Yes! We Have Some Bananas!

 For some reason, or many reasons, I love banana trees. I just think it's so cool how the leaves grow in, brand new, all rolled up like a piece of paper, all in one piece. Then, with the breeze and goings on around it, that leaf will split and split, also like a thin piece of paper. So, each leaf will end up different. Some will be all frilly and some will just have several slits. Some may remain in one piece for a while, too.

Banana trees are prolific here. In fact, they grow wild. They have a tuber root, like grass has. So they just keep on reproducing and covering an area. Then, quickly they start to produce fruit. That's another reason why I love banana trees - bananas! They are a happy fruit. They pick you up and fill you up and supply stuff like zinc. Of course, as we know, they're especially good for men's health.

Go, bananas! Go! My son even started planting baby banana trees to have his very own crop of this lovely non-fruit. Well, is it a fruit? Or is it a vegetable? Hmmm....

 This is a wall that has inadvertently become a huge planter filled with lots of tropical delicacies.

My friend was mentioning her experience with the avocados that grow on her tree. She said that she and her

husband spent a great deal of time and effort taping bags around each of the avocados so that they would ripen protected against the bugs. 

The next morning, they went out to see whether the bags had survived the night and all the avocados were GONE. Somebody or some bodies had come along and picked them all!

So, that's why she has decided not to bother covering her avocados this year. 

Yes, you can eat the fruit right off the trees here. And, they do. Although, I call that stealing. Unless the tree is on common ground and not in your neighbour's yard, you should be careful about who's tree to plunder. 

 

Hari Raya Traffic Accident

I had bought a train ticket to K.L. and my usual taxi driver was navigating us through the horrendous traffic jam down the main street toward the train station. Cars were coming and going on the roughly paved single-lane village road. I'd never seen so much traffic in Kampar. But, of course, it was the first day of Hari Raya.

People were coming into town, passing through town and leaving town to get to wherever their home town was. Kampar roads were not built with Hari Raya in mind.

So, as the traffic opened up, my taxi driver eased his way into the passing lane and excellerated. I said, "All this traffic! I'm so glad I don't have a car."

"Glad?" he asked.

"Yes, I don't like to drive. I don't even like to watch other people drive. It's so annoying when someone pulls out in front of you and cuts you off, things like that."

The words were barely out of my mouth, when suddenly, Hong slammed on his brakes as we slammed into a motorcycle! For once, I didn't have my seat-belt on, but I braced myself and kept my eyes glued on the dislodged biker who was sliding along the ground in front of my door.

As the car stopped, I got out and breathed a sigh of relief to see that the motorcyclist stood up. He had a strange look on his face. It was a mixture of pain, shock and Westerner fascination. I touched his arm and asked him if he was "ok". He understood that word and smiled.

When he went to pick up his motorcycle, it was jammed under the bumper of Hong's car. So Hong moved the car back. The motorcycle went right along with it! It was stuck good. So, we pulled it out, crunching and crumbling parts of the plastic like Corn Flakes that scattered over the road.

As we gathered at the side of the road, I realized this young man had been carrying two heavy gas cylinders on his motorcycle. That's why he didn't go flying off into space when we hit him. Instead, the bike's weight caused it to stick close to the ground and jam under the car as we made the connection. His injuries were a grazed elbow and a gouge in his ankle.

I pulled out a Bandaid and handed it to him. He stuck it on his elbow, poor fellow.

By now, I was late for the train and it seemed my ticket would be worthless. Still, when another taxi offered to take me to the station, I went, hoping for the best. Although we were ten minutes late, so was the train.

Less than one second after I passed through the wicked and stepped onto the platform, the train pulled into the station.   

Sarawak Chinese Rice

I drove my bike into New Town on Tuesday with the singular purpose of buying two top-ups at the 7-11.
When I got off my bike, I accidentally knocked over another bike so that it was leaning towards me from a higher sidewalk and left me struggling with two bikes. And, looking like an uncoordinated spastic. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get that cawnsorn bike to stand up on its stand.

The next thing I knew, a spry young lady jumped up to help me saying,

"I can help you! This is my bike."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I apologized. But, she wouldn't let me apologize. Instead, she apologized to me that her bike stand was broken. So humble.

I asked her what her name was and we introduced each other. She is Jerry from Sabah.

"Sabah! I went to Borneo," I said, "I went to the longhouses in Capit."

She was all happy about that. In fact, this energetic bundle just never stopped smiling. It was contagious. Two of her friends popped up momentarily. They were off to a restaurant and invited me to come along. So I did.

We went to a very inexpensive place filled with young people eating platefuls of various student-type food. It was quite edible. When Jerry ordered Sarawak Chinese rice, I followed suit. I even ate the fishball soup which was not bad at all.

More young ladies joined us and in the end, there were eight of us, speaking three languages. We had a good old time, ate up our rice and moved on to "Each a Cup" where sate was ordered. But I was full.

"Wo baol la." I said. My attempt at Chinese made them laugh heartily and repeat my words to show they understood. I was pleased to try out a few rusty, dusty phrases I'd learned back in China.

 Me and Angeline

                                                                Jerry and me

After a few hours of giggles and grins, I headed home to pack for my trip to Seremban the following day. Little did I realize that the next day, I would be in my very first car accident! To be continued . . .

The Door Knob Fiasco

Here, in Malaysia, the bedrooms usually have a button on the inside of the doorknobs that lock when you press it in. And, in most cases, there is no key supplied for these doors. (You can lock yourself in and the door will open again when twisted from the inside.) I discovered the hard way, while living in Seremban, that when you accidentally push the button in, you can lock yourself out. It took a friend over an hour to get the doorknobs off my bedroom door so that I could finally get in.

Here, in Kampar the other day, my bedroom door closed, as it often does. Only, this time, when I went to open it, it wouldn't open. I twisted the knob several times and then unscrewed a bit of the cuff of it to fiddle with the insides a bit. It was super complicated. Forget it.

So, I started trying to slide things between the door frame and the door to push the tongue out of the hole. I was grabbing pieces of plastic, DVD's, pieces of slick cardboard. I even got them to pass the place where it seemed the tongue was inside of the gap in the door, but the door still would not open.

At length, a friend came by and had a look. He twisted the knob all around and announced,

"Look, it's not locked. If it were locked, you couldn't move the knob all the way around."

Yeesh. I didn't want to believe that. So, we went out to look for a key-maker. However, the shops were closed for such things. When I came back, I was firmly decided on what to do.

I would drill my way back into my bedroom! So, I got out my son's electric drill and started in on it. It was late at night, so, not wanting to keep the kids next door awake, I decided to postpone it until the morrow.

Next morning, bright and early I started drilling! I'd never held a drill in my hand before and it gave me a feeling of power. Not much power, mind you, but some. At first all I could get was a little hole, so I switched bits for a larger one. Then, it broke off when I pulled it sideways.

Lesson number one: You can only drill in one direction at a time!

The door was almost as thick as the bit was long. And what a lot of wood came out! Sawdust started flying everywhere. I took a break after an hour. My hands were getting a bit stiff already.

When I went back at it, another bit broke. I started feeling intense about the operation, seeing the hole getting bigger and bigger. I started saying things like,

"Have at 'er!" and "Let's get 'er done!"

The sawdust was piling up. So were the tools at my feet: a file, hammer, pliers, wrench, and a box full of bits, etc. I was determined to get through that door. Everything important to me in the whole world was behind that door! There was my Passport, for one thing; all my money, clothing, shoes, bank cards, mobile phone and ID.

After 3 1/2 hours, I finally made a hole big enough for my hand to fit through! I turned the knob!

The door wouldn't open! My friend was right! It wasn't locked. But, man, was it jammed. I could see my cell phone sitting on the bed and my wallet teasingly close, but I could not touch them. More determined than ever, I continued to drill, in spite of the growing ache in my back and the open cuts developing on my fingers. I knocked the knobs out with the hammer and they fell on the floor. Still the door would not open.

Holy cow. Who makes door knobs like this? Come on.

After a while, I bared enough wood between the frame and the plate that held the tongue so that the plate fell off, finally releasing the tongue. The door opened. Victory. I got my life back.

By now, there was sawdust everywhere. It was in my hair, up my nose, all over my face and neck and spread thinly over the living room furniture. 

My door looked like a rat chewed it. In fact, more like a few rats "had at 'er". 

Don't tell the landlord.