The Honeymoon's Over

September 28, 2010

It's official: My honeymoon's over. Maybe that's old news now. I think you could tell that the honeymoon was over by my previous posting where I described how overwhelmed I was feeling -- between lecturing a 150-student class for the first time, meeting so many new people for my research and social life, the travel, getting up at 5am daily to get the kids to the bus, and just plain life here. I had trouble sleeping.

My anthropologist friend diagnosed me with "Delayed Culture Shock." I thought I was just plain anxious and overwhelmed with it all. She described it as being overstimulated by doing, seeing, smelling, tasting so much newness. And, her treatment suggestion -- Be boring. Do only boring things on the weekends. Stop packing so much into my life. Go into work late, not early. Work more from home, in general. My friends, like Tamara and Courtney, said just do nothing sometimes. Patrick and Tina said just being in Kuala Lumpur is exotic enough for now, we'll have time to travel later. Mom tried to problem-solve ways for me to cut back on my responsibilities and activities. Yosef, Liz, one of my Fulbright friends, and Dad gave large class teaching suggestions. And, Dad pointed out that just living in a foreign place, like when he lived in Paris for a year, has an ambient stress -- a constant, silent, invisible stress in the background, which was a helpful insight. And, Ken took on more of my "Mom" responsibilities which are both hard for me to give up and hard for him to take, like planning and packing for future trips.

It's actually all working pretty well. I'm still stressed, at times, but more in a normal, functioning kind of way. My sleep is not perfect but now the sleep problems are limited to the night before my class. We've been just lazing by the pool and doing playdates for the kids on the weekends. I don't eagerly say yes to every social event. As you might guess, the kids have been equally ready for what we now call "relaxation days," so happy and proud of having playdates and new friendships with our neighbors.

And, I've been training for a half-marathon. I know, I know, I'm probably being too ambitious doing that too, typical me, but it's actually been a joy and stress release. Such necessary time for myself with only a meditative run to focus on, and a sore but relaxed body afterwards. And, I really like the people in the running group. One's from Texas and it's like jogging with Molly Ivans, the hilarious political columnist from Texas. They are seasoned travelers and expats from all over. I take mental notes on where to travel next while they tell me of their favorite Southeast Asian get-aways. We're all flying to Cambodia, Siam Riep, to run a half-marathon around the ancient temples on Dec. 7.

But, now that the honeymoon and the worst of my delayed culture shock are over, there are still lingering aftershocks. Like, just getting around this chaotic, sprawling, unplanned, loud, traffic-choked city. I take the subway and a taxi or bus to and from work a few days per week. There are about 4, very limited, different subway lines and none of them are connected -- You actually have to leave the first subway system, get out and walk and reenter another completely different subway line with a different ticketing system. But, the subways are very advanced, fast, and have cellphone service. Everyone is gentle and quiet in the subway. No completely insane behavior, as in NYC subways.

What aggression they sublimate in the subways, they express on the roads. They do not like pedestrians here. We slow the cars down, barely. I can't tell you how many nasty accidents happen here where a car or bus hits a pedestrian -- our elderly, beloved school librarian was medi-vac'ed back to the US with brain damage after a bus hit her. There are few or no decent sidewalks in some areas. And few pedestrian cross-walks -- the red lights often don't stop cars, but especially motorbikes, from flying through the cross-walk. I found myself cursing out two muslim, scarved girls giggling as they sped their motorbike right in front of me and Boom Boom, buzzing us as we crossed. In fact, there's been a streak of motorbike purse and jewelery-snatching. Right in front of our building, someone got his cellphone ripped out of his hands by a motorbiker. Worse, there've been serious injuries when they yanked necklaces and purses, dragging people -- I've been told of two serious head injuries and a death as a result. I've become a neurotic, hypervigilant pedestrian.

Most people drive. In fact, people are shocked we didn't buy a car just for the year. Cars are taxed 50%, there's insurance, lots of car accidents, and you get taken to jail, often overnight, if you're at fault, I heard. Needless to say, I'm completely intimidated by the thought of driving here. We chose to live downtown to avoid driving but it's still inconvenient often without a car. But, cabs are dirt cheap here. Often, cheaper than public transport for a family of 5. Just like it's cheaper for us to eat dinner here at a restaurant than to buy groceries and make it ourselves. But, the cabbies often don't know how to get to your destination, often not telling you they don't know. Or, they refuse to use the meter and try to charge you 3 times the meter price. We've now got a few cabbies we'll call to pick us up if we're going to a destination we know most cabbies refuse.

Where do we walk to, you might ask? Well, we walk to our local mall. Or, we take a cab to malls further away. Yes, we've surrendered to mall culture, after a long fight, with lots of sneering and contempt. Now, we often spend each weekend day in a mall. Yes, we swim, read, play games, socialize with new friends, but we also do the mall. This past weekend, we spent two days in malls and a night at IKEA. Everything happens at the malls -- birthday parties, soccer games (YES! soccer fields are on top of a mall), craft centers, cafes, movie theaters, science museum, galleries, etc. There's been such a huge BOOM in capitalism here, like in most of Asia, that there is no recession here, it seems. No empty storefronts. Just packed malls. And, it's a respite from the heat. You can only do a half hour or so at the playground before you run screaming for the mall air-conditioning.

Our apartment is posh, at first glance. A city view. Glass, steel, and marble everywhere. Balcony. Resort-like pool. Kids at the pool sometimes to play with. But, the reality is these high rises were built in a mad, capitalist-drunk rush, with bribes paid to city inspectors to look the other way. Sewage started backing up in our bathroom pipes stinking to high heaven. They fixed it but 2 bathrooms are unusable and stinky still. Other apartments have walls crumble due to constant water leakage. A friend's apartment electrical wiring blew out, ruining all her appliances, computers, and more. The developer had paid off the electrical inspector. Another 40 story high rise was quickly built with no stairs, that means only an elevator, no fire escape...let me say it again, no stairs at all. We're probably lucky with our apartment since it's so new that no serious problems have come up yet. As exciting it is to live in the heart of the city, the bright lights, loud cars, and other sounds make for a jangled, discombobulating night rest for me, at times.

I sense a theme here -- the government here lets the wild wild west reign, when it comes to development, urban planning, deforestation, and more. It is not a controlling state, to say the least. It's no Singapore. The Malaysian government is letting capitalism grow unheeded here, often burning through Malaysia like a wildfire. But, the government sure likes propoganda, anti-Israel rallies, and fomenting racial division at the same time that it calls for "1 Malaysia," encouraging all 3 of the ethnic groups here uniting as one. Truth, is, it feels like a very racially and religiously tolerant country, when you actually live here day-to-day, despite the underlying rumbing politics.

Alright, my complaint session is over. Just for now. You know there are 200 other wonderful things about life here I didn't mention. You may want to skip this blog for the next couple months until I'm done with my post-honeymoon hangover. Then, I'll get to the 200 wonders of Kuala Lumpur.

Fulbright: The Clinical Research Half

Note: Photo at top is of page is of, from the left, the heads of Harvest Center, Petrina, Pastor Elisha, Mr. Liew as the World Vision Malaysia CEO, and me

September 25, 2010

How lucky am I that I get to take my family to a soccer tournament for my research? Why would that be research? Because the first stage of my research project is to meet people. Yes, just talk and talk and talk. What I am doing for my Fulbright project is to collaborate with a community-based organization to do a sustainable mental health intervention for children and their families.

To develop this partnership with a community organization, I first have to meet a lot of people who will introduce me to the organization leaders; I can't just meet them without some sort of formal introduction. So, I first have to meet with the larger charitable organizations who fund the smaller community organizations, to get an idea of who might be a good match for my work and get some introductions. And, my HELP University professor colleagues have connections with Christian charitable organizations, like World Vision, who fund these community organizations. It is interesting that it seems to be mostly Christian organizations in this Muslim country that are funding interventions for children in poverty.

After I met with the head of World Vision Malaysia, he offered to introduce me to the heads of the organization called Harvest Centre, or Dignity for Children Foundation. The World Vision CEO, Mr. Liew, said he thought I should join him for a soccer tournament to meet the heads of Harvest Centre who were running the tournament. When we arrived for the tournament, he and Pastor Elisha, head of Harvest, were waiting for us out front. And, they gave us a warm welcome, with the older Mr. Liew even kicking the soccer ball around with Griffin, giving it a header too. Then, Mr. Liew and Pastor Elisha toured me around in the VIP fashion I've been honored with at every turn at these organizations. And, I thought it was because of my Fulbright status (God knows, I drop the Fulbright card shamelessly!) but I've started realizing it's also a Malaysian custom to host with great generosity, patience, and attention, and usually involving a meal.

Pastor Elisha showed me the soccer and net ball tournaments (for net ball explanation, see Griffin's post below) which were filled with refugees and poor kids from, typically, Indian slums. The refugees are mostly from Burma and can't speak either Malay or English. And, the Malaysian government refuses to accept refugees so the refugees are illegal here. They have no potential to become a legal immigrant or citizen. So, they get no official status, they are invisible. Worse, unlike in the U.S., as illegal immigrants/refugees, they get no schooling, protection from crime, health care, etc. On top of that, there is a group of Malaysian citizens who are backed by the government to round up these refugees/immigrants and take them to the border, in an often scary, threatening, and exploitive manner. This quasi-governmental group is called the Renu, I think, and they often threaten to expel them, then say they can stay if they pay a bribe. This is all after these refugees are already fleeing persecution from their own country, like Burma.

So, Harvest Centre takes over where the government chooses not to. They run a school for the children, because the government won't. And, the school has a mission to provide as high quality education as they would receive at Malaysian schools, saying refugees deserve respect and good education. The school's become famous for its education and has trained and developed many other schools for refugees all over Malaysia now. Pastor Elisha is originally Punjab, on the border of India and Pakistan. His wife is Chinese Malaysian, and they have a dorm and home at the school where they take in many of these children, with the intent of giving them a fresh start, especially away from some of the toughest families fraught with physical abuse or "gangsterism."

Pastor Elisha thinks the parents only get in the way of the kids getting ahead in life and healing from their past. He complained of parents pressuring their daughters to get married by age 13 but, now that they are at his school, they say no to their parents, saying they want to be teachers like their teachers at school. He has threatened fathers who were physically abusing their children. He doesn't try to change the parents. He tries to take the children out of the parents' home, often into his home or dorm. Or he tries to empower them to be different from their parents.

He and I had a moment where we realized we have different philosophies about helping kids get better. Mine has always been through changing and supporting the family and school, and his is to get the kids as far away from the family as possible. Maybe he's right, in this case, but I still wonder if there's potential for involving the parents somehow in this mental health process with the kids.

Pastor Elisha told me the story of why the soccer tournament is called the Faisal cup. Faisal had been in Elisha's school. He was about fourteen but had a "simple" mind and was at the academic equivalent of 1st grade or so. He often squeezed himself into the small chairs in the first grade classroom. One day he was playing soccer and the ball was kicked into the river. Faisal went in after the ball, since to him a $3 ball was precious and had to be retrieved. But, he couldn't swim and he drowned. Pastor Elisha teared up as he told this story. And, he said that to lose one of his most beloved students over a $3 ball inspired he and his wife to run this soccer tournament because so many refugee children have no organized soccer or even soccer balls to play with. The government provides soccer for all Malay children, but there's none for the immigrants or refugees.

Once Ken helped get Griffin and Boom started on playing soccer with the refugee kids, it made me really happy to see them connecting through soccer, especially since their rarified world is limited to the elite at their school.

In the meantime, I introduced myself to the head of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) who is now an American, and he knows Fulbright. I've been dying to meet him, since UNHCR funds so many refugee programs, and I thought they'd know which are ripe for and interested in mental health program development. Vernon is his name, and he gave me the historical and current perspective on refugees here, making me feel like I was having an ivy league education in the reality of refugees in Malaysia and beyond. He also suggested a couple organizations who would be possible for me to collaborate with. What a coup to connect with him! And it looks like he'll be connecting me to organizations with potential too.

We had to leave, and when Ken had to take the ball with us, he said it was hard to take the soccer ball away. All the kids playing with Boom and Griffin were very reluctant to give the ball up since they didn't have a ball of their own and couldn't play as a result.

Felipe's Birthday Party

September 25, 2010

Griffin:

I went to my friend Felipe's birthday party today. We played soccer, ate pizza, hit a pinata, got candy, and got medals for soccer. I was goalie and my injured wrist got more injured. Most balls didn't get past me, though. As you can see in the picture, I look like someone just scorched my face.

Griffin: Soccer Tournament

September 25, 2010

Griffin:

Hi bloggers! This is Griffin. Today I went to a soccer tournament. There were two kinds of games. One was soccer. Another was called "Net Ball," where you try not to drop the ball. Once you get the ball, you have to freeze and pass it to someone. If you drop the ball, anyone can try and get it. The point of the game is to shoot it in the hoop. At this tournament, the point of the game was to scream when you shot it in the hoop!

Only girls played net ball there because their Muslim parents did not want them to play soccer because they thought soccer was a boys sport.

I got my soccer ball and started kicking it around in a goal. Some kids came over and a few got in the goal and a few got to shoot. I got in the goal with Boom Boom. I think I have an injured wrist from blocking a few balls. And, I learned how to punt about a mile.

I could not communicate with the kids I was playing with. I could tell them but couldn't talk to them. They couldn't say something back to me. When I said something, they would do it. But, I couldn't have a conversation. They come from places all over the world and do not know English. They are refugees. A refugee has no home, he no longer has a country. Most of these people are from Burma where they were treated poorly.

Class Parent Coffee

September 24, 2010

I am one of three class parents for Alice's first grade class. At this school, the class parents host coffees, often at their homes with homemade baked goods. Or, you can do it the easy way, like I did, and meet at Starbucks, at a local mall. We weren't sure how many parents would show up. In fact, at one point, it seemed like it might be just us class moms and one other mom, but we were so happy when one after another mom came, for a total of 9 of us.

If you look at the picture above, you'll see there are families from all over the world. In fact, I think there may be some sort of quota this international school tries to meet, like no more than 10% Thai, 10% European, etc. I heard there's been a quiet uproar lately among upper school parents since Koreans are almost 20% in the upper school.

If you start at the left above, the first mom is Vietnamese, the next German (with Columbian husband), Venezuelan, me, Divya from Goa in India, Lebanese-American, American, British, and Indian. Their husbands are working and they are not working themselves, for the most part. It seems hard to get a job in this and some other countries, as the spouse of the work visa-holder. And, it often doesn't seem worth it if you're just going to be posted in another country in a couple years. One mom is an electrical engineer from Venezuela but hasn't worked since she left Venezuela 6 years ago. Sometimes, the Moms seem to feel like their wings have been clipped. At the same time, they love the travel and luxurious lifestyle with lots of cheap nannies/housekeepers here. It's hard to go back to washing dishes after dinner, if you return to settle back down in the US.

We all appreciate Alice's teacher so much. I gush over that teacher. She's so warm clear, great activities, and has handled some recent girl-girl verbal aggression with directness and an empowering approach. Yesterday, Alice actually thought some girls were whispering about her at recess. She ran to tattle to the teachers (having become an expert tattler after 6 long years of practice) and fell down off a play structure on the way. She hit the ground hard, with mild abrasions all over her body, requiring a dramatic visit to the nurse. When the nurse called me, I found myself telling her, "Well that will teach her to tattle." The nurse didn't seem amused.

Griffin's New Friends

September 23, 2010

My new friends are Mateo and Felipe from Argentina. I have had three playdates with Felipe and two with Mateo. And a few pool playdates with them. Today they came over and played legos with me. We wrestled a little and had a lot of fun. They are both short. Felipe is very funny and weird. It's hard to understand their accent. All the same, I like them.

I was invited to my first birthday party by them. It'll be a soccer party this weekend. Felipe is in second grade. Mateo is in fourth grade. They live in the tower connected to ours and ride on the bus with us. How I got my friendship with Mateo was because he sits right next to me on the bus everyday.

Hari Raya Dress-Up Day at School

September 23, 2010

We are celebrating Hari Raya at school. Hari Raya is the end of the Muslim fasting called Ramadhan. Today we are dressing up in Hari Raya clothes. I have my own as you can see in the picture. So do Alice and Boom Boom. Not everyone wore Hari Raya clothes. It was optional. We made our own sarongs but didn't bring them home. We learned to tie them around our waists. It is very hard to do it. There is one stripe down the middle. For girls, it goes in the front. For boys, it goes in the back.

I learned a celebratory dance for Hari Raya. It is very hard in the beginning but it gets easy as you practice. Then we had an assembly. They showed us all the different Muslim clothes from all over Malaysia, such as Malacca, Sarawak, Sabah, Singapore, and much more. Then we learned a few words in Malay. When we were about to leave, our teacher took us to taste some Hari Raya celebration food. Some were cookies in the shape of a fried flower. Round with little holes in it. And there was orange juice that tasted a little bitter. And, there was something like a rolled up crepe that looked like lace, a circle with lots of lines.

I'm having a nice time in Malaysia.

Fulbright: The Teaching Half

September 21, 2010

So, half of my Fulbright involves teaching and the other half is clinical research. The teaching part involves my teaching a couple classes per semester at HELP University. One class is a large lecture with 150 freshman undergraduate students. The other class is a small class with 9 Clinical Psychology masters students. Both classes are on Research Methodology in psychology.

After a lot of heated negotiation with the department heads (and involving the president and more, in the background it seemed), I settled on being willing to teach 2 classes per semester. Not a big win on my part since I only wanted 1, but I was able to negotiate that I did not have to supervise any undergraduate or masters theses. I negotiated hard since teaching can easily take over your life, leaving clinical research by the wayside. They were perfectly polite and e-smiling through the entire negotiation while also barely budging an inch. From their end, I think they were girding themselves for the arrival of a hard negotiating New Yorker.

When I arrived at HELP for the first time, I was welcomed warmly, all negotiations going unmentioned. The ones in charge, as in department head and dean, are male. The majority of professors who teach are female. I was taken out to lunch by the female professors, all feeling overworked but joking about it. They barely have any time for research, themselves. And, I'm learning that it's hard to get clinical psychology professors to work there in a country with only about 70 or so clinical psychologists. But, still, the high turnover of clinical psychology professors in the department gives pause. In the end, Asia has a reputation for working its professors so hard that none can get any research done.

Then, the dean, a psychology professor with an anti-bullying program, invited me, the kids, and Ken out with his family who has a daughter Alice's age and a toddler -- you saw pictures in our blog when they came over for a "pool party" at our house. His family is now planning on having us spend the night at their place in a month, after their 7 year old passes a series of upcoming tests. They have been repeatedly generous in hosting us in ways that have stopped me to think. I can't remember ever welcoming a foreigner at our institution or neighborhood the way they have me. It's made our transition feel so much warmer that I now have a new standard for how much less alone a foreign family would feel if I just made a little effort to host them.

The picture above is taken with Alice's blurry camera, right after mine broke. It's of the President of HELP University (far left), his wife, the CEO, the Senior Vice President, and the head of Human Resources. I was so honored to be asked to meet with the president, right after they got me an official work visa. In the US, it's a rare moment that a new professor would ever have a special meeting with the president. Then, my teaching assistant told me that he met with the president too. Everyone does. The President doesn't like hierarchies, and he insists on meeting everyone before they are hired, and often after.

Still, the meeting made me feel very VIP, anyway. They both presented their business cards to me in a uniquely Malaysian style -- placed flat on their hands like they were holding the business cards like a fragile tray. I, of course, had no business cards which makes you feel professionally naked here. I gave him Cadbury chocolates. Now, I have business cards with a big fat "Fulbright" on them. I was also surprised to have the President give me his card, if that makes sense. Like having President Obama give you his card, in case you weren't sure what his name and contact information were.

The president really liked talking about issues worthy of debate, with a softly sardonic questioning style. Like, he said no one thought they needed psychological help, here, until psychologists came along. Everyone just used to go to their imam, priest, or pray to Buddha, feeling better afterwards as the incense carried your worries or wishes up and away during prayer. They were very interested in what work Ken did, and he said he and his wife would eat a meal with me and Ken sometime.

The university is largely populated by Chinese Malaysians, and some Indian Malaysians, and peppered with expats from some other countries -- Zimbabwe, Iran, Saudi Arabia, China, and Austria, are some in my class. They often seem to be using this university as a stepping stone to get to a western university, in Canada or the US. Why are there largely Chinese Malaysians and some Indian Malaysians, when this country is 60% Muslim Malaysian? Where are all the Muslims in my classes. Well, I have a few, but here's the story I was told...

The public universities save the majority of spots for Muslim Malay students, and any non-Muslim Malay professors have little chance of getting a public university professorship or, if they got one, have little to no opportunity to rise. So, the Chinese Malaysian President of HELP had been a professor in the public university system, but he was tired of the limited opportunities for him, so he started HELP Univ. as a private university, since private universities do not limit most spots for Muslim Malays. Since then, HELP University has taken off, and it's even on the Malay stock exchange. That was a shocker to me since I don't know any academic institutions traded on the US stock exchange. It changes the entire academic field when you're a commodity that's being traded. One of Warren Buffet's subsidiaries recommended HELP as an investment, and its stock recently skyrocketed.

The class with 9 clinical students is softspoken but lovely and interactive, but I get pretty nervous before teaching the class of 150 students, and I'm wiped out afterwards. I teach it in a large auditorium with a microphone for 3 hours (!!!). Whew. I woke up every hour on the hour last nite, on edge with the big class being today. Over time, it's gotten somewhat easier since I've developed a relationship with them and they feel more comfortable being more responsive and interactive in class. My big concern had been that they wouldn't give me the subtle cues (not so subtle in NYC) that some information I'd be lecturing them on was confusing. I still think they see it as rude to let me know if they don't understand what I'm saying, but I'm getting better at reading it. And, I've packed my lectures with activities to both kill time (Monty Python clip!) and to make it more interactive, like a debate over whether or not day care if bad for kids. They are very very very worried about getting a good grade.

Alice's Blog: Pool Party

September 17, 2010

Alice's blog:

I just got a new camera that I can take good pictures with. I just don't like that some of my pictures were blurry because my camera goes in and out with blurriness so if I take a picture when the blurriness starts my picture is blurry.

We had a pool party last night with our new friends. It was very fun because they had a girl who was 7 years old named Aletia. She couldn't swim very well. She held onto the wall and climbed over to the jacuzzi. The jacuzzi isn't hot but there are sprayers that can spray your back. If you put your thumb inside the hole where the water comes out, it will spray out the top of the wall and hit someone. I swam to the other side underwater with Aletia. After dinner I swam, ate, did laps of the crawl. We went up to our room and Griffin got a laser light (CO note: Illegal in the US, they are long, sharp lights that can shine across the entire park to a building on the other side).

I ate a lot of pasta. Then we ate cookies and ice cream. I got two bowls of ice cream and two cookies. I made the cookies with Daddy and Boom Boom. When my friends left, I gave Aletia a balloon. Me and Boom Boom played some keep up the balloon.

Bye Bye!

Colleen note:

Our new friends, Chee Leong, Pee Shei, and their kids Aletia and Atticus (Western names; they have Chinese names too) gave us some lanterns to celebrate the Chinese Moon Cake Festival. They told us that Chinese Malaysian (and other children of Chinese origin all over the world) children prance around at night carrying the lanterns, lit from within by candles. The festival history is that centuries ago the Monogolians invaded China and put a Mongolian soldier in each Chinese family's home. The chinese families baked mooncakes and gave them to each other, with a note hidden inside saying "Kill the monogolian soldier in your home at the next full moon." Then, they slit the soldiers' throats at the next moon. Now, they celebrate that gruesome moment of freedom with moon cakes and lanterns.

I love mooncakes and try to eat one every day. Now, I won't eat another mooncake without thinking of slit throats.

Greece Redux: "Celebrity" Volleyballers

August, 2010

I couldn’t move on to the next country until I had closure over telling you about our time in Greece.

I’ll try to contain myself to brief highlights, but brief does not capture my typical blogging style.

We hit the Greece beaches on the first day, hitting the hottest, “volleyball celebrity,” beach filled with models. I don’t exaggerate. That’s what they told us at the gate. I laughed. Then they were completely right.

Avery, the eldest cousin at age 16, had just gotten his driver’s license and had to be dragged away from his partying friends in Scarsdale to come to Greece, to slum it with his younger cousins and elders. To console him, we tracked him down and steered him towards the volleyball celebrities and models. And, they did not disappoint. Note his beaming smile in every picture. He watched the models frolic in the water for a photo shoot, all advertising the drink Frulite (get this – it’s a drink where they add chocolate to orange juice! It made me want to vomit but Avery didn’t seem to notice).

The other Frulite model-based activity was a volleyball game, filled with female models in butt-baring bikinis who don’t know how to play volleyball, one real Olympic female Greek volleyball player, and a couple buffed male models who actually knew how to play and made the game happen. Avery immediately signed he and Ken up to play. Ken told me he had to play with the models, to make Avery happy.

The entire Freeman family showed up for the “celebrity” volleyball game a couple hours later. We sat in the small stands, we dominated the lounge chairs, we yelled as only New Yorkers can. We drank beer and got louder. We watched a whole lot more bounce than just the volleyball. Jen was nervous that Avery would embarrass himself on the volleyball sand, but she was relieved when he hit his first serve, right into a model on the other team, who, surprise surprise, missed the ball! Ken was one of the better players, along with the male models who were more than just eye candy for the female Freemans in the crowd. They didn’t bother keeping score, but Griffin and his cousins ran around telling everyone his Daddy and cousin won the game.

After that we posed some more on the beach, then the kids got henna tattoos. Griffin got a dragon and Boom a spider. Within a day, their tattoos started to swell. After a few days, Griffin’s started oozing puss, dripping down his arm. By the time we were leaving town, we had to put Griffin on oral steroids because his body was reacting by breaking out in an itchy rash and hives all over. Tina did her research and found out that Greek henna tattoos on the beach are known for giving allergic reactions to some people who get them. They put black hair dye, PPD, I think, in the henna to make it darker. More than a month later, Griffin’s finally cleared up leaving a ghostly white trace of a dragon on his arm.

Later, at the same beach, Lisa lured me into trying windsurfing for the first time. Ken said no because he thought his upper body wasn’t strong enough. Steve said yes, maybe because his upper body strength is solid. Lisa was an excellent teacher, and I got up pretty quickly then watched Steve struggle. Turns out it’s about balance not strength. But, Steve eventually figured out how to turn the windsurfer around while I didn’t. On my last, most tired, attempt I started flying over the ocean surface, incredibly fast feeling like a bird. I kept on trying to turn around but couldn’t. I continued heading south and finally pushed the windsurfer into the shallow and walked it back. Lisa swam back to help me. Then, Harvey huffed his way down the beach, telling me he almost called the Greek Coast Guard to come get me.

Griffin's First Playdate in 3 months

September 15, 2010

Griffin here:

I came back from an activity at school on the bus. My friend who's in fourth grade, Mateo from Argentina, said to ask my Dad if I could come over to his house. He lives in an apartment in the tower right next to ours. My Dad said yes. And his Mom said yes. So, we had a playdate. I got to look around their apartment which was a lot more interesting than ours. They had legos and all sorts of videogames. I played at their house for a little while then I went home. That was my first playdate in 3 months!

Then today after in-line skating after school, I came home and did a bit of my homework then I went to the pool. My friend Mateo was there. We played soccer in the pool. Then we came up to my apartment. I had a playdate with Mateo here. The first thing we did was playing legos. I made a totally new setup. Then we ate dinner. It was delicious -- meatballs and spaghetti. After that we wrestled on the bed. Mateo's brother Phillippe, I found a way to wrestle him down. I grab him around his stomach and never let go, and finally, he just collapses. Then, we had dessert, gelato and cake.

That was my second playdate in 3 months!

East Malaysia: Niah Caves

September 11, 2010

As we landed in East Malaysia, to a coastal town called Miri, threatened Koran burning was happening in the U.S. The Muslim world was offended, and Malaysia wasn’t to be left out of the protesting Muslim states. The Prime Minister of Malaysia chimed in, asking President Obama to stop the book burning. No one in Miri mentioned it to us. But, we carried the knowledge of how events in the U.S. impact us here, as we thought of 9/11 while hiking.

Miri is famous for oil – Shell is the only act in town. It’s not famous for much else other than being driving distance from caves. We weren’t sure if it was worth the trip there. The hotel was on the beach but you couldn’t get to the beach because they had covered it with huge rocks, smacking of a desperate attempt to keep climate change at bay. The town had no charm. It was only famous for smuggling alcohol and more, from the neighboring country of Brunei. But, Hari Raya holiday weekend tickets had sold like hotcakes, and we were too late to get affordable flights to more spectacular places. The only cheap-ish tickets were for Miri since no one else wanted to go there.

So, we gave Miri a chance. We started with the crocodile farm. Note the word “farm” rather than “Crocodile Sanctuary.” First sign you see when you enter the “farm” is that BBQ crocodile is for sale. Crocodile belts are for sale. We saw enough crocodiles piled around, alive, but often on top of each other, to last us a lifetime.

Just as Ken and I were starting to get depressed, after seeing a cute but highly stressed, pacing sun bear on a short leash being fed bananas by tourists, the crocodile feeding was announced. You must see the video, is all I can say. We’ve never seen anything like it in our lives. It was the most animated and buzzed I’ve seen Kenny on this trip. A feeder came out to a very high platform, and he first blew a whistle. All the frozen crocodiles moved for the first time since we’d been there, strategically positioning themselves, slowly. Then, the feeder threw a whole, dead, unplucked chicken far into the air. It just flew, and the crocodiles’ eyes followed it as it flew. The first chicken landed next to a small crocodile, and its neighbor promptly bit the winning croc’s leg, prompting a roar of outrage from the crowd. The small, winning croc plowed his way through the bigger, blocking crocs, to a safe chicken-eating haven. Another chicken flew in the air, landing in the water. There an immediate snap came from out of nowhere, from the depths of the pool, and a wild wrestle ensued under water. We only saw bubbles and rushing waves, to show that one croc won. More dead chickens flew. The crocs ate them in one gulp. It looked like they barely chewed. The other crocs looked on, completely still, eyeing the winners, looking ready to get revenge later.

Finally, the feeder blew a whistle and walked away. Kenny leapt up and gave the feeder the first standing ovation he’d received in his life. He yelled praises for his chicken-throwing skill and clutch performance. The feeder looked surprised then quietly smiled and walked away.

The next day we dedicated to the Niah caves. We hired a driver for the day, and Ken warned him in advance that, given the 4.5 kilometer walk to the caves, the driver would have to carry Boom back from the caves when he collapsed. In Greece, we’d had Nate and Zander’s wiry, eager-to-prove-themselves muscles to carry Boom back from long hikes. In Malaysia, Ken seemed to think we had to hire someone to carry him. Turns out our driver was actually a body guard for a politician for his day job (only admitted to me later when I plied him with Tiger beer). He just smiled confidently when Ken continually teased him about carrying Boom.

We hiked to the caves, caves that had only been discovered by Western archeologists in 1960. We figured out why it took so long for the west to discover it – it’s surrounded by swamp. You can’t drive or fly there. You can’t even land a helicopter there. The only way there is to slog through kilometers of buggy, fauna-filled swamp. That’s a nice way of saying, croc-filled swamp. How did we get there? A raised 5K walkway over the swamp, hugging the outside of the huge cave, dodging stray rocky outcroppings thrust out of the swamp. The closer we got to the cave, the more dodging the walkway did because there were more rocky protrusions coming out of the swamp than there was swamp water.

Well, it was worth the archeologists’ slog. They discovered caves filled with life from the prehistoric era, 40,000 years ago. They first dug and found pottery and jade earrings traded from Indonesia. Then they hiked deeper into the completely dark cave, filled with bats and bat “black gold” – bat poop is worth gold to some. They emerged on the other side to discover a smaller cave, filled with 1200 year old paintings, perfectly preserved. And, we could actually see some of them too, still, although they had faded. The paintings were inspiring for us to see. We couldn’t believe it. They perfectly depicted their dead ancestors floating on a boat down the river to the underworld. They added some curly cues and other geometric designs for spiritual spice. And, in front of the paintings were real skeletons left in man-made boats. That’s how they buried their dead, curled up in fetal positions in wooden boats…hoping that the boats would help shepherd them to the other world.

We actually saw some dead bones and boats remaining from 3000 years ago. Then we turned around and walked back from whence we came, “torches” in hand (aka flashlights), the kids squealed with delight as they walked through the caves in the absolute dark, shining a spotlight on the bats overhead.

We also walked past bamboo poles stuck in the ground, extended all the way up almost 30 stories to the top of the Great Cave. Nest gatherers somehow, impossibly, shimmy up the smooth bamboo all the way to the top of the ceiling to scrape swiftlet (swallows?) nests off the ceiling, because they are worth thousands of dollars, often used for Chinese Birds Nest soup, believed to have healing properties, sold all over Asia.

Then, we walked the 4.5 K back, thinking we’d have a similar slog to the archeologists’, trying to coax tired Boom all the way back. We prepared our “bodyguard” to carry Boom, especially when Boom made us carry him down some stairs. We watched Griffin tire himself out, slipping off the side of the walkway, hanging on for dear life, but with only a 2 foot drop to the muddy cave floor below. Alice went piggy back on Kenny most of the way home. I had to rest repeatedly. Ken complained, making it an art form. And, Boom, ran ahead, with the bodyguard chasing after him. We lost sight of him. The bodyguard told us Boom would keep on looking back at him saying, “I’m first!” “You can’t catch me!” all the 4.5K back to the car.

We rested the next morning. Then our new best friend, our bodyguard, picked us up to take us to the Latak Waterfall. It’s a popular local jungle swimming hole. When we arrived there, it was raining, and hard. Then, we heard thunder. But, we looked around and saw no lightning. Repeatedly, which was strange. Is a lightning-less thunder unique to the rainforest? We plunged into the jungle, despite the thunder and a tepid, polite warning from the forest ranger who sold us our tickets -- mentioning to look out for slippery paths and thunder. Turns out we barely touched the jungle floor, again, hiking along a raised walkway most of the way, and by way I mean only 25 minutes of hiking.

We took a Pringles break under shelter from the rain, listening to Ken explain “evolution” to the kids, in one seating. Then, we reached the Latak Waterfall, with the kids relieved it wasn’t like the rapids from Taman Negara (see previous blog posting about near-death rapids ride for Griffin). It was just a single, long line of water dropping from a couple stories above. And, unlike the rapids, there was a rope blocking us from swimming under the waterfall. On top of that, a forest ranger or “guard” sat in a guard house to make sure we didn’t swim too close. Ken complained that our waterfall swimming leash was so short – “Why come to a waterfall if not to swim to the waterfall?” Then, Griffin made the same complaint, then Alice, then Boom -- it was a contagious complaint.

My bridled explorers moped their way to the water then immediately started splashing, wrestling, and throwing with delight. The local Malays stopped their chicken bbq-ing to come over and stand in the water with us, largely unable to speak English. One explained to me that they can’t swim. But, their kids got wet anyway, fully-clothed and they took pictures of their kids with each of mine. As usual, Boom was the star of the paparazzi, but Griffin was shocked and quietly pleased to finally be asked to be in a photo with the large family.

Soon, more than just Muslim Malays arrived. Some Indian Malaysians arrived, but only a group of men came. As the rain slowed to a drizzle, the men started playing a drum, clapping, pounding Coca-Cola, and singing traditional, foot-stomping songs in some Indian dialect, I think. Then, one leading singing man jumped up and started dancing, and each would take turns joining him, with shoulder shimmies, kicks, jumps, whirring around, mirroring each other as they danced and sang with all their hearts.

I watched from the water, laughing with Ken, as I dunked myself, feeling renewed and a bit less stressed from my Kuala Lumpur life. We went back to the hotel where the kids begged us not to make them go to a local restaurant, as we usually insist (hotel food = bad and expensive; local food = cheap, fresh seafood and delicious). We relented, or really I relented. They knew I was really the one who pushed us further, that way, often too far. So, I gave in, knowing that a night of horrible food lay ahead of us, but my parents, Courtney, and Tamara would be pleased that I was “taking it slower.”

So, we spent our last nite, watching the sun set over the oil tankers on the horizon, with an awful Robert DeNiro “family” movie (“Everybody is fine”) playing on the grass for a buffet dinner/movie night at the hotel.

PS Our camera is broken. :( We have to send it to the US for repair. In the meantime, you'll get many blogs filled with crappy pictures from us.