Here's the thing...

We left late. I blame the Spanish that were with us because they don't read this blog and you know how they are with time. At least, that's the excuse I'm sticking with. So, it wasn't until after three that we finally headed out of town in three white Toyota pickups piled with camping gear and headed toward the Gayo Highlands - more commonly referred to by us coastal lowlanders as, 'those mountains over there.' We were attempting to reach Lake Tawar before nightfall but with a five hour drive this idea was quickly abandoned as we wound up steep hairpin turns hour after hour. It was not a drive for the faint-hearted (or stomached). The scenery gorgeous but a wrong move could send a truck of hurtling thousands of feet to the canyons below...a fact that I liked to remind those I was driving every time we ground to a halt at a 45 degree angle to shift into four wheel drive or went around a particularly precarious turn. It was calm, and cool winding thro...

You know, as one normally does... on Vatican Radio . (Yes, the Pope's got his own station, apparently).

Our senior management had a great idea to take our cooks, cleaners, guards and drivers all out to the field today to see what all the project people had been doing all this time. They wanted the people who normally stay in the office to see how they contributed to something bigger. It was a great idea. So, after a day of touring around houses and schools, meeting families and children and teachers they stopped at the floating fish ponds that I have previously described in another entry. But, instead of getting there in a canoe they put them on a raft. To make a long story short the raft flipped and trapped several of them underneath. Most couldn't swim. Some of those who dove in to try to save them couldn't swim. It was awful. No one was drowned although there were some serious bad moments in which those who were managing the situation thought there might be. Everyone involved was traumatized and several in severe shock. Imagine having been through the tsunami and now this...

Someone recently asked me what it was like leaving all the time and the question struck me as strange...cause is isn't like anything. It's like asking if you found it strange to go to work this morning. Was it strange leaving the house? We're always leaving. Sometimes you go farther than other times. Sometimes you don't come back to the place you left. But there is really no difference. It's just part of living - like everything else, joy, loneliness, laughter, aggravations, suffering, returning, leaving. It's part of being alive. You have to leave sometime.

The quake that struck this afternoon was powerful enough to get us out of our houses and quick. I was at one location and drove across town soon thereafter. There seemed to be no injury or structural damage, however, panic was ensuing. The streets became quickly clogged with people trying to get out of town as rumours of another tsunami spread. Things have calmed down a little now and we're all fine. But...it does, again, highlight the fact that the tsunami warning system is an utter failure and that the NGOs have far more information than the local populous who are most in danger of injury in a tsunami - or injury in the ensuing mad crush of panic even if there isn't one. Interestingly, I did interviews with both BBC and SkyNews but was told to standby for live as they were simply 'monitoring the story to see if it develops'. In media-speak that is, 'waiting to find out if enough people die to make it interesting.' And thanks to everyone who has sent e-mai...

When those conversations start about 'what super hero you would be' I always find myself at a loss. I mean, Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, the Bionic Woman. They're all great but they're not really me. But now, a friend has introduced me to the super hero I would be. (And not just because he drinks a martini to turn into the super hero either...I don't think) Here's the theme song for you.

So I was doing a little brushing up on Somalia because, well, it never hurts to be well-informed about Somalia, and I came across this sentence in the Wikipedia article that caused me to laugh out loud: "In June 2006, the Alliance for the Restoration of Peace and Counter-Terrorism warlords lost Mogadishu after several months of sporadic fighting." The 'peace and counter-terrorism warlords'. Can someone tell me how that works exactly? "Hey, who are you? Me? I'm a peace warlord!"

Do you ever just want to know random stuff for no reason except that it's kinda just fun knowing stuff? Ok, maybe it's just me. But you really should visit this webpage - www.whatyououghttoknow.com . Perhaps even on multiple occasions. It won't hurt you but it might cut into the time spent on facebook. That's a cost you'll have to weigh.

I came home from work and American Idol was on. Now, I loathe these reality shows and their seemingly endless proliferation. I don't care who the next top model/superstar/designer whatever is going to be. They bug me. They're inane. They're boring. They're mindnumbing. But it was either that or BBC so I choose went for the most mind-numbing option. After about an hour of BBC (kidding! hah! oh, I kill me!)...no, after an hour of American Idol I couldn't take any more and went upstairs where I suddenly heard all the Mullah's mullah-ing the evening prayer call. Now, one thing that is not lacking in this town is mosques. There's literally about one every other block and the prayer call is cacophany of voices calling over loudspeakers. They might 'claim' that they're not in competition with each other but I don't believe it. You can almost hear the joy in their voices if they get a new, louder loudspeaker. Now, I'm a big fan of the prayer call...

Sierra and I waved down a taxi not far from the train station. ‘Bonjour!’ I chippered in French. I try to be chipper in languages I can barely speak. I think it makes up for barely speaking them. ‘McDonalds en Canet Plage’. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Where?’ ‘Ummm, McDonalds, un restaurant dans Canet Plage.’ I am also a firm believer in switching up the prepositions in languages I speak badly. Sometimes it helps. He nodded, so apparently it did, and we drove for about 15 minutes through south of France toward the sea. We were supposed to be meeting up with the woman from whom we were renting an apartment for the week. The driver pulled into the driveway and we paid him and grabbed our bags. With a certain panache he swept out to open Sierra’s door for her. ‘Bon appetit!’ he said with flourish. I was mortified when it dawned on me what the taxi driver must have been thinking. Two American girls arrive at the train station and are so desperate for hideous processed food in...

That statement alone is odd because Singapore is not the place where funny things happen to you. Funny things happen to you in Bangkok or Madrid . Beijing , Siberia, and Mali . But funny things don’t normally happen to you in Singapore . They call it ‘Asia Light’ precisely because funny things don’t happen to you. It’s the place with clean streets, low crime, and posters praising the virtues plastered everywhere. It’s the place with medical care in the airport. So, you would think that I would be delighted to be stranded here. But I am not. I have nothing to do. All the shops are closed. Even Starbucks is closed - if that gives you any indication of how dire the situation is. This means that I cannot get my visa and have to stay here for five days instead of one. I am not happy and want to tell someone and who should I happen to immediately run into? The Prime Minister. I kid you not. I turn away from the ticketing counter to the empty reservations hall and there is an enormous entou...

His name is Shari'a Law. Perhaps you've met him. He gets around. We've been living together for the past two years, Shari'a and me. Now, of course, I'm not literally dating a legal system but that's sure what it feels like on R&R. When I go shopping and browse through all the cute short sleeve tops and skirts. I'd like to try them on but won't even bother. Why tempt myself? Shari'a wouldn't approve. Shari'a doesn't like it when I show my arms or legs. He's not so thrilled about my head being uncovered but has learned not to say anything. On holiday when I go out to restaurants I order a beer and bacon burger first thing. Shari'a doesn't like me to drink or eat pork. He's kind of a downer, in fact. "It's your own fault," my friends say. "Move away," they say. And I should but most of the places I where I would think to go, he'd be there waiting for me. Unfortunate, but true. So, I guess ...