The Right Foot:
Four weeks of driving in Kuching has opened my eyes to a whole new world of movement, the Chi (or is it the Tao?) of Automobile Driving. Unlike New York, Tokyo or London, driving here is not a constant heart-in-the-mouth or near-death experience - far from it, as the traffic moves with a languid pace that is quite soothing, but one has to mentally prepare for it, perhaps with some yoga and meditation to get the mind into the proper frame before tackling Kuching's mean Jalans.

The rush-hour traffic performs a sort of elegant ballet as it flows round and round the many roundabouts the road designers have thoughtfully provided. The corps-de-ballet are the unnumerable motorcycles that weave effortlessly all about the cars and behave as if they are immune from danger. It is unnerving to look left at a stop sign and see a father and mother (with crash helmets) and their entire genetic future (without crash helmets) perched between them, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, all revving up and waiting to duck in front of your car as soon as there is a gap in the traffic. They seem to have a touching sort of belief that you will see them and not floor the accelerator as soon as you see the gap, or that if you should be a tad quick off the mark, that (Inshallah) you will miss them as they have thoughtfully left at least 6 inches of space between them and you.

Even more scary is the near-univeral practice of motorcyclists to save their light bulbs when travelling by night along the road less travelled. By switching off their lights as they zot along in the dark they prolong the life of these pesky things no end. Local belief has it that it is a trick best performed by riders wearing very dark clothes. Because most jalans do not have breaks in the median strip, motorcyclists sensibly have taken to driving along on the wrong side of the road in order to get to the turn-off to their side streets far quicker than riding along to the next roundabout, thereby risking exposing their tin-lids to some serious danger.

All cars built in Malaysia have turn indicator stalks and mirrors - at least I assume they do, as ours does - but the use of these devices has not been thoroughly taught or at least is imperfectly understood as yet, so drivers will change lanes having first broadcast their desire to do so by a process of mental telepathy or thought projection to the surrounding traffic. It is not uncommon to be driving along in your own lane only to find that the guy on your immediate left is clearly moving across to your lane, not just when you are safely past him but actually as you drive alongside him! Always expect the unexpected and you will not go far wrong seems to be the best way of handling this situation. It is also, by the way, very very bad form to toot, flash your lights or show any sign that you are sore let and hindered by this graceful maneouver.

One thing I hope to master before we leave is the universal hand signal, usually given by a passenger, which consists of a languid arm hanging out the window with the hand (usually with a ciggie between the fingers) performing a slow back-and-forth movement. This means "I, the driver of the car in the extreme right-hand (left-hand) lane, am now about to drive slowly but purposefully diagonally across all lanes of traffic and take up my rightful place in the extreme left-hand (right-hand) lane, and you, the driver or drivers (as the case may be) behind me, will kindly slow down and wait while I do this thing which I mean to do, just about NOW". It is a truly powerful hand signal and confers complete immunity from collision.

This is a land where everybody has strong beliefs and is not afraid to advertise their faith by festooning their car windows and windshields with stickers, religious texts and strings of religious medals, while the dashboard and rear parcel shelves sag under the weight of statues. The faithful have developed the ability to drive by faith alone, possibly because the third eye can see clearly through all these incrustations. There is also a very popular religion which flourishes here in which the principal deity seems to be Pooh Bear. You are only recognised as being a true devotee and therefore gain merit in this world if your rear windscreen is completely covered by images of the Blessed Bear. I have also observed many devotees of the previously unknown cult of the Failed Spiderman. The cars of these believers all have a shrine in which a large idol or image of the colourful red and blue god is shown in his characteristic pose, slumped down on the rear parcel shelf, his arm and leg suckers no longer able to sustain his weight. Very touching.

The Left Foot
There is no vegemite left. At all. Not one skerrick.

Images from Kuching.

The Right Foot:
Four weeks into our stay in Sarawak, I can really feel something of what our ancestors felt as they left Old England (or Old Ireland or Old Just-about-anywhere) and ended up, thousands of miles away from their homes and friends, almost certain that they would never see them again. Working away here in the Enchanted Tower (still not gainfully employed: the process of getting a visa changed in Malaysia is apparently a leetle slow, but as the penalty for working without the proper documentation is 2 strokes of the rotan, I am happy to let things take their course) I sometimes feel totally cut off. Checking the mail box has become a part of the daily ritual (thanks for the letters, Big Brother - I think I can almost recite them by heart now) but the laptop and the Internet are a real life-line. I check for e-mails at least 3 times a day (you have to ration it out when you are paying as you go) and find that I am even happy to get junk mail! But being able to read the Age, check library catalogues, talk to (well, at) the bank, play with digital photos, play pirate VCDs etc not only helps to break the tedium of thesis editing, but makes you feel that today's world is a smaller (if somewhat more dangerous) place after all.

The Left Foot
The Wolf Blass was most acceptable so today we went back to Ting & Ting to buy the other five bottles. We've bought ourselves a wok and we're cooking up exciting little meals full of unidentifiable ingredients. We had one vegetable with a bulb at one end and feathery fronds at the other and didn't know which was the business end. So we ate the whole thing.

Yesterday we went to Matang Wildlife Park where they rehabilitate orang utans formerly kept as pets and return them to the wild. It was rather sad to see these transitional creatures pathetically playing to the gallery while the staff studiously ignored them. Another wonderful walk through a national park though, everything so lush, green and larger than life.

Today I had to give a progress report to the Senior Management Team. Expecting the Datu to be present I frocked up in jacket and hose (ugh!) but the Datu was called to a sudden meeting on terrorism so never got to see the trouble I'd taken. The report went well and I realised that I actually had done a good bit in three weeks. But it's got me worried about the terrorism.

The Right Foot:
Shopping for almost anything in another country is always a journey of discovery. The only thing you don't normally do is shop for food if you are just passing through, though you might just pop into the local supermarket to get some sun cream or whatever and take time to have a good sticky at the shelves en passant. But living overseas is a whole different matter. Though Kuching is not overly-well served by supermarkets or corner stores in the western sense, the ones we have found have all the usual western brands if you need comfort food.

But why go to the supermarket when you can shop at the Kuching markets? They are something else again! Sarawakians loooove their tucker and you are spoilt for choice everywhere you turn. You could quite happily live off the produce on offer at the many road-side stalls with their home-grown produce but how could you miss the market at Jalan Bazaar? It looks llike a proper market should look. Vibrant, alternately too dark or too light, crowded, smelly, intense and utterly fascinating. For a start it is open every day from before dawn to late at night. You can walk (well, actually edge) your way through the narrow isles and just feast your eyes on a cornucopia of fresh veggies and fruit. BM or Cantonese are the lingua franca depending on which end of the market you start at, but everyone is quite happily to explain what this or that might be and the message gets through. Which is handy, because there is so much that is totally new to us. However, we have been dicing and chopping our way through some very fine vegetables on spec. and the resultant stir-fries have been excellent. The familiar fruits and vegetables are usually much smaller than those in Oz but their flavour is much more intense. Walking around asking lots of questions makes you feel like a kid again as everyone offers you a taste to see if you like it, just like they did when you went shopping with your mum!

Next to the fruit and vegetables is the fish market which is strictly for the heroic shopper! What I need before I plunge in there is a recipe book offering tips like 50 Winning Ways with Jellyfish. The poultry market tends to be like that too, for sometimes it seems that all that is on offer is the very live, very feathery variety!

Across the street is the dry goods market, a long row of narrow shop houses, each spilling itsr wares out onto the pavement. Bags and bags full of rice, beans, lentils of all colours of the rainbow, noodles, dumplings, dried fish, dried medicines and those tiny, colourful but lethal chillies. Deepavali is coming up soon, so the Indian shops are full of spices and mounds of coloured curry pastes. Everyone seems to have sweetmeats on display that add colour to the scene. Here and there there are shops selling bolts of peacock-coloured cloth or more prosaically, dodgy knock-off designer-label jeans and T-shirts with logos like "Teen In In Club world wear". To small yet for such glamour threads, the small kids hang around the sugar cane stall to buy a small plastic bag full of fresh sugar cane juice, which they sip through a straw as they walk around. If you want quick service, don't think about doing your marketing around 12 to 2 as just about everyone is getting stuck into the serious business of lunch.

Well, must finish this - dinner is ready and no Kuchinger ever neglects this!