Making Waves at Jones Beach

I've been to several beaches but none even come close to the capacity of America's Riviera or Jones Beach as it's better known. A 1-day assignment beckoned me to this New York landmark on Long Island on Tuesday.

Jone's beach is an ocean and sand-dune paradise split up into 6 huge fields with enough parking for over 1 million cars. It opened in 1929 with nautical water fountains, handball courts, archery ranges, an outdoor roller rink, even nude sunbathing.

Those attractions are long gone replaced with 2 swimming pools in the East Bathhouse, a 14,354-seat theater for rock concerts and a 200-feet high campanile that houses a water tank.

It's open year round with an entrance fee of $8. A mix of New Yorkers, Long Island suburbanites and visitors from around the country makes this State Park the most popular in the country. There's even an old wooden boardwalk and several facilities and restaurants for grabbing a hotdog or showering up after a sticky day in the sand.

If you prefer to stay dry, there's surf fishing, a boat basin and an undeveloped grassy sand dune to watch wandering birds and identify native vegetation. I stayed busy videotaping kids and parents playing paddle ball, boogie boarding, snorkeling and jumping waves. Besides getting the tan of a lifetime I got paid to enjoy Jones beach and watch the annual 5K M&K Workplace Challenge. Not a bad way to make a buck.

Peak-Bagging Challenges in the Berkshires

City slicker loves the outdoors. He's mountaineered ranges all over the United States including the still-active volcano, Mount Fuji, in Japan. Still, mosquitos and small black flies drive him to distraction and we both forget to tote a can of bug repellent to the top of Mount Greylock. But biting bugs are the least of our worries when we hear a crack of thunder in the distance.

We quicken our pace and skip the occasional water break. The thick tree canopy catches the majority of raindrops and the trail stays dry long enough for us to get navigate the steep stuff. Then, the rain begins pelting us like a monsoon in South East Asia; blinding, torrential and deafening. I break into a wild gait hoping to outrun the storm and praying city slicker can keep up.

The true danger is not in the storm itself but the slippery granite and loose stubble we pound over. Occasionally, I lose control of my speed and brace myself for a twisted ankle or worst yet, a broken bone. My now weightless black hiking bag slams against my sweaty back but keeps me partially dry. City slicker pleads we seek refuge somewhere but there's no place to go and we just passed a sign that said "1 mile left."

Gone are the odds of finding the missing sunglasses or meeting up with mama bear and baby bear again (thankfully). At the speed we're running everything whips by in a blink of an eye along with the trails we're suppose to take to get us back to the car. As mentioned in previous post, Mount Greylock suffers from a serious lack of markers and relying on a visitors map proves worthless.

We are lost, an inevitable conclusion. Our 1 mile marker turns into 2, then 3, then possibly 4 miles. We stop, backtrack and finally stand helpless in the deep woods of the Berkshires; sopping wet, zero cell phone coverage and unlikely to find assistance from another hiker.

I brag about having a compass head and never needing directions but today proves otherwise. Most disconcerting is it's getting darker by the minute and we've run out of options. Just then I hear the familiar sound of a moving vehicle. Our saving grace! I tear through the brush and downed trees and spring out the woods like a jack rabbit on fire. I'm within inches from the passing white pickup on a worn gravel road when the driver comes to a screeching halt.

The driver, thinning white hair with crazy hillbilly eyes and plaid overalls, rolls down his side window.

I'm busting with relief. "Sir, we just climbed Mount Greylock but now we're lost. Can you help?" Suddenly, visions of a scary movie from my youth flood back to me handing the shredded map to this bizarre-looking stranger.

"Shucks, Missy, your way down here," he points out. "You need to be up here."

With trepidation and uncertainty I pony up the bravado to ask "Can we jump a ride with you if your going that way?"

"Sure, hop in the back," he says.

City slicker and I smile from ear-to-ear bouncing down the road in the back of the local's open pickup. No matter where we're going or who our driver is, being here is far more desirable to sleeping on wet moss and smelly leaves all night. A late day climb to the top of Mount Greylock... who would have thought it could be this much fun?

Bear Adventures on Mount Greylock

Might a bottle of Paul Michel Super Soft hairspray and 2 rueben sandwiches be enough to stop a raging bear? Might outrunning a torrential thunder storm stop us from getting wet? Might we still be lost today if a friendly local didn't pick us up in his flatbed truck? Read on to find out.

We left Albany on Sunday for the highest peak in Massachusetts, later than expected, but hoping to drive half the mountain and climb the rest. When we got there, a desk clerk at the visitors center apologized that the road was under construction and closed for the weekend. Still, it was hours before sunset and we were jonesing to see the summit and view.

The first quarter mile was easy. We traversed a grassy road that gradually gained in altitude half way up. The thick woods were dense with white granite rock and trickling streams. Verdant moss grows thick on the main path making it slippery but beautiful. At times it was difficult to know which direction to take. Mount Greylock may be the state's most popular hiking destination but the dozen or so trails are very poorly marked.

Suddenly, the noise of breaking branches and falling debris catches our attention. I stop dead in my tracks, scan the environment and concentrate on an abnormally black mass in the distance. City slicker beckons me to forget about it and continue. He jokingly proclaims it to be a madman after us rather than a bear.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, baby bear comes bouncing down a nearby tree and the black mass turns into Mama bear. Baby bear is now on his hind legs surveying our intrusion. The entire Berenstain Bears collection is no more than 100 feet away. City slicker is shaking in his shoes (as am I) and belts out an ear-piercing shout to show dominance in the situation. The bears don't budge but we sure do. We tear into the climb praying the beasts don't follow.

10 minutes later, city slicker loses his precious Maui Jims and we backtrack for the expensive pair. No luck in finding his polarized fashion statement and he's dripping in sweat from the humidity. I giggle in secret. City slicker is not a happy camper but it's getting late and other climbers are passing us on their way down.

Finally, we reach the top. We plunge into our reuben sandwiches and admire the 3,491 foot view. Mount Greylock rises above the surrounding Berkshire landscape with dramatic views as far as 90 miles away. It's Massachusetts' first state park with a summit in the National Register of Historic Places for it's collection of CCC-era buildings and a 93-foot tall granite Veterans War Memorial Tower. A portion of the Appalachian National Scenic Trail even crosses the summit.

Clouds are building in the distance and neither of us are prepared for rain so we head back down. What happened next was almost as frightening as confronting the bears. But, you'll have to wait until tomorrow because it's back to work for me...

Sugar to the Rescue

Yes, it's been a full week since I've blogged, the longest I've gone in 4 years, but restoring one's regular sleep pattern back from a 12 hour Malaysian time difference is no easy feat. It took Monster caffeine energy drinks and saccharin-coated desserts from Nina's Sweet Shop to shock my body back to normal.

While showing off Bolton Landing and Lake George to my city-slicker friend this week we pulled over briefly for desserts at a 50+ year old treasure on Canada Street, across from the Lake George post office. This little gem has recently undergone a brilliant make-over with new floors, fresh goods and an ever-welcoming team of friendly faces.

The historical tin ceiling and tin panels on the walls still remain. And, the glass display cases are filled with goodies like their world-renown salt water taffy, gooey fudge and purple rock candy. We couldn't decide so we chose the lot along with a slice of chocolate decadence.

Owner, Patty Kirkpatrick Patenaude, greeted us with offerings of her specialty - a crunchy treat of candy-covered almonds and caramel popcorn. I drove home as wide awake and vigilant as a night owl. Time difference restored!

My Last Supper in Malaysia

My last day in Malaysia, boo, hoo. There's still so much more to see and do. I said so too over a wonderful Indian/Thai smorgasbord with the Malaysia Tourism Board last night. In 2 years, I hope I can come back for some trekking, scuba-diving and rock-climbling. Thanks for reading along with my adventures everyone! The next big trip might possibly be in September to the third most populous country in Latin America, Colombia! From Malaysia, one of the least populous drug country in the world to one of the most notorious. This should be interesting...

My plane is boarding for Sweden -- have to dash....

Powerful Pachyderms Need Our Protection

The Kuala Gandah Elephant Sanctuary, two hours north of Kuala Lumpur, has helped save over 500 orphaned and injured elephants since 1989. Together, with 50 other travelers, we bathed, fed and rode several domesticated gentle giants. It was a mythical connection for all -- man and mammal cohabitating with the understanding that we need to help preserve this powerful pachyderm as much as possible. The sanctuary is free to the public but encourages donations large and small.

I opted out of the elephant plunge but took a dry run around the park on the back of one bordering on 70 years old. A few minutes earlier we fed them slabs of watermelon and bananas. They thrive on the guts of baobab trees (thousands of years old) and can brilliantly crush and peel away the bark as easy as a toothpick.

One of the baby elephants lost his front left foot in giant man-made trap while roaming free in the jungle. Fortunately, he was rescued and rehabilitated by the sanctuary. I tickled his tough trunk and he blew sweet nothings in my ear.

I'm in love.

Elephants are extremely social animals and highly intelligent. Studies have proved that they recognize their image as their own when looking into a mirror. Self awareness is considered the basis for empathy, altruism and higher social interactions. The only other animals/primates that can demonstrate that level of intelligence are the ape and dolphin.

Flock of Hornbills at the Bird Park

The Hornbill is Malaysia's official bird mascot. Today, they're a protected and revered species but years ago they were killed for the ivory because it was easy to carve into intricate jewelry. There are 57 living species with several varieties at the KL Bird Park, the world's largest walk-in, free flight aviary.

The Bird Park is a giant birdcage with 21 acres of open space covered by thin netting and double locking doors. Birds of all kinds breed and live naturally in an environment that's open for all to enjoy. Besides the hornbill there are peacocks, doves, egrets, ibises, ostriches and emus.

Max and I dashed through the preserve clicking away at all the colorful and talkative varieties. The hornbill intrigued us as the most strange-looking bird in the flock with a heavy casque atop the head that appears to serve no purpose whatsoever. The park also has bridges, accessible sidewalks for wheelchairs and air-conditioned restrooms, something you'll appreciate immensely after suffocating in the plus 100 temps.

Ear Candling in Kuala Lumpur

This isn't the illegal remains of what you might think. Here in Malaysia, drugs of all kinds will get you 30 years in the slammer and several lashings.

Rather, it's toxins and residue from 2 candles that burned brightly in my ears during an ancient practice called "Ear Candling." Yup, I'm still here in Kuala Lumpur and things are getting stranger by the minute.

I trusted our guide, Sara to educate me on the process before I blew $50 on the luxury. She said it would improve circulation, balance and rid wax from my ear. I was skeptical but after the fish spa I was anxious for another radical experience. She encouraged me to visit a new spa with numerous awards called Jojoba Spa.

As soon as I walked in I was greeted with the soothing scents of sandlewood and frangipani. 3 smiling women in Asian dress gently offered me a menu of services to pick from. But I knew what I wanted and waited my turn, a little weary of the process.

A fragile Malay woman escorted me to a back room decorated with bamboo, stone strips between slabs of floor tile, low lighting and light instrumental music. I undressed from the waist up and lay down on my side on a toweled message table. My therapist (that's what they like to be called) placed a 12-inch beeswax stick in my ear, struck a match and lit the wick.

Oh no, I thought. Even with a towel over my head, my hair was full of flammable hairspray. I prayed that it wouldn't catch on fire.

The sizzle and crackle echoed lightly in my ear drum. It was a pleasant, nostalgic sound that reminded me of sitting around an open-air campfire roasting marshmallows. I was quickly lulled into a place of comfort and tranquility.

Then, the shoulder message began. My therapist proved to have magic fingers and poured her energy into relaxing every sore muscle in my back. Even though she was tiny, her fingers were strong enough to crush steel.

While she gave me the back message of a lifetime, the flame got closer and closer to my ear. Supposedly, the process was creating a vacuum that was removing the impacted earwax and other impurities and sucking everything up onto the wax paper. As far-fetched and ethereal as that sounds the practice has been around for hundreds of years.

"Would you like me to dig deeper?" asked my therapist. "Sure, why not," I said. The pressure nearly strangled me to death but the effect was worth it. I stumbled out of Jojoba like a boiled piece of stringy spaghetti. If only I could take my therapist back to New York with me!

Monkey Business at the Baku Cave

These little fellows are adorable to look at but a menace if you have food. They didn't know what to make of the video camera. I flipped the viewfinder so they could see themselves and maybe, just maybe, they made the connection between what they saw in the screen and themselves. Maybe?

Friendly Faces of Malaysia

Chinese, Malay, Portuguese and Indian make up the lion share of faces in Maleka, Malaysia. Sometimes the lineage is so mixed that the differences are too subtle for me to see. If you give a smile a smile is returned, that's the best part!

An Evening in KL, A Day in Melaka

Max is deathly afraid of heights and I'm no high flying tight rope walker myself but we both enjoyed the sunset view from a 60 meter ferris wheel last night. The Eye on Malaysia is located in the "Green Lung of Kuala Lumpur" or the Titiwangsa Lake Gardens. It offers a breathtaking 360-degree panoramic view of the city including a light show on the water. This is the ideal month to visit Kuala Lumpur because all the attractions we've been to so far have been queue-free. That's good news since the last thing a traveler wants to do is wait in line when humidity is hovering around 100%.

Checkers, the nickname we gave our driver because we can't pronounce his Indian name, scored mucho points when he stopped to let us take stills of the Petronas Towers. These towers are the city's two front teeth - as important to the skyline as they are to the government and economy. At night, they light up like a rare jewel caught in the headlights of a really big flashlight.

From another gem called the Menara KL Tower, Max and I dined on a rotating viewing deck. We sat at least 100m higher than the Petronas Towers Skybridge enjoying a Singapore Sling and an infinite choice of buffet cuisine. Vegetarians beware - there's a fully cooked lamb carcass hanging on a spit for easy consumption. I opted for the Chinese dim sum instead.

This morning we hopped back in the van for a 2-hour bus trip to Melaka on the Straits of Malacca. This charming little harbor town offers dozens of museums to discover the heritage and history of Malaysia as well as escape the formidable heat. It's named from the Melaka tree which bears fruit which is strangely poisonous.

Rather than brave an erratic driver of a colorful trishaw we ambled up to the top of St. Paul's Church where the Portuguese empire once built a fort called A'Famosa. Only crumbling walls and well-preserved 15th century tombstones remain.

On our walk down the hill, I listened with amusement to a Portuguese musician making melodies on his harmonica. His teeth were limited but his talents were numerous. He played the American bluegrass hit "Oh! Susanna" with such gusto and clarity you'd think he came from "Alabama with a banjo on his knee."

Melaka is full of friendly go-lucky people like the harmonica player, many that will let you take their picture if you ask politely. Just a few minutes before, Sara bought Max and I 5 souvenir drawings from a vendor who could recite Melaka's history better than a genealogist. And before that a wee little boy (see Max's blog) gave us a toothy grin sitting with his parents enjoying roti.

Towering Caves and Tasty Tea

10 miles north of Kuala Lumpur a towering gold statue of a Hindu God can be seen from miles away. Finished in 2007, the friendly face was erected and dedicated to the pilgrims and all who come see the Batu Caves.

The Batu caves are 130 million years old but were only first discovered 120 years ago by American naturalist, Wiliam Hornaday.
Shortly after that the Hindus found them to be the perfect place to build a shine for their religion. Each year, in late January, nearly a million pilgrims visit here during a holy event called Thaipusam. They light candles, pray and worship the deities for 3 days.

There are 272 steps leading up to the Temple Cave with mischievous monkeys rolling about on the concrete for your entertainment. Several wer curious for a closer look at my camera and tore at my spongy microphone as if it were a ripe banana.

Beyond the first cave, called the Temple Cave, the space opens up on an atrium where stalagmites and stalactites grow like weeds. There are several that look awkwardly phallic - though that might be my dirty imagination getting the best of me (smile). Moisture falls from the ceiling creating pools in dark corners and the steps are slippery and narrow so you have to be careful. A snake handler enticed me to wrap the Burmese Python around my neck for a few pictures. I don't mind a snake or two squirming around me, it's spiders that push me over the edge. I gave the young Indian entrepreneur a $3 tip for training his dangerous snake not to choke off my circulation.


Following the heady climb up and down the Batu Caves, Sara ordered me a tasty dish from a sit-down stall called Rani Vilas Restoran Vegetarian. I have an Indian neighbor by the name of Rani who makes the most delicious roti but this roti was just as yummy. The roti canai dish was garnished with 2 small sides of coconut sauce, vegetable curry and dhal (lentils and ghee). For refreshments I ordered up a cup of teh tarik or chai latte. The perfect end to a perfect climb.

A Peak into Traditions and Tall Buildings

Malaysian and visiting Muslims from the Middle East love their Starbucks just as much as we do. I'm sitting in the coffee shop across from the Millenium Hotel blogging for free. I'm fascinated with how many deeply religious Muslim women from Islamic nations visit here, all covered in full black garments called abayas.

They drape themselves from the head to toe with only a small slit to see through around the eyes. Exposing flesh in public places borders on sinful and the Islamic husbands prefer their women cloaked to avoid attention. The irony is in a modern cosmopolitan city like Kuala Lumpur the opposite happens. Because this city thrives on capitalism, especially shopping, it's a fashion mecca for experimentation and loose habits. Sometimes they are the only woman who can afford haute couture and glossy brands. They must look really good under all those layers!

5 a.m. this morning, our sleepy Malaysian tour guide Sara, got in line for tickets to the top of the Petronas Towers, the worlds tallest twin buildings. We were fast asleep while she waited for 4 hours for 3 of only 1400 access passes handed out daily.

We boarded a elevator that whisked us up 41 of 88 floors for an aerial view of Kuala Lumpur from the Skybridge, a pedestrian bridge that links the two buildings. The buildings are the creation marvel of Argentine-American architect César Pelli and completed in 1998. We watched a 3-D video explaining how it was constructed of reinforced concrete, steel and a glass façade. The view is absolutely spectacular.

Below the twin towers is the Suria KLCC, a ritzy shopping mall where I finally found a Sony Style shop for a firewire cable to upload more videos. Outside there is a spacious park with a kids playground, paddling pools and syncronised fountains. I thought I was safe taking videos but security stopped me immediately then proceeded to follow me until I was out of sight. The weather is terribly overcast again today so not much good for pictures anyway. However, I did score a photo of a dutiful woman sweeping up leaves from the sidewalk. The gardens of Kuala Lumpur are some of the most immaculate in the world.

Feeding Frenzy on My Feet

It wasn't the headhunters or the longhouses but the Fish Spa Therapy at the Pavillon Mall in Kuala Lumpur that just made this is the strangest trip I've ever been on.

Today, I entered the Kenko Reflexology and Fish Spa per suggestion from our tour guide Sara. She hinted at the experience as we ended our tour of the city and my interest was piqued. I had 1 hour to kill before the next assignment so I hurried to the Pavilon Mall next to the Millenium Hotel (the place I'm staying) in the ritzy Golden Triangle quarters of Kuala Lumpur.



Through the glass aquarium I saw legs being nipped at by schools of small minnows and black guppy fish. I payed the $13 and washed off my feet in a stone tub. Then I was given a red towel and computerized tag to wear around my neck that activated my 30 minute limit when I entered the pool area. I sat down on the wooden planks and plunged my legs knee deep into the cool water.

Suddenly, a burst of fish rushed to my side . Like mini-paranás, hundreds of voracious little toothless Turkish fish frantically swarmed my legs. They latched onto my flesh like little suction cups. I screamed out in panic then burst into laughter. They felt like little pins and needles tickling me like crazy. I squirmed like a school girl on her first thrill ride. A Chinese businessman next to me did the same.

The commune pool holds thousands of 'healing fish' that exfoliates the skin by eating dry, diseased or crusty epidermis. This is a popular form of message for Asians that originated from the hot water springs of Kangal, Turkey. For decades, people seeking alternative methods to psoriasis and eczema have used this ticklish technique. The 'micro-message' had the whole room a buzz with laughter.



This working breed of fish is called Garra Rufa but the Kenko chain offers a variety of sizes, species and colors. One of the helpers of the Spa showed me a private room where full body immersion is a favorite among Muslim woman. As disturbing as the thought is of dipping naked into a pool of hungry suckle fish is to me, when this treatment makes it to the U.S. I'll be the first in line!

Rainforest Music Festival; Day 3

I didn't have time to edit this video with close-ups shots of the mud people but beneath everyone's feet is 6-12" of thick, smelly, quicksand. My flip-flops were torn from my feet as I tried to navigate the mirth.

The crowd went absolutely bonkers for this last performance by a 5-piece equatorial band called Kasai Masai. They hail from Africa's Congo region with a London-based singer, songwriter bandleader named Nickens Nkoso. Their sounds are a fusion of African grooves mixed with Reggae.

Kasai Masai also live in the heart of a rainforest in the Congo where many tribes stil maintain their nomadic lifestyles. Their lyrics were sang in Swahili, Lingala, Kimongo, Kwango and Mbole but, of course, they interacted with the audience in English.

The Malays are curious, open and friendly people. Several revelers exchanged cards and emails with me and took group photos. I'll miss their smiles and generosity when I leave Borneo for the Malaysia mainland tomorrow morning. Borneo is a fabulous place for adventure sports like trekking, scuba-diving and rock climbing but since I'm out of time I'll need to come back real soon for those delights.

5 more days to go and plenty more experiences to be had - Keep up with me!

Rainforest Music Festival; Day 2

Day two, Saturday night at the Rainforest Music Festival and there's double the amount of people crowding the grounds. Before entering, Max, Edmund (a journalist from California) and myself head back to the Permai Rainforest Resort, slipping past the private-only sign, for a quick dip in the warm waters of the South China Sea. After all, how else are we suppose to write about a place if we can't experience it?

The tepid water is too warm for my liking - so warm it actually makes me slightly nauseous. But, the silky sand, absent of any weeds or rocks, extends for miles into the ocean. There's only a handful of people littering the shore including a modest Muslim family dressed head to toe in wet clothing making sandcastles and swimming. They can't possibly be comfortable, I think to myself. I lick my lips salty from the South China Sea and remember not to cast judgement.

The Permai Rainforest Resort about 45 minutes outside of Kuching includes 24 cabins that sleep 6 people each and several treehouses. It costs only 210 ringgett per night ($70) and includes breakfast.

To wash off the sticky sand we walk up a narrow winding path to a fresh water inlet called the jungle pool. Cool, refreshing water flows down from a large swath of mountains called the Santobong (Malay for coffee).

We take to the festival hungry for satay and Malay cuisine. Narrow wooden planks and tiny bridges circle a small lake dotted with longhouses, tall houses and hawker food stalls. It's still early and musicians are offering clinics on how to play their ethnic instruments. Max chows down on a fresh stalk of corn on the cob but bawks at the taste.

"Not as good as New England corn," he confesses.

We are parched and find a busy longhouse offering mats and pillows to sit down and enjoy a cocktail. Even in Borneo, mojitos are not cheap. We peel back our exhaustion from the midday sun and strike up a conversation with a family from the UK temporarily working in Singapore. We learn that the tiny island strickly forbids chewing gum and is hyper expensive.

A few stars are shining brightly while the tall limbs of bamboo trees and iron wood sway in the light breeze. Revelers pack the grounds like sardines. Security is tight with K9 units patrolling for illegal substances and roaming pumas. We watch as one of the handlers lets his German Sheppard sniff the woods in search of mischief. The night before the Prime Minister Datuk Seri Abdullah Ahmad Badawi and his wife, Jeanne Abdullah attended the show from the VIP area. It's the first time that a Prime Minister has ever seen the show.

After Tuku Kame (a local favorite) a Polish band called Beltaine gets my head and hands bouncing to the beat. Their energy, depth and texture is contagious and everyone starts clapping and waving their hands in unison. The 8 musicians on stage play acoustic, electric, bass, percussion, bagpipes, accordians, violins, fiddles, bongos, flutes, even spoons! It's one of the best performances I've ever seen made even more incredible by the sea of nationalities, Chinese, Indian, Australian, Kiwi, Malay, Japanese, etc. all speaking and singing in English, the universal language here that brings everyone together.

Rainforest Music Festival; Day 1

The rain came down in buckets drenching my hair, socks, shoes and jeans. But, the camera stayed dry thanks in part to an umbrella borrowed from a friendly Seattle native by the name of Lilly. She and her boyfriend skipped out on reality 9 months ago leaving their jobs, family and friends to come to Malaysia and live like bohemians. She, her beau and about 15,000 travelers from around the world were in attendance at last night's 11th annual Rainforest Music Festival.

Despite the torrential rains, aboriginal bands from Australia, Trinidad, Portugal and all around the world played throughout the night, bouncing from one stage to another. A band called 'The Love Circle' kicked off the show just as the ominous clouds opened up. A sea of festival-goers created a pool of mud and grime several inches thick and acres wide. It reminded me of Woodstock but minus all the nasty smells of ganja.

Pushing my way to the front, I scored fabulous close ups of the band members and the strange instruments they played. Some of which included the saba (guitar) and several gendang (drums) like the cerucap (made of shells) and raurau (made from cocunut shells).


The festival is on the grounds of the Damai Beach Resort, a fabulous area with tree houses for hotel rooms, a sandy beach and an outdoor soaking tub in the rainforest. Next time I'm staying there!

Orangutan Paradise

A rare and wonderful treat awaited us in the hot, sticky jungles of Borneo today. Located about 20 miles outside of Kuching is the Semenggoh Wildlife Rehabilitation Center for injured or captured orangutans. It's several thousand acres thick with lush ferns and tropical bamboo trees. The air smelled like a damp towel that had been sitting in a fragrance pool of wild perfume.

Our guide Ambrose was our expert on the rare species of monkey that live here. As soon as we arrived he launched into the tour by describing that 96% of the orangutans genetics or DNA are identical to humans. That surprised me.

"In our Malay language, 'oran' means people and 'utan' means forest so they truly are the 'people of the forest'," said Ambrose.

Videotaping our humble beginnings was an easy feat during feeding time. They magically appeared out of the bush for fresh coconut, ripe bananas and the attention of a whole mess of gawkers clicking away on their Kodaks.

The beasts are very clean animals too and make their nests on the top of the trees. Ever watchful of wild cats and snakes they stay healthy and safe thanks to the Wildlife Protection Ordinance passed in 1998. The law gives them total protection from being killed, eaten, sold or kept as pets, allowing their numbers to grow slowly from the brink of extinction. Orangutans give birth only once every 7 or 8 years.

Beads of sweat dripped down the back of my shirt as I cocked my neck way back to watch one swinging from vine to vine. Dead tree branches and leaves fell to the ground nearly grazing my face but, thankfully, nothing messier than that. Dozens of us watched in delight at their playtime antics, human-like expressions and nurchering qualities. When we left, I was thrilled to learn that I had just videotaped orangutans found only in 2 countries - Borneo and Sumatra. The difference between the two species in each country are very subtle, one having a slightly larger face and browner fur.

Headhunting in Borneo

I just got back from a creepy visit to a natural history museum in Kushing. Inside, the tour guide showed us a life-size model of an original longhouse where Iban tribes people used to live. In the main entrance are over two dozen skulls hanging like trophies for visitors to see. Real skulls, not plastic or molds. We think of headhunting as a savage act but back in the time of witch doctors and shamans, headhunting was meant to "even the score" in combat and please the spirits. The tribesmen wrap the heads in rattan nets and smoke-cure them over fires. In time the dried skull would ward off evil spirits or save a village from plague. It's a ghastly image to walk under, made even more gruesome while the tour guide talks about sacrificial ceremonies using pigs and chickens. Thankfully, headhunting and sacrifice disappeared a long time ago leaving tattooing and piercing as one of the few rituals still practiced by the Iban.

The Cat City of Kuching

Before leaving the states everyone asked me if I needed to obtain shots against infectious diseases like Dengue Fever, Hepatitis A or B, Malaria, Encephalitis, Typhoid and Diphtheria while visiting the juggles of Malaysia. I didn't think much about it because I was already vaccinated against all these during my maritime ship trip around the world in 2005. Unlike countries like Burma and Vietnam, which do require an International Certificate of Vaccination (otherwise known as a yellow book), the security at the passport inspection in Kuala Lumpur and Kuching only asked for my passport. Still, there are signs at the airport that warn visitors coming from Africa and South America to show proof of vaccination against yellow fever.

But I'm not canoeing a murky river, visiting a tribal community or trekking the green trails of Sarawak (the region of Borneo I'm visiting) just yet. Hopefully there will be time for that next week. Today I'm in a region called Sarawak, in a modern Cat Capital called Kuching. It's population is 500,000 and it sprawls lazily along the banks of a river called Sungai Sarawak. The official language is Malay and the currency is called the ringgit but everyone speaks English because the British occupied this area until 1957.

I'm staying on the top floor of a luxury hotel called the Merdeka Palace Hotel and Suites. I have 2 complete bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, living room and 3 bathrooms all to myself, not to mention the most magnificent view of the Kuching skyline. The hotel is located in the bustling business district surrounded by new construction retail shops, river warehouses, temples, mosques and vibrant night markets. There's an age old cotton tree growing in park across from the street that I'm staying at. It strikes me as a good omen. It's about 80 degrees, drizzling rain and I'm too tired to venture beyond my pillow so I drop off as soon as I enjoy a brief lunch of obscure juggle fruit with a calamari salad.

In the morning, after a long needed hot shower, I enjoy a traditional breakfast spread of congee (silky Chinese rice porridge), warm bread and laksa (noodles in a coconut soup with bean sprouts, prawns, bean curd and quail eggs. Variety is the spice of life and my motto is never ever refuse local cuisine when offered. Fortunately I do not drink coffee but Max (writer/owner of GoNomad.com) does and was visibly displeased when he discovered his cappochino had a touch of margarine in it to thicken it.

The bus is loading up so much more on my tour of Kuching, the cat museum and the Istana palace when I return.

Stranger in a Strange Land

It took 3 flights, 1 missed connection, 5 movies, 6 meals and 21 hours to reach Borneo but I'm finally here and dead tired. Malaysia is exactly 12 hours ahead of New York so when it's midnight here it's only noon time in Albany. The 'ol internal clock is preciously tuned for eastern standard time so this might take a day or two to get used to.

Minutes after landing at Kuala Lumpur airport, a destiny in itself, it dons on me that my wardrobe is completely unacceptable. My new little sleeveless sun dress cut right above the knee screams Westerner and I'm feeling Islamic eyes casting disapproving glances. They're right, of course. I should have known that Malaysia is one of the few countries in the world where Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and Hindu's live peacefully side-by-side because of the mutual respect and tolerance each have for one and another's religion. I'll be stocking up on tudongs (headscarfs) and sarongs as soon as I hit the market stalls. That also means I'll be abstaining from alcohol unless I'm invited into a tribal longhouse for a token glass of tuak (rice wine). But more on longhouses and meeting with tuai rumahs (chiefs) next week.

On the last leg of the trip to Kuching, Borneo I grab the local Sun newspaper and sift through the crime briefs. "Man's appeal to reduce jail term for theft rejected," says one headline. A 31 year old man snatched a necklace from a woman on the streets of Georgetown and got 30 months behind bars for it. The Judge declared "You have to be responsible for your actions. You blame others when you should blame yourself for your weak self-control." Another article explains how a former welder and salesman were each sentenced to 14 years in jail and 10 strokes of the rotan (a whipping) by the High Courts for drug possession. The 42 and 26 year olds were guilty of possessing 11 grams of cannabis and 3 grams of Methamphetamines at an apartment in the city of Batu.

I'm guessing that strict Islamic enforcement measures and continuous coverage of the results deter crime and help make the country safer for all; but, still it shakes me to the core reading about petty offenses with such dire consequences.

Malaysia and Borneo Bound

Malaysia, here I come!

Tonight I board a 17 hour flight for Kuala Lumpur, the capital and largest city in Malaysia. A river boat cruise on Melaka river, dinner at a Portuguese settlement, a trishaw ride, a trip to an elephant sanctuary, a stop off at the Batu caves and taking pictures of the Petronas Twin Towers, the tallest twin buildings in the world, begins my adventure. From there I fly to Kuching, the capital and the largest city on the island of Borneo for the International Rainforest Music Festival. I'll be enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime event with musicians from around the world, like Japan's Hiroshi Motofuji, Greece's Ross Daly and India's Oikyotaan.

I'm telling you this is going to be some crazy sh**! If time permits I'll even try to score a quick trip to Manila in the Philappines and see my good friend Camilla. She's a Saratoga native but joined the peace corp years ago and fell in love with Indonesia's people and cuisine. She now works for an international relocating company and is thriving. For the next 12 days I'll find out if I can feel the same. Stay tuned.

Bottleneck on the Boulevards

It took 14 hours to flight from California to Albany, NY on Wednesday but that was because a man walked up to airport officers on the upper-level road at the west end of LAX airport claiming he was a terrorist and had a bomb. The man was immediately detained but that didn't stop the entire airport from going into high alert with 131 flights delayed and 20,000 airline passengers waiting in long lines. My flight was already on the tarmac when the chaos broke and seconds before take off. Thankfully, the true gridlock kicked in after our wheels were off the ground. Still, the ripples were felt as far away as JFK when the second leg of my journey was delayed 4 hours when I arrived. But, the layover gave me time to pick up the newest green-friendly travel mags and dream about surfing my new favorite beach off the coast of Ensenada, California.

Coyote-Infested Hollywood Hills

There are wily animals howling at the moon in the hills of Hollywood, California and I'm not talking about the new Anthony Hopkins movie called “The Wolfman”.

Several coyotes caught me by surprise as I sipped on a glass of red wine off the deck of my friend's house overlooking L.A. last night. The coyotes belt out yelps that sound more like evil laughter from a deranged clown; an ear-piercing ruckus that put chills up my spine.

Coyotes travel in pacts throughout Tinsel Town ignoring keep-out signs, decimating the pet population and taking dips in pools. They are a real nuisance but unless they attack a human they are surprisingly protected by local wildlife authorities because they keep the rodent population at bay. They're now the principal wild canine in California.

My friends 2 Rottweilers went crazy listening to their bloodcurdling screams. And coyotes aren't afraid of people and have adapted quite well to populated areas. Despite a dense living environment, L.A. is still a desert and coyotes were here long before people were so it appears they aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Rolling Hillsides of Temecula, California

"No petting the part pit bull puppy until he accepts you into the family," warns Agnes.

Clearly this was advice I should have gotten before I entered the home of Agnes and Harvey of Temecula, California.

But chomp as he might at my outstretched hand he was no match for the quick skills I've developed having Rocco. 5 minutes later, I earned this Rocco's (yes, same name, different dog) 'circle of trust' and he licked my paw in apology.

70 miles north of San Diego is where Agnes and Harvey bought their 10-acre plantation farm way back in 1981. In it's heyday there were as many as 360 avocado trees and hundreds more citrus groves. I'm here today filming them show me around the grounds including the antique museum with vintage cars, furniture, tools, glass and general Americana like collectible signs from the early 1900's. The area looks like a film stage for Bonanza.

This morning Agnes treated me to a yummy glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice complemented by breakfast waffles topped with apricot spread and whipped cream. There's nothing like picking your own produce 6 feet from your mailbox. We dined briefly at a Taco Luncheonette where I promptly ordered 2 well packed fish tacos. Nobody makes fish tacos like Southern California. So much more to share but there's a fabulous sunset to shoot and the rolling hills of the Santa Rosa Plateau Wildlife Preserve in the distance.