A Visit to Glen Eagles (Not the golf course) February 12-15

Sunday morning, our first morning in Penang, was hot and sunny. At breakfast, we noticed my right lower leg was quite swollen, with a yellowish tinge. The consensus was that I should get it looked at, so Michael and Sheila quickly consulted some friends and determined that Glen Eagles Hospital was the best place to do that. Michael and I got into a taxi (teksi in Malay) and off we went. The Emergency was quite efficient, I was processed and ready to see a doctor in 20 minutes. As deep vein thrombosis was suspected because of my recent long plane trip, they wanted a specialist to examine me. It took a while for the specialist, a cardiologist, to turn up at the hospital on a Sunday. On arrival, he did an immediate ultrasound of my heart and determined there was no enlargement of the right side – a good sign. He ordered a doppler study of the veins in my right leg for the following morning, and admitted me to the hospital. It was then that I received my first medication, a needle in the stomach of blood thinners as a precaution in case the Doppler study found deep vein thrombosis.I had to go back to admitting to make a credit card payment of 2500 Ringgit ($800) on account before being taken up to my room, an experience that most Canadians are quite happy to avoid. Michael took on the responsibility of keeping our travel insurance company abreast of developments, making numerous phone calls to them on my behalf, thus relieving me of an additional burden at a stressful time, and looking out for my interests on that front. Thanks again, Michael!
Next morning’s Doppler study turned out to be completely normal, which was a great relief to all of us, especially Barb, I’m sure. That left a diagnosis of cellulitis, which required a course of strong antibiotics, administered intravenously. Such was my fate for the next three days.
The one bright spot was the food. There was a choice of Malay, Indian, Chinese or western food. A menu card was brought around each night after dinner so you could choose the next day’s fare. I had mostly fish curries with vegetables, typically Malay. Three days lying in the hospital, getting intravenous antibiotics twice per day is not my idea of a holiday, although I'm sure it's an improvement on the alternative. The staff contrived a schedule to administer them that included waking me up at 6:00 am, which did not help my disposition any. Barb visited every day, and Michael put a couple of movies on a stick so I had something to watch in the evenings. (Red Dog, an Australian comedy about a stray dog, is a great film).
Barb swore that she, Sheila and Michael were eating dry bread and water so that I wouldn't miss any of Penang's fabulous restaurants. I almost believed her except for the time she brought me cream cheese and pineapple jam on a bagel from Amelie, a local restaurant, but more on that later. Dr. Lo, my specialist, came around every day to check on my progress and finally on Wednesday February 15, declared the infection had subsided sufficiently for me to take my leave of the Glen Eagles (the hospital, not the golf course). I left the hospital, glad that I was at least sound enough for new adventures.

Our first day in Malaysia - February 11/2012

We departed Bangkok by train for the 24-hour trip to Butterworth, Malaysia. Butterworth was named for a British Governor 150 years ago. There'll always be an England, I guess.
We were hoping to enjoy a ride through the jungle, but were disappointed that the trip was mainly through cultivated land, rice paddies and small villages. Another perfectly good preconceived notion ruined. The train stopped several times, allowing hawkers to board selling fruit and other snacks, and at times whole dinners. We had bought fresh fruit at the train station, very deliberately spending most of our remaining Thai money, and so had very little left over, only enough for breakfast from the dining car. We slept in berths that the porter made up after dark, folding and reconfiguring our seats which had been ingeniously designed to convert into somewhat uncomfortable beds. Breakfast was delivered to our seats the next morning, and we ate then read until we arrived in Butterworth. We were looking forward to spending time with Sheila, Barb's sister, and Michael, her brother-in-law, who proved to be great travelling companions and admirable hosts.
They met us at the train and took us immediately by ferry to Penang, an island in the Strait of Malacca directly opposite Butterworth. We were to be guests aboard their yacht Kantala while we were in Malaysia.
The boat was moored in a marina in downtown Georgetown, main city on the island. That night we went to a simple outdoor Indian restaurant, that had delicious tandoori chicken and naan, and also a mutton biryani the was very tasty. We went back to the boat and, after a couple of drinks, went to bed looking forward to our visit.

Bangkok February 8

We awoke on February 8th somewhat groggy but eager to see the sights. The first order of the day was breakfast, so we walked several blocks seeking an all-day breakfast. We settled on a restaurant near the fabled Khao San road, only to find that their all-day breakfast finished at 2:00 pm. My meal consisted of ground pork broiled onto toast with a sauce, an acceptable if unconventional substitute. Barb's "pancake" was gluey, heavy and lukewarm.
That afternoon, we wandered a bit, the went back to the hotel pool where we swam and planned the trip for the next day.
Our hotel, Nuovo City, was owned by Moslems, so they did not sell alcohol, nor did they serve pork. However their restaurant was quite good, and I'm sure our recovery from jet lag was hastened by sticking to fruit juices, artfully combined and served. That night we had samosas, mutton biryani with mango pickle, and chicken kebab, with a delicious rice pudding for dessert.
The next day started with breakfast at the hotel, then a trip by bus and boat to the floating market. This market was made by Chinese merchants and farmers, who created all the waterways from what must have been a swamp. They use boats to sell their produce and wares, including, of course, loads of tourist goods. Some of the sales people were persistent to the point of irritation, which we also found in Cambodia, but not Malaysia.
After we left the floating market, we were taken to the site of the Bridge on the River Kwai, where thousands of Allied POWs died at forced labour building a train bridge for the Japanese invaders during WWII. The brutal treatment of these prisoners is well documented in the adjoining museum, and was made famous by the 1957 movie Bridge on the River Kwai with Alec Guiness and William Holden.
Later that afternoon we went to the famous but controversial "Tiger Temple", a Bhuddist temple that was founded in 1994 as an animal sanctuary. They began accepting tiger cubs in 1999, both cubs whose mothers had been killed by poachers and illegal "pet" tigers that had become too difficult for their owners to keep. The display of tigers and other animals was quite a thrill to see, but the institution has been accused of mistreating the tigers, and also illegally exchanging them with a breeder in Laos. It is not clear that there is an alternative that would provide better care, however. Monkks and volunteers provide all the care for the animals. The water buffalo roam freely on the grounds, and are fed squashes daily from the back of a truck.
That night we went to a blues bar, called "Ad here the 13th" featuring pictures of B. B. King, Luther Allison, Robert Johnson, and Eric Clapton. 634-5789 featured prominently in the decor, if you can remember that great tune. Old Al Kooper and Elvin Bishop CDs played in the background as we sipped our drinks, then headed back to the hotel.

And so it begins again...

Getting there isn’t half the fun, I hope.
Our great new adventure started prosaically enough on February 6 with a cab ride from Yarker to Kingston airport and then a flight to Toronto. After a short layover we embarked on a brutal 13-hour flight to Nerita (Tokyo), with no time off for good behaviour.
We flew over the trackless North, mostly tundra and frozen muskeg. About three hours into the flight we saw endless snow-covered mountains, treeless, pristine and forbidding. Between them were occasional rivers of ice that glistened in the brilliant sunshine. Later, the Bering Strait, completely clogged with ice, gave way further south to pack-ice, and the frozen coast of Kamchatka. There was a faint stirring of distant, disquieting memories of a KAL flight shot down here during the Cold War, 30 or more years ago, for encroaching on Soviet airspace. Then, over Japan, cloud rolled in, and we could see nothing until our rainy landing at Nerita.
The airport was little different than other international airports, except premium sake and exquisite Japanese baked sweets were for sale in the shops. People wore face masks against pollution, or perhaps the infectious crowds of foreigners, bringing who-knows-what diseases from exotic places like Yarker.
Our brief 2 hour stop ended too soon, with a seven-hour flight to Bankok in tiny, confining seats, a barely endurable ordeal. We stumble through customs and into a cab, exhausted and numbed, and head for our hotel. A quick and surprisingly good meal from a street cafe, of fried cashews, dry-curried chicken, tempura prawns and green mango salad, then 12 hours blessed oblivion at the hotel, helped restore two very tired travellers.

Current Argentine Events

This is surely an eventful country. Last Monday, a member of a far-left party (Partido Obrero) was shot to death and others were wounded while attempting to block railway tracks in support of contracted out railway workers. The Partido Obrero blamed "thugs from the Railway Union" for this shooting. The Railway Union claimed the Partido Obrero members shot first. Investigations are ongoing.

Yesterday the former president of Argentina, husband of the current president of Argentina, died suddenly, no further medical details yet available. There seems to be no suggestion that this was other than a naturally or medically caused event, despite a tabloid press that can be quite excitable.

Also yesterday, unbeknownst to us, a National Holiday had been declared because the National Census was being conducted. The streets were almost completely deserted, and all the stores and restaurants were closed when we went out for a morning coffee. We went back to our apartment, and some time later a census -taker knocked and we muddled through the forms with him (yes, they do have the long-form, and, as in Canada, there seems to be little or no groundswell of opposition to filling it out). We are now officially an infinitesimal part of the Argentine statistical record, and we have a "Gracias por responder" sticker to prove it.

We'll keep you posted on these and other developing stories as they happen...

Football and the Boca Juniors

One of the great passions of Argentines, besides politics, is soccer. To many in Buenos Aires, this is synonymous with the Club Atletico Boca Juniors, the most famous soccer club in the country. The fabled Argentine player Diego Maradona, called the greatest player of the 20th century by FIFA, played for this club, as have many other greats.

The home field of the Boca Juniors is La Bomboniere, a 65,000 seat stadium built in 1944. Located in La Boca, one of the poorest parts of Buenos Aires, this stadium is completely painted in yellow and blue, the team colours. It has few creature comforts (think of Hamilton's Ivor Wynne Stadium X 3). We attended a game on a cool but sunny Sunday afternoon. Boca was playing Huricán, a team several places below them in the standings.

The fanatical supporters of the club call themselves the 12th man, intimidating opponents as they yell, jump up and down, and sing club songs loudly throughout the entire game. The game is punctuated by rolls of toilet paper, and showers of torn-up programs that rain down on the field. The supporters of opposing teams have to be cordoned off in one small section of the stadium, separated by barbed wire and a line of police from the Boca fans. The Huricán fans tried to cheer their team on, but were largely drowned out by the Boca fans. Fortunately the Boca Juniors won handily, 2-0, so everyone was happy when they left.

Team rivalries can be taken to extreme lengths. The Boca fans hold a special hatred for their cross-town rivals, the fans of Club Atletico Rio Plata (River). Their team colours are red and white, so the Coca Cola signs at La Bomboniere are white on a black background to avoid the hated red and white colour scheme. The depths of this rivalry were reached in the early 1990's. On a day when the River team defeated Boca 2-0, two River fans were shot dead. "We made it a 2-2 draw" said a Boca fan on national TV.

Buenos Dias to Buenos Aires

Barb and I flew to Buenos Aires on separate flights, on separate days. A casual observer would be forgiven if he or she surmised that this was a sensible and prudent plan to ensure continuity of the Tea Room in the face of some aeronautical disaster, but no, this was not the reason for this curious travel plan.

Barb flew on Aeroplan points, and I flew on Air Miles, and these two organizations were unable to get us a flight on the same day, let alone in the same plane. Hence Barb arrived a day before I did, and endured a misadventure on her own.

We had rented an apartment online from a rentals agency in Buenos Aires, weeks before our trip. Barb arrived exhausted after her 15-hour flight, so she bought a few groceries and then went to bed. On awakening the next morning, she was horrified to find that not only had she not slept alone, but her tiny bedmates had been feasting on her while she slept.

I arrived to discover this state of affairs was already being remedied. The owners of the apartment were suitably mortified, and the rentals agency quickly found us another apartment. The owners of the first apartment drove us to the new one, with many apologies. By 8:30 pm we had signed a new rental agreement, and were settling in to our new place, without any uninvited guests .

The new apartment is larger, more comfortable, and much better designed than the cramped and utilitarian one we had left. The view from our 7th floor apartment is of a treed and well-kept military establishment, across a wide and unfortunately busy avenue.

The area is a bit downmarket, but we're right on the edge of a developing, trendy part of town, where new restaurants, design shops and hip stores are changing the face of the neighbourhood. There's great walking and lots of shopping, both the kind involving windows and the kind involving spending money.

There also seems to be an inordinate number of paint stores. Either Porteños (Natives of Buenos Aires) are great redecoraters, or the paint is of such poor quality it must be redone frequently.