that I found the scarves and the robes to be attractive, none of the deadly drab black robes like you see in Saudi Arabia and elsewhere, women were dressed in purples, orange, blues, and other vibrant colours. Though the West and I have demonized the head coverings as a repressive part of Islam, I can see both parts of the discussions, if a woman freely chooses to dress with a head covering: What is the harm? If this is an expression of her true desires for modest and covenant: Who are we to judge it as regressive. And in France and Europe they are trying to make the argument that Europe is secular and so therefore head coverings (hejab) should be banned. This is a very long discussion which I will defer to later, but I’ve found attractiveness in the charming dresses of the traditional Malay clothing, not sexy, but rather elegant, though it is seems in this climate one would want to have as few coverings as possible.
Thursday, 19 April 2007

KUALA LAMPUR THE NEXT STOP

Diligence and the discipline of writing, sometimes you sit down at your allotted hour and there is no inclination to write, but the discipline is to put in your time and hope that something positive comes out. Driving yesterday afternoon from Melaka to KL, I was surprised by the cleanliness, and modernity along the way. There is a part of me that is expecting all of 3rd worlds to be grimy, reeking of poverty and hopelessness, with vast environmental degradation. There is a mind set that I get into that looks at life outside of the west through the lens of “White male western traveler,” though I have a far broader experience as a cross cultural traveler than most, I am aware of that filter. The only true thing one needs for cross cultural literacy is to understand your own filters and biases, your values and how they influence your thinking.
News of the US American- Korean man who shot the students. Odd, how CNN states the person was Korean though he lived fifteen of his twenty three years in the US. Are they trying to distance themselves from this terribly ill person? But why would you put out his message? Why broadcast this pain to the world? What is the merit in this? Why give another excuse for a sad twisted person to explode in the hopes of being heard? How much pain must that young man have been in to have committed such a heinous deed? Though we must admit, there is more of him in us than many would care to recognize. By seeing his pain filled soul as being more akin to ourselves than different -- can we truly see his pain? The more important question is: How many in our communities and neighborhoods are in the same degree of pain and waiting to explode?

Yesterday, arriving at Hotel Maya, a very fancy place in downtown KL. Surprised by the lack of obvious poverty, for some reason I expected this to be a poorer city, though I had no reason to support that contention one way or another. Surprised by the Patronus towers and like much architecture in life you assume one skyscraper is the same as the next, but this building is truly a work of art. It appears, oddly enough like the architecture at Angkor Watt or other Hindu sites, the towers rise up like a stack, but part of that is creation of a series of 8 pointed stars, reminiscent of a modern Islamic architecture. The abundance of gardens, forests, and greenery in the heart of the city is a blessing and the Malaysians should be lauded for this. In so many countries the imperative is to take over inch for habitation, but human habitation on the planet is completely dependent on how we preserve and nurture the eco-system, a very obvious take. At the same time, there is a continual loss of important forest preserves in Malaysia, and its subsequent damage to the entire ecosystem.

Enjoying KL and the people of Malaysia very much

Time Traveling in Melaka

Tuesday, April 17, 2007


“Global Village Malaysia” Time Traveling in Melaka

Went upstairs for coffee, a thick haze hangs over the city of Melaka, which appears as if until in recent geologic time, this was an ocean bottom and a few low lying hills or volcanoes rose about the sea bed. I look out from the luxury of this three star hotel the canal which snakes through the city is still, grey green, and filled with effluence. It is a tattered city worn with poverty and age
There is a section to the south which is for the native Sumatrans who settled her centuries ago. The roofs fold up like squeezed paper or like folded hands, similar to the roofs in Bangkok, though they are ruddy rusty worn, and far less elegant. Yesterday some kids were jumping off a bridge ten meters high into the thick green canal; I hope they had their hepatitis B shots! It actually looks fun and I could almost be tempted to take a leap into the canal. Yet, not many look as they have active hepatitis.
Though I miss my home in southern Vermont, it’s a protected cocoon, in many ways it’s a great comfort and crucible for my creative process; nevertheless, it’s too disconnected from the larger world. Despite the hidden relative poverty, it’s a wealthy community. Most of the world is Third World, living life on the most modest of means, but Third World doesn’t mean emotional or spiritual poverty; there just aren’t enough of the basic elements – clean drinking water, adequate food, access to good health care and education… those things we take for granted in the West.

More Cranky Political Arrows at Pox Americana: Nevertheless, in the US with over ninety million people without access to health care and having minimal access to primary health care and infant mortality rates being about 30 in the world, way below Cuba and other 3rd world countries, it makes you wonder where the real poverty is. The US spends over $500 billion dollars on military, police, government security operations, CIA, military aid to other countries, etc.; it has all the means to provide education, health care, food to each one of its citizens. This is a spiritual poverty that values militarism, consumerism, and the global POX AMERICANA vision. The empire is a fear based religion. Aren’t most?
As we step away from our small communities, it really is like that Brigadoon world where the community sleeps for a hundred years and wakes up for one day, and that one day is a world of great joy. Though I thoroughly love my routine at home – wake up, write for a few hours or more, exercise, play my guitar and music, manage my businesses of Vermont Poet.com, Sweet Pond, Dr.Namaya, Grace Cares, etc. I need to step away from that world periodically. It is when there is longing in our hearts and spirit, and we know “why” we truly love our home, that we can genuinely appreciate it. We tend to love our homes life instinctually, without understanding what truly brings us peace and joy.
I step outside of Vermont in the broader stage, though I’m a US American by upbringing and custom; I’m a world citizen. Put me at a dinner table with six languages floating around and I’m in my milieu, though I may not be fluent in any or all of them, my ears and senses revel in this world language and culture.
With my Irish citizenship and EU passport, and this sensibility as World Citizen, I’m as home in Europe as I am in the US and quite comfortable in Morocco or any one of a number of places on the globe. I find that the world cultures feed my soul immeasurably. I am the quintessential travel junkie. I love hearing languages, observing different cultures, watching people, and though I can easily do this in Paris, London, or NYC; I want to observe people in their own milieu. I want to see the Malaysians in their own community, the Singaporeans, and so forth.
But I could not be completely happy being in some remote village in the Mongolian steppes, the role and identity I’ve chosen in this life as an artist and writer is someone who is passionately engage in modern life. Not just my sack full of I-pods, computers, DAT recorders, adapters, emails, blog sites, cell phones, etc., but the world culture of travel, museums, books, music and so forth. I revel in the world of ideas and the exchange of ideas.
Then I take exception to what I’ve said, I recall being in Ladak high in the Himalays with a peacefulness of spirit that I can rarely recall elsewhere. The school children calling out “Joolee!” (hello, how are you) and inviting you with gracious ease into their homes, the people chanting Buddhist scriptures in the streets as easily as breathing. Perhaps, I can be at peace in these remote mountains.
Oddly enough on this trip, I was reading essays by Carruth on jazz and literature and he had an insight of Finnegan’s Wake as the non-verbal language. Joyce was an Irish man drunk with words! Tippling mad soaked wandering through the tubercular alleys of Dublin.
I find the DaDa both by the Police and Dali as icons of that language. The intersection of cultural influences, Dali and the Police, hmmm!
Long desire to write about Dali. I had written some journal entries periodically on him, my experience in Figueroa, recently in St. Petersburg Florida, and the relationship with Gaudi. Part of this start with the blog, getting my essays out of draft form, and to start writing more.
Stepping out of ordinary time in Vermont. Away from my email, away from my office of busy correspondence and projects. Immersing myself in writing. The temptation always is to be in my RV, pop up VW camper and travel the roadways of the world. Play my guitar, perform as little or as much as I want, write my poetry and stories, make art. I am a citizen only of the place that I put my pillow down at night. I dream often of that life. Back in Europe, winter in Morocco or Tunisia or further a field. I love Essouria in the winter, and thoroughly at peace. Writing on the beach. My last days will be in a place like Essouria, playing Spanish guitar, the rhythm spoken by the waves against the sandstone rocks, and the slow setting sun will be the lush tone for my song. Then as I’m in the middle of this reverie, a Moroccan kid comes by and tries to sell me a carpet or rent his sister, or two for the price of one. I give him a few dirhams to bring me back a pot of fresh mint tea. “Gypsy Soul” – Travels on the Cheap. My new travel book.
I get too caught up in the parochial affairs of my small town. Need the stage of the wider world where this gypsy soul can wander as free as he needs. Here in Malaysia, my thoughts take me back to Essouria, VW camper on the beach south of the city, one eye always open to bandits, but the other eye gazing at the stars, senses filled with the sound of the waves and the full moon with the phosphorescent diamonds bursting on the waters edge. Have I confused the places I love?
I’m a time traveler, in a heart beat, I’m recalling Hodeidah in Yemen where the sea was always phosphorescent by my window, when I sat in the windows of my mufraj (living room) the moon stretched out all the way to Djibouti across the sea, I could almost walk on that road of phosphorescent bones. In the morning, before dawn, the fishing scows would have their sails raised high, the men would be singing and chanting, some words I could catch in that cacophony of wind and sound, “Good fishing today. Wind is right. Sky clear. Seas peaceful. Allah will guide us.”
Birds of Melaka, what are the names of those birds with their shrieking cacophony in the trees by Queen Victoria’s tower? There is a fountain in front of the clock tower that is for Queen Victoria. Like most of the world around the year 1900 it was occupied by the English. I find it quite charming that the water fountain shoots upwards to the central shaft, it almost seems like the subjects are pissing upwards on the royal shaft of the empire? Perhaps, its only my little twisted imagination, and with nary a trace of disrespect to the Queen Empress -- hmmm. I tried to explain this to a waitress at the Raffles Hotel equating parasitism of the colonialism.
Enjoying the port city of Melaka. The Sultans palace, albeit rebuilt, by the Portuguese fortress from the early 1500’s. Curious it mentioned that the Portuguese built this with slave labor, though I know that slavery was just as prevalent before their arrival, but the Portuguese were not one to endear themselves to anyone. And of course, the Arabs where intimately engaged in the mass Diaspora of slaves to the new world, and it is odd that the Black American Muslims chose to ignore that piece of history. Another detour in history and time.
Street scene. Muslim women with headscarves most modest in pastel colours and easily worn. Why are the French so uptight with the hejab? They should feel threatened by the underclass that hates the French. Colonialism comes back to roost and bite the French in the ass. The Pied Noir – black foots will kick them. Algiers again in flames. New of the world on this trip. CNN infiltrates, Herald Tribune, all the media sources inflame our sense of fear.
Sunset over Melaka, broad orange strokes of sun, and prayer call in the distance. Familiar as one after another picks up the call, from one mosque to the next, voices carry the prayer in the wind. The peace of Islam, the call to the faithful, the submission to kneel on the carpet, and bow to Mecca. The simplicity of prayer.
Earlier today, stopped at the Melaka Islamic Museum down by the harbor. The building once housed the Dutch officers and today this is a good exhibit with a fine perspective on the overall development of Islam in Malaysia. Several pieces are outstanding in particular a large bronze sura (verse from the Koran) and some beautiful Korans themselves. I find as I read and slowly pronounce the words in my rudimentary Arabic I am drawn to the beauty of the writing and the words; however, I’m highly dubious of all religions whether Muslim, Christian or otherwise. This is even more apparent when I see the exhibit on the Sharia and the mandate of certain punishments. Chopping a hand off for stealing. A truly enlightened religion would understand why the person stole and offer him the means not to do that. But as I’m going to be in KL at the end of the week, I will stop this discourse. Though I have a profound appreciation for the art and architecture of Islam, having seen Islamic design from Granada to Asia, and have found it to be of immense fascination. More on my extensive writings on Islam. The title of that book is Infidel’s Journey in Islam. Lots of notes on the journey.

I often struggle for belonging in my home community which is a nice melody in a C major, maybe a bit of an A minor, and a bit of a bluesy rift for cultural divergence, but for whatever alchemical twist, I’m more like a Coltrane composition, choosing odd minor keys and with sublime ease changing tempos. It is jarring sometimes as I change, I look over to the other side of the stage, and see is there someone else jamming? Is she hip enough to change keys at a moment’s notice? I am. As exquisitely attuned to differences in cultures and I’m even a superb site reader; however, I can be astonishingly tone deaf at other times. I assume that if I’m operating in English it is a fluid communication – at least my English is clear. Need to work on my cross cultural skills for the US. Hell, I even taught a graduate course in Cross Cultural Communication! Part of it is – less coffee! Too wired. Nerves jangled. There is so much inner dialogue and dialogue with the world around me; I need to shut down some of the extra channels

Phones Cell phone across the world. How is this possible that I can pick up a phone in my pocket and talk to someone at the other side of the world? Though I have become long habituated to the increases in technology, I remember as a child to get a call through to the states you needed to call the local operator who would ring the states and put the call through. Or, if it was the Middle East you needed to go to the central telephone station to place the call and if you were lucky you could get a phone call through in less than an hour. Astonishing is having access to email, telephone, and we still haven’t successfully navigated the ability to communicate the vision of a peaceful world.
Though I am always a traveler, always a westerner and a white Westerner, I’m a well-versed traveler who can be at home in my different cultures. Chameleon like to some extent, as much as my guise of an affluent white person will allow me. When I’m back in my “home” community of Vermont and look around the audience of all white people, I’m disoriented. It’s not because I have the remotest sense of political correctness, god forbid, but this is not the real world I live in; my real world is brown, yellow, black, and the bazaar of cultures that have and continue to feed my soul.
As an artist and writer, I’m a mongrel US American. My soul is fed from the rich stew that is American. My identity as a US American is drawn from African American, Islam, Quaker, Buddhism, Irish, and the myriad of elements that have influenced and shaped this 52 year old man. As this mongrel culture we should be smooth and fluent in our relationship to the world instead of oppositional and aggressive.


Melaka a small town on the coast of Malaysia and walking through the streets with the gutters flowing with the stench of sewage. A familiar smell which always is that I’m back in a Third World country. It reminds me of Yemen of many years ago. It is the smells of a place that transport you back in time. Backyards with the smell of chicken shit takes me back to a house in Spain some 45 years ago. The limbic system, the most primitive of senses, and the most basic to our sense of orientation key us in to our environment.

This afternoon wandering through the Chinatown. Went to this terrific vegetarian restaurant called Vegan Salad and Herb House and lunch was about $3. Though it was in a hole in the wall, my instinct was that it was clean. Lunch was this delicious tray of cooked vegetables and salad,

More to come and today off to Kuala Lampur and the Azis Mosque.

One love

Namaya