Be Free !!!

I picked up this card in Bleinheim Palace, the birthplace of Winston Churchill, earlier this month. Given that the elephant is a bit of a family mascot, it is not unnatural for this card to catch my eye, especially the warm image of a child running into the arms of a parent: probably the safest place in the world for the youngling. It was rather apt considering this was purchased at the ancestral home of a man who made his country, and to an extent the continent and the world, safer. The card is entitled “And as I learn ...” which was a bit off, I felt. It could have been “... running into safety”.

I am now on my way to the Middle East, specifically Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. I have meetings with various government officials in Riyadh, Dubai and Abu Dhabi. This region of the world has unfortunately been (for thousands of years) and remain in conflict with each other and the world. So, safety is high on my mind now.

And in the front page of today’s Straits Times, a harrowing caption, “ Mom, I love you and Dad so much. I’m dying because I can’t breathe”. This were the last words in an SMS that 26 year old Pan Tri Tha My sent to her mom before dying in an unventilated trailer that was smuggling her into the UK. It is tragic she died this way but at least in those final moments, she managed to communicate with her parents, no doubt her place of safety. So, I pray her soul is at peace.

Back home, this morning we met with Tracy and her boyfriend Pedro (who works in the UK) and they are now contemplating of coming back to Asia having appreciated the potential of this region and having just completed a week of vacation in Vietnam, they were thinking of doing business in Vietnam.

The world is full of contradictions like this. People criss-crossing the world to forge a brighter future. The Chinese have a history of emigrating in search of a better life. This type of migration was known as “tao sheng huo”, which roughly translates to seeking a life. It is all the more poignant that in such a search, some lose their lives. But more of such emigration will continue. For there remains this fire of purpose that burns in each of us: to build a better a tomorrow.

It is for this reason, I know, that you are both overseas. To gain knowledge from the world’s most learned. And to do so in places that will better help you understand the world at large. There is however one big advantage you have: safety. Our arms are always open. Like Leonardo Da Vinci who was safe in the employment of the Medicis in Florence, and therefore free to give full rein to his creative genius without fear, you too are free to make the most of your time abroad.

You need not worry about what others think. 

It's the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dyin'
That never learns to live

Try new things. It doesn’t matter at all if you fail in these. Can you imagine how many sketches Leonardo has abandoned and how bulbs that didn’t light up for Edison? Yet the world remembers them today for the geniuses that they are. So free yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself: Go where you want. Eat what you want. Wear what you want. 

Because unlike the poor Vietnamese girl, you have a real place of safety and our safety platform is not a net (from which you find hard to crawl out from), but rather its a trampoline... that will safely catch you when you fall and bounce you back up again. And you know how trampoline works: the higher a height you fall from, the higher the bounce! So, be free, my darling. 

Rise and fall

I am a fan of Kuik Yishen’s posts (on FB). His grasp of history and his pattern identifying (and if somewhat conservative) interpretations resonate with me. From calling out the tropical botanical gardens as the then silicon valleys of their time: for colonial masters to undertake agricultural R & D and hence take advantage of large land masses they have “acquired” globally to produce the highest value cash crops... to the decisions taken by the British (in particular Raffles) to prioritise Singapore 200 years ago over all its other colonies, his version of history traces success to their sources.

His focus on Asia and especially Southeast Asia meant he cannot but write of Malacca, whom he characterised as part of the quadruplets of colonies which included Macau, Penang and Singapore. Malacca was in fact the big sibling. It was a thriving port along the most important sea lane that connected India and China. The straits is still called after it. So much so that the Chinese Emperor sent Admiral Zheng He to form diplomatic, economic and security ties back in the 13th century. So much so that it is the first state an ambitious new global naval power, the Portuguese, set to conquer. When the Malacca Sultanate fell, in 1511, this empire had lasted just about 250 years.

Credit: vinterior.co

So, recently when Kuik wrote a piece not about the origins of success but of its duration (none lasting over 250 years), I thought I’d capture it here on my blog too. He went on to ask, therefore, what of Singapore who has just celebrated its bicentennial.

A few years ago I visited Westminister Abbey. Here was Raffles, there was Blake and the poets, and there was Newton and the scientists, monarchs, aristocrats, statesmen, on and on.

I realized then Westminister Abbey was the most exclusive club in the world. A distinguished life of service to England was required for burial there. It was an institution to motivate the building of Empire.

Lim Siong Guan, Head of Civil Service (1999-2005), often quotes from Sir John Bagot Glubb, a soldier-philosopher. Glubb looked at great nations and identified 7 ages as they rose and fell, describing the changing values and heros of each age.

Practical men begin the cycle, borrowing and adapting ideas in free experimentation. Then professionalization ushers an age of expansion, where great men are builders and conquerors who bring glory to the nation. Expansion leads to an enriched nation, which celebrates its artists and intellectuals. Society sheds conservative habits and becomes eager consumers, leading to a worship of the wealthy. Finally, as consumerism gets decadent, the frivolous are worshiped - athletes, entertainers and chefs.

Singaporeans may find it hard to believe that the richest Roman of all time, Marcus Crassus, would choose to lead an army against Syria aged 61 in 53 BC. Despite his great wealth, the pinnacle of Roman achievement was to be granted a victory parade. Crassus died in Syria, molten gold poured into his head as reward for his greed. Then again, Osama bin Laden was from a rich construction family and the Ibrahim brothers who bombed Colombo, a rich spice family.

In Glubb's essay, greatness does not exceed 250 years. Writing in 1950s, he was worried about Great Britain, and proved prophetic when the IMF bailed out the UK twenty years later in 1976.

Thoughts for our Bicentennial
Tan Kah Kee's life did not overlap with my generation, so the power of stories from his time have but a feeble impact on us. The world of Crazy Rich Asians - of Eu Villa, Karikal Mahal, Har Par Villa, of Singapore in the 1930s have receded into the mists of time for Singaporeans below the age of 70, more legend than reality, and fodder for fiction.

For Singaporeans yet to take their PSLEs, LKY is only slightly less distant than Sang Nila Utama. The transmission of values from LKY's generation in the PAP and society is intact today but 30 years hence those in Primary School will be in control of Singapore.

Will we still have a honest Civil Service? Will we still have an unambiguously fair National Service? Will we still trust our Courts and the Police? Will we have a sense of national unity? Will we still have meritocracy? None of these questions should be take for granted. The power of remembered stories, lived by individuals famous or otherwise is an underestimated force in shaping the character and strength of a society and nation.

The living memory of grit, struggle and the values of LKY's generation has served as a cloak of protection around the PAP and Singapore. Kempeitai brutality, Konfrontasi, British incompetence, race riots - these were gifts of history, lending invisible strength to our commitment towards multi-racial self-determination. This cloak is coming off and it will be the challenge of Singapore to see if it will retain its greatness past Glubb's time limit. The old adage of shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in 3 generations might also apply to societies - tripling the human lifespan of 75 years gets close to Glubb's limit.

Hymn

Forth in your name, O Lord, I go
my daily labour to pursue;
you, Lord, alone I long to know
in all I think or speak or do.

The task your wisdom has assigned
here let me cheerfully fulfil;
in all my work your presence find
and prove your good and perfect will.

You I would set at my right hand
whose eyes my inmost secrets view;
and labour on at your command
and offer all my work to you.

Help me to bear your easy yoke
and every moment watch and pray;
and still to things eternal look
and hasten to that glorious day.

Gladly for you may I employ
all that your generous grace has given;
and run my earthly course with joy,
and closely walk with you to heaven.

This is the closing hymn at the first mass at the chapel of SBH to mark the start of Michaelmas term of the 2019 Academic Year. Deeply meaningful words that will help guide all of us, especially M, as she spends the next three years here.

During the Fr O, the chaplain, in his calm Queen's English voice, spoke of servant leadership and how everything we do has to be in service of the Lord. With such foundations, this is indeed a unique place for M to study Human Sciences. As it is, it is a course that marries the sciences with the humanities. And if she adds spirituality to it, it would truly be the Grand Unified Theory of Everything.

(M); or Parentheses

All words have their roots. Chinese words in pictures of the thing they describe. English words mostly draw from Latin. 

Some words though boggle the mind like parentheses = meaning brackets. I never thought of its origins until we were there in a theatre watching Hamilton. M was seated in between us. Flanked by us, or rather bracketed by parents.

And how appropriate it is that the opening line of the musical is,

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore

And a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot

In the Caribbean by providence impoverished

In squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

For M, her life has been anything but. 

1. Yes, she grew up on a tropical isle but one that is bracketed but other larger land masses and hence protected it from typhoons and hurricanes that continue to wreak havoc over the Carribean islands. 

2. No, she was conceived well within wedlock, and have two surviving parents who are holding well to do (and even respectable) jobs

3. She is an Asian growing up in an Asian century in one of the capitals of Asia

Many would give a limb or an organ to have this start in life. Indeed, her circumstances are almost diagrammatically opposite to Hamilton’s though that is not to say their destinations would differ.

M may have been parenthesised, but making it to U of O is all her own making. Dad may have had his aspirations but he didn’t study for it and certainly didn’t take the exams nor got the grades. That’s all hers. And in choosing the course, she decided to, in her words, “go big or go home”. Though preternaturally inclined to Geography, she eschewed that (and the higher probability of entry into a larger intake) for the more relevant Human Sciences, which is the study of the nature and nurture of humans.

One of her classmates commented that it is surprising that a religious person like her would choose this course, with its science of evolution and all. But as a kindly old woman we met serendipitously in University Park said, and I paraphrase her, “it’s important to anchor such study in human spirituality”. That M is doing this course in a hall that still has Benedictine/Roman Catholic ethos underline how the good Lord has and is continuing to watch over her. He has even got her staying in a residence dubbed The Nunnery, for it used to be a convent that helped to educate nuns in the higher faculties like the men. It is so apt, M tells me, that she started her primary education in a convent and is concluding her tertiary education at The Nunnery. God works not only in mysterious and wonderful ways as this completion of her education circle shows.

In fact, a year ago as she was applying, none of us knew any of the colleges in the university to have a preference; though from a strictly touristic (hence, unimportant) perspective, I thought K had the nicest grounds when I first visited this town nearly 30 years ago. In any case, she did an open application and got routed to this permanent private hall that has scored very well the annual student satisfaction surveys (including topping one in recent years) and not least due to its small size where everyone is part of the family: undergraduates, graduates and faculty alike. It’s the best home away from home environment she can hope for.

Her friends (classmates, teammates and gang) all came to see her off at the airport last week. We flew in earlier and helped her settle in over the weekend. Freshers Week started yesterday and she has already connected with different bunches of people: a gang of big boys on her floor and a collection of eclectic exotics. The world is at her doorstep and very soon she will be opening her mind to the world of knowledge of who people really are.

Her journey here has not been without stress. A perfectionist by nature, M strives for the best and would not settle for the rest. It is this attitude that has gotten her so far in life. At this juncture of her life though, there will be more colours that will appear on her spectrum of choice and she will learn how to live with shades, rather than just choose one at the rejection of all others. The fact that there is a bunch of eclectics already speak to it: there are people of different faiths or even no faith; the boy living next door may have bruiser rings on his fingers but will probably protect her. The big girl with bad fashion sense may be the most sensible one around. And the girl in a hijab has the most luxuriant hair! 

M naturally has traits from both sides of the family. The combination though is a completely unique and fantastic one. She has a perfect blend of our good looks (ahem!). She aims high. She also cares about the present. She has also inherited some flaws (both by nature and nurture, and here’s hoping she will understand this better after learning human sciences). With all of these excellent as well as explosive concoction, all we wish for is that she uses these varied traits to help her cope.

Her mom wants her not to overthink things or fret about the future and just enjoy the present. Great advice. Her dad wants her to cast an eye further forward (far forward, I should add), so that disappointments in the present or expected shortcomings in the near future are seen not as failure but merely humps on a longer, glorious journey. 

Indeed, many has been down these roads since the 13th century. Down the road from her main hall is a pub called The Eagle and Child. Nearly a century ago, a group of writers, The Inklings, met here regularly. Amongst them, C S Lewis and J R R Tolkien and it is little wonder that these two writers went on to produce some of the most loved mythology stories of the modern age. We remember them in the rose tint of their fantasy stories but their own journeys were fraught with pitfalls. Tolkien was an orphan. He grew up poor. A girl he loved nearly married another as he had to choose between her and his studies in this university. And he nearly got sent down from the university. Yet he overcame all these to author the magnificent tomes on Middle Earth. He certainly lived and enjoyed his present and when presented with obstacles, he did not allow that to paralyse him but merely worked past it on his way to his desired end state.

M has probably not defined an end state, though in her mind I am sure she has a sense of what she could aspire to be, in her family, in her career and in life. I wish that she can see these as her destinations and treat every encounters she shall have on the way there as just thrills as well as spills on the road. Already, the road ahead of her is so much better than what her parents had. She is in one of the best universities in the world, being taught to by world class tutors and stimulated (and probably exasperated) by equally talented class mates. We are so proud of her. From now on, we are merely parentheses as she forges ahead. 

And the words of Kahlil Gibran ring in my head .......

On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Home is where the heart is

The old heart is not what it used to be. I was informed recently that it has suffered an inferior infarct, unbeknownst to me. In short, i had suffered a silent heart attack.

If the home is where the heart is, then my homefront situation is similarly distressed.  Home should be a place where one can be free, and speak openly without fear or favour, and to find understanding if not acceptance amongst family members. I, for one, have always spoken my mind, freely. With parents, siblings, in-laws and also the younger generation. I mean no malice, just a mature exchange of thoughts. But when this most fundamental tenet is perverted, when words spoken are twisted, the home is no longer a happy place.
In my case, an exchange on contributory factors towards a brighter future for our children on WhatsApp (mistake: this is one of the worst platforms to exchange views) had been misconstrued as a tiff. It then got personal, even physical as one sibling twisted the words of a parent to attack another.

It has made my parents extremely sad but in a way, all of us are at fault. To start with, siblings should never fight over something as small as differing opinions. But then, we are all brought up to be winners, on matters big and small. On the one hand, we fear losing. When we do suffer setbacks as everyone inevitably does, some of us have even learnt to hide these failures and I know of a few bad events that have not been told to our parents because we fear disappointing them and falling out of their favour. On the other hand, achievements are proudly celebrated and more is always expected. Unsurprisingly, some of us even crave the affirmation and rewards that accompany such accomplishments. So, in raising ambitious, competitive children, it is to be expected that these children will one day stumble into one another and then train their winning mentalities against each other.

I have said that for every good thing, there is a bad seed. Conversely, a good seed can be found in every bad thing. This was made most clear in the Malaysian general elections last year. This campaign meme captured it well.


Photo credit: Forum Lowyat

Still, this cycle (within one generation) need not be inevitable. Competitive kids can argue, even fight but this must be within limits. There are three levels. Three P’s: personal, physical, parental.

One, it should not get personal. Admittedly, this is very hard to do, i would say even nearly impossible as the histories of each others and our families are inevitably going to be part of the ammunition in any argument.

Secondly, it should not get physical. This should be easier to ensure. In discussions and debates, we use words. And when things get heated, it is often unavoidable and regrettable that offensive words are used but we need not resort to physical moves. A line must be drawn at self control and restrain, though for some, even this line is crossed.

Finally, it should not get “parental”. This, in my mind, is the ultimate red line. In a fight between two siblings, there is only one force that can possibly still unite them. And this is the parents. The parents are the only thing that is shared, indisputably and lovingly still, one hopes, for the siblings. However,  when a sibling invokes (or twist the words of a) parent to spite another sibling, this is truly breaching all limits of decency.

In the recent case, all three lines were crossed. It is madness that it deteriorated to this stage. It will not be easy to recover from this. Not impossible, though. However, it will take magnanimity and not small mindedness of all involved, including the grandparents, parents, spouses and children. Let’s hope.

PS: I have withdrawn from the WhatsApp group, on grounds that it is a patently unsuitable forum for such matters

M, Mum & me meandering museums, mosques, mausoleums, madrassahs, markets, megalomaniacs, mansions + more.

As a young fearless traveller, I would have a thousand dollars in my pocket, a change of clothes in my backpack and go trekking through Thailand and Indonesia “Lonely Planet style” on my own. Since then, travel is both shorter and more comfortable. Wheeled suitcases and fresh clothes everyday are the way to go. Then business travel became the norm and I would be on a plane every other day and visit new cities like Astana and stay at the best hotels and fly in style.

But when the Great Silk Road adventure beckons, all of these got mixed up. First in the mix is the family. I had planned this trip not only for the magical thrill it promises but also because unlike other places I know the cities on this route are developing really fast and in a decade we will not be able to experience it as it should be. Moreover, it is getting harder to get all of us together for an extended period of time. Even in this 3 and a half weeks itinerary, J could only be with us for the first third. M is heading off to university this October and her schedule will be dictated by Michaelmas, Hillary and Trinity terms, not to mention the summer programmes she would do.

Initially I was even more adventurous and wanted to take the family from Cairo to Capetown. I never quite summoned up the courage. So, for my sabbatical, journeying on the Silk Road from Beijing to Bukhara, seem like the perfect choice.

From east to west, we travelled via vans, trains and planes covering a distance of over 7000kms. In days of old, when caravans travel at night (to navigate via the stars and in cooler conditions) and provided one was not detained at any stops, this journey would have taken at least a year. We did it in three weeks and are now making our way back east again.

Presently, we are flying from Bukhara to Tashkent and from the capital city of Uzbekistan (and erstwhile capital of the unified Central Asian state of Takistan) to Beijing (capital of China and very soon of the world) before landing home this weekend.

There are so many sights, sounds and souls that impressed each of us and no doubt differentially so as well. I can only say what impacted me the most.

1. Heritage sites are best experienced in-Situ and raw
2. The ruins speak better to the ravages of time and of the ambitions and terrors that emperors, khans, emirs and their associates can inflict in order to grow their empires
3. But ultimately, countries are arbitrary and culture is the real common denominator and sadly, selfish cultures often ride roughshod over gentler ones
4. Various means have been employed to manage the people. Chief amongst these are words of prophets, relics of holy men, monuments of heroes
5. Some countries (well, one) went overboard to control the population and visitors in and out of these, with big brother intrusive checks
6. Peace, prosperity and progress are real outcomes to deliver if the population is to be kept loyal (and in check)
7. Nation building is hard and will take time and to an extent smaller, less resource rich countries with greater fear of failure are most poised to win
8. In the long run, empires rise and fall. What matters then is legacy. What have all these conquering, trading and learning really brought about?

There are such names .......

“There are such names in the world that leads people into a world of dreams. the magic and fame of these names immediately impact your mind when you hear or read about them. There is such a name amongst them that attracts our imagination to itself, it is Samarkand.”

And after nearly three weeks of travel (with the last couple of thousand kilometres cross crossing four national borders), we made it to Samarkand.

“It seems that this name emerged from a whirlpool of clear and diverse colours, the scent of perfumes, fabulous palaces, bells of caravans, pure melodies and yet misunderstood feelings.” Federico Mayor, DG of UNESCO

Samarkand indeed evokes all of these sentiments and so does Bukhara, in different ways. The former had style and the latter substance. But both have now faded and are mainly playing hosts to retired Europeans and Americans and the occasional intrepid travellers like us.

Inevitably, empires (and their cities) rise and fall. But Athens, Rome, Beijing, London, Tokyo all remain relevant. So what happened here?

The last two words of the UNESCO DG speaks volumes; for after all the stupendous achievements of Samarkand, Bukhara and many other cities we have seen along the Silk Road, three things ring true:

1. Geography matters. Oases in deserts, hubs at Crossroads, fertile valleys... these are where cities are built
2. Ambition matters. Cities that become capitals of empire naturally become the centre of wealth, culture and knowledge but the start were always cruel in the sense that wars were waged in order to gain ground
3. Openness matters. The only way for empires to hold is that the rulers find a way to keep the growing population in check, whether by delivering peace and/or prosperity and often also sharing power. This 4P formula is a recipe for success but not if succession planning is not put in place for future generations who fail to follow this formula will also fail the population and ultimately lose the empire.

As alluded to, in the end, misunderstood feelings spell the end of empires. Misunderstanding geography (like how Bukhara overutilised their rivers), misunderstanding ambition (like how precious capital cities like Alexandria Eschate are left behind by new ones) and misunderstanding openness (as happened to all of Central Asia during the Soviet era) all led to the demise of these once great cities.

In this 21st century, new powers have arisen and these cities along the Silk Road are trying to make sense of their roles, esp. when they are being bordered by superpowers from all corners: China in the east, India in the south, Russia in the North.

It will take another 5-10 years (one to two full terms of democratically elected officials of these countries nowadays) to fix the infrastructure. However, it will take another 20-30 years to fix the mindsets. A whole generation of people to learn the virtues of self reliance, of hard work, of the pursuit of knowledge and then these great ancient civilisations would have arrived. Whether they can do it depends on their government and also very much on their culture.

As of now, with improving (though in parts still derelict) infrastructure, the Silk Road - or in some other description the High and Long Road - is still a challenge to cross, whether by air, rail and esp via road. Like the mountain roads in Tajikistan under constant assault by avalanche of snow, rocks and heavy goods vehicle, the soles of my shoes gave way and got nailed back reactively and preemptively by a clobber in a Dushanbe bazaar, Joe’s watch is developing a nice patina especially against the bronze sunset hues in Registon Square, M’s stomach gave way in Turpan and again in Samarkand and D’s cabin bag zipper serendipitously got stuck at the Ulugqaat customs checkpoint. However, these are add to our adventure. It wouldn’t be a Silk Road journey if one didn’t suffer these conditions caused, respectively by heavy use, by the weather, by the food or by the wiles of authorities.

I am not sure the Silk Road will regain its eminence as before. Its very existence, however, especially in the state it is now, will lead people into a world of dreams and indeed some places will be dreams unto themselves.

This time next week we will be in the comfort of our own rooms

Right now, we are rained out in Dushanbe here in Tajikistan, and we are into the final third of our journey west.

I have been keeping my friends posted on Facebook with photos from the trip; an activity I have never indulged in. I hope I am not boring them though immodestly I would say the 150+ photos (about 10 a day) uploaded so far are quite nice.

But the photos are an edited, curated experience. Being there - on the streets, getting the smiles and sometimes even the request for a photo, concluded with a flat palm on the heart to signify gratitude - these experiences cannot be properly captured on the shots. Instead, these are felt in the hearts and having now been to three Central Asian countries (we will re-enter Uzbekistan tomorrow), I must say the hospitality they exude is both warm and authentic. One would expect guides to make their guests feel welcome but Stalbeck the story-telling Kyrgyz, Madina the motherly host and Firdaus the accommodating and kind patriot are as much part of the journey as their beautiful countries.

Perhaps because we came to Kyrgyzstan via Kashgar and hence were subject to their “Big Brother” checks, the sense of relief may have made the new place even more welcoming and magnificent. I assure you we were by now hardened travellers and not that easily persuaded. In fact, at the China-Kyrgyzstan border, we had to navigate nearly a kilometre of “neutral zone” down a rough chicane road in cold drizzle, only to be stopped at a military post and being pestered to be driven another kilometre to the immigration checkpoint for SGD4 each. Stalbeck was late. It was not a good start though I must say the rest of the trip, it went perfectly. The weather cooperated, and so did the roads and occasional traffic of cattles, goats and sheep. With all these sights in order, we needed only to have our breaths taken away and they well were.

We have now left the deserts behind and ventured into mountain territory and were immediately taken by the majesty of these landforms reaching for the skies. I must addd that I felt wistful that J was not with us as he had to head back home for work. He would have been intensely thrilled.

After the harrowing tend hour drive (that could have been done in half the time if the overzealous privacy invading checks are moderated and inexplicably long lunch breaks are truncated) for the 300+km from Kashgar, we rested in a small village called Sary-Tash. We lived in the only guesthouse with indoor toilet which promptly ran out of power (and water) and ended up having to use the outhouse anyways. All these added to the adventure for we were communing with nature in this first stop in the ‘Stans like the locals, esp the Sary-Tash folks who seemed genuinely happy to see us. M and I took a walk through their village and though our destination was the panoramic views of the Tien Shan and Pamir Mountains, we were also rewarded by curious and happy kids including two boys up on a rooftop stacking hay and keen to get to know M. It must be frightening and flattering for her; frightening because in Kyrgyzstan there actually is a rite of bride “kidnaping” for elopement.

It was here in Sary-Tash that we were to encounter a new form of tour guide: the story-telling sort (in keeping with the Manas tradition in this country which purportedly has the longest story book in the world, longer than India’s Ramayana and Greece’s Odyssey. We then continued journeying west and every stop turned into an oral tradition including when he and I sat in Babur’s house at the peak of Suleiman Tol in Osh and there I heard stories of the great man’s ambition and conquest which eventually led to the founding of the Mughal Empire.

Osh is a major city that marked the start of the fertile Fergana Valley here in Central Asia. It is a 300km stretch of fertile land irrigated by the Syr Daria/river originating from Tien Shan/mountains. Hemmed in on both sides by mountains and deserts, this is the place where travellers found respite and more. We then travelled from its eastern tip in Osh, Kyrgyzstan through Kokand, Uzbekistan (the erstwhile capital and still proud of being the intellectual & cultural hub) to Khujand, Tajikistan formerly known as Alexandria Eschate and Leninabad.

The division into three countries for this valley speaks of how geography shapes history. It is THE sought after place in this lands of mountains and deserts. All the three cities that mark the tips and centre of the valley are important and now each belong to a different country, though in ages past they have all belong together, be it under the Russian Empire, the Mongolian Khanate or Somoni Empire. Under the banner of the Soviet Union, these lands were divided into states as we have today though the borders are somewhat laughable. There is a road to Kujhand where the left lane belongs to Kyrgyzstan and the right to Tajikistan.

Tajikistan is perhaps the most surprising country for us. It is as unknown to us as Kyrgyzstan except for one fact: it has been in the news since the beginning of the 21st century as a country torn by civil war. Imagine our surprise when we say that not only is it now peaceful, it is also moderate and not an extremist religious state although it shares a long border with Afghanistan.

There is advantage in adversity, as the saying goes and here in Tajikistan there is a strong patriotic fervour. The people here are happy to be free from the tyrannies of war and really want to progress. This was made so visceral to us esp on the first evening in Kujhand our guide Firdavs belted out the national anthem with vim and vigour. Indeed, every museum we step into tell of the great history of the Tajik (often extended into Persian, Aryan peoples) and how well into the modern times, they are still producing world class talents (esp of the literary, cultural sort).

All these countries are just 28 years old, from their independence of the Soviet Union. The efforts to build infrastructure (there is construction everywhere), welcome tourists (procedures are increasingly made easier, which explains our ease of travel in this part compared to when in Xinjiang) and to fire up the national spirit. I felt this more in the smaller countries (K and T, then in U).

Inexplicably (and perhaps not so), YouTube made a suggestion for me to view a video of Singapore in 1983. As it turns out, that is also when Singapore has experienced 28 years of self rule and these cities we have just seen are actually ahead in terms of infrastructure. I really hope the people are really hungry for that is the true source of progress. With the genie out of the bottle, let’s indeed hope it is impossible to put it back in again and may they grow well.

Tajikistan’s capital city of Dushanbe is almost a textbook application of city building. Markets have been cleaned up and bazaars are now housed in modern building more akin to shopping malls. The streets are wide and tree lined and it has been said that this city has more land devoted to parks and gardens than anywhere else in the world. Having walked through a couple of these, we are ready believers.

As we press on westwards, deep into the heart of Central Asia, the trip is less about sights & sounds but a voyage of reflection and renewal.

An apt juncture to start

Travelogues has been one my favourite from of writings. My blogs the last few years are more about Everyday life, at school, at work and at home. I was keen to start writing about this trip but had left this particular penmanship exercise till halfway into this travel adventure. At this point, one the 11th day of the trip, I am ready to pour some thoughts onto the page.

This trip that has lived up to all the mystique surrounding the Silk Road, and none more so than having to sit here in the lobby of the border crossing into Krgrzystan awaiting our passports, bags, phones, photos and books to be cleared. In fact clearing these staging posts has been an adventure in itself. Whether departing or arriving from train stations or crossing checkpoints on the highway, they are very careful who and what they let through. It is good precaution and one of the reasons why the country is so safe.

We started in Beijing, flying in from Singapore while Josh flew in from Tijuana after his project in Baja California. It was nice to meet this way. Really shows the globalised state we live in.

We were there on May 4th, and while this date is more popularly known as Star Wars day, it is also the anniversary of the rise of significant philosophical school of thought in the country, the anti-imperialist new culture movement. In fact, this was its 100th anniversary. It was a good time to share with Josh and Meg my thoughts on this matter.

Beijing technically is not part of the ancient Silk Road. Though the seat of the Yuan dynasty, the Silk Road terminus is Xian. So we made our way there not on the high speed railway but on the overnight sleeper train. If I find it hard sleeping in SQ, you can well imagine I hardly caught 40 winks. The rest of the travellers though slept soundly, for 8 full hours. So, they arrived all fresh and we were met by Jolene, a friendly Chinese guide who were relieved we spoke Chinese and are not from UK. A local from the city, she started us off the right way by bringing us to the museum and narrated the history of the country and city.

Xian is a key destination on the Silk Road. The first thing that underlined this fact was that Xian housed a mosque which is a living tourist site today. Then known as Changan (Long Peace), it was the capital of the very first unified China. Though his reign and indeed the dynasty Qin Shi Huang founded was short lived, he introduced one common language, one key factor to ensuring seamless communication. We saw his the warriors and horses guarding him in the afterlife. And it was here that I realised how I preferred my archaeology: raw!

I liked seeing the half buried, even fragmented pieces, in situ, rather than completely done up. I know get why some vintage car collectors prefer to keep their barn finds as is.

Xian’s ancient city walls still stands today and a timely reminder of how walls work. Our experience of walking on it is only enhanced by the viewing of Netflix’s Marco Polo that dramatized Kublai Khan’s efforts to rule all of China. That was merely 800 years or so ago but they found an advanced matriarchal civilisation of Banpo right in the middle of the city which dates back 6000 years ago. Indeed, this city is Changan.

We continued westwards just like the great monk and stopped next in Dunhuang. We were very much in Silk Road adventure mode (albeit gentrified for tourists) and rode camels (and ATV) on the sand dunes of Mt Mingsha and took in the beautiful view of Crescent Moon Lake.

What really took our breath away though is the desert scape. Dunhuang is an oasis at the edge of Taklamakan desert and the Silk Road branches into Northern, central and Southern pathways from here. And seeing how beautiful it is here, it makes sense that this strategically located town is the Crossroads. Much of the town is new but the landscape is not and we were well awed.

We also visited nearby Mogao grottoes, where the rich and the religious carved grottoes out of the sandstone mountain adorned with beautiful Buddhist art. Some of these have survived incredibly well hidden from the elements within the grottoes. It is however much harder from the theiving hands of man and sadly ancient Buddhist manuscripts were taken from one of the grottoes back to Britain.

From Dunhuang, we took another overnight train to Turpan. To do so, we had to drive almost 200kms to Liuyuan past the Gobi desert, with the Hei Shan in the background. There are two types of desert: sandy ones or rocky ones. Gobi is as rocky as Taklamakan is sandy. Both are dry but Gobi is also flat and so for miles all you see I are flat arid plains, which is cleverly utilised now as wind and solar farms turning a barren wasteland into energy producing areas. Dunhuang has been rebuilt for tourists but Liuyuan certainly wasn’t. It’s a railway station town and looks as grimy and greasy as industrial outposts are expected to be.

We were happy to be in Turpan, which is of Silk Road heritage, with security and border controls to match. How we wish we had the Khan’s golden tablet to facilitate easy passage through all of these stops but alas, two penknives and a bottle of perfume short, not to mention much time taken to record our passports (manually and photographically), we remain mere tourists on this historical path.

Turpan is proud, and rightly so, of its past but I feel it tries too hard to showcase it. With its landscapes of the Huoshan and Tienshan in between both Gobi and Taklamakan deserts, Turpan is a crossroad city just like a Dunhuang before. It too has its Buddhist grottoes in Bekzlekik but nearly all of these have been defaced by Muslims who came to dominance here 800 years ago. This is located in a canyon so all very picturesque, and so they built up new “old” structures and even film sets around these sites.

We thought we would had left Disneyland meet Haw Par Villa behind after the Bekzlekik when we visited the Grape Valley that Turpan is famous for. Alas this was no Napa Valley but rather almost an amusement centre with bright coloured shuttle cars with dance floor music and acrobatic shows. We did buy some raisins though.

The day was much redeemed when Momingjie, our jolly chain-smoking guide brought Josh and me to the ruins of the 2000 year old Yar City which is perhaps the best preserved site from two Millenia ago in the world. They’ve made no gaudy embellishments here and made the experience so much more authentic. The fact that we saw Banpo just days ago also allowed us to imagine our minds what that could have looked like.

I mentioned that only Josh and I saw the Yar City ruins. Meg had fallen ill in this desert town (just like Josh ten years ago in the Indian desert town of Rajasthan) and supermom Dawn stayed at the lodge to look after her. In fact, supermom whom we just celebrated mother’s day with came fully prepared with medicines, herbs, rice and even a cooker!

She need not rely on any shaman of the steppes to nurse our daughter back to health and in no time, Meg was up and about. The recovery was fortunately quite speedy that even at sunset dinner in Turpan at the rooftop of the lodge we were staying in, we played a question game Josh introduced us to. We continued it and learned that as parents, we have attributes that provides deep roots and strong wings. No prizes for guessing who is which.

The combination of these traits are strongly required as we pushed to the westernmost tip of China, into Kashgar. It too has the setting of a period movie and in fact The Kite Runner was filmed here. It is here in Kashgar, esp within the walls of the ancient city with its free-range kids that the full experience of travelling in these parts come alive. The people, young and old, male and female, are of all complexions. They are truly a blend of all worlds, and a living testimony to global integration.

Sure, it has it sites, like the beautiful Abu Hojak tombs which I felt was a predecessor to the Taj Mahal (and we were to learn more about the founder of the Mughal empire later) not just for Xiang Fei but also for its architecture.

Then there is the Sunday market and their great bazaar. Sadly, there was an outbreak of swine flu when we were there and the livestock market was closed. We saw the bird market instead and that experienced extracted from Dawn the observation if there was a categorisation of 4th world economies. For the way the market is (dis)organised, the throngs of people through it, the mode of negotiation (hanging out a 100¥ note to the seller indicating your last and final offer) and the general din of the place truly hark back to an earlier less developed era. Silk Road, did I hear anyone say? It’s just as well that the livestock market was closed for I dare say adding to this chaos the putrid smell of live animal droppings would be too much to bear.

The grand bazaar is much more organised until we reached the outside for on Sunday all sorts of people come out to hawk their wares and some even the household items of their grandparents on the streets. In the market, in the bazaar or on the streets, these vendors all deserve their place in the tapestry that is life in Kashgar. This has always been a trading city, from the old days of the Silk Road, and making/trading is very much in the lifeblood of the people here.

We have now spent 11 days on the road and have another dozen days to go. Our experiences on the China Silk Road have been unlike any other trips we have taken. Describing this as a trip is quite inadequate, as this is turning out to be a voyage. Strong wings, deep roots.

Ready for another sabbatical

Every 5 years, the firm allows each partner two months of paid sabbatical. Considering all the vacation days we have accumulated over the years, this is about the right recompense.

I miss my first window (due in 2010) as I was getting appointed to lead the region but managed to take it by 2014 and went to South America with D.

It’s been five years hence and I am about to take my second, and this time the whole family will start a Silk Road adventure. J needs to head back for his work attachment midway but M, D and I will continue beyond China into three of The Central Asia “KTU-stans”.

Am really looking forward to it, especially when the body has been signalling for me to take a break.

Travelling the Silk Road May not seem like a tranquil trip to do for someone in need of rest. But for a history-buff like me, retracing the journey of Marco Polo and immersing myself in new cultures (not to mention a number of oasis stops along the way) is a nice way to distract the overactive mind to something different and engaging rather than work and also to keep the body active and hopefully fitter.

J of the Jungle

You may wonder what it takes for something to feature on this blog.

If you have read this for the past 5 years, you'd know it is not only my musings. I also include pieces I find interesting that speaks to me and my circumstances. These will therefore all be captured in posterity (or for as long as Blogger.com remains in operations).

Naturally, the last 3 entries and now this 4th one are not written by me. There are essays by my children but clearly I found these meaningful and worth recording. This one was written at the end of 2016 and got J admitted into a number of US universities.

Photocredit: discoverdruham.com

The continuous high-pitched whine had my soldiers at wits’ end. The cloud of mosquitoes around our heads bore the distinctive stripes of the Aedes genus: carrier of the dreaded Zika virus and Dengue fever.

As the insect chatter rang in my ears, my boots bit into my heels and thorns wedged themselves in my arms. Never before had I felt so alive. I urged my platoon on.

We had a destination to reach. For this exercise, arriving undetected mattered. This depended not only on our training and knowledge, but also our attitude and resolve, turning away from the path of least resistance to stay concealed.

Navigation was tough; the challenges I faced in the mountains of Australia and Taiwan, the rainforests of Brunei and Indonesia, the arid plains of Mongolia and the savannahs of Zimbabwe taught me that nothing in these majestic yet relentless environments came easy. Their inaccessibility underscored their mystic beauty, and my resolve to unravel them grew. Years of training with my scout troop and the military honed my ability to visualize terrain to the finest detail, to know instinctively where we came from and where we had to go.

Nonetheless, there was still much I did not know, and the deeper understanding I craved could only come through completely immersing myself in Nature: its communities and its vagaries.

I am reminded of the Silver Desert Ant (Cataglyphis Bombycina) every time I traverse unknown terrain. Clothed in reflective armor to minimize radiation from the sun, it is easily the hardiest creature in its barren habitat. Using this to its advantage, it ventures out for food in the heat of the day, when predators scurry for shade. Yet, it can only withstand a few minutes of such thermal stress. Hence, its sense of direction, derived via vectoring the sun’s position and an internal pedometer, is absolutely crucial. Should it fail to find its way to the nest, death follows swiftly.

More than the grab-and-go missions of the specialized desert ants, the living rafts of Amazonian Fire Ants (Solenopsis Invicta) and even the colony building efforts of Garden Ants in my ant farm display selflessness that I initially thought was beyond the humble insect. Yet day after day they bravely risk lives and limbs for the survival of their colony, protecting their queen and her larvae.

In the animal kingdom, short lifespans mean there is little difference between survival and sustainability - continuity is essential. Somewhere in our evolution though, we seem to have forgotten this. Around me, an increasingly affluent Asia is bombarded with invitations to “The Great Singapore Sale”, “Black Friday Discounts”; even Mother’s Day and Christmas have been commercialized. They encourage self-centered consumerism, which could well lead us down a path of unsustainable over-consumption.

A man of the jungle, living in a small city-state devoid of natural resources leaves me yearning to be closer to nature, knowing that the demands of modern society can be met without depleting Nature’s capacity. A man of hope, I believe we will remember our responsibility to future generations. I want to live and leave a better world.

Looking for a way to realize this dream, my vocation found me. While undergoing military service, I discovered an organization with a purpose I identify with: to protect and serve. I am proud to be part of it and hunger for the guidance of a strong education so that I may better shape the system from within, to be better able to battle the insidious forces that threaten the natural environment, our physical and spiritual home.

Democritus advised: “Happiness resides not in possessions and not in gold, happiness dwells in the soul.” I draw inspiration from the way nature intended us to live; the betterment of the community is not so much an ideal as it is an absolute necessity to protect the world that we so dearly love.