I should not be doing this. A travelogue should be written contemporaneously. With the passage of time recollection of amusing, poignant or even annoying moments fades into oblivion. It was an early start from Perth at the commencement of this five week odyssey. I don't know how we made it to the airport for 5.30am, but we did. I must see what time the alarm clock was set for when we get back home. I am relieved to hear that the aeroplane will not be full. I am paranoid about overloaded aeroplanes. Our Airbus A330 leaves on schedule. Our next sight of land is of the Sarawak River snaking through the lush vegetation prior to our approach to Kuching Airport. I did not know what to expect of Kuching but I find it is not llike Kuala Lumpur. We had to spend an hour in the lounge while the aeroplane is refuelled. It is a small lounge and there are few seats available but we did manage to get a table. We were joined at the table by other travellers with whom we struck up a conversation. This turned out to be fortuitous as one of the persons at the table was a director of the Holiday Inn at Kuching and we were in need of a hotel booking to complete our itinery on the return trip. My preference for the Holiday Inn was losing out to the Hilton on the assumption that the higher price brings greater comfort. Our new acquaintance rang the Holiday Inn on his mobile and made the booking for us. We continued on to Kuala Lumpur where we were met by family. There is a family reunion the following evening. The next day we set off for Penang by road. We are booked in at the Lone Pine at Batu Ferringhi. By the time we arrive I have developed a head cold and I am feeling lousey. The pool is right in front of our room but I did not feel like joining the people splashing about in it. There was another family gathering at a restaurant in Georgetown. After two nights in Penang we return to Kuala Lumpur to spend another two nights with the KL family. For our last two nights in KL we are booked in to the Concorde Hotel by a director who is related to a friend in Perth and who we met at a Hari Raya party in Perth. Checking in on arrival we received an invitation to the re-opening of the Saloma Restaurant. I really did not expect any more than a standing drinks and nibbles for an hour or so. However, the event turned out to be more like a wedding reception with speeches by our host and the Minister for Tourism followed by an exellent cultural song and dance variety show by all the beautiful people dressed in their finery. Apparently the Saloma Restaurant is named after Saloma who was a singer in the 1960's and 1970's who was married to the famous P. Ramlee. I had not brought my digital camera on holiday as I could not be bothered carrying the battery charger and the plug adaptors. However, I did bring the memory card so I got the photos taken previously download and printed at a kiosk outside the front of Lot 10. We also went to the Megamall. I had a haircut (rambut ikut) at the hairdressers outside the Carrefour supermarket. That completed our errands in KL. After two nights at the Concorde and a lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe, we continue our journey to London. On arrival in London ther is a minor hitch as we had failed to pick up one of our bags from the baggage reclaim. That is the hazard of travelling with too many bags. Once that is sorted out we got the bus to the Ibis Hotel which we have used on a number of times before. They have a special cheap rate because it is a week night even though it is Friday. The next day I find there is time for an early morning walk before going back to the airport. I walked a couple of kilometres to where there is a take-away indian restaurant where we got a memorable meal on an earlier occasion. Of course, it is closed at this time of day but I am re-assured that it is still there. After settling up with the Ibis we take the bus back to London Airport. Here there is another hitch. Our daughter had booked our flight to France on the internet. Until they had swiped her credit card they would not check us in. I managed to call her on her mobile. She was still on the bus but would be arriving at the London Airport shortly. When she turned up we were able to proceed, still in good time. Here we are in the South of France again. It is our favourite holiday destination. On arrival at Nice there is a delay before our baggage was available. I had anticipated catching the airport bus to the train station but opted to get off at the bus station, a little closer to our appartment in Rue Massena. It was a fortunate choice as Avenue Jean Medecin which we would have taken from the train station was subject to roadworks probably for laying a new tram track. As it was it was still an ordeal dragging our baggage across the streets in th hot afternoon sun. As the bus took us down the Promenade des Anglais, if we had been really smart and known where to get off, that is just past tthe new casino that wasn't there last time, we would have had only 100 metres to walk to Rue Massena. Although we were in good time we had to wait until 4pm for Madame to open the front door. Once we are in the door we are in a better bargaining position even though Madame Concierge is a bit dubious about our documents. At a time share apartment it is not just a metter of arriving and paying money. We have paid maintenance fees for our time share apartment in Australia; we have paid a fee to exchange that entitlement for a week at the apartment in Nice. Madame must satisfy herself that everthing is in order and that we are the people who have made the booking; and have paid for it. I was expected to be asked for, and was prepared to pay a security bond of 500 euros. However, Madame thinks I look the honest type and settles for 100 euros plus 40 euros for electric which is not returnable. This time our apartment does not face onto Rue Massena but faces onto the back yard which is rather disappointing. We settle in and then go in search of food to cook as we do not intend to eat in restaurants. There is a small supermarket around the corner from Rue Massena wher we get bread and milk for the night. For breakfast in the morning we go out and get a baguette, one of those long sticks of French bread. It costs 0.75 euros which is very cheap. The next day is Sunday and there was an Italian food festival on the Promenade des Anglais. We bought a chunk of Gorgonzola cheese. Later in the day, we walked down the Promenade and round into the old port of Nice. From there we crossed the road, the Cour Saleya, and into the old town of Nice where the streets are barely wide enough for two bicycles to pass. The next day we took a bus to Villefranche-sur-Mere, the next seaside townalong the coast from Nice in the direction of Monaco. Here the old town of Villefranche comes right down to the seafront. There are two cruise liners in the harbour. When we felt we had had enough of Villefranche we went to the train station to get the train to the next town along the coast which is Eze. At the train station we met a couple from Brazil. They had arrived on the cruise liner which they had joined at Barcelona. The cruise liner will visit five ports around the Western Mediterranean and return to Barcelona. The other cruise liner had come from Venice. The Brazillian couple were restauranteurs and this was their off-season being winter in Brazil. At Eze we could not find the shops. We asked directions from a building worker - in French. He replied in perfect Irish and pointed to the top of the cliffs. This is the town of Eze. Eze is an art and craft village. It is only accessible by cable car or taxi. We thought it was just too difficult and went for a snack before catching the bus back to Nice. On the bus there were more cruise passengers. I sat next to an old American. He was impressed with the bus driver's cornering. Next day we went to Antibes by train. The attraction here is the Picasso Museum. The building had belonged to the Grimaldi Family of Monaco but Picasso had actually worked in the building in 1946. Most of the works were from that period. I am not an admirer or Picasso. Next was a visit to St Paul de Vence. Last time we got to Vence but missed St Paul. This time we went to St Paul but not to Vence. St Paul is the original tourist trap. It is very tiuristy. It exists for tourists. That said, it is a typical French hill village. I guess that tourism and the money that tourists spend helps to maitain the village in pristine condition. It was here that we found a couple that we had met on our visit four years ago. They brought a painting to show to the friend we were staying with at Port Grimaud. Here, they were in St Paul with their own gallery. The weather changed. It became overcast. It rained and then it turned quite cool. We visited Cour Saleya, the flower market of Nice. It was here that we bought a French table cloth. It was 12 euros or about 20 AUD. On our last day the sun is out again. We take a trip to Monte Carlo and take our photographs outside the casino. If one is not a gambler, Monte Carlo does not have much to offer. We managed to get out of the apartment by checkout time and reclaim our deposit. We Hauled that luggage the 100 metres to the Promenade des Anglais and caught the 99 bus to the airport. We came on a large Boeing 767 but we are going back on a much smaller Airbus A319. At London Airport we separate from our daughter who is going to Brighton for the medical exam she has been studying for while we have been in Nice. This part of the holiday which consisted of two weeks in England and Scotland and a few days in Prague, I will come back to later to avoid making this passage overly long. The last bit of the holiday was the stopover for three nights in Kuching in Sarawak. We had stopped briefly in Sarawak on the way to Kuala Lumpur five weeks earlier. From the air one sees the chocolate brown Sarawak River snaking through the lush, emerald green jungle. We arrived about midday after a meal of nasi dagang, my favourite Malay dish, on the aeroplane. We checked into the Holiday Inn. A room with a view over the Sarawak River. Although I arrived jet lagged I have had five or six hours of chemically induced sleep on the flight from London to Kuala Lumpur so I am ready to hit the shops in Kuching until bedtime local time. I successfully manage to get some local currency out of the Maybank teller machine. I then go to a photo shop and buy half a dozen rolls of remarkably cheap Fuji film. The next day, after breakfast at the hotel, we go for a ride around the city on the tourist bus. It is just an introduction to get the lie of the land. After that we walk the esplanade. On the way back the mood takes us to cross the river to go to Fort Margherita named after the wife of Charles Brooke, the second white rajah. The Fort gives a good view of the city from across the river. Being the second full day, I have booked a trip to the Cultural Village. Here there are several different types of dayak longhouses, Malay and Chinese farm houses. Even though the village is not the real thing because it has been built for tourism, it is nevertheless very interesting. Following this tour of the houses we enter into a very cold air-conditioned theatre for a cultural show by people in their native costumes. The cultural village is close to one of several jungle-clad limestone mountains rising very steeply out of the surrounding plain. The top of the mountain is above the clouds. It is so steep that I wonder how anyone could climb up there. It is the last full day and I want to see the museum that we had passed on the bus the first day. The museum is a very distinctive European-style building perched on the top of a hill. The architect responsible for the building was French and he modelled the building on a town hall in Normandy. Inside the building they have constructed the interior of a Dayak longhouse. The displays include displays of the local flora and fauna and it was very interesting. After this I headed for the river and made another crossing heading for the Astana which was the residence of the Brooke’s who ruled Sarawak until the Japanese invasion. Unfortunately the Astana is not open to the public.

This native of Edinburgh, Scotland has written a dozen or so crime novels set in his home town. My interest arose by reason of residing in Edinburgh as a student and having some knowledge of the nature and whereabouts of the Edinburgh suburbs he mentions. His writing is not that good and yet he is very popular. No doubt crime is a popular topic but I guess I am not really into crime. Having read a sample I had not intended to pursue this writer. However, as I disposed of this book to my sister, she responded by giving me a volume containing two more novels by Ian Rankin.

This is a beautifully written collection of stories set in Thailand by an American born Thai writer. Each story explores a different relationship; mother and son, father and daughter, a boy and his friend. One of the storiesexposes the plight of Cambodian refugeesliving in Thailand. I really enjoyed this one even though I cannot understand how the title relates to the stories.

It was perhaps surprising that there is so much ill will in China against Japanese school text books. The demonstrators we saw on TV were youngsters. They could not have remembered the Rape of Nanking when the Japanese butchered the civilian population, but they must be aware of it. Was the occupation of Malaya by the Japanese any different than the presence of the British? As I understand it from my reading, admittedly from English language sources, the British were in the Malay States by invitation from the Sultans. The British had bought the islands of Penang and Singapore from the Sultans and the Malacca Straits Settlement from the Dutch. Of course, they were followed by the Chinese who opened shops. Problems arose due to Malay bankruptcy law. If a debtor could not pay his creditor he and his family had to provide services to the creditor. Thus, debt slavery arose. As there was no such law in the Straits Settlement, population drifted from the Malay States to Malacca. To arrest the de-population of the Malay States the Sultans invited the British to provide the same administration as in the Straits Settlement with the exception of religious affairs. I guess there were benefits both ways and it brought the rubber industry which was essential to the twentieth century motor industry. Another source maintained that fifty per cent of the rubber was produced by Chinese smallholders. Though I digress, bankruptcy laws also caused problems in Vietnam. Under the bankruptcy law before the French a creditor could not force a creditor to part with his rice paddy. The debtor was always allowed to retain his rice paddy to support his family. The French repealed this sensible law and peasants became dispossessed of their land in a spiralling of debt owed to unscrupulous creditors. To get back on track, it is not today’s generation that should held accountable for the sins of the past. Holding Germany accountable for World War One created World War Two. However, history does serve a purpose because we can always learn from the mistakes of the past.

A Man and a Woman This film was on TV a few weeks ago. It is a French film and it was made in the late 1960’s. I video recorded it for my friend who saw it five time when it came out as he had enjoyed it so much. Did he enjoy it as much after the passage of time? Had it retained its old magic? Sadly, no. He wondered what he had seen in it at the time. He thought that perhaps after seeing mostly Hollywood made films in the 1960’s, this European made film was something a little different. The film starred Anouk Aimee and John-Louis Trintignant (?). I would say that they were both at the peak of their respective careers. My friend commented that the male parts in the film, that is Jean-Louis and his son, did most of the talking. When the camera swung to Anouk Aimee or her daughter, they would each be smiling prettily but without very much to say. I had not noticed this phenomenon but found it quite intriguing. Could it be that times have changed? There is no doubt that women are more outspoken now and take a more prominent role in most facets of life than they used to. Or could it be a cultural difference; that French women are seen but not heard whereas American women are both seen and heard.

I saw the film “Being Julia”. It probably received an Academy nomination. It was well acted. Perhaps, it was over-acted. The film is based on the Somerset Maugham novel “Theatre”. It is the first film version I have seen of that novel. I have read the novel many years ago but, in spite of that, my feeble mind had difficulty in following the plot. I have forgotten the name of the leading lady or anything about her except that in real life she is forty-six years old. The leading man is Jeremy Irons who I always enjoy. In addition someone played the part of a ghost who whispers approvingly or disapprovingly in the ear of the leading lady from time to time. I think this is an innovation of the film-makers rather than a character in the novel. The film-makers made a reasonable attempt to re-create London in the 1930’s. However, the slick colour photography of the 21st century somehow misses the mark. I am being unreasonably critical. I have recorded on video tape for my collection the 1935 film version of Somerset Maugham’s novel “Of Human Bondage” starring Leslie Phillips and Bette Davis. It is in black and white, of course; but it really is London in the 1930’s.

After a brief spell of non-fiction I have gone back to fiction. Ironically, the story is connected with Shanghai – last blog but one and the Bolsheviks feature prominently again – last blog. So my reading is continuing along the same themes. This novel is very readable but it sometimes lacks detail. It is a modern novel, first published in 2004. It is rather swashbuckling and romantic. It rather reminds me of the work of Wilbur Smith who’s writing, I decided, is not for me. I might once have been entertained by that sort of stuff. But not now. The characters are larger than life. They are hardly credible as human beings. They are white Russians escaping the Bolsheviks to begin a new life in Shanghai as thousands did at the time of the Russian Revolution. The Bolsheviks had executed the Csar and his children so there could be no return to the old regime. However, an interesting point is made in a conversation. While the old Csarist regime was oppressive, serfdom was abolished in Russia long before slavery was abolished in the United States. I sometimes wonder why I waste my time reading silly stories about things that never happened. Only this morning there was an article on the radio about the Da Vinci Code. Could it be a case of Harry Potter for adults? At least what Harry Potter has done for children is to get them away from television and computer games and get them to read. This enhances their ability to use the language, their spelling and their grammatical construction. It is of enormous value to children. However, I met a gentleman in Amsterdam whose career is in books and I asked him if he had read Harry Potter. He said that he had not. It was not for him. I tried to read Harry Potter but I found it is not for me either. The author’s interest in Shanghai seems to arise from his parent’s visit on their round-the world honeymoon in 1932. However, the author visited Shanghai in 2002 to research material for the book. He also worked in Hong Kong in the 1960’s. I suppose it could be said that Hong Kong came to fulfil the role that Shanghai once had. My own interest in Shanghai arises from my uncle who worked there as a policeman in the International Settlement. The Russian connection comes from the fact that on one of his return voyages to Shanghai after a period of home leave, he met and married a Russian princess. Obviously, she was a White Russian who had escaped the Bolshevik Revolution. There were many Russian princesses who escaped the Revolution and called themselves princesses to create a bit of status for their new surroundings. However, on arriving in Shanghai, my uncle found that he had acquired a ready-made family consisting of twin twenty-one year old daughters. Sadly, on a subsequent home leave, my uncle underwent a minor operation which went wrong and he died. More recently, on my own home leave, I was shown an old album containing a photograph taken in China of a couple standing beside an old motor car; the lady was in a fur coat and the gentleman was in some kind of uniform.

Put Passion Into Your Pictures I found the following passage in a travel article in a newspaper. I was so impressed with the ideas in the article that I recorded them. As I am going on holiday quite soon it is timely to again consider these ideas. The passage read as follows: How often have we packed our camera bags and enthusiastically ventured out for the day in search of great images only to come back disappointed? The same can be said for wasted overseas phototrips that have produced little more than record shots of where we have been. Frank Calidonna writing about the creative process says that what is often lacking is a clear idea of what we want to say. Regardless of competency in technique, lack of a communicable idea will still produce dull images. Camera clubs have an abundance of good technicians and equipment buffs. Creative people share 3 precious elements: imagination, originality, and ideas they are able to communicate. The old maxim is that if your only interest in life is photography, you are probably a terrible photographer. Ask yourself what is my passion - what subject matter in my travels really attracts me? If you lack a passion for the subject you will be limited to taking uninspiring photographs. If you lack a passion for a subject at this time, find something you can develop a passion for. Enjoyment of the subject may grow with the quality of images produced and it gives you a goal in your travels. Ask: why are we taking these photos. What am I trying to communicate? Write ideas down before they are forgotten. Having captured the idea, develop it. Often it will lead to another or perhaps a whole series for a project or a collection, exhibition or a book. Ideals, like goals need to be specific. Avoid vague descriptions. Ideas may need to be nurtured to maturity which may take days or months. Who are the viewers and what do we want them to feel. Recording ideas may include dates for re-working them, resources needed, time frames for milestones leading to a final outcome. Proposed use. If it is a new way of looking at an old subject, what are some of the images from others that may be used as a benchmark. Follow your passion and start with well-written and developed ideas and this creative process to memorable travel images.

After an overdose of fiction it is refreshing to get back to extraordinary events that actually happened albeit in another time and place. The author is a lieutenant colonel in the Indian Army. In 1919 he is sent from Kashmir via Giligit over the Pamirs to Tashkent in Turkistan, now controlled by the Bolsheviks (Russian communists). To get there he crosses mountain passes at 13,000 feet where he takes the opportunity to add to his butterfly collection. The purpose of the mission to Tashkent, or its outcome, is unclear. Perhaps it was still secret at the time the book was first written in 1946. It becomes apparent that the Bolshevik authorities wish to capture the author. The author takes certain steps to evade capture. In that environment just after the Russian Revolution there was no such thing as a fair trial. Capture usually meant being shot. To evade capture, the author disguised himself as an Austrian prisoner of war of Rumanian nationality. Although he seems to have been something of a linguist, he could not speak a word of the Rumanian language and therefore had to take extra care not to meet any Rumanians who would quickly jump to the conclusion that he was not who he said he was. Other measures included lodging with a different family each night. He seems to have made friends easily with the local Russian residents and he acknowledges that they took very great risks in harbouring him. He says that the Bolsheviks spent 3 months keeping the author’s dog under surveillance in case he should lead them to his master. At one point the author leaves Tashkent for the safety of the surrounding mountain is the depths of winter. Here the author had an accident and injures his leg with the result that he is stranded on the mountainside for several months. On his return to Tashkent he discovers that the Bolshevik authorities are trying to recruit a spy for counter espionage activities in Bokhara, a city not under Bolshevik control. The Bolsheviks have lost all 15 of their previous spies. None of them returned. The author gets the job. He also gets clearances with the Cheka, the Bolshevik secret police. Life under the Bolsheviks was very difficult. People could not move around freely. They were required to have a permit to move from place to place. In the initial days of the Communist regime the principles of the ideology were rigidly enforced. Only when they were found to be unworkable were they gradually relaxed. A person with less than 5,000 roubles was allowed to keep his money, but a person with more than 5,000 roubles must be bourgeois and had the lot confiscated. It is ironic that the Nicholai currency of the deposed Tsarist regime had a better exchange value than the new currency of the Bolshevik regime. In spite of the author having been given up for dead he manages to escape to Persia after crossing several hundred miles of desert surviving hunger, thirst and the Bolsheviks. The story is not the easiest to read and is confused by the foreign names of people and places. It is made even more confusing because we never really know what the author set out to achieve and whether the mission to Bokhara served this purpose or was merely part of an elaborate escape plan.

This is an autobiography of a lady who was imprisoned for six years during the Cultural Revolution in China. The story commences just before the beginning of the Cultural Revolution in 1965 and continues until she leaves China for the US after obtaining a passport in 1980. After the death of her husband the author worked for the Shell Oil Company in Shanghai until it closed. She seems to have been left in rather comfortable circumstances as she has a couple of servants. Her daughter had been born while they were posted to Canberra, Australia. On the outbreak of the Cultural Revolution the author is called to a meeting at which employees of foreign firms are denounced. The author’s house is ransacked and looted by red guards in the name of the Cultural Revolution. Presently, she is taken away and imprisoned at the No 1 detention house. The conditions at the prison are very bad. There is no heating and the food is barely adequate to sustain life. Periodically she is taken from her cell for interrogation. She is encouraged to make a confession. She steadfastly refuses to confess to any crimes she did not commit. It seems as though the authorities have nothing on her but are hoping they can get her to confess to something that would justify her incarceration. As one year draws out into the next she falls ill. Medical treatment is almost non-existent. It seems as if the authorities are not too concerned whether she recovers or not. Her courage in the face of adversity is nothing short of amazing. At one point she is handcuffed. The handcuffs are squeezed so tight by a particularly mercenary prison guard that they cut through the skin on her wrists. She is told that she only has to confess to have the handcuffs removed. She is seriously worried about the permanent damage to her hands that could occur but she still maintains she has done nothing wrong. She still does not confess. It is six years before the Cultural Revolution is running out of fervour and changes are taking place in the top echelons of government. Eventually she is released but she is still under surveillance. But, with the release, comes the cruellest blow of all. The author continues to live through the changes in regime. From that of Mao Tse Tung to that of Deng Xao Ping. At one point it looked like the “Gang of Four” headed by Madame Mao would seize power and continue the reign of terror. It is almost inconceivable how cruel governments can be towards the people that they are supposed to serve. Yet, it happens time and again. The democratic system is no guarantee. Adolf Hitler, too, was democratically elected. Margaret Thatcher said that it is not that society needs to be protected from the individual, but the individual that needs to be protected from society. People are still detained for their political beliefs. People are still detained without trial. And yet this is described as “bringing them to justice”. There is so much hypocrisy in the world. We say one thing but do another.