2008-09-22T09:07:00.000-07:00

Almost on gaining height we began to descend. It was a short flight over the Straits of Malacca. So short that when we approached and were rapidly descending into the sea I was thinking the navigation controls might have failed. However Penang airport had a runway facing the sea. We bounced in and soon were in modern Western and much more expensive Malaysia, where English was a second language. I soon found a bank hidden under McDonalds that gave the best rates to change my Indo rupiah to Ringatt.

Everything felt very British and orderly. I connected to something of the Empire and my father's past military exploits here. A Rapid Express bus with ac and modern took me into the city for less than a dollar. They did not hang round so one had to wait outside for them. I met a Malay human resources consultant who gave me a map of Penang and recommended a beach to go to. I had to change at the wharf ferry terminal. Got a 101 bus to Feringhi Beach. Tears came to my eyes as I looked at the passengers.

I was dropped at a stop that I almost missed it was so hard to determine if this was the beach. Rows of expensive multi-storey hotels lined the way. It was the low season and the place was deserted. I went to one called Toni's that was Indian run and like a dirty doss house. I left it walked on to an internet cafe where they advertised rooms on the beach. I was picked up by a Muslim Malay in beaten up Mercedes and driven to beach guesthouse with passable clean rooms with toilet, ac and TV with hot shower and proper mattress bed. I took the room for 70r. He would not budge down. The place was full of cars at the back and not tidy where my room was. Some Canadian women had arrived. Slightly overweight and young. I headed off in search of dinner along the beach. I came back and asked them if they wanted to come out with me.

They were Canadian nurses - on the prowl. One 22 the other 30. They got drunk at an outdoor beach cafe. I shifted them from the loud music and group of young men they wanted to sit next to. They had come through Tokyo, Bangkok on a 4 week holiday and were out for a good time. I had a pizza at last and a juice costing $7. Steep by Indo standards. One of them had a cute ass slightly large and otherwise a good body and pretty face, however she had boyfriend back in Manitoba. The other older one had a nice face but her body let her down big time - a definite pear shape and sagging. They were very friendly and humorous. I liked them despite their alcoholism. We went for a walk through the markets and checked fake Rollex watches. I got an orange juice and aloe vera lotion for my sun burn at a minimart. They joked at me getting a ginger beer and that night they were in my dreams in a manage a trois.

18/9

I got up late despite their calls for dawn beach yoga. They had gone and I did not much care.

I tried to fix the destroyed trousers. Told no point. Perhaps an iron on patch over the top. A large one. Finally after I kept meeting the same tailor at different shops like a ghost, he offered to fix it for 20 r. I declined now looking to put patch decorative medallions over it to improve it. I had walked down to KFC and opposite was an expensive bakery where I got a roll and read the paper. Turnbull had usurped dunderhead doctor finally. A cheap 2r an hour internet cafe full of games machines was in that block and I posted up most of my blogs again. Got a do nothing complaining letter about my attitude from the WO. So I retaliated telling her how useless she and her organisation were and that it was a disgrace that the minimum wage was so blatantly being flouted. I then rewrote the Clinton article blaming the Democrats for not chosing Hillary as Vice President. Obama had been struggling due to Palin, the female Alaskan vice McCain had chosen. He had only rebounded after the stockmarket crash.

I went back to the hotel after stopping for cheap noodles to save money. It was dark and I went to bed, got up, played some guitar. The Canadians came and went and I ignored them. The Palm had defaulted wiping out 4 days of unbacked up diary I had put a lot of effort in for an article on the Batak.

19/9

Tweezerman goes missing. And I am in depression. I get up late, try and rewrite my diary. In a bad mood.

Finally the owner wants his money and drives me to the ATM with my luggage. He drops me at the bus stop. I meet a Brit at a cafe there and try and pursuade him to join UOCA. He has a beer at 1 pm and works two years in IT then has 5 years holiday. He is in his 50s and staying in an apartment and has a car. I miss several buses then leave him.

I get to Penang and am dropped off in Lebuh Chulia where the backpackers are. A decent hotel offers a room for 75r - promotional package. I decline it and find a place called Swiss Guesthouse. It give a rotten bed in a noisy room with hot shower, TV and ac for 35r. It is an old Chinese place. I head out in search of repairing the trousers with patches and am taken by motorbike to an Indian tailor who will do it for 8r. But I head on to the tower complex and its supermarkets. There are no iron on patches but after hours I find a place that will sow on badges of Scotland over the holes near the police station in the tower. An Islamic woman there was very friendly and wanted me to eat a curry puff. Rich department stores provide refuge and I end up at an English cinema watching the Love Guru. I buy a lighter with a light and a pair of scissors that are rounded to protect the nose. And some lip protection. Sounds dull but practicalities are necessary. The Love Guru seemed to have some truth in it.

I walked back past Star Bucks down rope walk, some Scandinavian couple just arrived too frightened to follow me. In Chulia the backpack hang outs were full of boozers. I ended up writing a long email to my mother trying to explain my situation fairly. As well as writing to the Carolina about the trousers to get a report for insurance. And to Toba to find the Tweezermans.

Dear Sir,

I spoke to Jonah and the telephone and he assured me that he would have you send by email a report stating the damage done to my trousers by your laundry service. They were so badly damaged in the pocket area, with several large holes and burn marks that I have been told by tailors to throw them out. By all rights you should pay for the cost of replacing them - Aus. $140. However I request for my travel insurance that you send me a report stating that they were damaged by your laundry service and therefore I can make a claim through them. If you wish I can send a photo of the damage your iron caused to this sensitive fabric.

Also the Tweezermen nose trimmer, a small device which I showed your staff and which needed oiling to get it to work, has gone missing since leaving your hotel. Could you check the rooms that I were in, 33 and the other one, looking for a small black bag containing a black manual nose trimmer that is squeezed to make it operate.

---

20/9

I got to bed at 2.30 am. Did not sleep well. Got up at 12 pm. Checked out. Went for a walk to the old town to find the church my parents were married in. The empty Cathedral of the Assumption was first stop and it would be making one to think my parents were marrid there. A Catholic shrine to mother Mary looking a little Chinese stood outside it. Further down St George was in the old town by the sea on Farquhar street, the oldest Anglican church in Malaysia dating to 1818 was built by an engineer Robert Smith. The Penang Museum was well done in outlining the cities history - founded by Light of all people, a Brit from Suffolk whose son went on to found Adelaide. Light left the company and shacked up with a Siamese Portuguese woman, Martina Rozells at Phuket and this was enough for the local sultan to grant him the Island for the East India Company in 1786. Initially immigrants were paid to live there and clear the land. Each ethnic group was alloted a street, but there was no formal segregation. The Kanak nurses were there and in the light of day I think they realised how old I was and soon made excuses to head off. They had moved into the Holiday Inn. Maniquins of colonial rulers, and then married couples. There seemed interminable displays of all the ethnic groups marriage rites. However the museum was up to modern Western standards and only 1r to enter, it had the usual sleeping security. I past the old Town Halls where colourful opera and dances were held opposite the football oval in Jalan Padang and then to Fort Cornwallis which had Indians dressed up in old 18th century European costumes. Francis Light had built the fort in 1786 of Nibong Palms at the tip of the cape. The sultan had agreed to it if the company protected him from the Siamese and Burmese who were attacking Kedah to the north. The Brits needed a base between China and India for their silk run and opium. Clive of India was presently making a fortune along with his Nabobs and the company was stretched in conflicts with the French so not to keen to provide arms and troops to the sultan. Light on his own took the island and used convict labour to build it. The starshaped fort with moat and canon had sepoys guarding it and soon interested the East India company enough to make it a major trading port. Souvenir shops inside and an artist doing watercolours and even Sepoy tents with an Union Jack remained there. Light was born in 1740 and in 1759 joined the navy in HMS Captain, then Dragon and finally Arrogant, ending in 1763 as a midshipman. He then joined the Company and sailed on the Clive to Madras. He took command of a ship belonging to Jourdain and went looking for trading ports. He found Penang but could not get the company interested in the deal with the local sultan. I took a shot of one of the toilets marked an no entry. The fort never saw action except in the Chinese riots of 1867 between the Hokkien and Cantonese secret societies. It had been abondoned to the Japs in WWII. Outside a rich Chinese couple were getting mariage photos in front of Light, his sword removed by the Japanese for war machinery.

I was feeling alone again - could have done without bumping into the Kanak sluts. I was given a tour walking the old city and followed it up the old Imperial banking street of Pantai, then headed past the closed Pinang Chinese Mansion which had an old Brit phone booth outside, to the King street Chinese temples, a girl explained it was to a man who had become god long ago in the Tao faith - Cantonese Tua Pek Kong Temple. Another seemed to worship a general - Wu Ti Meow warlord's temple - though they spoke no English. A Chinese brewed tea company, Faongg naturally was near by. I found a vegetarian AC restaurant near Goddess of Mercy Chinese temple on Cina near Kapitan Keling Jalan. There were a lot of temples to see. The desert had icecream and corn in it. The rice Tom Yam was small but nicely cooked, the Jack Fruit juice watery. But it was cheap and clean.

Mercy had a sweeping roof decorated with copings and ridges, Oracle sticks and even a Chinese opera and puppet theatre sometimes played on feast days.

I got talking to some of the old Chinese, one spoke passable English. It was Taoist but seemed mixed with Buddhism, the Bodhisattvas seemed to be worshipped. Whilst Confucius was represented amongst the gods behind the glass panels in the smoky environs. Joss sticks, prayer mantras written on long narrow paper with people's names on them, cost 10r a day. For good luck.
'Buddha believes in karma, you reap what you sow, but Taoism is more you do good to others regardless, that is mercy.' He gesticulated at the soot on the murky darkening wood, 'too much incense and candle wax.' Bottles of oil lay everywhere. Dragon's adorned the ceilings and it made me want to visit China. Golden urns and red balloon lamps adorned the cluttered temple. Outside bins burnt offerings to the gods. Next door was an Indian Garnesh statue wearing holy flowers round its neck in a little shrine. Penang truly mixed cultures. Little India was not far away with its chaos and of course they had a temple in Queen Lb. Much more garish than the Chinese, colourful and full of dancing happy gods. Lighter and cleaner, with a golden chimney in the middle, but somehow it was too full of images, too full of vanity to touch God. Prayer bells rang and in rice flour on the ground was a floral mottif called kolam. Even the mass of dieties all groping up its spire outside, a testament to perhaps overpopulation at the Mahamariamman Temple, was somehow irreligious. I past a closed Chinese Teochew temple and then on the next corner was a Mosque. Looking almost Byzantine onion domes built in 1801 and mineret added in 1910 with Raj Moghul additions, but strangely simple, it appealed to me. Kapitan Keling Mosque was empty bar a few swirling patterns. I was taken round by a money changer Tamil. Some European girls came in with boyfriends and were forced to put on gowns and shunted to the back as the guide took their boyfriends for a tour. He showed me the pond they clean themselves before prayer. He was fasting till evening sunset as it was Ramadan. Not even a drop of water, he made to drop water in his mouth. It was almost sunset and when it came his friends offered food they were sharing. All were brothers. I felt a peace coming from him. I had to wear a gown in blue which was quite hot, due to my shorts. He said it was ungodly as were Westerners. We had a long talk about Islam and Jesus.

He took me to a restaurant after they had prayed. All the men in a line to the sound of the haunting singing voice of the prayers. He said Jesus had not been crucified on the cross, Judas had, and that was why Peter had said he did not know the man. I said who knows what happened such a long time ago. Jesus could not bare our sins by his death, he told me, we had to bare our own and when judgement day came God would decide. But it was another all or nothing situation like in a way enlightenment and therefore just as flawed. Depending on what you did in the world heaven or hell. It was too black and white with a ridiculous cut off point that either resulted in pure good or pure evil. What about the person on 50% exactly, where did he go? We ate Indian and the food was good, and suprisingly he paid for it. I almost did not let him, but then thought let it be a test and I will return the favour at the right time.

He tried to help me find a hotel, the first was a filthy Hindu place that looked like a brothel, the next a clean Islamic place that was full, then a sort of inbetween Chinese place not much different from Swiss. Finally outside Swiss he found an Islamic Indian place full of Brit lads walking round in their underpants. It had a clean single room with ac and a good mattress, but the size of a small shoe box. They were friendly and I had gone for internet there earlier in the day when one lad had strolled into the money changers bookshop wearing only a towel, then spoke in that way only Brits can to the locals. 'Lastee nightee, woman come shout very muchee. Say she killee man in street. What you do?' He clearly was hungover and asked for a light. I pulled out my lighter and lit his cigerrette. The fan kept blowing it out.

I decided not to take the place, got my luggage and was walking out, when the Tamil shouted '23r!'
I stood there not sure whether to take it. Asking God, but the idea of British backpackers getting pissed entered my head and I walked on to Love Lane and to the little place at the end that advertised the yoga. It had a tiny hot room with a fan for 18r. I should have paid the 23r. They had free internet and no-one had replied so I sent reminders. The room was stifling even with the fan and mosquitoes attacked me, to the point where I started to feel ill. I got up and got the night manager to give me a mosquito electric plug in device, then pointed the fan at the bed, got out my sleeping bag and got a fitfull nights sleep. They were Chinese.

21/9

At 9 I woke and was in a rush to get the bus to KL. I had a quick shower and packed. I had worked out how to recharge the Palm by sticking a key into the earth, then forcing the plug into the British sockets. In fact the case to the Palm had done what Paul had said it would, the latch finally broke as I flew out of Indonesia. My trip was disintegrating. I went up the road to enquire on the bus times to KL at Love Lane Inn, which had clean decent rooms. The fat Chinese woman got upset when I inquired how to get to the free minibus to the bus terminal.'You not buy ticket, you just want information.'
'I want to know how close the free bus is to here.'
'No, you bullshit people, never want to pay, cause trouble.'
I walked out telling her I was a photojournalist and would write up her helpful service. I had gone there yesterday to look at a room and enquired on an island tour where she crossed out the brochure price adding 100r. They had made me take my shoes off to look at the room.

I rushed up to Chulia and grabbed a Rapid bus to the tower and then changed to 303 to the terminus Sung Nibong. It was an old bus and dragged on till we arrived just after 10.30 when the KL bus left. But it had not gone and there appeared to be buses going every hour. 35r later I was in an ac coach with wide seats in more luxury than Australia. There was no discount for buying the ticket there. The ac was a touch too good and cold in shorts. There was a massive long bridge to the mainland then freeway all the way south.

Somehow the AC came out of the speaker above me, so I could not switch it off. We made a stop at a remote jungle mountain region where a police tower was. All there was was an immaculate toilet complex, no food stalls as if God was saying I want you to observe Ramadan. I had not had a drop since last night.

We rolled up in KL. And I began a long search for the Seria Inn. I grabbed a guy who was heading with his girlfriend out to a hotel. I grabbed his LP and tried to locate where I was. Used my compass and headed off following the monorail going in 180 degree wrong direction. This dragged on as I tried various instructions until I had done a semi circle and come to 62 Jalan Hang Lekiu. It was hidden at the back of a block. I almost missed it. The dorm was too cramped, so I got a double room with ac for a reduced 45r. Then I was out looking for tailors to repair my trousers, they directed me to the bus station, I was still fasting, not even water, and when I finally found the tailors at the back on top of the buses, they were complete assholes and rudely refused to help me or direct me to other tailors. I told them that was why they were poor.

I headed to the Central Market and as I walked through China town, and Cheng Lock Jalan past Petaling, I came across a little tailor who had a few patches to sow on with flags, including Australia. I lined up Austria, Ireland and Portugal - he had a limited supply and then went for a quick look to see if I could find anyone better. He was impressed I was fasting and asked me to join him after sunset for food. I came back after seeing a collection of flags but none the right size, I rejected all the Malaysia ones. The Central Market was actually an upmarket tourist enclave all indoors with ac. I came back to the Rastafaran Malay from Penang and got him to start work on it. He moved in slow motion and I soon had to get food, at an Indian part vegetarian place I stocked up on the cheap. Came back and corrected a few errors, and had him stitch over some areas not covered by the four flags. The laundry at Carolina had earned their money. 28r later he had done the job and I had my flagged trek pants Eurocentric. Scotland had lost out. I was not sure how it was going to look wearing them. I was a brother to the tailors now.

I walked back through the city in the dark, it had cooled down and somehow keeping the Ramadam had brought me to the tailor, but I had missed once again the point and was eating as if even Ramadan was not enough, food itself had to be given up, but instead I got chocolate, drinks, ice cream anything to distract me from loving and sharing with my poor brothers on the street, taking all the things that they could not afford and made me ill. Was I evil, was it greed?

I ended up back alone at the hotel, went upstairs where backpackers were in the lounge kitchen on the top floor, it was humid and the TV was on. A woman heading to Vietnam was there. People had their laptops out. I chatted briefly to them.

My room was next to some young Lithuanian boys who headed out for a night on the town. I had to put a blanket across the window because there was so much light coming in. It looked like an office that had been converted into a hostel, complete with the office ceilings and divides. And paper thin walls.

I had a strange sleep of wading through a stream trying to pick up a banana before it sunk, with my family organising it like a sort of test. They tried to shift it so that it was immediately before the opening to the ocean and I protested.

made it to breakfast, white toast and tea, then spent ages trying to get the wifi to work due to the encryption code they had put on it so they could get their 5r. It failed to work. Decrypt. I changed rooms to a quiet single one away from a window but near the toilet. I walked to the Indian visa office up Ampang street, almost passed it before American International Assurance who had gone bust was opposite with someone heading in on a wheelchair. They required a photo so I had to go back to the hotel. It was 200r for the visa and took 5 working days. I could have gone to Chang Mai in Thailand rather than being stuck here. So I went to the internet cafe in a block at Sinar Kota, it was hidden up the third floor, Starbucks was below and for some reason their wifi refused to work for me. I spent several hours there writing to WO trying to work out my life. Then fixing up the Batak article and sending it to Annette and the Carolina and Toba Travel. Then headed off to do the visa, By chance I came across a music shop to replace my strings. On the whole the streets were walkable, but round the bus market area they became crowded and agressive with riff raff and street vendors. I thought of grabbing a cab but now none would stop. So I walked it and then they wanted another photo, I complained and they let it go. I continued round and round until I got to the limo that took you up the KL tower. The fourth highest in the world, it was like a minaret. At the top the staff burst out laughing at my cowboy hat making gee up sounds. They failed to point out the audio visual head gear and it was by chance I saw someone with a set, then when I asked for it and could not find my ticket they almost refused to give it to me. I swore and chucked my orange juice container on the floor grabbing one. It was full of slimy commercialese with a slick presenter and one had to search had to get to the information on the view. The view was good and KL stretched out like a modern clean city below. The Petronis twin towers close by looking space age and rounded and soon the sun was setting in the distance over the sea. Mountains and endless tall buildings speckled the landscape and some quite nice parks. Malaysia was rather odd in a way at its states each had their own kings or governors who were figureheads. There was not one for the country. There was a view of the opera house with its blue roof like Sydney's. The monorail could be made out. The National Mosque heading over to Petaling Jaya where the famous eco-sail shaped building was. Even my hotel could be seen wedged in amongst the more market area. As I walked out the wrong exit one of the staff shouted at me and I made a point of filling out the feedback form in front of her and asking her name pointing out that it would go to senior management. They then chased after me trying to get the form but I said I wanted to take it personally to the manager and dropped it off at the ticket office below. I returned to the hotel past a giant camel building, then the courts, and an MBA for sale college. Had a shower and got in my room with the ac.

I had not rung Mansheel, trying to find a public phone here was not easy. I went upstairs and chatted to a Filipino who lived in Malaysia.

Then went out in search of a place to burn DVDs. I ended up in Chinatown near the Petaling Street. After hours they managed to wreck the burn and it was shear luck they did not destroy the prior photos in the DVD. I demanded a replacement and walked out refusing to pay for the internet. I had that intuitive feeling not to go there, once again ignored. The next place I did it myself without a problem. I put down more blogs, one on My Lai, removed all restrictions. It was after 2 am when I got back. I had a wrecked nights sleep.

23/9

The sleep was an omen of what was to come the next day. I got up at `10, went on the internet to see nothing was going with my visa. I checked out guesthouses in the Cameron Highlands and the Father Inn appeared the best for the money. I then tried to ring Mansheel, this proved difficult I had the wrong number, when I finally got the right one, she was not in, they would not give her mobile and told me to ring back, when I did she was unavailable and I was wondering if she was avoiding me. I booked a bus to the Cameron's, the VIP was booked out and I got on a standard. I went to lunch with the guy I had met in Penang who recommended the Serai, we went to a pure veg Indian ac restaurant two blocks behind the Serai on Jalan Ampang called Bhakti Woodlands - I got a good feel of India but it rapidly diminished. Had a Bombay Thali that was very uninspiring and made me sick. Then got my stuff and tried to locate the bus, I had that confused Malay feeling and sure enough despite his bad instructions to Digi and Kurnai Bistari bus could not find the bus depot. I should have known something was a miss. Then when I located it I was then shuttled to a place further down the road to a hotel who told me to get out, then I was told to go to the corner where a ramshackle bus called Regal that barely had ac and one of those steam engines in the front and shot shock absorbers. All the gears were loose and when he headed off I had that sort of lumbering cargo plane taking off feel that makes a noise that never quite makes it into the air for the whole trip. It was at least empty, no sensible Malay would get on it. The Serai had done me over, if I had just bought a ticket at the bus station I would have got a proper bus in comfort with other tourists. Instead it was another fuck you up job. I had to locate a better hotel in KL to stay at. I tried ringing her again from a Chinese guys mobile and was told they had not been able to get her. I had before asked them to contact her to get permission to let me have her mobile number. It was becoming ludicrous and I was being shafted over in particular on this hell bus.

I was in desparate need of luxury and happiness. I got that feeling from Mansheel of busy work and self importance. The feeling was that I was making error after error. I was heading back up towards Penang once more on a 4-5 hour bus ride. Some peasants were in the back.

Now I was in a reclining seat trying to sleep, my neck began to hurt and I gave up. We made a brief toilet, food stop in a lacklustre place where I got some tasteless chocchip cookies - kind of like sandpaper. Soon we were off the freeway and after a brief stop in a town to pick up some friends and drop them off at the edge of town, the driver who was an asshole and refused to let me go to the toilet, 'had toilet stop', as he made a phone call. I went for a piss at the back of the derelect bus station next to a young Indian who was doing the same. Thoughts of the Rastafan tailor came to mind who spent his time staring at the pretty girls passing his shop. My mind was full of my failed law career and paranoia at Mansheel ignoring me, somehow finding out I was mad. We started the long climb up and at the town an Italian guitarist and his Mexican girlfriend joined us. We had hit the highlands and the road twisted like a Jackel in a fight, the sun was setting creating patterns across the fields and mass of jungle.

It was dark when we arrived, the town was reasonably big, not a village. Developments in Tudor were going up. A mass of mini-buses were there to pick up backpackers. I headed to Father, they only had a dorm and an expensive room. I took the dorm which was mixed. I met an Austrian girl, she was a girl, who had run out of money and could not access her visa card. I told her to trust it was a lesson in attachment. I offered to buy her dinner and she refused. Then I said if she did not get money tomorrow I would give her 50r. I played some guitar but the mood was not right. Some Canadian girls were in the room and some Dutch at the far end, young guys. I was about double their age.

2?/9

It was an interesting night, but I had a Malaysian guy right next to me on one side, and the Austrian on the other. And it was sort of a bi manage a trois in my dreams that was not quite right. In the morning I did not want to get up. I was feeling a bit of a wreck and ancient in relation to them. I finally had a cold shower and shoved on the anti-wrinkle cream. Returned to the room and asked them what they were doing. Butterfly farm?

I headed up to the cafe for breakfast - had a fruit salad yogart 6r. And tea. Got a refill from the pot. Connected to the wifi (5r), emailed Mansheel.

Mansheel@fernandezselvarajah.com

Dear Mansheel,

I tried to ring your office several times - they did not seem that keen to pass a message onto you or give me your mobile number. I am in Malaysia and will be in KL in a couple of days. I was wondering if you would like to meet up. Remember Monash Law School.

James Murison

Emailed Carolina for the report, and Mondial about accepting the hotel's letter.

Indian visa was not accepted yet.

Father Inn had got my email but had not kept the room.

An American Korean girl was typing away on her ASUS and due to the pocket internet from the Palm I had to use it to access the Indian visa.

The Serai guesthouse number was 03-20704728

I got a reply from Sivananda and made a loose booking for a room. I had sent an email to Nasik:-

Dear Yogi,

I am coming to India in a week most likely.

I realise I am wait listed for your teacher training.

I do not want to push myself on to your course if a place is not available.

I did start your course in 2006 but left on the first day because it did not feel right, however I have not found a suitable yoga course since then. You did recommend some places but I did not follow up with them and instead went to Rishikesh which did not work.

Can you recommend another teacher training?

I also need a wife - 5'8-10, good figure and face, strict vegetarian (no eggs), spiritual attitude, clean, intelligent, educated preferably university, any race. Into yoga and less than 35. Can have children. If you could help me here you would have my blessings.
--

They had not replied.

I went to my room, I had got a room but it was near the restaurant and was going to be noisy. The average age here was 20s and single.

It was time to look for another guesthouse.

1.26 pm. Getting hungry.

I sat at a minute table in my room in front of a mirror typing. Had put on a jacket, it had started spitting rain.

Headed off down the path, the Father was high on the hill with vegetable gardens surrounding it. In an old British house. My father I believe was based up here scouring out communists from base camps high in the highlands.

He probably visited this place though not the Chennai Curry House I came to rest at. It was empty and cheap, 4r for a thali. There was no view. I contemplated heading up the local hill. I photographed the guide map then used the display to check it. Gunung Berenbun at 1812m was the closest walk of any duration. The town was Tanah Rata. Though Gunung Mentigi near Robinson Waterfalls was closer it was only 1535m. All due East. It started to rain.

Dearest Father,

I am in Tanah Rata, Cameron Highlands probably not far from the old Gordon's basecamp.

I am staying in Father Guesthouse. So I thought all things considered that I should write to you being my father.

The heavenly father also comes to mind.

I was wondering where the mother is?

love Jamie

I continued on after the thali and headed, in search of oil for the Tweezerman. I eventually got led back to Fuji who got out some WD 40, sprayed on the blades it freed up straightaway. I gave them a ringat. I had ended up at a souvenir shop and asked where, they had pointed to a mechanic who led me down the street to guide shop for a tour of the giant flowers - one for 80r a person. Who told me to go to the camera shop for oil, and said the VIP bus left at 8 and 1 to KL. After that I checked out Twin Pines which was meant to be the cheap backpacker hangout, cheap it was and with the Italian guitarist.

I checked another next door, Tudor and traditional, it was the View Guesthouse. 70r for a good room with a view. Neat garden.

Then I continued up and cut across a new Tudor development climbing up the gutter rampart to get to Father. I changed rooms to an 80r one with toilet shower and window away from the cafe. An old German woman had booked my room. So we swapped. I played some guitar then had spagetti, milo and pancake and ice cream and watched Hancock. The Palm had defaulted strangely enough destroying once again my amendments to the Tabo article. If God did not exist in Palm then I was an orangatang in my last life.

I got the feeling I was not in charge, that Mansheel was not replying to my email deliberately and that I had to surrender to the Father Guesthouse. It was a mass of traps but basically my race here so would make it easier to handle. I had to give in to the process. Probably like Hancock learning to be a Superhero but not an asshole.

Mansheel

I am writing an autobiography and you are in it so I thought I would just run it by you at a meeting.

More important than this is UOCA an organisation to change the world. I would like you to join. We can discuss it at the meeting.

I fly to Chennai early next week, so time is of essence.

What is it like to be a big shot barrister now?

It is about time you started using those skills to change the world and UOCA is all about this.

Dear Glen,

I know it is hard given your huge ego and how concealed it is, however UOCA needs you and as you first got me stoned in a way I owe you for putting me on the path to see above this world. But now its time to give back to change the planet and you can't hide away at Melbourne University any longer. And it is about time we cured that eyesight mate, and UOCA, once it is fully realised will produce miracles you cannot imagine, immortality, eternal youth and perfect health. I want to perform that miracle for you for getting me on that drug that changed my life. Karma gave you that blindness, no doubt in a past life or present you must have been a complete asshole, but God now wants to forgive you for good and it is using me to communicate to you. It is a win win for you Glen. All it will take is a tiny bit of humility from you - bowing down and worshipping me.

James

---

Dear Tim,

How are you cobber? I am learning the guitar and singing to fulfil your dream that I become Jim Morrison, and I am opening the Doors to you to join UOCA.

Whats up? Celebrating the 150th?

I am planning to take MGS to court?

James Murison

---

Dear Chetan,

I am in Malaysia and heading probably to Chennai, I was thinking of visiting you if I go to Bombay. Or if you like perhaps we could meet at an ashram - maybe Sia Baba?

I think in the end you will see UOCA is the only way for us all. You should read about it and be part of it. We need to end the suffering this planet is going through and put that above all else.

James
---

Dear Gandolf,

I guess if this is Lord of the Rings then I need your help. You should know by reading about UOCA that I am sincere and not. Good and bad. Nice and nasty.

I need you to join UOCA and bring your ashram into the fold. It is the only way.

Love James

Where is my guru?

It has to be my wife.

You just have to surrender a bit Gandolf.

Hand the ring of power over to me. And I will take control.

The game is almost up. We all know that we are fallen and have an evil core, and that is why this is hell for everyone. Not just me. There is no need to pretend - I have perfect knowledge now. We are in total telepathic connection. Yes I am weary. So end the fight. Surrender your ego to UOCA now. We are far beyond Satyananda, and they will join us.

I have had enough of the pain. Of the trickery.

--

Dear Ike,

Read it and get them to follow it.

--

Dear Sir

Decorations of religious objects that promlegate the faith are clearly within the definition of spreading the faith and therefore religious as these objects are worshipped by the faithful and are icons of their faith. It is clearly in the public interest that charitable religious organisations do not misuse donations. And in this case there is more than a reasonable suspicion that the gems were simply taken by the President for himself.

As well as a request to review your decision and I also as your decision is so poor as to be more than just simple incompetence, I would like to be given the email address of your superior due to suspected gross derelection of duty and possibly acting in a corrupted manner in carrying out your duties as a public officer either due to indolence or other unspecified reasons that may have influenced your decision perhaps connected with the Krisna organisation ISKCON or some other conflict of interest resulting in bias against myself.

--

I had one of those strange situations where a girl comes close to you and seems to be eyeing you and then you move and each move seems to control her and you and the world and any false move and the moment is lost. I started to pack my things and she was watching me and when I came to put the keyboard in the bag, and move out suddenly another guy approached her and I could have cursed.

I was drifting in my new room, got the guitar out and was singing outside by the patio. I was annoyed at the Malay Chinese next door, and began singing in make up Chinese, 'Hong, wong, ping pong, song han hue..'
A Chinese man, middle aged came out and complemented me on my music. He got talking. Was a security manager at a big shopping mall in Patallang Jaya, KL. I told him I needed my wife and he interpreted it as that I was married which I played along with. He invited me for a drive and trek tomorrow. He pulled out a camp burner and we had herbal tea.

25/9

I had a reasonably good sleep on the hard mattress. But violence was there.

I woke at 7 or so, got up and met him, we had a quick breakfast and I checked out. I was fed up with the hotel. Somehow angry at going on a trek with him and not some beautiful woman.

We headed off in his big Pick up and headed up a mountain. To a lookout, it was hazy, then to a mossy walk which was closed. We navigated like a trapeze tight rope walker over concrete stairs with only the frame built.

Then to a steep descent over masses of moss covered roots of trees. Plant insect catchers were growing there. And after two hours we got to the first high point. There was not much of a view and it was to go on or return, I was feeling fine but he seemed exhausted so I let him head back after a large block of chocolate. We got to the concrete work and workers were working on it. Then we were down at a strawberry farm picking strawberries, then the tea farm was closed and it was to lunch back in town at a cheap Indian place for noodles, he paid. He dropped me at the Father and I got another room inside upstairs for 45r. There was no window but it had a desk and was quiet.

He told me he had been a police officer in the CID and used to beat up the crims to get confessions. I told him the truth that I was not married. He did not seem to care. We had a chat about politics and his boss at the Mall turned out to be some billionaire Chinaman who was corrupt as hell. He was all for shooting these people but I persuaded him the new communism must come peacefully and legally to the world or it would fail as before.

I went to sleep when I got back to my new room. Woke up with erotic dreams of the French girl then headed down to the Zohan where an Israeli hair stylist ex counter terrorist was making it in New York. She was there but some young guys moved in ahead of me. I had that feeling I had lost the war. Last night. Almost astroglogically. Due to the Chinaman.

Then this movie on Israelis and Palestinians getting together through humour. BBC news came on and they were still working out how to save Wall Street from collapse. Bush came on asking for bipartisanship. 700 billion dollars to be injected and even Brown from UK was supporting it.

I returned to my room after checking the wifi, the only news was that Ruddle had got back to me saying my donation was not religious and not in the public interest to pursue. I knew it was another piece of bureaucratic crap to keep me here and fighting with a dead world full of dead dull people who hated their jobs and consequently tried to do as little as possible to help others. His decision was so ludicrious as to be almost humorous. I wrote an email to him.

I tried to sleep, then went out on the town. To a restaurant to eat and have masala tea. CNN was on and Wall Street was in fall out, Islamabad had been suicide bombed, US Forces had been shot at by the Pakistan Army, Georgia still had Russian troops in it and the world was in free fall. Perhaps the worst news in Malaysia was movie star ?? who had thrown her shoes at her housewife and been acquitted on the basis of self defence. After that to an internet cafe but they had no card reader and I had not brought mine. Then back to bed.

26/9

A sleepless night. Awoke at 7 and showered. There was nothing much happen, some of the single girls left, others had hooked up with males, Father was operating as usual, summer camp military style round corrogated iron cabins dirt cheap for the young.

Depression was coursing through me like a torrent and I ended up reading a poster on the Japanese defeat of Malaysia that decimated the British and the poster was non too flattering. Britain's Empire to joke status had begun. I finally packed my stuff. The fan ventillating the closed off room going all night had driven me to distraction such that I even started playing my guitar. I tried to resist the sexual invasion from my neighbors and the paper thin walls, but failed. In the end I headed out to breakfast in the town, cheaper and tastier, I dropped by an internet cafe in the side mall on the right and got the one place where nothing worked right. Card reader would not read my card, DVD drive showed the photos in pitch dark colour and the screen was blurred. I gave up after half an hour. Had a masala dosa and carrot juice. I intended to send a string of emails attacking various people. I still believed UOCA to be the truth, simply for lack of anything else. Yet I had to go through a last hell before I got my visa from India. I sort of predicted it in Australia. That is why I resisted it there. And now it had come upon me here anyway in a deceitful way through trickery over time. It seemed I simply had to burn before I would be let back in - it was just karma. Sad.

I got my bags and checked out, there seemed to be that slight pull that dragged one back, a look from one of the women backpackers as I played guitar and sang softly. Then I could not find my sandals, rushed about in my socks looking and stopping the van from leaving. The receptionist pointed to my bag, I had packed them in there and left my runners at the bottom of the stairs. I got in the van and he took me to the laundry where I had left the room key, I got it for him and the washing was ready. I asked him if he would drive me to Twin Pines before handing him the key, but I gave it to him before I got a clear answer and he would only go half way. I took my stuff out and walked there. I left my bags there after looking at the dorms again. They were all separated into tiny rooms by more thin partitions in an attic with a low roof. I checked out the Hill View again and then went into town to make a phone call to the Hindu temple in KL, a couple of them, when I finally got through they made it very clear there was no accommodation. So I returned to the Twin Pines and waited but the uncious attendant was not there. I finally locked my bags in the single room upstairs and went out. I left almost everything and just strolled the streets, a Chinaman bought me some sweet food at a stall when I asked what it was. I invited him to Starbucks but he refused. So I went alone and got a hot chocolate for 10r. Couples were there, I had nothing to do so eventually left. Got some late lunch at a Chinese. Returned to the Inn and he still was not there, so I waited in the pouring rain at a table watching it streak down.

An English woman, young and plump and short was heading off to do her dive instructor's course in Thailand. She headed off to dinner. Eventually I switched the TV on but it would not work. So I went to the internet cafe and put up photos of Lake Toba on the blog. Finally he arrived when I returned and checked me in. The TV was now working and I watched the Bourne Identity until I got fed up and got the guitar out in my room, the Mexican and Italian with the guitar were next door and we went downstairs and played. We were not really on the same wave length, he tried to teach me the pentatonic scale. His Mexican girlfriend stayed upstairs. I had a bad night, nightmares of trying to control and tie up a giant. Then being pushed away.

27/9

I got up to see everyone leaving. I went to find the Cameron Holiday Inn and met a French woman and agreed to meet her at Starbucks at 11 to go on a walk. I went for breakfast at a small hotel in the town. 6r for roll, tea and juice. The dive instructor to be was in a cafe next door. I went to Twin Pines and checked out, then came one of those confused moments where I thought I would meet the French woman at her hotel to short cut things, I went up there and she was not there. So I went at 10.30 to Starbucks. She never turned up. It hurt a tiny bit. She was tall, but young. Too young to care. I went upstairs at 11.15. The plan had been bad, I should have met her at the Cameron where Chinese were making a TV series. It was too good to be true. I had another one of those suicide moments. I thought it must be for the best, trying to not feel angry. Thinking it would be for the best, I had pushed onto her, it had not been a natural flow, but I had so few of those that the boredom inbetween meant it was virtually worthless to try and achieve them. I tried to see the higher reason. It seemed obvious my wife was a yoga teacher and in India. I simply had to show the patience and love of all here regardless what they did to me. Had to appreciate and love my own company first. This seemed dead time to me. But in a way it was crucial in order to leave behind the barbaric and cruel world of the meat and drug users without anger. It was the burning and most of all it was tedious. A tedious betrayal that made me want to kill myself that offered nothing accept waiting for the visa to come through due to the deadly brain dead slow pace Indian bureaocracy worked at. How could I appreciate the beauty here, even alone, walking alone, or even with company that I did not want to be with like the Chinaman earlier. It was so clear. It was 12. When would another woman turn up to go for a walk with? To kill the time. Hurry up. It is true I had little respect for them. But needed them. Why not go for the best?

I sent emails. Insulting people - Glen's came back.

I then quickly headed back getting a shot of Agro Bank then took my stuff to the Hill View Inn and get the 25r tour hopefully with my wife on board. I got there and a tour group had booked it out, only the most expensive 88r room was left. He pointed to a crummy guesthouse behind, I took a look and was so fed up took the expensive room, grabbed the tour bus and headed off for a circus roundabout of all the tourist sites. The tour group was on board - half of them. They were young and mostly Brits. We headed to a rose garden for a 40 minute stop. I took happy snaps - there was no-one of much interest in the tour group who were heading next to KL. They had just arrived from Penang and were knacked. After a walk round the rosemary bush, coming across Mother Hubbard's shoe and Confucious, sunflowers and a spectacular view over the valley to a new multistorey resort development, I bumped into the French girl, she apologised and had fallen asleep. I told her not to worry, she had come late when I had moved upstairs in Starbucks, she was on another tour. I asked her if she wanted to try a trek tommorrow and she pointed to her shoes which were sort of Cinderella sandals made of gold and said that was all she had. Most of the group had absented themselves from the gardens, and we headed on to a strawberry farm. I got a large strawberry icecream, there was little else here but a patch of berries in a hot house and a mass of tourists. We moved on to the butterfly farm which had giant staghorn beetles, terantulas, scorpions. Masses of them which the guide put on himself and a tourist. He said they were slow to sting and it was not that bad. Horn frogs, giant preying mantus and even a cactus plant with autographs. Green lizards, dragon lizards clinging to the sides of the cages, green snakes and even butterflies. Beautiful colours and some very large. Even one like a dalmation spotted.

Tea plantation of Boh, owned by Scots, we were taken through the factory machine plant after a stop to look at the tea trees. They were shaven to keep them bonzi small then cropped with a sort of large whipper snipper with a vacuum. Of course the tea room we had tea, myself Earl Grey tangerine flavour. The group were getting fed up and wanted to head home. I insisted on completing the tour. One of the girls who offered her biscuits to everyone but me, started producing an itinery where sections remaining would be chopped off. The cactus farm went, but I baulked at the bees. When we got there a few frazzled giant stuffed happy Disney bees were wedged into another flower garden, only the Irish lads and myself removed themselves from the van. After a short walk round where small boxes containing bees were, one of the boys managed to find a box with some mangy and decidedly lethargic looking Malaysian bees that looked as if they wanted to go to sleep. They took some photos. We returned to the vehicle and I headed alone to the market, a couple of fruit stalls where I was sold overpriced mandarin. I returned to the car and we drove off, even the guide was looking dead. We passed a cactus farm and I suggested stopping even though it was not even on the itinery. The English professional poker player seemed to take offense to my laughing and asked me what I was laughing at.
'I was just thinking we could make a quick stop there.'
There was a morbid silence from the back, I was in the front seat. A Chinese temple was next on the list and it was modern with dragons and Buddhist, I was vaguely interested, but was in that situation of having to repel negative thoughts coming into my mind saying 'you asshole'. I simply responded with 'I rebuke that evil word.' It was an almost Buddhistic experience and no-one got out of the bus bar me. I walked into the temple and felt almost thrust along by the psychic energy from the van. I took shots of the Buddhist Chinese praying; the temple itself looked just built and had the usual golden giant Buddhas and offerings. Multihanded goddesses in gold offering handshakes to the faithful, even Buddha on an elephant smaller than him, and a decidedly Chinese bearded Buddha. Crates by a mass of small Buddhas, and side temples with a white Buddha and a mass of writhing moustached Buddha demons. A wall of paper Buddhas plastered on and incense offered in prayer near a pot of burning offerings. I sat for a while contemplating if I was keeping them waiting and being unfair. I looked up at the giant Buddha and asked it what I should do. It seemed to say wait and work it out. You are not part of that tour, you blew it with the French woman, you may have chosen correctly this time by going to this hotel given your budget but you seem to be always late. Buddha chuckled. They probably won't ask you to dinner with them after this. So you will be alone. You could enjoy your plush room alone and write and contemplate on emptiness or being empty and alone. And try and enjoy it. I felt like I was in negotiations with God but this bus load was not in a particularly good mood. Buddha kind of said you could wait for them to come out and pay homage to me. I waited and there seemed to be a general 'no' from the bus group. I don't think they will budge. Buddha kind of smiled and indicated some more pain to learn. I declined and walked out. I felt that thrust back to the van and casually indicated to the beaten up driver to go.

Surprisingly the poker player was friendly and asked me about it and said they were a lazy bunch and were not much into temples after touring SE Asia. I said it was good and offered my photos. Said I was interested in Buddhism. The rest of the van was silent. We got back to the hotel and I checked in, as they walked past I got that resigned look from them. It was a kind of poker game of bluff - life.

I went and had a hot shower in my luxury room, went to bed then got up. They were all watching TV and I felt a bit too much tension to go in. So I went down to the garden cafe. Got a banana and honey pancake at 4.5r. Then got the guitar.

Played some music, then when no-one came, walked upstairs, played the guitar in the upstairs TV room, no-one came, the group headed off to dinner, after dragging a few of the recalcitrant one's out of their rooms. Then some sort of Swiss music started up from out in the street that prevented me from continuing, so I went out in search of food. Walked the streets past the cafes looking for single women, two smiled at me, I smiled back and said hello. Then continued, past an incongrous couple, he was too tall for her, and then I went up into the only decent vegetarian cafe in town at the very end of the block. The T cafe. Two young women were eating and the couple went and sat down at the only table next to them. They smiled over and I looked round, it was full. So I walked out and continued on to the police station, then turned back and came to a piece of parking lot and stared at the corroding metal iron rail that formed a cross outside the T cafe. And for a good five minutes I stared at it, wishing to die. Then I walked on past all the cafes, past the two women, and on and then back, past now just one woman, and then back to the T cafe kind of cursing. And got back up, and asked for a table for one and she gave me a knowing look. And I sat down near the window with a candle, and between me and the manage a trois were the incongrous couple. I pulled out the Palm trying to figure out who the hell was torturing me, the music caused me to jive and I was feeling good. They looked over secretly. Death was the key, and as I typed the women got up and left. And now I am in the now. Truly the NOW. Writing the NOW. Only the couple were left. I had ordered curry, and roubos tea from South Africa.

It was excellent of course. What more was there, I scoffed it down. I still had the tea, maybe a mistake not taking Boh. She was Australian. I had lost round one. Next life would be better. She was American. The fish sort of occasionally appeared in the fish tank tha was luminiscent green. It was next destination. The energy was going. They were about to leave. I had a fantastic room and double bed and no-one to share it with. The health clinic with the AIDS death mask appeared in my mind from up the street. He got up and walked away, she followed looking at post cards. They left and were replaced by two Malay boys on a big night out for the Camerons. My sentiments. It looked like it was going to be a sick gaytime but not the icecream and I was fucking fed up with this shit. Time to kill myself because I don't want homosexuality imposed like this thanks. So dickhead up there get the message. I know I am writing just for you and only for you - soul mate in the sky. You must be a complete fuckwit. I hear the words and quite frankly I am just typing to get this shit out of me and hopefully it will do something for you to end my hell. You have tortured me enough so earthquake come and destroy this town. Destroy it now. NOW! Just like Sodem and Gommerah - I have had enough of your hell repression repressed fucked up world. Get rid of me from this planet, Get it it does not work for me here, I want to die. I want to die!!! I know what this place is - it is a cruel hell. I want to die, Message sinking in, I want to die because I know you are torturing me, I want to die Get it yet. Because you will be reading this very soon. I want to die due to your fucked up school. Get it yet.

Get it yet. You are boring me.

Dancing naked women hidden in the paintings. Malaysia was not as free as Indonesia. Much stricter Islamic. Much more efficient cruel and democratic.

OK so now here this God, because we all are God, so I address this to you, I want my wife, not a faggot, not a turnip, not a dwarf, not anything else but my perfect partner, NoTHing less dumbo. No time wasters and not a prostitute either.

No jokers no blah blah blahs.

No infants.

Someone mature and sophisticated.

The fish in the tank started to stare at me in a very excited fashion., then pissed off.

The restaurant was now empty.

I could not wait to get to India. And commit suicide the right way.. Yes I am convinced this body and brain has had it as has this planet and the best way is suicide and I will be reborn in heaven. With my wife. You have convinced me she does not exist on this planet, you finally won, I will never meet her here. That I accept as the truth and it explains why I am in hell absolutely. For us all. But for me more than anyone else. SO now all I have to do is die. Finally be released from this pain. And the Malays got up and left, thank god. As Elton John came on. Faggot must have got off the internet blog.

To get through to the living dead here. They had no real life to me. They moved round, caused pollution and ultimately the truth is that they create entropy more quickly than inanimate material because to get their superficial short term order they create far more chaotic disorder in the universe, it is a pretty picture your life. So for the good times. Because you have dumped so very badly on me for such a long time the good times are going to have to be heavenly. Beyond belief. I demand it and it is only fair.

The Cameron Highlands.

So obviously I am picking up on my father's energy of negativity at killing his commander, the commies could not have been more effective.

That suicide energy he must have felt.

SO I just have to channel it to get what I want which is death. I have to feel dead. To not care anymore. about anyone. No matter how I sound. I have to hate these people I have to get them out of my system. I have to explode them. They have cheated me so long that I have to take control of them exactly like robots they have to become robots obeying my command. Until that happens I have to hate them and treat them as worthless.

God knows what unpleasant spirit is sucking into me. and ahs been for a long time. some entitiy out there it is taling possession the death adder of the omen is pulling the keys of the ladder to walk up to the fire place that is time to big eat now fire suck death death death the man is gay for sure evil kneinf ten ist sick fur dien scholl ist mached inst fur jus commen mich habed lfgl drink ist. The lsl a vbdka slave class isn the the lvme dkevmd raet badle efrtde dradlegnt eidntal jgfdjke jfrjeam mvandckcn edketnti nrkej f ejdfjdk jlz;vj jm oieroi83890t890 ow fjjfei9033]t ] q\
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I went to an internet cafe and put up the Indonesia diary after spell checking it. Which meant it was 1 am when I returned. The lads and lasses were up, getting pissed outside on the tables. I waved past and headed to bed.

28/9

I woke in a state of chronic depression, I had had the worst nightmare possible. Obama had been declared President on election night, then the correct news came through that McCain had won. It was the sort of news that like yesterday made me want to commit suicide. Then as I came to consciousness it dawned on me that the election was over a month away. Yet the depression remained. The hotel seemed empty and I assumed the group had left. I had a hot shower. But the group had not left. I saw the Norwegians as I sat watching LA play the Giants in San Fran - baseball. Then to BBC News, the stockmarket was crashing again. Obama had just debated McCain mostly on foreign policy. A narrow victory to Obama and a narrow lead in the polls. He needed help.

The T was closed, I went to the Chenai for breakfast of Masala tea and idli. Then sojourned off to the internet for 4 hours. Put up the Indo diary and fixed up Toba, located Tim Paine who was working for a health company and sent a message. Emailed Song and Mansheel about dinner at KL Tower.

Then I was back at the Hillview only to discover the room I had booked had been taken. I was very late, but they provided another bigger one for 45r - I did some yoga. I had checked the visa and it had been accepted, if I had done that earlier I could have left today. I met a Dutch man and we agreed to go for a walk. I headed off in the wrong direction and he got out a map and corrected me. He was a public servant from the Hague working in legal and had a tax consultancy, was 34, his girlfriend was joining him shortly. We headed past the T to the Century Pines resort and along a storm water drain that was brown to a bridge, where we turned right after stopping a van, then there was another walking bridge off the road heading to Robinson Falls. A concrete path led to the falls which were not spectacular. From the bridge a ten minute walk. Then backtracked to Track 8, which was a steep hike going up, climbing steep to begin with. He was soon exhausted despite being a rower and cyclist. I told him it was psychological after he said he had not eaten, neither had I and that should make it easier. I told him to do yoga. He got a fresh wind and we were in striking distance of the peak on the Jungle Path, if we had jogged it we could have got there before dark, it was getting close to 7 pm. We turned back.

Had a shower, shaved and cleaned up and met him for dinner. We ended up at Kumar's I think and it was a palm leaf mistake of a meal that made me ill after a Sikh sat next to me. So we left in search of strawberries and icecream and found them at a Chinese place at the back of the shopping complex near the Hill View, on the same block as Travellers pub. They put milk in the Boh tea, so we had it replaced. I left a tip - he had paid for the dinner so I paid for desert.

I got the guitar out back at the hotel but a Chinese disco was playing so loudly it was pointless, so we went to take a look at it. The place was on the other side of the valley and turned out to be a temple with a cabaret. Indians were guarding it. We marched in to a throng of white clad Chinese that looked like extras off a Bond set. There was a temple which we were taken into full of incense and gods. A golden box with a dragon on top that had some sort of stamp inside which was due to be taken out. The music from the cabaret stage opposite was deafening like a pop concert. Chinese girls in bikinis strutted up and down and sung. None of the Chinese seemed to speak English. We were shown weapons in the temple, swords, axes and spears - all real. I put my hands over my ears and walked out. Unbelievable relgion I told him. When we got to the hotel and told the Indians they wanted to go, and we found out that it was a 10 day festival to the ghosts, letting them out of the box to play for 10 days. I went to bed to the sounds of the booming temple Chinese cabaret.

29/9

The Palm alarm failed to work. But I woke at 7.15. Showered did some yoga. Packed, paid and left on a Super VIP. The French girl turned up. I moved seats from the back above the engine to just in front of her. We ignored each other the entire trip and finally they put on a DVD that was about a giant crocodile ending up in Maine. A comedy horror.

I headed straight to Sorai, then to the Indian Visa and they told me I could have it by 3.45 pm, which meant I could get the flight that day. I headed off by metro to the Petronas Towers and spent the rest of the day there, found a Tiger Woods Nike cap quick dry and checked SD cards 16 gig, and hard memory drives at 120 gig for the camera. Then I was at the Internet, Tim had quit his job, Song had emailed and I rang him on his mobile and arranged to meet him at my hotel. Meanwhile Wall Street had the biggest one day loss ever as Congress refused the 700 billion dollar rescue package. Morgan Chase bought Washington Mutual as it was sold off due to property loan defaults. The domino effect hit Citigroup as it bought Wachovia which was collapsing after losing $31 billion from Washington Mutual and therefore taken over. Asia and Europe were starting to go down. And Australia was going as well, a general collapse, on the good side Kangaroo farming was being considered to replace sheep and beef so reducing 3% greenhouse gas emmission in Australia.

I got stuck round Petronas and ended up getting a pizza at a steakhouse by the fountain. I rang him and arranged for him to come there, he was not too happy about it. But eventually turned up after he had found parking and we went to the Dome. He bought me a mangofandango smoothie. Did not want to hear my negativity, nor my poverty, tried to offer some helpful advice about money and then said he had to go. Related how he had lost quarter million ringatts over a business deal.

The moment was lost to get him into UOCA.

He drove me to a street near my hotel and that was the last I saw of Song.

30/9

I did not sleep well. The blogs were bothering me as well as the emails.

I got up about 9. Had some toast and an Englishman told me Air India Express offer cheaper flights to India, he checked and it was true - 720r on Friday. I wanted to leave that day, but they persuaded me it was too risky if they did not issue the visa today. And a short time to the airport - memories of Medan in my head I decided to get the cheaper India Express flight which was booked out till Thursday. Two more days in KL. I spent several hours on the internet putting up more photos of Toba. I headed off to Bintang via picking up the Indian visa and then to Low Yat Plaza to get my hard drive and thus wipe out DVD burning for good and worrying about photo storage. Eventually after a very tedious several hours searching I found the best deal for me, 215r on credit card, 160 gig external drive tested by the US Army for shock proof and ultra light. I left after making the deal to pouring rain and a search for food that took me on the monorail to Kampung Baru via walking to the Petronas then getting the metro train. The hotel owner had said they were celebrating with feasts the end of Ramadan fasting their. But it was a derelect sort of slum area of Malays and had a few seedy warung style cafes with all meat dishes, I gave up and left the fire crackers and empty celebrations after an orange juice and Red Bull. Got on the train and headed to Masjid Jamek, returned to the hotel and only the old Filipino woman was there, so I went back out and walked back to the Masjid area and the mass of Malay market stalls covered with a high plastic roof over the street, to the President Cafe which was far from presidential, then eventually got to the Masjid Mosque after navigating a wide road where the green pedestrian light showed the person running to cross and a sky rise had adds beamed across it. Chinese were photographing the theatre palace house all lit up in neon by the wide plaza, Muslim couples hugged by the fountain and after on the empty streets with KL and Petronas towers ever present, passing EON Bank which reminded me of the radio station in Melbourne, I ended up at the backpacker street in China town at a top hotel that was out of Pecal, the only vegetarian dish, so I had a bite at a small warung, then went to the internet to book my ticket and the site would not let me put in my credit card details - it was typical Asian internet. Nothing would make it work so I got their phone number to book the next day. I emailed Mansheel telling her it was her fault. McDonalds had its own motorcyle delivery service. The icecream machine was broken, I headed back to the hotel past some nocturnal street people in cardboard houses with this feeling I was going to get beaten up for not buying a poor Malay an apple at a stall and abusing poor Mansheel.

1/10

I returned at 4 am, slept till 12, then went to book the flight, the server was still down, and it was a public holiday so it could not be booked by phone, the only alternative was to go to the airport. I could not be bothered. I tried to find some travel agents open in Chinatown and failed so went to Bintang and found one that was expensive, so I went to the internet and tried to book, but it would not allow it 24 hours before the flight, so I decided to go on Friday but the server was down, so I edited the Toba article removing the worst of the negativity and when I had almost finished the computer rebooted wiping it. It was another day in computer hell. I sort of walked out with that beaten up feeling - he did not make me pay. I then tried to ring the airport to see if I could arrive next morning before the flight and get a ticket and to find out how much it would cost. I battled to get connected to wifi in Starbucks to get their number, but sure enough no idiot there was answering the phone, I tried several times all over Bingtang after a disgusting vegie kebab. No answer and Mansheel's little voice was coming back 'no', I knew I was fighting against god, but then I was pretty sure there was nothing to surrender to, I had tried often enough. I even tried again, standing in the middle of the Asian ant hive of a super shopping mall plaza waiting for something, Goddo, nothing happened. I ended up feeling dead walking along the crowded streets, pissed off and trying phones to get through to them. All a waste of time. All known. Finally I started giving money away to create good luck, 5r to disablity did not work, another 5r to a deaf and dumb Belarus mute on a motorbike travelling the world, still no answer in fact the phone took my money twice, another ringatt gone, I was now heading to luxury hotels to rejuvenate looking at Cheese cakes. I got that bastard feeling of India that said we want you to keep on taking risks and getting it wrong, just come to the airport tomorrow and we'll get you on the flight to Chennai, but we'll charge you more than the internet that is for sure and we'll block you finding out before just to make sure you are ripped off. Because you will pay it rather than return to KL again. But we like to hurt you a bit first that is how we Indians operate, that is why our web sites don't work properly, why we are so poor and get things wrong. Because ultimately we are cheaters and cheaters make a mess of their operations.

I looked across the street and to my astonishment was a vegan macrobiotic restaurant, perfectly neutral and zen, empty and quiet, friendly and well priced, I walked in and it was ultra modern and I looked at the menu that this time had no meat, unlike all the other Chinese vegetarian restaurants. This was the real thing and organic. I sat down after making a prayer sign to the manager. Ordered macro brown rice and tea then made the mistake of pouring the miso soup on top of it. It was a slight green the restaurant. Peaceful. I felt like crying. It was called Woods Bio Marche and was Chinese, at 28 Jalan Bukit Bintang.

I knew in my heart there was a good plan for us all, that it was my stubbornness that was my hell. I had said to the waiter the night before when there was no vegetarian option except Caesar's salad that he was the one that was right and I was the one that was wrong. I had gone to the wrong place so could only expect what they had and what worked for them. This was heaven to them as it was - with their meat and alcohol. Nothing could be better.

I got an organic desert, berba cha, I was the only person there, rather enjoying it and then some man came in. It was like a hot sweet soup, size of cup of tea, with lumps of sago tasting like sweet potato. Still it was ok, and calmed me, opposite a video screen of Music hits flashed silently. I was away from the Madding crowd. The waiters standing over me as I looked at menus, the throng of the masses of ant people. It appeared I had no choic but to get to the airport as early as possible tomorrow. Probably 7.30 and I should get a seat. Which meant getting up at 5.30.

Jing Si books and cafe was open downstairs and I went in. It turned out to be a Buddhist place and very calm. I got a Job Tear and Oat hot drink. Asked about the Chinese script which had been changed to run across the page like English. Rather than up down. A calming picture of a stream green and flowing was on one wall. It was luxuriously decorated. Had herbal preparations and books on Cheng Yen from Taiwan. I picked up a book and on the back it said, Aniruddha waas one of the Buddha's best ten disciples and asked the Buddha to give a sermon on how to attain enlightenment. He pondered them, then fully realised the truth of human life. It was on the eight realisations.

1. All is impermanent
2. Suffering arises from too many desires
3. Be contented with what is
4. Be diligent
5. Study and teach to gain wisdom
6. Help others constantly and see them as equal souls regardless of their position
7. Keep the precepts and desire will go and compassion will arise
8. Relieve all from their suffering

It was Hari Raya today. Joy day to the Muslims.

Back on the street a monk had come up to me for alms shoving his begging bowl in front of me and I took it as an affront and ignored him. I walked back to my hotel being accosted by foot refloxoligists who became increasingly agressive offering full massages and then young women. I finally went up stairs at one place to get a 15r neck massage to be met by a rapidly aging badly blonded Chinese woman, who had that little girl look, I was not much impressed and when she could not give me a more expensive back massage got another girl, who was in her 50s. I declined and she offered herself standing in my way as I tried to leave. I ended up getting an icecream and chips, a sore consolation. I got back to the hotel at 10, got my key deposit, no-one would wake me up for the bus but they had a bus time table and it appeared the airport bus that I should catch was at 5.45.

I watched TV upstairs, the Filipino was up there as was the Brit, who had made my life hell by telling me about Air India Express. Anything with the words express in it associated with India was like a red rag to a bull to go shanti. I switched on the news, it was all doom and gloom. The Senate was voting on a rescue package. Somali pirates had taken an Ukranian freighter hostage with old Soviet tanks on it and wanted $20 million. Disenfranchised fisherman according to Al Jaseera news.

2/10

It was 12 by the time I got to bed. An average sleep and this time the alarm went off at 4.45. I was at the bus station at 5.32, the ticket counter 87 was empty and no-one knew about a bus at 5.45. I got a carrot juice that was more water than carrot. I went down at 5.40 chased up some attendant at another ticket counter in the bay, who was sleeping. The bus had left at 5.30. Somehow I had read the timetable wrong with the help of the hotel receptionist. The next one was at 6.30. I had wanted to arrive early to ensure a ticket but it was no great loss. Just stuck in a third world bus station - it was an omen for India. Like their website.

I was pushing it but I had had enough of Malaysia and of the world. I simply wanted to get to the yoga ashram and out. The burning. I had no airfare.

Beggars and derelects slept in the bus station. It made me sick. I was fed up with filth. And was heading probably to the filthiest country in the world and the most spiritual ironically.

I went down to the platform 23 and there was no one there, across the way at the ticket counter people were waiting, one young tall attractive backpacker in hot pants, of course when the bus came they made us walk outside to the street. I ignored her as another temptation, she went down and lit a cigarette.

At the airport after the modern freeway, I had to purchase my ticket in cash for 750r, cheaper than the internet. But I was not issued with a ticket, I was told I would receive it on the plane. When I came to board my backpack was there to be taken on board the plane and I was given a front seat but no ticket. Some other passengers complained and demanded the front seat and the man got very angry. I moved back leaving my pack with them. Then I checked after take off and my camera was gone. I had this bad feeling that some sort of a scam was going on with the tickets purchased at short notice and I had received the karmic results of allowing it by not demanding my ticket.

Air India Express

Dear Sir,

I am concerned as to why I was not issued a ticket when I purchased my air fare at the airport before the flight to Chennai to KL for 750 ringatt. I am concerned that the money may not have been handed onto the airline.

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Dear Mansheel,

If you really want to make a difference to your country, find out who paid Anwar's alleged victim to try and convict him. Then bring a prosectution against him and the people that paid him.

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astro.com was offering script writing conference in KL.