I arrived in Lagos around eight in the evening on Tuesday. I've been trying to escape ever since.
Lagos is a terrible place, there is no two ways about it. I've not spent a great deal of time here, thankfully, but it only takes a few hours to see how bad it is. There is nothing positive to be said, unfortunately. It is aggressive, congested, filthy, hopeless, pitiful, menacing, frantic, desperate... the list goes on. The traffic is a spectacle to behold.
Organisation is not a Nigerian speciality, hence two aborted attempts to fly out to the even more miserable city of Port Harcourt, where all the kidnappings take place. Yesterday morning I rose at 4.45am to be taken to the airport. I wasn't told where I was going or what time, just to stand in "that" queue. I stood in the queue, fighting off a hundred Nigerians to reach the harrassed attendant. There I was told very little of useful information - "Your name isn't here! Try check-in - next!" - and went to the check-in queue and fought off a hundred Nigerians to be told my flight had just left. To my surprise, my flight was direct to Port Harcourt. The airport there burnt down last year and repair work still hasn't begun, apparently, but they are now flying direct to the helicopter base.
I tried to get a new flight, but after battling yet another hundred Nigerians, was told the one for 11am was full. However, I was on course to getting the 3.30pm one, and even managed to withdraw the 5000 Neira (#20) required to change the flight, until being told I couldn't actually do this because my ticket was a corporate ticket and my company would have to do it. Or, rather, the company contracting ours, the woefully inefficient Halliburton Nigeria (I don't have anything against Halliburton per se - they were excellent in Malaysia - but their Nigerian office is appalling).
Having missed my flight and with no other flights to get, I had the pleasure of sitting in Lagos airport, unquestionably the worst airport I've ever visited, for many hours, before being told I would have to go to the office in town. A pick-up arrived, also with a colleague from my company, who I'll discreetly call "Len", and we went to the office, after spending a couple of hours in ludicrously heavy, aggessive, selfish traffic. My rescheduled ticket was for the following morning, at 7am.
The rest of the afternoon was spent getting a late lunch and having drinks with Len, and catching up on all the news. He then had to leave the get his flight home, and I got some sleep in preparation for a 4.15am wake up.
Well, this morning I duly rose, waited, and was driven to the airport, only to be told at the last minute that I didn't, in fact, have a flight. No, it was actually for the 3.30pm one. Thanks guys. On the way back, through crazy, bustling, angry, uncooperative traffic, the passage sped up only by the fact I was sharing my jeep with two angry armed police, I heard my flight may actually be 11.15am. It wasn't - as I discovered upon waiting in th hotel lobby for an hour.
Anyway, the hotel is where I find myself now - the very tired Federal Palace Hotel, with grossly inflated prices and utterly apathetic staff (I think this might be a Nigerian service trait). I hope to be getting a lift through some insane mentalist traffic at 1pm to the airport, to get my afternoon flight to the stinking, open sewer of crime-infested Port Harcourt, where I will spend my time as their prisoner in another tried old hotel, or figuring out the chaos of the Halliburton base.
Welcome to Nigeria!
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Added note
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I didn't make that afternoon flight, as the driver only turned up an hour and a half late - an hour and a half of me waiting in the hotel lobby - and probably only turned up at all because I phoned the Halliburton boss wondering what was going on. The driver still insisted on taking me to the airport though, just so I could confirm I'd missed my flight. I did, however, on the fourth attempt, make the flight the following morning.
Friday, 30 March 2007
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
Home For A Day
I woke today in my own bed, in my own flat, after my first good night's sleep in a week. The day was bright, and was mine to spend at my leisure. I arrived back from Malaysia yesterday morning, and had been told I'd have two or three weeks before the next job was due. Two or three weeks at home! A rare luxury.
Too rare, alas, as just this afternoon the phonecall came: something had come up. And so at 6.35am tomorrow I will be on the first leg of a trip to Nigeria. From the Malaysian paradise to the Nigerian hell. I was in Nigeria in December and January, and though an interesting experience in one sense, it's not a place most would be desperate for a repeat visit. Nigeria is, and I need only put this simply, a bad place.
Still, I'm automatically on my bonus x 2.5 because of the danger, so if I survive I will have a bit extra spending money. Which I'll have to do my best to use to its fullest on my next whole day at home.
Too rare, alas, as just this afternoon the phonecall came: something had come up. And so at 6.35am tomorrow I will be on the first leg of a trip to Nigeria. From the Malaysian paradise to the Nigerian hell. I was in Nigeria in December and January, and though an interesting experience in one sense, it's not a place most would be desperate for a repeat visit. Nigeria is, and I need only put this simply, a bad place.
Still, I'm automatically on my bonus x 2.5 because of the danger, so if I survive I will have a bit extra spending money. Which I'll have to do my best to use to its fullest on my next whole day at home.
Sunday, 25 March 2007
Malaysian KUL
I’m sitting back in Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA to its friends), sipping a beer and enjoying their free wireless internet service. My flight leaves in two hours, and I kind of wish I had a bit longer at this airport. This is because KLIA is a great airport. Which is fitting, because KL is a great city.
Really great. I’ve spent barely a day and a half here, and I’m all set to move in. I can’t think of anywhere else I’ve ever been that can compare. New York is a fantastic place, packed with culture, world-renowned landmarks and with a distinct edgy flavour – but it’s not as good as KL. I loved Zagreb, with its enchanting city centre and outdoor cafes spilling onto the roads to create a lively, friendly, exciting atmosphere – but KL is better. And for all I enjoyed Korea, even its thundering, bustling capital Seoul can’t rival its Malaysian counterpart. I’m flying back to Aberdeen and, well, oh dear: no competition, it’s like Barnet vs Barcelona.
KL is something special: a cosmopolitan capital without pretension, an Asian metropolis clean and orderly, a concrete jungle packed with greenery, a city pretty head to toe. It’s on the ascent and has a long way to go, and the optimism is palpatable everywhere. It’s Asian Muslim, and has married the best of both worlds without succumbing to the negatives. It’s developing with a direct eye on being developed. Architecturally, it’s magnificent, with one dead-gen world famous landmark surrounded by a host of other original, delightful structures. It’s peaceful, friendly, leisurely, fun.
It’s great, basically.
Of course, just 36 hours there; can that be enough for a considered view? Probably not. All I really saw was the city centre, plus a wander round Chinatown and the Indian part. I went to the top of a tower – the KL Menari Tower – and viewed the city from above, and almost all cities look good from 250m up on a clear day. I stayed at a wonderful, soothing, stylish hotel, and where you stay always facilitates your experience. But then, people fall in love in an instant, so they say; love at first sight when their eyes meet from across the crowded room. Only time can tell whether that first jump of the heart develops into a lifetime of growing old together, or is a passing infatuation over all too soon. But what I do know is that no other city has ever come close to matching KL’s first impression, and I feel I’ve only scratched the surface as a superficial tourist.
As you might be able to tell, I rather liked Kuala Lumpur. Likewise, I rather liked Malaysia. After the grim, disturbing hell that festers in Nigeria, Malaysia reaffirms faith not in humanity. This isn’t a perfect nation, but to be honest in my week here – albeit spent very pampered – I’ve seen very little imperfect with it. As I say, I’ve barely scratched the surface. But the place has been a revelation, and I can’t wait to go back.
My day and a half, basically, has been spent relaxing and doing a few tourist things. I could quite happily have spent my entire time in my hotel, but felt it prudent to do a little sightseeing. I took a long wander round the shopping centre of the Petronas Towers, and bought a gold-plated chess set for £300. This might seem excessive but the moment I saw the set I knew I had to buy it: it was beautiful, and if I had refrained I’d be bitterly regretting it now. I wandered for a while in the evening, through the Indian part of town, then to what I think was part of Chinatown, where I allowed myself to be hustled into an outdoor restaurant, where I stuffed my face with barbecued squid and 660ml bottles of Tiger. I queued early in the morning to get a ticket for the Petronas skybridge (the bridge linking the towers). I wandered up to the KL Menari Tower and watched the city from above. I bought books, drank coffee, sat outside, and looked at all the Asians.
Because KL is cosmopolitan, but Asian cosmopolitan moreover. From the West, it’s easy to lump Asians into one category, or perhaps two – Chinese and Indian. But a wander through KL and it’s clear how distinct all the nationalities are – the aforementioned Chinese and Indian in their various forms, Malaysian of course, Japanese, Indonesian, Filipino, Thai, Pakistani, Arab: all these were seen. There were hardly any Westerners or Africans. All this multiculturalism meant, of course, one important thing: great food.
But I see that I should really be moving on towards making sure I’m on this flight, otherwise I’ll be trapped here. Which might not be so bad. But duties call in Aberdeen, and I’m sure I’ll be sent off somewhere else within a few days – maybe even hours – of getting back, so I’ll just have to lodge a request to go on future Malaysian jobs, and perhaps strongly encourage my company to open an office here.
Really great. I’ve spent barely a day and a half here, and I’m all set to move in. I can’t think of anywhere else I’ve ever been that can compare. New York is a fantastic place, packed with culture, world-renowned landmarks and with a distinct edgy flavour – but it’s not as good as KL. I loved Zagreb, with its enchanting city centre and outdoor cafes spilling onto the roads to create a lively, friendly, exciting atmosphere – but KL is better. And for all I enjoyed Korea, even its thundering, bustling capital Seoul can’t rival its Malaysian counterpart. I’m flying back to Aberdeen and, well, oh dear: no competition, it’s like Barnet vs Barcelona.
KL is something special: a cosmopolitan capital without pretension, an Asian metropolis clean and orderly, a concrete jungle packed with greenery, a city pretty head to toe. It’s on the ascent and has a long way to go, and the optimism is palpatable everywhere. It’s Asian Muslim, and has married the best of both worlds without succumbing to the negatives. It’s developing with a direct eye on being developed. Architecturally, it’s magnificent, with one dead-gen world famous landmark surrounded by a host of other original, delightful structures. It’s peaceful, friendly, leisurely, fun.
It’s great, basically.
Of course, just 36 hours there; can that be enough for a considered view? Probably not. All I really saw was the city centre, plus a wander round Chinatown and the Indian part. I went to the top of a tower – the KL Menari Tower – and viewed the city from above, and almost all cities look good from 250m up on a clear day. I stayed at a wonderful, soothing, stylish hotel, and where you stay always facilitates your experience. But then, people fall in love in an instant, so they say; love at first sight when their eyes meet from across the crowded room. Only time can tell whether that first jump of the heart develops into a lifetime of growing old together, or is a passing infatuation over all too soon. But what I do know is that no other city has ever come close to matching KL’s first impression, and I feel I’ve only scratched the surface as a superficial tourist.
As you might be able to tell, I rather liked Kuala Lumpur. Likewise, I rather liked Malaysia. After the grim, disturbing hell that festers in Nigeria, Malaysia reaffirms faith not in humanity. This isn’t a perfect nation, but to be honest in my week here – albeit spent very pampered – I’ve seen very little imperfect with it. As I say, I’ve barely scratched the surface. But the place has been a revelation, and I can’t wait to go back.
My day and a half, basically, has been spent relaxing and doing a few tourist things. I could quite happily have spent my entire time in my hotel, but felt it prudent to do a little sightseeing. I took a long wander round the shopping centre of the Petronas Towers, and bought a gold-plated chess set for £300. This might seem excessive but the moment I saw the set I knew I had to buy it: it was beautiful, and if I had refrained I’d be bitterly regretting it now. I wandered for a while in the evening, through the Indian part of town, then to what I think was part of Chinatown, where I allowed myself to be hustled into an outdoor restaurant, where I stuffed my face with barbecued squid and 660ml bottles of Tiger. I queued early in the morning to get a ticket for the Petronas skybridge (the bridge linking the towers). I wandered up to the KL Menari Tower and watched the city from above. I bought books, drank coffee, sat outside, and looked at all the Asians.
Because KL is cosmopolitan, but Asian cosmopolitan moreover. From the West, it’s easy to lump Asians into one category, or perhaps two – Chinese and Indian. But a wander through KL and it’s clear how distinct all the nationalities are – the aforementioned Chinese and Indian in their various forms, Malaysian of course, Japanese, Indonesian, Filipino, Thai, Pakistani, Arab: all these were seen. There were hardly any Westerners or Africans. All this multiculturalism meant, of course, one important thing: great food.
But I see that I should really be moving on towards making sure I’m on this flight, otherwise I’ll be trapped here. Which might not be so bad. But duties call in Aberdeen, and I’m sure I’ll be sent off somewhere else within a few days – maybe even hours – of getting back, so I’ll just have to lodge a request to go on future Malaysian jobs, and perhaps strongly encourage my company to open an office here.
Hotel Maya
I've stayed in quite a lot of hotels in my time, and certainly in the last year with work. Hotels, like girls, come in all shapes and sizes, some cheap and some classy, some not worth even a night, others worth a whole week. Usually with work, the hotels are pretty decent 4 star affairs, with a swimming pool, bar, restaurant and alright location. One time I had a three bedroom suite, with two levels, all to myself, and the most recent one in Kuantan was a resort hotel on the beach.
But now, the hotel I'm staying at in Kuala Lumpur on my day's holiday before going home, is the best yet. It was booked and paid for by me, and I've outdone myself. This is simply the best hotel I've ever stayed at.
It's called the Hotel Maya and is situated smack bang in the city centre. It has genuine style, dark wood and glass with all the right curves and angles, but has the substance to match it. It's got all the obvious things a good hotel room should have (but often doesn't), like big TV, DVD player, broadband internet for free, stupidly big bed, but also has the other less obvious things that a seasoned hotel veteran requires: free coffee, free water, iron and ironing board, kettle, and they even surprised me by supplying an umbrella, which I've already put to use.
In my enthusiasm for this hotel, I've taken some photos that I'd like to share with you.
This is the room as you first see it. Observe the style, confidence and calm.
The desk is particularly impressive, as it can be slid along to suit your personal taste. Thoughtfully, as seen centre top of the picture, a plug adaptor is supplied for those without the three pinned plugs. Top right is a case containing all the information you might require about the hotel.
This reclining chair is a masterstroke. For not only is it ideal for resting on and viewing the city through the wall-to-wall window, but it amply demonstrates the implicit understanding of style from whoever designed this room. Because it's pink! In a room of cream and dark browns, this is a bright pink chair, and it works perfectly.
The view from my window - the KL Menara Tower. I can also see a children's school and playground, lots of trees and some pretty buildings surrounding a courtyard. Other rooms will have a view of the Petronas Twin Towers.
This is my room as seen when standing by the window. You'll immediately notice the room and the bathroom are only separated by glass, although there is the option of drawing a curtain across for privacy. This makes the room seem more spacious, and much brighter.
The shower has wooden flooring, a stool if all the standing tires you, and the option of a handheld nozzle or water from vertically above.
Yet more style. Soaps on offer include "Sandalwood & Oatmeal Scrub Soap" and "Honey & Oatmeal Scrub Soap". The latter, I believe, can also be eaten for breakfast.
A poor photo, I'm afraid. This is of the side of the TV cabinet, which opens out to reveal a coffee machine and a fridge. It took me half an hour to figure out the coffee machine, but then, I'm particularly stupid when it comes to these kind of things. It turned out my main mistakes were not filling it with water, and accidently turning the dial controlling the amount of coffee poured to virtually zero.
But now, the hotel I'm staying at in Kuala Lumpur on my day's holiday before going home, is the best yet. It was booked and paid for by me, and I've outdone myself. This is simply the best hotel I've ever stayed at.
It's called the Hotel Maya and is situated smack bang in the city centre. It has genuine style, dark wood and glass with all the right curves and angles, but has the substance to match it. It's got all the obvious things a good hotel room should have (but often doesn't), like big TV, DVD player, broadband internet for free, stupidly big bed, but also has the other less obvious things that a seasoned hotel veteran requires: free coffee, free water, iron and ironing board, kettle, and they even surprised me by supplying an umbrella, which I've already put to use.
In my enthusiasm for this hotel, I've taken some photos that I'd like to share with you.
This is the room as you first see it. Observe the style, confidence and calm.
The desk is particularly impressive, as it can be slid along to suit your personal taste. Thoughtfully, as seen centre top of the picture, a plug adaptor is supplied for those without the three pinned plugs. Top right is a case containing all the information you might require about the hotel.
This reclining chair is a masterstroke. For not only is it ideal for resting on and viewing the city through the wall-to-wall window, but it amply demonstrates the implicit understanding of style from whoever designed this room. Because it's pink! In a room of cream and dark browns, this is a bright pink chair, and it works perfectly.
The view from my window - the KL Menara Tower. I can also see a children's school and playground, lots of trees and some pretty buildings surrounding a courtyard. Other rooms will have a view of the Petronas Twin Towers.
This is my room as seen when standing by the window. You'll immediately notice the room and the bathroom are only separated by glass, although there is the option of drawing a curtain across for privacy. This makes the room seem more spacious, and much brighter.
The shower has wooden flooring, a stool if all the standing tires you, and the option of a handheld nozzle or water from vertically above.
Yet more style. Soaps on offer include "Sandalwood & Oatmeal Scrub Soap" and "Honey & Oatmeal Scrub Soap". The latter, I believe, can also be eaten for breakfast.
A poor photo, I'm afraid. This is of the side of the TV cabinet, which opens out to reveal a coffee machine and a fridge. It took me half an hour to figure out the coffee machine, but then, I'm particularly stupid when it comes to these kind of things. It turned out my main mistakes were not filling it with water, and accidently turning the dial controlling the amount of coffee poured to virtually zero.
Saturday, 24 March 2007
Friday, 23 March 2007
Ireland In Photos
I’ve said little about my tax-dodging jaunt to Ireland, which is a shame because it was my first time there and I really enjoyed it. A picture, it is claimed, says a thousand words, and so I have ten pictures here, thus ten thousand words, which by anyone’s reckoning is a fair whack.
1.
This first picture is of the enchanting Eileen and her inflatable bed. It was taken on the Friday night I arrived, after we’d gone out for a fair serving of drinks with some of Eileen’s improbably young friends (they were about 22 – monstrously young!). By this stage we were a little tipsy, gorged on red wine, beer and gin-and-tonics, and so Eileen’s Amazing Inflatable Bed could not fail to impress. It plugged into the wall and when switched on, rapidly inflated itself by the power of electricity. The process was rapid: within three seconds the bed appeared ready to burst, and I grew scared and switched it off.
2.
The following afternoon, Eileen took me on a short walk through Cork. This is the university she used to attend. I can well imagine in the summer, this stretch of lawn being filled with braying students, drinking cider and smoking joints, or whatever it is that students do these days.
3.
Here’s a picture of a Cork street. Before my visit, I knew next to nothing about Cork, and kind of imagined it as a grim coastal hinterland. But it was nothing of the sort, the Cork I arrived to was a charming, pretty and relaxed place, in some ways reminding me of Inverness (not least because of the number of Polish people).
4.
My visit happened to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day, a day celebrated around the globe as fake Irish people put on big green hats and deserve a punching. But here were some real live Irish people celebrating their Irishness. In the city centre, a parade was going on; Eileen had expected this to be a muted event and was surprised at the heavy crowds lining the parade route. The atmosphere in town was great, with lots of Polish people dressed in green, and fifteen-year-old working class girls dressed in remarkably little. These girls, in Irish terms, are called “knackers”, which British sensibilities might recognise as chavs, or neds. The amount they didn’t wear was genuinely astonishing, given the cold weather, and what they did wear was invariably tight and pink. You might gather that this is still preying on my mind. But, anyway, the parade. Yeah, the parade was good.
5.
On the way back from the parade, we went by St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral. It was quite big. On it is a golden angel, which has had to be firmly fixed to avoid some Irish scallywag stealing it to melt down and sell, as has apparently happened many times in the past. I don’t think I need remind you, dear reader, to always keep a check on your wallet in the presence of an Irish person.
6.
Now we shift forward a day, onto the Sunday. By now, I’ve made a tearful farewell to Eileen, who is due to move to Canada in May to live with her boyfriend Ian, someone I also know from Korea and is notable for being perhaps the only Canadian person I’ve met that hasn’t deserved a culling. So it’s goodbye Eileen, and hello Rebecca, in Dublin. I’d not seen Rebecca for almost two years, but her beauty had remained undimmed. She’s not from Dublin but had agreed to meet me there, for ease of logistics. This photo is taken was taken by her in some park near the city centre, of some tramps disturbing the birdlife.
7.
The weather in Dublin was godawful, with freeing horizontal sleet turning into thunderous hail, and an incessant icy wind that inverted any umbrella. Thus, any walking outside had to be brief. After a meal, then a coffee, then a beer, we found ourselves in a distillery in our next attempt to keep warm. It was the Jamieson’s distillery, and we took a guided tour. This is a picture of some barrels, containing yeast or hops, or whatever the hell they use to make Irish whiskey.
8.
After the tour, we were allowed a complementary drink. I have a slight fear of whisky/whiskey ever since winning a drinking competition with it almost ten years ago, but I actually rather enjoyed this one.
9.
Rebecca enjoyed her whiskey somewhat less, despite this posed smile. She mixed it with ginger beer, and had to gulp it down with a grimace.
10.
This is a photo of a river in Dublin. Is it the Liffey?
1.
This first picture is of the enchanting Eileen and her inflatable bed. It was taken on the Friday night I arrived, after we’d gone out for a fair serving of drinks with some of Eileen’s improbably young friends (they were about 22 – monstrously young!). By this stage we were a little tipsy, gorged on red wine, beer and gin-and-tonics, and so Eileen’s Amazing Inflatable Bed could not fail to impress. It plugged into the wall and when switched on, rapidly inflated itself by the power of electricity. The process was rapid: within three seconds the bed appeared ready to burst, and I grew scared and switched it off.
2.
The following afternoon, Eileen took me on a short walk through Cork. This is the university she used to attend. I can well imagine in the summer, this stretch of lawn being filled with braying students, drinking cider and smoking joints, or whatever it is that students do these days.
3.
Here’s a picture of a Cork street. Before my visit, I knew next to nothing about Cork, and kind of imagined it as a grim coastal hinterland. But it was nothing of the sort, the Cork I arrived to was a charming, pretty and relaxed place, in some ways reminding me of Inverness (not least because of the number of Polish people).
4.
My visit happened to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day, a day celebrated around the globe as fake Irish people put on big green hats and deserve a punching. But here were some real live Irish people celebrating their Irishness. In the city centre, a parade was going on; Eileen had expected this to be a muted event and was surprised at the heavy crowds lining the parade route. The atmosphere in town was great, with lots of Polish people dressed in green, and fifteen-year-old working class girls dressed in remarkably little. These girls, in Irish terms, are called “knackers”, which British sensibilities might recognise as chavs, or neds. The amount they didn’t wear was genuinely astonishing, given the cold weather, and what they did wear was invariably tight and pink. You might gather that this is still preying on my mind. But, anyway, the parade. Yeah, the parade was good.
5.
On the way back from the parade, we went by St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral. It was quite big. On it is a golden angel, which has had to be firmly fixed to avoid some Irish scallywag stealing it to melt down and sell, as has apparently happened many times in the past. I don’t think I need remind you, dear reader, to always keep a check on your wallet in the presence of an Irish person.
6.
Now we shift forward a day, onto the Sunday. By now, I’ve made a tearful farewell to Eileen, who is due to move to Canada in May to live with her boyfriend Ian, someone I also know from Korea and is notable for being perhaps the only Canadian person I’ve met that hasn’t deserved a culling. So it’s goodbye Eileen, and hello Rebecca, in Dublin. I’d not seen Rebecca for almost two years, but her beauty had remained undimmed. She’s not from Dublin but had agreed to meet me there, for ease of logistics. This photo is taken was taken by her in some park near the city centre, of some tramps disturbing the birdlife.
7.
The weather in Dublin was godawful, with freeing horizontal sleet turning into thunderous hail, and an incessant icy wind that inverted any umbrella. Thus, any walking outside had to be brief. After a meal, then a coffee, then a beer, we found ourselves in a distillery in our next attempt to keep warm. It was the Jamieson’s distillery, and we took a guided tour. This is a picture of some barrels, containing yeast or hops, or whatever the hell they use to make Irish whiskey.
8.
After the tour, we were allowed a complementary drink. I have a slight fear of whisky/whiskey ever since winning a drinking competition with it almost ten years ago, but I actually rather enjoyed this one.
9.
Rebecca enjoyed her whiskey somewhat less, despite this posed smile. She mixed it with ginger beer, and had to gulp it down with a grimace.
10.
This is a photo of a river in Dublin. Is it the Liffey?
Thursday, 22 March 2007
Sleepy in Malaysia
I'm in Malaysia, and really enjoying it, but good golly I'm tired. With skipping forward eight hours, spending a day in the air, being forced to fast for a medical, and being thrust from hotels to base, I've lost track of what day it is, and my body refuses to believe what the daylight and various timepieces are telling it. Hence, I went to sleep at 10pm last night and woke promptly at midnight, and refused to go back to sleep again.
Apart from the random attacks of drowsiness though, Malaysia is extremely pleasant. Even the Halliburton base, where I've been working for the last couple of days, is alright. The hotel resort I'm staying at is great. It's right next to a massive stretch of beach that's pretty unpopulated by tourists, and is fully equipped with plenty of facilities, should I have time to use them. The breakfast is perhaps the best I've ever seen. Yes, make no mistake, I am not one for idle exaggeration, the breakfast here is terrific. This morning I ate what I think was the largest breakfast of my life, with three giant courses of Chinese-style noodles washed down with about twenty glasses of fresh orange juice. I could barely finish my coffee after.
I got here on Tuesday night, following three flights, which doesn't include the first flight of Monday morning of Dublin to Inverness. It was delayed by an hour, and with the terrible weather conditions causing it, the road to Aberdeen was pretty poor. I arrived at work just in time to realise that the only way I could possibly make the first leg of my flight, to Heathrow, would be to drive like a man possessed in Aberdeen rush hour. I've never missed a flight in my life, but I came damn close this time. Check-in had closed, but a sly wink and shimmy of the lips persuaded the woman behind the desk to let me slip through.
Everything after that was routine. To my perennial disgust, I was placed in economy class, but for the 12 hour Heathrow to Kuala Lumpur leg I managed to score the best seat there. While others were crushed in unquestionable misery, I had a seat at the front, with good leg room and nobody sitting next to me. I attribute this to the sly wink and shimmy of the lips I threw at the check in girl at Heathrow.
I'm staying in a hotel near a place called Cheratin, which is near a city called Kuantan, which is on the east coast of peninsular Malaysia, on the South China Sea. I've had absolutely no time to get a proper look at the place yet, as work duties have seen me on base, sorting out equipment, and undergoing a medical.
All impressions so far have been positive. I'm in a Muslim part of Malaysia, but it's not a crazy version of Islam preached here, and everything's very relaxed. Loads of women are working on base, and the interaction between male and female is normal, which is sadly not the case in some of the other Muslim states I've visited. The people are friendly, the place isn't poor at all, and the pace of life seems comfortable. Even the driving, which some claim to be a bit crazy, really isn't anything compared to any of the African nations I've seen. No, Malaysia, on first impression, is a charming place. I just hope I get a chance to see it more.
It's looking a little unlikely. The job I'm on may not go ahead, so as soon as tomorrow morning I might be preparing to go back to Aberdeen. If this happens, I'm going to arrange a day in Kuala Lumpur, so I can sample a bit of the place at my own leisure. And then I'll just have to mark Malaysia down as yet another place I want to revisit, and get to know on my own terms.
Apart from the random attacks of drowsiness though, Malaysia is extremely pleasant. Even the Halliburton base, where I've been working for the last couple of days, is alright. The hotel resort I'm staying at is great. It's right next to a massive stretch of beach that's pretty unpopulated by tourists, and is fully equipped with plenty of facilities, should I have time to use them. The breakfast is perhaps the best I've ever seen. Yes, make no mistake, I am not one for idle exaggeration, the breakfast here is terrific. This morning I ate what I think was the largest breakfast of my life, with three giant courses of Chinese-style noodles washed down with about twenty glasses of fresh orange juice. I could barely finish my coffee after.
I got here on Tuesday night, following three flights, which doesn't include the first flight of Monday morning of Dublin to Inverness. It was delayed by an hour, and with the terrible weather conditions causing it, the road to Aberdeen was pretty poor. I arrived at work just in time to realise that the only way I could possibly make the first leg of my flight, to Heathrow, would be to drive like a man possessed in Aberdeen rush hour. I've never missed a flight in my life, but I came damn close this time. Check-in had closed, but a sly wink and shimmy of the lips persuaded the woman behind the desk to let me slip through.
Everything after that was routine. To my perennial disgust, I was placed in economy class, but for the 12 hour Heathrow to Kuala Lumpur leg I managed to score the best seat there. While others were crushed in unquestionable misery, I had a seat at the front, with good leg room and nobody sitting next to me. I attribute this to the sly wink and shimmy of the lips I threw at the check in girl at Heathrow.
I'm staying in a hotel near a place called Cheratin, which is near a city called Kuantan, which is on the east coast of peninsular Malaysia, on the South China Sea. I've had absolutely no time to get a proper look at the place yet, as work duties have seen me on base, sorting out equipment, and undergoing a medical.
All impressions so far have been positive. I'm in a Muslim part of Malaysia, but it's not a crazy version of Islam preached here, and everything's very relaxed. Loads of women are working on base, and the interaction between male and female is normal, which is sadly not the case in some of the other Muslim states I've visited. The people are friendly, the place isn't poor at all, and the pace of life seems comfortable. Even the driving, which some claim to be a bit crazy, really isn't anything compared to any of the African nations I've seen. No, Malaysia, on first impression, is a charming place. I just hope I get a chance to see it more.
It's looking a little unlikely. The job I'm on may not go ahead, so as soon as tomorrow morning I might be preparing to go back to Aberdeen. If this happens, I'm going to arrange a day in Kuala Lumpur, so I can sample a bit of the place at my own leisure. And then I'll just have to mark Malaysia down as yet another place I want to revisit, and get to know on my own terms.
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