Old Sea Squirrel Tale

I love water and being on water and that usually means being on a boat.  I have been on dugout canoes, sampans, rubber dinghy’s, kayaks, canoes, narrow canal boats, fishing boats and ferries.  I have even been on a tornado class catamaran.  But even though our cousins, the black rat (Rattus rattus), were famed seafarers, stowing away on ocean going vessels and spreading the Black Plague during the Middle Ages, squirrels tend to be landlubbers – well, tree-huggers actually.   This naturally means that it is generally not a good idea to leave me in charge of a vessel or responsible for any important maneuver cause my brain is just not wired for anything nautical.

 

The Exhilarating and Dangerous Thrill of a Tornado Class Catamaran (photo from http://www.tornado.org/)

 

Take my friend, Mike previously of Ottawa, Canada (and more recently of Silicon Valley, California).  He was the proud owner of a Tornado class  catamaran.  So proud of it was he that he invited me to go out with him for a day on the Ottawa River.    We spent several hours out on the water with the wind in our hair and the spray in our faces.  Basically, Mike handled everything; pulling this rope, raising this sail, etc.  And I was mostly ballast.  As you can see from the photo above,  the crew have to lean out over the side of the craft so as to balance the boat and not allow it to tip over when making a turn or when a strong wind has caught the sails.  So as ballast, it was my job to follow Captain Mike’s instruction to hang out over on the starboard or port (yes, I do know a few salty sea words).

I think I must have been one of the best and most obedient ballast that he ever had cause suddenly, he offered to let me take over the steering for a spell.  I protested my inadequacies for the task but Mike insisted that I was ready.  So with some trepidation, I took over the reins of the boat.  Now I don’t know how I did it but it was not more than 30 seconds later that one of the hulls of the catamaran lifted clear out of the water and we were in danger of tipping over and capsizing while traveling at warp factor 10.  Only by Mike’s quick action of relieving me from the steering and sending me leaning out on one side prevented us from being a contender on TV’s Top 20 Most Spectacular Wipe-outs.  A clearly shakened, Captain Mike, went a whiter shade of pale and developed a stutter.  Nevertheless, I understood from the sign language and rude gesticulations that he would not ask me to steer his beloved Tornado again even if Hell freezes over.

And yet, that is not my most embarrassing moment on the water.  For that, I will have to bring you back further in time; when I was in my early twenties and going on a canal boat holiday with three friends.  For more about that adventure, read this previous post.

 

Happy Times on the Water (Photo: LGS)

 

It was a fun holiday and a great experience.  But the moment in question came right at the end when after a week of boating on the canals, we had to return the canal boat to its spot moored to a dock in the village of Heyford.  Now my friend, Julie, was trying to guide the boat in close to the dock using the steering and the engine.  However, there seemed to be a bit of a mud bank near the dock and the boat would somehow deflect outwards when Julie tried to drive it in and in the end, there was still a gap of about 5 feet between the boat and the dock.  We both agreed that this was not acceptable.  Julie then suggested that I grab a rope from the middle of the boat and as she tried to drive the boat in once again, I was to try to pull the boat alongside the dock with the rope.

So, I got hold of one end of the rope and jumped off the boat onto the dock.  With rope in hand, I signaled to Julie that I was ready. She revved the engine and made her approached.  At what I deemed was the right moment, I proceeded to pull on the rope.  Expecting that it would require quite some effort to fight the mudbank, I decided to lean backwards and use my whole body weight to pull the boat in.  The last thing I remember was falling back and off the other  side of the dock, was my eyes looking up into the clear blue sky and seeing the other end of the rope flying freely in the air.  I remember the whole episode in slow motion.  I watched with the calm serenity of those who know they cannot avoid their fate and just watched the other end of the rope continue its beautiful arc across the sky.  And then there was the inevitable splash and I was covered up to my chest in foul smelling mud.

Lesson:  Always remember to check that the other end of the rope is actually tied to the boat!

A Younger LGS Discovers Therapeutic Mud Baths Long Before They Were Fashionable (Photocredit: Unsympathetic friend of LGS)

A Superhero Apologises

I was having dinner with my wife and another couple at a new restaurant recently.  The place was well decorated and had some nice thoughtful touches which kind of offset the fact that they were still having teething problems and we were disappointed to find out that many of the items on their printed menu were actually not yet available.

One of the little things that they had was a set of cards with fun questions on them which was meant to occupy and entertain diners while they waited for their food to be served.  We tried a few of those questions and came across one that said, “If you could be a superhero, what superpower would you like to have?”

Rather unimaginatively, my three dinner companions all wanted to have the power to control people’s minds.  I suspect they were all influenced by the character Professor Xavier from the X-Men movies (and of course the original comic series, except I doubt if any of the three ever read X-men comics).

Then they turned to me and asked me what would be my answer.  Now, of course all you regular readers know that I am in fact the Lone Grey Squirrel with superpower of cuteness and the ability to bury bad nuts but I couldn’t say that in a public restaurant and compromise my secret identity.  So instead, I said that I would like to fly.

“Fly?  What kind of superpower is that?   Where would you fly to which you could not get to by airplane or helicopter?  It’s not much of an advantage …….unlike controlling people’s minds.  That has so many possibilities.”  Friend A said smugly.

I replied, “Being able to fly means being able to avoid the hassle of going to Low Coat Air Terminals and having to go through all those inconvenient security screenings.”

Friend B mocked, “That really doesn’t sound so impressive and besides how does flying around help you to beat the bad guys?”

My reply stunned them into silence and awe.  ” I would fly around above and poop on their heads ………I am Pigeon Man!”

Yes, with Pigeon Man, no head, shiny car, designer suit or dress is safe and statues tremble in fear! Mwahahaha.

 

 

P.S.  LGS would like to apologise to all pole dancers for implying in the last post that pole dancing was something sleazy.  A visitor came by to educate me to the fact that pole dancing is a healthy gymnastic-like activity and sport.  It is an athletic and artistic activity and not at all erotic;  it is very different from the stripper pole dancing that does attract sleazy men in smoky bars and nightclubs.  If you want to educate yourself more about the difference, visit unitedpoleartistes or read it at this wikipedia article.

Happy New Year, Dude!

Have a Great New Year Celebration! But Remember to Play Safe!

 

As we say goodbye to a tumultuous 2011, I thought I would look back at the year that was………..

January – The year touched the ground running with a medical emergency involving a neighbor’s aunt and my wife and I had to call for an ambulance and escorted her to the hospital.  I was also traveling a lot but got to see the orang utans and sun bears at Sepilok in East Malaysia (Old Man of the Forest)

February – Nothing much happened in my own life but the world was ablaze with unrest.  I watched on TV the Arab Spring unfold from Tunisia into Libya and Egypt and on to Yemen and Syria.  There were also reports of religious intolerance in my part of the world. In a word, “turmoil”. (Say No to Intolerance)

March – I was traveling again and this time I got to see the awesome world’s largest cave system at the World Heritage Site of Mulu National Park in Sarawak, Malaysia.  But the world continued to moan under the throes of natural and man-made suffering with the great Tsunami of 2011 in Japan and the abuses against women, religious freedom and the silencing of political voices through assassination in Pakistan. I wept. (Fallen Knights)

April – This month passed quickly as I was busy with work as well as all kinds of activities from helping others attend to legal and medical issues.  Busy and not a lot of fun. (Bummed Out)

May – I took a breather in May and had time to reflect a bit on life and where I wanted to be headed in the future. (Hard Labour)

June – I managed fulfill one of my new year resolutions by getting involved with speaking at a Christian Youth Camp.  It was a good experience but I was reminded about how little I knew about “teen speak” nowadays.  That was humbling. (Teen Speak)

July – Another black month.  The world was stunned by the deaths of so many, especially young people, by the hands of a mad man in Norway.  Nearer home, I attended the funeral rites for a close family friend whose daughter passed away at the age of forty from leukemia, leaving behind a young son.  (The Other Side of the Tracks)

August – I started the month in a funk due to the terrible things that happened in July but I slowly regained my appreciation of the positive potential of the human spirit and ended the month with a trip to Singapore where I got heat stroke while wandering around the tropical island.  The spirit may be willing but this old squirrel flesh is getting weak. (Mad Dogs and Sun Stoked Squirrels)

September – Stop everything! It’s the Rugby World Cup in New Zealand.  This squirrel was glued to his chair in front of the TV watching rugby for the next 5 weeks.  I even grew a year older in that chair. (1962 & the 49′er)

October – What a month! First the All Blacks win the Rugby World Cup – always a good omen that all is well in the world.  Later in the month, I was myself surprised to find myself in Mongolia.  I would never have imagined finding myself there in a thousand years.  A very wonderful experience.  (Heroes of Sukhbaatar Square)

November – Another black month.  The main event was the shocking and sudden death of an amazing man who had an impact on so many lives and he was a dear friend.  (Life and Legacy)

December – Even from the ashes of tragedy and sadness, life finds a way to keep going and with time happiness can return.  I had the joy of seeing this in the life of one of my widower friend who has found a new love to share his life with. (Two Funerals Past and a Wedding Soon)

Two Funerals Past and a Wedding Soon

Over the last couple of days, I spent some time with my friend Porgie and his two kids, John (13 years old) and Meg (11 years old).   Porgie and family live 1,600 km away and seldom come to Kuala Lumpur.  The last time they were here was more than 3 years ago when Porgie’s wife was hospitalised for chemotherapy treatment of cancer.  Unfortunately, soon after she returned home and passed away.

This time, Porgie’s visit was with a happier purpose.  Porgie had found a new love and they are planning a life together.  This trip was to introduce his two kids to her two kids from a previous marriage.  My wife and I were privileged to be part of the introduction process and to back Porgie up in case the meeting of families did not go well.  However, as it turned out, there was nothing to worry about.  All four kids got on well and when we met up with them (a day after they actually met), they were already behaving like life-long friends.  Perhaps it helped that Porgie’s kids have long been concerned about their father’s loneliness and had hoped that he would find some new love.

So we had a riotous weekend with them, taking them shopping and sightseeing and generally giving them opportunity to have fun together.  However, in a quieter moment, when everybody else were busy shopping, Porgie reminded me that the next day was the 3rd anniversary of  his wife’s passing.  It was something that did not surprise me.  Porgie would never forget.

Coincidentally, that same day, I received an electronic message from another friend, Charles.  The message noted that that day would have been the 5th birthday of his wife since she passed away from cancer.  It celebrated everything that he had loved about her and thanked friends that have helped him in his grief all those years and continued to make her memory real for him.  Charles will never forget.

I don’t believe that Charles will ever re-marry; that’s just not him.   He will have only one love in this life.  At the same time, I fully understand and appreciate Porgie’s decision to remarry (and he seems to have chosen well, his new partner).  I don’t think it in any way diminishes the love that he will always have for his first wife.  Charles and Porgie have just chosen different paths.

I am thankful for my wife of 18 years and look forward to many more happy years together.  Still, thinking about Charles and Porgie, I wondered how I would have reacted in their position.  I believe that I am more like Charles but who can really be sure?

This squirrel is just pondering the imponderables.

(The names have been changed to protect young lovers all over the world).

Life and Legacy

In each of our lifetimes, we would be fortunate to have met more than just a handful of truly inspirational people;  people who set, with their lives, the standard  for the most of us to aspire towards.  They are lights that shine the way for the rest.

But even amongst such luminaries, there are some that excel.  My friend, DM, is one of those.  Think of all the virtues of a great man and DM had most of them.   It was therefore a shock to learn that DM had suffered a heart attack last Saturday at 1.30 in the early hours of the morning and had passed on at the age of  53.

Over the week, we held a nightly wake until his two daughters were able to return from their studies overseas and finally had a funeral service last last Thursday.  During this time, I had a lot of time to reflect on my friend and his life and I also had the opportunity to hear others share their memories of him.

So how will DM be remembered?  I am having trouble writing this as I don’t know where to start in recalling all his virtues.  Perhaps, it is best to start at the beginning.

DM was the youngest of 8 siblings.  He grew up in a family beset with many problems.  He married but his wife’s family was also full of problems and dysfunctional.  DM became the sure rock that anchored both families, giving them a stability to build on and giving them the leadership, encouragement and love to get their lives sorted out.  His sister shared that though DM was their youngest brother, he would become the father figure to both his and his wife’s families.  As a result, both families are prospering.

He got a job at a local supermarket and through recognition of his honesty, hard work ethic and leadership qualities was promoted to a supervisor’s position which was well above his qualification level.  As a supervisor, he was in charge of many migrant workers from East Malaysia.  These East Malaysians have left their homes on the island of Borneo in search of jobs in the more developed cities of West Malaysia.  Miles from home and often exploited by employers, they are at the bottom of the economic pyramid.

However, more than one of them shared how they found DM to be different from most West Malaysians they encountered.  Despite being part of management, he made no distinction between himself and those he managed and treated each of them with great respect.  He demonstrated a love for them that they could visibly feel and see.  Driven by his love for them and his faith in Christ, he helped organise a weekly bible study and fellowship meeting for the East Malaysians at 10.30 pm on Wednesdays.  The meeting was held late in the evening but it was suitable for the East Malaysian workers as their daily toil ends at 10 pm.  His own modest home was open for all who needed a refuge.  This work of love by DM and his wife has led to the establishment of a church for East Malaysians with a regular congregation of 80 pax and which has given fellowship to many other East Malaysian workers through the years.

DM and wife then felt led to attend a bible seminary and missionary school.  In faith, they went to the U.S. for the training and God provided for all their family’s needs.  Testimonies shared reflected how DM and his wife touched countless of lives in the U.S. as well.

On their return to Malaysia, they forsook a more comfortable life and found a humble place in what can be described as a frontier town near the jungles which are home to the Orang Asli or indigenous peoples of West Malaysia.  It is from here that as a couple, they have served the Orang Asli in that region.  This  was a life of considerable hardship involving traveling long distances and sharing in the deprivations of the simple life of the Orang Asli in the jungle.  At the wake and funeral, several of the Orang Asli shared how DM became to them many things.  He was as father to some, counselor to others, financial advisor, teacher, medical assistant, nutritionist, micro-financier and friend.  Like the East Malaysians before, the Orang Asli said that DM was one of them.  In just a few short years, a number of churches have emerged with at least 100 lives won over for Christ.

My memory of him will always be that of a gentle man but with a core of steel; a leader – firm when he needs to be but always compassionate; soft-spoken and quiet; slow to anger; loving father and husband; a serious man but with a winning smile and a sense of humor.  Power and grace.

I suppose, no man is perfect but DM does very well in almost every regard I can think of.   DM was called back to be with God at a relatively young age but there is no doubt that he has left a strong legacy that will endure amongst all the lives that he has enriched.

Our thoughts are now with his wife and two daughters who have been left behind but DM has never neglected them either.  His headship of the family and his constant unflinching love has made them all strong women and with God’s grace, they too will continue to prosper.  Truly a life and legacy to be celebrated.

In Hindsight

I have been trying to post for the last few days but I have been having trouble with my internet connection.  I was hoping to load up some photos from my recent misadventure in Singapore but it has been a frustrating experience with the internet connection coming and going.   So it’s going to have to be a post sans photos or videos.  Hmmm.  what to write about?  That poses a challenge!

Well, I was inspired by geewits who posted on choosing a Groundhog Day.  The idea comes from a Bill Murray film by that name where he re-lives Groundhog Day again and again until he gets things right.  Geewits posed the question as to which day would we choose to re-live if we had a choice.

At the same time in a convergence of thought, I was reflecting on some of the comments to my last post and in my reply to geewits, I mentioned that I was a big fan of Snoopy the Musical.  As it happens, one of the songs in the musical entitled “I Know Now” has an ensemble of the Peanuts gang singing this line, “Just think of it gee, how great it would be, if I could go back somehow, and have my like to live over knowing what I know.”

Geewits had a very wise choice for her Groundhog Day but for me, I would chose a particular day that I have regretted all my life so that I might, like Bill Murray, get it right in the end.  And I would have told my 20 year old self that friendship and doing the right thing is more important than what other people think.

So if you could go back somehow and meet your 16 year old self or your 21 year old self or your 30 something self or whatever age, what would you tell your other self …… knowing what you know now?

The Other Side of the Tracks

Trying Not to Draw Attention While Crossing the Tracks (Photo: The Telegraph,U.K.)

Last weekend, I made a visit to the other side of the tracks.  The occasion was a sad one.  It was  to attend a Hindu prayer ceremony  for a young woman of 40  who passed away from leukemia after a brief illness.  She was the daughter of M, a  long time family friend of Indian descent.

He worked for my parents on and off for some 45 years,  initially as our gardener and later on in various roles as the need arose.  He watched me and my siblings grow up.  In the same way, we also witnessed his family grow up and his pride as he toiled hard to provide for his four children, giving them education and opportunities in life that he and his wife never had.

I had visited M and his family many years before in their home which was at that time in an illegal squatter village but after saving money and lobbying the government for affordable low cost housing, he and his family moved into a tiny two room, 600 sq feet flat.

This was my first visit to M’s current home.  My wife was very concerned.  It was located on the “wrong side of the tracks” – an area that in the mind of  middle-class citizens like myself is out of bounds; a nasty and unsafe place with gangsters ready to pounce on anyone that doesn’t belong there.

Indeed, there was a feeling of neglect and apprehension when I got there.  M’s home is part of  a series of low cost flats.  There were seven blocks; each block had 20 floors with 20 units on each floor.  But the units are tiny and the corridors are cramped.  The stairwells are dark and dirty.  Everyone was in so close proximity and the walls were so thin that privacy was practically non-existent.  While we were participating in the prayer ceremony, we could hear the neighbors cheering on the national soccer team whose game with rivals Singapore was being telecasted on the TV.

The main prayer ceremony took place in M’s small hall which could only accommodate about 20 people standing packed like sardines around the priest  who sat in a lotus position in front of an altar.  Another 10-15 peered in from the narrow corridor outside the flat and another 30 well wishers sat near a modest offering of food and refreshments that had been placed near the stairwell.  Unlike the flats in Singapore which have a communal hall in each block for residents to use for such occasions, these flats do not have such facilities.

I was very conspicuously out of place.  Firstly, every body else present was of Indian descent; very dark skinned.  Despite my recent attempts at a tan, I was whiter than Snow White by contrast (or should I have said, Prince Charming?).  Next, with the exception of M’s eldest son, I stood a full head and shoulders over everyone.  Almost all of them knew very little English and while they could speak Malay, the national language, most chose to use their mother tongue, Tamil.  Hence, my conversations were limited to polite chatter about the food and the weather.

The weather! Despite the rain, it was stuffy and humid and I stood out again cause I was sweating like a pig whereas, the rest were quite used to the conditions and were perspiration free. (Actually, do pigs sweat a lot?  Just wondering where the saying comes from.)

So to summarize, I was white, tall, sweaty, non-Tamil speaking and clearly not from the hood.

Anyway, the reason for this rambling post is that it was a reminder to me how much the gulf between worlds of the rich and poor in Malaysia has widened.

Don’t get me wrong.  I have seen abject poverty; families living in wooden shacks with leaking roofs, rotting floorboards and in real danger of collapsing.  M is not poor.  He is in the lower income group.  He has worked hard.  His children have all done better than he has in terms of better paying jobs.  He would be proud of his achievements.  But this is what gets me.  He deserves to be living in better conditions than this urban and concrete monstrosity.  I feel he had more space, had more privacy, a cooler environment and a more lively and caring community when all he had was a squatter hut.

I am ashamed to say that I was quite fearful for my safety as I left the flat that night.  It felt like I was on the radar of every predatory gangster as I walked along the poorly lit path back to my car.

This wasn’t always the case.  I remember that when I was growing up, the gap between the rich and poor was not so wide.  I had childhood friends from every tier of society.  I had friends who lived in palatial homes full of marble and rosewood furniture.  I had friends whose mothers would treat us to cake and imported chocolates when we visited.  I also had friends who lived in dark dingy spaces above sundry shops in old pre-war buildings in the centre of town.  Dark and dingy but yet I remember them as cool and welcoming too.  I also had friends who lived in tiny pigeon hole flats but there was much more community spirit in those days.  Why, one childhood highlight was to visit one such friend during Chinese New Year and take part in a fireworks war where we shoot off rockets at other schoolmates who live in the block of flats opposite.  One day, we would visit someone and play with his drum set and the next we would visit someone else and catch tadpoles in the drain behind his shack.

In those days, being rich did not make you separate from the rest of society.  You may build a big mansion but it would still be found in the same neighbourhood with everyone else.  You may be rich but back then you still did your marketing in the same neighbourhood wet market or at the same sundry shop.  You may be rich but everyone enjoyed sipping coffee in a traditional Chinese coffee shop.

In contrast, today, the rich seclude themselves behind security walls and gated communities and the poor are hidden in distant parts of town or behind colourful billboards and hoardings.  The rich today have abandoned the wet market and shop only in high end supermarkets and complexes.  The coffee shop has been abandoned in favour of Starbucks and CoffeeBean.  Their children are now enrolled in private schools where everyone is from some shade of wealthy.

And so, many of the rich have no idea what life is on the other side of the tracks.  Like me, I think we need to go there and be reminded that life is about much more than just money in the bank.

For M, his daughter leaves behind a young son (his father died in a road accident before he was born) and despite M’s advanced age, he may have to keep on working to help raise the boy.    His struggle continues  but so does his joy for he has done much with his life with what he has been given.

Teen Speak

In the last post, I mentioned that I shared teaching duties at a Christian Youth Camp with my friend, Michael.  I handled the topics of “Freedom” and “Self-Esteem”.  I tried my best to engage the young people by asking questions, getting their opinions and making it interactive as much as possible.  I thought that I held their attention and did quite well.

At least, that was what I thought until I witnessed Michael in action.  Boy, he connected with them on a whole different level and believe me, I was taking notes.  One thing that he did was to single out some of the more popular kids, and then use their names in stories to illustrate his point.  That was brilliant!  Talking about some generic teenager having boy-girl problems seem so academic but to say that “Steve” was having an argument with “Jane” gets their attention and makes the story come to life with their points of references.

Like Michael, I tried to use pop culture references to connect with the young people too but I found my pop culture references were too out of date.   I think I used one of Christina Aguilera‘s song to illustrate a point but I think she’s already too ancient for this hip crowd.  Michael on the other hand told a football joke to illustrate the point of how following natural instincts isn’t always the right thing to do which was brilliant as 90% of the teen boys play football. (click here for football joke).

Twilight as a Teaching Aid

I used a clip from the movie “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and Mike made reference to the Twilight Series.  Guess which got a better response from the teens?

Well, I learned a lot from Mike and I will try harder the next time to connect with my teen audience.  Now, I teach adults and late teens very well and have done so both at church and at University.  I also get on very well with young children although the reason eludes me as I feel out of sorts with them.

But I have difficulty relating with teens and as I thought about it, I realised it may be because I was never the typical teen either.

Remembering my own teenage years, I played basketball when most of my friends played football or badminton.  While they grooved to the sounds of Abba, Electric Light Orchestra and Chicago, I was swinging to the jazz greats of Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee and Lois Armstrong.    While most kids decorated their rooms with posters of their music or Hollywood idols, my room was bare.  I was also the nerd that played chess and volunteered to take care of the class noticeboard.

I wanted to take part in the scouts but my mom never forgot how scouts in South East Asia were sent to the frontlines to help the regular soldiers during World War Two and forbade me from joining and so out of my circle of friends, I was the only one who was not in the scouts or the St. John’s Ambulance Brigade.

I sang in the choir which was not the cool thing to do in my school. All the popular kids joined the marching band.    We all cheered the athletics team but no  one bothered that much with the Debating Team and of course, I belonged to the latter.  I was also one of a handful to try fencing which was incredibly rare in Malaysia then and even now.

I was somehow out of sync with most of my friends all through my teens.  Maybe having never been a normal teen, I still find it difficult to relate to teenagers today.

Spiritual Highs

As you may know, I was away attending a Christian Youth Camp about 2 weeks ago.  I had agreed to share the teaching duties with my friend, Michael and so I found myself amongst a group of about 45 teenagers.

This Is Where We Stayed

The camp was held in a small fishermen’s village located on the coast about 10 km from the town of Kuantan.  This area has some great beaches but ours was not so much.

Our Beach Was The Not So Nice One Next To This

The programme was exhausting. The typical day starts at 7 am when campers are encouraged to do some morning exercise like a run along the beach.  That is followed with breakfast, an hour of singing and group games, an hour talk, an hour of group discussion, lunch, a short break, an hour of indoor games, another talk, another group discussion, an hour of football, an hour at the beach, dinner, more group games, talentime and skits until 11 in the evening.  They kept up the frantic pace for the three days but there were some tired souls by the end of camp.

Some of the Young People

I spoke to them on two topics; freedom and self-esteem.  My colleague spoke on “boy-girl relationships” and he ended the camp with a powerful session of personal sharing and the gospel message.  Some non-Christians responded by wanting to know more about the Good News.  We were also blessed as we witnessed 4 young people share their testimony of faith in Jesus Christ and were later baptised in the sea (although they had to walk a long way out as it was low tide).

This Young Lady Is Giving Her Testimony Before Being Baptised

Among the many activities, one of the highlights was when the campers made rocket ships out of plastic bottles.  These ships were then launched from a special apparatus with a little bit of help from some water and pressurised air.  Surprisingly, after a few false starts, we had a few rockets reach up to about 15 m in the air and traveled as far as some 150 m distant.

Houston, We Have a Problem

It took many shots before I got this one which captures a rocket in flight soon after lift-off.  Two important lessons I learned from camp was that God is Good for all generations and that I am not young anymore.  I needed some serious R & R after this camp.

Houston, We Have Lift Off!!!!

 

Schnitzel, Beer and Peace

Another “Blast from the Past” type post and this one actually continues from the post “Barter Trade“.

It was 1983 and I spent that summer backpacking and train jumping through Europe.  I had traveled as far north as Bergen, Norway and  as far east as Plitvice Lakes in the then Yugoslavia.  Now returning from Yugoslavia, I made my way to Vienna and Salzburg in Austria.  On the train, I met up with Kate, an Aussie “sheila” (Aussie slang for “woman/girl”) who was also traveling alone.

Our timing was not great though.  Pope John Paul II was due to visit Vienna on a four day trip starting on the 10th of September.  Although we were there almost a week ahead, accommodation of all types were already hard to find due to the large influx of Catholic faithful and pilgrims.  In fact the first morning there was spent entirely on trying to find accommodation for the next three days.  In the end, we had to stay in different places on each of those days, moving from one place to another.  The one positive thing was that in the midst of the accommodation hunting, we hooked up with Gai, another Aussie Sheila.

And so we spent most of the next three days exploring Vienna as an unlikely trio.  We made a good team. Kate could be counted on to find great shopping, Gai was an expert at finding coffee and cakes and I was the only one who could actually read a map and navigate to the sights.

Still, it was sometimes the case of the blind leading the blind.  One evening, after sight seeing, we found ourselves in a working class part of town and with the intent of escaping the tourist traps and finding “authentic” Vienna, we ended up in one we surmised to be the local “dive”.  It was a sort of neighborhood pub that also served traditional Austrian food like the famous Vienna Schnitzel (an escalope of veal or pork which is covered with breadcrumbs and fried).

Anyway, we were enjoying our meal and quaffing our local beers and although some of the crowd in the bar looked a bit rough and ready, they kept to themselves and did not bother us.  Of course, I wasn’t expecting anyone to bother me but it would not have been unforeseen for someone to hit on my two attractive traveling companions.

What was totally unforeseen however was what happened next.  An elderly man got up from where he had been sitting alone.  He looked frail and very dependent on his walking stick for support.  Yet when he came near our table, he seemed to be empowered with excitement and fervour and proceeded to use his heavy wooden walking stick to prod me in the ribs.  At the same time, his eyes seem bright with passion as he asked us in a surprisingly strong voice, “Hitler …… gud,ya!?!?”

I was shocked by the walking stick in my ribs and further confused by what he had said.  Was he asking a question or making a statement?  My first natural reaction was to look blankly like a squirrel caught in the headlights of a car.  He persisted with another painful nudge in my ribs.  He stood there quivering with emotion and asked in a louder but cracked voice, “Hitler ……GUD, ya!?!”

The girls kept quiet and so it was left to me to respond.  I looked around the bar, there were a lot of large, Teutonic giants looking back at us.  It was 1983.  The Second World War had ended 38 years ago.  Nazism was a thing of the past, right?  Yet, sitting there in that bar, it did not feel so.  I felt like a dumb lamb in a den of wolves.

Not being the hero type ……..uh, I mean  to say that I was not willing to endanger my female companions.  Yes, that’s what I mean.  Yeah.  Anyway, I decided to take the Chamberlain approach and made a wishy-washy gesture of appeasement.  I looked the old codger in the eye  and bravely said, “Hitler ……sometimes good but sometimes bad.”

Yes, yes, I know.  What a cowardly cop out but I wasn’t up to having my head bashed in.  Anyway, the man just stood there looking at us as we hurriedly paid our bills and scooted out of that establishment into the relative safety of the dark streets.

Until now I am uncertain if that man was truly a fervent Nazi supporter or was he just testing us or was he just a screw loose.  I’d like to think that a minute after we skedaddled out of there, the whole bar burst out in laughter and congratulated  Old Kurt for playing that practical joke on yet another gang of gullible tourists.  Perhaps behind the bar or on the men’s room door, another stick man is etched into the wood.  Just a couple more and Old Kurt would have shot down twenty tourists.

Kate Doing the Tourist Thing on the Steps of the Belvedere Gallery

The View of Belvedere Gardens that Kate was Trying to Take

A Traditional Bavarian Family Outing on a Sunday

Pretty Bavarian Girls in Traditional Outfits