wanderings & wonderings

It sounds like a shoot out between gangs of Sicilian Mafiosi ending in the untimely death, or some might say the well overdue demise, of the much-feared Frangipani family. In actual fact it refers to gardening, of a sort. Central Bali. At the start of a season that should be dry and sunny during the day but which was still wet and overcast. Windy and cool. The occasional day of glorious sunshine reminding us that behind the clouds the sun always shines. He is just extremely

Ubud, Bali, in the hour after dawn. The ether shimmering in the soft, golden light of early morning. Birdsong and the distant melody of gamelans drift across a sea of emerald green rice fields on the wings of a cool, gentle breeze. In the woods by the house a cockerel crows and from the rafter above my head a large pink and turquoise tookae peers down at me, laughing in his croaky voice. Walking around the garden is a sensory delight. Flowers are in abundance everywhere. The

Bali. October 7th 2005. Six days after the second bombings. I arrived at Denpasar airport from Singapore in the late evening at a time when the airport is usually buzzing. How very different this night. The usual thirty-minute queue at Immigration was just a memory. Instead I walked straight through, the customary jovial banter and laughter with the officials replaced with intense words about the bombings and gratitude for still visiting their beautiful island. The baggage ha

Batuan, central Bali. A Wednesday at the beginning of February. The night’s darkness still blanketing the earth. I awoke cold and shivering, huddled under my duvet with the wind causing my mosquito net to billow over me. I screwed my eyes shut and drew my knees to my chest. Knowing I needed to shut the windows behind the bed and close out the draught if I was to have any hope of more sleep. I ignored it all. Willing sleep to come anyway. It had been a late night, by my stand

6/7/2006. Candidasa, south eastern Bali. On the edge of the dry season. Low dense cloud in shades of grey encircling the hills in a tight embrace. Cerulean blue skies peppered with luminous, puffy white clouds suspended over the ocean. A strong sea breeze carrying the seductive memory of far-flung lands leaving a salty aftertaste on my lips, rustling the leaves of the coconut palms high above my head as it passed by on its never-ending journey. A solitary charcoal-coloured co

16/7/2006 Central Bali, late June. The morning after the night before. A night where the earth moved for me, and countless others on the island. Another earthquake in the early hours. Measuring 4.5 on the Richter Scale, thirty three kilometres below the surface of the earth, felt across the southern part of the island. Thankfully no loss of life nor damage to property but yet another reminder to us all of the precariousness of living on the Ring of Fire. It left in its wake

1991 ... I knew as soon as I saw them that trouble was brewing. It wasn’t that there were thirteen of them. Despite me being superstitious and not very keen on this unlucky number. It wasn’t the way they were all shoving and pushing to get through the narrow door into the train carriage. How else would you board an Indian train? It wasn’t that they had an inordinate amount of luggage. That was quite normal. It was their sheer physical size that was daunting. They were all eno

Another little piece I have found, also from 2009; an exercise for the writing group I belonged to in Singapore. The task was to write about our favourite smell in less than 100 words. This is my offering - 99 words. Rich, round and yellow this aroma arrives without knocking. A blast of fragrant happiness that makes the limbic system salsa. A trace of spice underlying a big, bold statement of lemon. Or is it? Sherbet lemons, for sure. But lemons off the tree? No. If this aro

This was written in the Funan Food Court in Singapore in 2009. I found it today when I was going through some old notebooks. I remember this encounter as if it were yesterday... They stared at you they did At your difference At your height At your eyes At the curve of your spine They did not see what I did You asked to clear my plate A raised eyebrow and eye connection No words I smiled with you eyes to eyes Said yes please You asked me how my meal was A circle of your thumb

Sky dancing, early on a Friday evening, from Singapore to Bali. Six days after the second Bali bombings in October 2005. The aircraft has a 2-3-2 configuration. There are three Indians sitting behind me, to my right. A couple. Tiny, wizened, wrinkled like walnuts and the same colour. By the looks they are old in years, yet somehow young at heart with the wisdom of many lives in their auras. Eyes the colour of charcoal sparkling like diamonds in the sun. Scarlet bindis on thei

Part 1 : Bali 2006 Ubud, Bali. Late one Friday evening in July. In the circle of friends sharing laughter, good food and companionship. The songs of our chatter and the voices of frogs blending together in the cool, freshly-washed night air. Discussions over dinner bounced from one subject to another as we travelled round the globe on a journey from Bhutan to South Africa, the Maldives to Scotland, Singapore to England. From Thimpu to Cape Town, Male to Iona, Changi to Heath

I do not know this man’s name. I know him only as Seeing Eyes. I met him under a tree on a local island in Shaviyaani Atoll in the Maldives

Calcutta is one of the most extraordinary cities I have visited. I love it. Maybe I have such a fondness for it because I’ve had some very s

I love this image that I took on a local island in the very far north of the Maldives 25 years ago. These young people are radiating happine

Bangkok, Thailand, 1992. Heading into the monsoon season, the Festival of Songkran over for another year. Hot. Very hot.

Such a beautiful morning. Still. Barely a breath of wind. So clear. The volcano island is standing proud on the eastern horizon.

Take a look at the image above. What do you see? Several pretty pastel-coloured houses.

the shrill ringing of my alarm clock competing with the raucous croaking of the frogs in the rice fields, piercing the peacefulness of my de

I am in the dentist’s waiting room ... Saturday morning, a gloomy, glimpy, grey day. Opposite me sit a father and daughter,

Bali, June 2006, the island lashed by uncharacteristically wild winds and heavy rains that blanketed the mountains in deep, dark cloud