Siminul Win

First of all, well done to my still serving fighter pilot brethren for a stellar ground attack in Lahad Datu.

 

For the ongoing military operations, may my brothers in arms have courage, as we have courage in you.

 

And it appears that I have not only been exposed but also other blogs have verbatimmed my earlier post and I have been slammed for what I have said. Yes, I shall lose sleep over this!!

 

Amongst what has been hurled:

Bagaimana nak jawap ni?
Nobody is criticising the ATM.
We are angry our ATM are being put at unnecessary risk because of the prevailing stupidity of the PM and HM. Habis cerita. Bila GE nanti kita ABU!

 

and:

I tak faham what this guy is screaming about. So does it mean that we can continue to have a useless government who does not care two hoots of Sabah' borders, yes and to go on issuing ICs to these philipino migrants just becos it is all in the name of Muslim brotherhood, and that they are welcomed to stay in Lahad Datu.. blah2? So we can't criticize the manner in which the episode is being handled and that whatever silly decisions the present ruling government makes, we have to go along? And then we are family? Crap!

 

In the first instance I write on my own blog for my own pleasure and not yours. I seek no consensus nor affirmation. I know full well that I am no Raja Petra with hits in the hundreds per post. LOL!! Nobody read my blog for 5 years and nobody gave a damn. Kinda nice really :)

One of the failings of the internet age is that instead of liberating fertile opinion, it has bred opinionism. The anonymity and impunity of the net allows you to criticise all and sundry, over matters that are not under your control. Sometimes this is great. Other times it is brainless. I admit it serves as self therapy but for most times it remains as self indulgent hand relief. And decisions on territorial sovereignty is a field not open to Joe and Jane Public. Period.

Claimed proprietorship of common sense in questioning the government may be made on the common street, but not along the private chambers where difficult decisions are made. Such decisions are not on your shoulder and yelp as you may here, you have no influence on the outcome whether for victory or for defeat.

But there are those who have no choice but to obey. They bear a burden beyond what you can fathom and they do it even if they feel the way you do about the government. That is where boys are separated from men.

 

It is bad enough that both sides of the political haggling will be exploiting this episode for their own political buoyancy and survival, without those on the sidelines who have no intent in becoming part of the solution volunteering unwarranted comment and contributing to the problem. What makes it worse, especially for armchair generals and politicans alike, is that no matter what we see in the government, they cannot be denied looking good at how their servants have handled the situation on the ground. Much to your chagrin perhaps, but see what yapping does?? Whom do you think you are impressing? What a bunch of reality show couch potatoes!

 

The wonderful thing about a crisis is that we get to see who really loves this land. The charlatans come crawling  out like roach nymphs from the decaying woodwork.

 

What errors may have been committed in the fog of war have been committed. Poor information makes for inaccurate decisions, but it is not unusual in war. Don't you know whom the first casualty of war is?? But laying your hand at the plough and looking backward makes for a very crooked furrow in the land you intend to sow and harvest.  Yet the leaders have reconstituted, and so legitimised their actions that not a single nation under the UN has batted an eyelid over the application of force, especially the elected government of the Philippines.

 

To the uninformed, all war, conventional or counter-insurgency, is as much hardware driven as information augmented. There will be psychological operations through the falsification of information. Indeed, terrorists are called that because they strike terror, not fear, by the ugliness they leave behind them as they move.

 

In that same vein, the spewing of dissent in the media, mainstream or alternative, aids the enemy. Knowing you do not support your elected leaders in a time of national crisis is the very boost of morale to their illegitimate cause that they seek without sweating out a victory on the battlefield. In short, you are unwittingly or deliberately, presenting yourself as a traitor just on the basis of your poor taste in airing your graces and deranged sense of timing.

 

The time for chastising those whom you feel are less qualified than you in leading this operation will come, but it is not this day You can have your devalued two cents worth for unedited publishing later when the dust is settled, but it is not this day. Today we must stand as one. Else the cost will be more than your deluded rantings can salvage.

 

Those who are legally trained understand the need for restraint on public comment over a trial still under deliberation. I do not plead that you accord the same respect over a very trying time for all Malaysians. That is if you believe that in these times there is something bigger at hand than your own sentiments, and that is to stand together with your elected leaders for whatever outcome this may bring; that is if you actually believe in this country at all. We are on the same boat. You can stand with your captain and try to keep the ship afloat, or you can jump off like a hoarde of rats. Your choice reflects your allegience.

I have said my piece. I do not seek to convert the inconvertible who insist on so much while contributing little.

In the end when all falls to dust it is those whom you condemn who will have to watch your sorry asses.

Just sayin'.

You Are Not Family

I have often been asked if I miss being in the air force. This is is a rather popular question, and one even I have foolishly asked when mingling with some senior officers on the brink of retirement. The universal answer was always, yes, and when followed with what it was they missed the answer was always comradeship.

 

I do not miss the comradeship. I have discovered that come any street, I have the ability to make friends. And friends will do what friends do, in service or out in civvy street. That's an entire different  argument there.

 

The point is, it isn't the comradeship that I miss.

 

It's the involvement.

 

Everyone thinks they have heard all there is to hear about Lahad Datu. And God be my witness, I wish I were right there to do something about it. If they called me now, I would be there yesterday bearing arms.

 

I have really had it with the rubbish that has been spewed in the alternative media, where even facebook has not been spared.

 

How easy it is to condemn and criticise the working man, whether soldier or policeman on the ground, over your dissatisfactions with the establishment. How simplistic it is to draft the unfounded analogous parallel to an intruder into your home, when you haven't accounted for turning on the lights and finding your cousin staring back at your baseball bat at the ready to bludgeon his head. How horribly obscene it is to make all this a racial episode, forgetting that all races have died in service to King and country, as easily overlooked that it was not just one race that took up the armed communist struggle in our rainforests. Worst of all, it is an outrage that anyone, individual and entity alike, should look so poorly upon the lives that were taken in the shootout at Lahad Datu by milking it for illicit political mileage.

 

The kind of remarks that have been passed in the alternative media has made me feel that a great many of us perhaps deserve less than what we claim we are entitled to in a transparent and graft-free government.

 

From the comfort of your air conditioned homes and plush offices, you would pose as the intellectual authority on how the police are supposed to handle this quagmire of a crisis. Your gleaning of a few lurid misadventures when you have  brushed with them from the wrong side of the law does not equate to an intimate knowledge of their modus operandi.

 

What recent events have unearthed is a hoarde of the ugliest Malaysian attitudes I have had the displeasure to read. If this is any shade of colour on the civic consciousness litmus, the singular conclusion must be that we are not ready for public opinion to be a driving force for government policy.

 

When do you think that you were made entitled to disclosure of military manouvres? When you survived Outward Bound School?

 

Everything in the military runs on a security classification. Even the "UNCLASSED" documents are for internal reading only. While you are so reluctant to serve, and discourage anyone who shows an interest in becoming a soldier, you think you can fathom the details of who should handle what in such an intricate crisis?

 

There are some professions you have no right to pass judgement on unless you have given your blood into them, soldiering being high on that heirarchy. You're not of the fraternity, so forever hold your piece! You are not family!!

 

Those who slurred at the armed forces as being good only for butt-wriggling exercises have exposed their intelligence for what it is: the myopic inability to discern between a serving soldier bound by discipline, and a retired veteran's group which isn't. Do you know how stupid you sound to those of us from the profession of arms??

Those who charge that our armed forces are low on training and experience should conduct better research instead of infusing beer and conspiracy novels as sources of military intelligence.

You cannot legitimise military action in a civil area unless it has been declared as no man's land and hostilities have been announced. The Malaysian Armed Forces is a highly trained organisation sought after by the UN from our days in conflicts in Congo, Cambodia, Bosnia, the Middle East and the volatile Eritrea. We have officers who have single handedly slaughtered a truckload of Mogadishu warlords on the verge of slaying women and children; we have officers who managed to apply escape and evasion tactics after abduction and torture at the hands of Sierra Leone bandits, veterans of the communist insurgency, and a collective of several decades of service in humanitarian aid and disaster relief areas. They know the legal complications of using military options as a first resort, the implications of having to be bound by the Laws Of Armed Conflict and the Geneva Convention. Indeed, those very laws were manipulated and violated in order to draw our secuirty forces into the killing zone when the intruders waved the white flag as a prelude to gunning our boys down. You just cannot deal summarily with this viscous situation.

I do not envy the position of our governing politicans now because it is such a delicate situation yet they know they are damned if they do and damned if they don't. While they may have bungled during times of civil dissent, these shades of incompetence do not validate the widespread claims by Joe Public that Joe Public has a better grasp on the burden of responsibility replete with the tactical and strategic weildings to make this work and that therefore the various ministers attempting to unravel this mess should resign. Joe, you are indeed laughable because in your self-inflicted significance and stupor you intend to hold the backdoor open for someone holding public office to run off before the assembly of the full orchestra can take place. Do this only if you can close the door and occupy the emptied seat.

 

The Royal Malaysian Police have given their lives to guard your homes in the Lahad Datu stand-off.

 

As the episode has yet to conclude, it is not known yet how many more lives will be lost.

 

But as policemen and soldiers get their orders to move into the area, those orders are obeyed in the face of death. They have no choice. They have always known this and they march into battle when their time arrives.

 

Do not even begin to justify the cost of their lives with the taxes you pay or the job they have undertaken. Nothing you pare out of your ill-gotten gains can pay off the widows and orphans trailing in the wake of those who have done what you can choose not to do. No amount of intellectualisation will ever raise you to the level of sacredity they attain for knowingly going, without a backward glance, especially on behalf of those who scoff at them.

 

Therefore, since you have neither the inclination to take up a gun and work with others by placing your life in their hands and defending their lives with yours, nor the spirit to run for office and face being blamed by your own breed, leave those who have the dirty work to do what dirty work there is.

 

As far as I can see, you have begun by your crescendo of Crucify them!! Crucify them!! only to be followed by Hossana!! Hossana!! when your barking has been choked in your throat when met with the blood of those whom you condemn.

 

I tell you verily, this makes you nothing more than a brood of vipers.

Road Trips, Ballads and Armchair Generals

Retail therapy for cyclists is a coordinated suit

As the calendar turns, Christmas has drawn on towards Chinese New Year. I have been clocking on the miles with the Elantra. As I normally drive Ethan back after he has bussed his way up, it appears that with each trip, I get stuck on a new ballad or pop song.

 

For Christmas it was Maroon Five's One More Night. A sudden trip to meet up with old buddies had me listening to REM's Losing My Religion on the repeat loop. Then when sending Ethan back after Chinese New Year, it was Billy Joel's Vienna. I have nobody to annoy, and my OCD can have me repeating the track till I get the lyrics corrected, or at least in as far as in-car-audio will allow me to.

The Fuji tethered at the watering trough while I go to the saloon for a..coffee

 

But digressions aside, for the past 3 months I have been rather indulgent with retail therapy over my little vices. Being jobless begs an escape from  sheer boredom, and not to denounce Kerteh, but even in a place as Spartan as this, I have managed to run up the bills. They were, though, in my defense, healthy indulgences, such as cycling jerseys and other knick-knacks for the new Fuji.

The EC225 and her stablemate Sikorsky 76

 

However, the honeymoon cannot last forever, and it appears to be coming to its end not a day too soon. Three of us pure EC225 copilots who have had no previous experience on the other stablemates of the company have just completed 3 days of ground school for the Super Puma L2. Next will be the type technical exam at DCA, followed by the C of T. Soon after I should be operational for offshore flying. Eurocopter has said that the EC225 will be flying by April, but have not come out of the closet with the cause of the May and October ditchings of 2012, and Exxon has been firm about not allowing their clients to board the EC225 till full disclosure and rectification, of the root cause is seen to. This stalemate means that we EC225 fellows will have to convert to the predecessor in  order to not go to rot, and thereby make ourselves worthy of our monthly salt.

 

As an idle pilot, apart from my cash-absorbent but wholly therapeutic indulgences, I loiter at political blogs. I do not take this as a means of knowing the truth, because judging from the content of the articles in the "alternative media", these websites are no more journalistic than any other form of the mainstream, but they do provide what we all seek: an alternative to controlled media. To be fair, it is not so much the journalists that I abhor, as to be real journalists, they merely report what occurs as fairly as their flavours allow. It is the commentors though who are a completely mired kettle of fish.

 

Virtually every single one of them wants to forward a conspiracy theory. Were these logically and intelligently drafted, they would at least make for a good bowel-moving read. What gets published instead of the desirous writings is a bloodletting and condemnation of all the institutions of government in vainglorious attempt at pseudo-intellectuality, basking in the afterglow of a Pyrrhic victory. And none more do they like to take a swipe at than the military. Which rouses my ire instantly.

Air-chauffering the 3-star on a visit to all the anti-piracy radar sites on the east coast of Sabah

 

The recent incursion at Lahad Datu is a case in point. The alternative media did spill it out in teasing doses with the effect that the general public came back spewing outrage with a passion that leaves the Ms Bhavani's Listen Listen Listen episode dumbfoundingly eclipsed.

 

Most of these baying mongrels cannot tell the difference between a policeman and a soldier, let alone demarcate their varying jurisdiction and channels of authority. There was universal condemning of all purchased military hardware and serving men and women as having slept on the job after consuming a salary coming from the taxes that they pay. One would be so convinced that these armchair Generals had paid our soldiers, sailors and airmen personally at the frontline out of their own pockets.

Serving the country by way of operations over Sabah

 

Really, guys, you do not know exactly where your tax ringgit have gone, and whatever goes into a soldier's salary does not come close to justifying lives that are on the line beyond the proportion that any salary can compensate. In all reality taxes paying the soldiers' salary is the cleanest manner of disbursing your tax ringgit compared to all else that transpires.

 

Formation flight over the wetlands of Bongawan

Remarks such as these only serve to give the picture that they are conceived by a generation of spoilt brats who have either grown up on the ill-paid labours of maids, or paid maids to do a job that they would not, and therefore surmise that money can buy a person's will, pay for human life and even substitute good character. The fact that all soldiers also pay taxes eludes them, and they have grossly overlooked the fact that you cannot exhort someone to 'do the job and don't makan gaji buta' when you do not know what their job is, are not qualified to lead them and even less, do not share their training, qualifications and wordless obedience to directives no matter how they feel about their orders coming from the ruling government.

Low level flight from SiAmil to Semporna, 30 feet from sea level at 120 knots

 

The intricacies of Sabah's mysterious background is a result of centuries of watermanship along very porous coastlines. Having flown over these areas at heights so low only a fisherman would have spotted me at speeds that would have made him jump out of his skin, I know as well as anyone else who works these borders how easily penetrable they are. There just isn't enough hardware and skilled personnel to cover the miles of coast, and this is compounded by the state's, nay, the country's extensive coastline as an immense littoral state. Incursions into the east coast especially, have been taking place for as far back as when I was a schoolkid in KK anytime the Moros needed to outsource their recruitment. These exercises are nothing new, but pseudo-Generals express outrage as if this were a problem that the army was not already contending with.

Nose down for a towering take-off

 

In the late 90's when the 5th Infantry Brigade mooted redeployment away from the coastal islands, the village heads pleaded with the Field Commander not to as the infantry dug into the islands served as the only buffer against the frequency of pirates raiding the villages. Well, I did sit in at the lunches and listened to them entreat the Field Commander, as I was flying him on the tour. Yes, the army brass relented. No withdrawal took place and the status quo reigned till the Moros decided to elevate their enterprise to the international level in 2001 with the abduction at Padanan-Sipadan to the embarassment of the local cops. Now the military is used as reinforcement of the police in Ops PASIR ( Padanan-Sipadan Island Resort), but one must bear in mind that the military does not lead the neutralisation of domestic threat. They have other primary duties. You just cannot militarise a civilian area unless a declaration of hostilities has taken place, when civil law then is superceded by wartime rules of engagement.

Moi, doing a troop changeover at Seliku

 

The comments section on the alternative media, apart from slurring the security forces, called for a cessation to negotiations and that the splinter troops be shot dead. Brilliant aren't they? This is neither Hollywood nor is it a situation where we can take the High Noon posture of gunboat diplomacy that Globocop would prescribe. So much water has passed beneath this bridge that we cannot take the option of burning it behind us. And as sullied hands are at work, resolutions are a delicate affair. Assigning blame at this juncture is a fool's paradisical relish, for some of us inherit a mess not of our making yet we have to unravel it for everybody's sake.

 

To the armchair Generals, I would say, let those who are yoked with the job, do what they must, unfettered. If you feel you can do it better, sign your name where it matters and take up a gun. Either way, your rants do not inspire confidence that you would know which way to get seated on a commode let alone resolve this country's myriad and intricate crises.

A Full Table

'Twas a good table, 'twas!

All I could say on that grey morning of 22 Dec as I walked out to the dispersal was "Hi there gorgeous!!"

 

It had been more than a month since I last had control of the aircraft, and the ground confinement was beginning to inflict its own kind of cabin fever. Therefore I was grateful indeed to be called in for a flight test, and with that to wedge in my last flight for the year. It's more than most EC225 pilots can ask for of late due to the circumstances.





Hello there 9M-SPF!!



The requirement was for a flight test, for the HUMS device. 40 minutes of airborne time inclusive of maximum continuous power level flights were needed to get the HUMS analyses running. It had been a while since I had looked upon the face of the east coast from the air. It was a cloudy day, swift carpets flying in laden with rain, normally scattering precipitation over the range and into the Klang valley, but these were the incipients of the monsoon that would send Kuantan into its worst floods in 20 years.

Through the veil of mists, mother earth shows her face

There were many other helicopters in the air that morning. Since the company was not flying clients, our rival company across the tarmac had to work four times as  hard, and the traffic density reflected this quadrupled effort. I listened to the familiar sounds of departure calls from the pilots and the voice of the air traffic controller providing separation whilst accounting for our aircraft tracking the coastal route to Dungun at 2000 feet. His instruction to us was to remain over the land whilst the rest of the boys headed offshore, simplifying the separation process, and I reassured him that we would keep feet dry.



Gazing towards Dungun and a rain-swept shoreline

After establishing our location at Dungun at 2000 feet, I made the position report to the tower controller. Looking at the clock, I quipped to the captain that we had at least 20 minutes in the area to burn for the flight test. We adhered to the flight test profile, alternating between 100 knots and maximum continuous power, punching in the HUMS to record the flight regime conditions accordingly.

Penerak

On a coastal route with that much time on our hands, I kept an eye on the Distance Measuring Equipment from Kerteh, to make sure we didn't stray out of the zone boundary at which we would come under Kuala Terengganu approach control. As we approached the 25-nautical mile mark, looking down, I saw Penerak for the first time since I joined the company. It was an airstrip, used as a reporting point between controlling authorities for the handing over and taking over control of aircraft. It has been used by various armed forces in joint training especially under the Exercise Bersatu Padu, but from the air it looked pretty disused, somewhat the way the Kuala  Penyu airstrip looks.



Sandbars enfringing the coast

Eventually our flight time was satisfied and I was given control of the aircraft for the approach to land. I noticed that I was not as tense as usual, even though I bore in mind the nature of this French machine as a less than willing partner than an American aircraft. As I completed the paperwork, I realised that this would be my final logbook entry for 2012. With Christmas on the horizon and predicted dates for the EC225 to be back on line being mid February, that closing thought was pretty much conclusive.



No chestnuts. Sigh....but there's  lamb!!!!

Christmas itself was a novel event. I had foreseen the usual, as we had done last year. A mundane attendance at mass. A sermon to pay no attention to. A drive to Kijal and its non eventful restaurants, with its unexciting menu at hand. But as it turned out, Christmas was to involve more than just the family.



Support your barbequeue Chef!! Pour him a Drambuie neat on the rocks!!

Mum-in-law was down, and so was Ethan on his Christmas break from the foundation course. Even though in the past, weeks of choir practice and a rousing midnight mass was what lent us the Christmas spirit, this diasporadic Catholic existence in Dungun made me consider that the spirit was to be sought elseways.

Thrills at the Grille

The visit from Father GT was a sure ripple in the monotony. He brought along a guest whom we had seen in our Dungun shoplot church, and well, we got to know her. We had a home-cooked lunch, and as I looked around the table where we nine were seated, I realised that I shouldn't have so foolishly pre-empted God's ability to turn a day around on its head. Brenda's own table was one that could only be described with words of satiety. Which was all good as Tina, Father GT's guest did invite us for a dinner following Christmas mass at Dungun. Which in turn was good because she and her mother, Mrs Gomes turned out a table so good that one would forget the existence of the various Arabic restaurants along the east coast. The Indian ginger pickles continuously called my name, and toasting after dinner with ginger wine warmed the belly as decently as any hearth could.

And he called for his pipe and he called for his bowl...

Then there was Christmas night itself, when two workmates and one parishioner dropped by armed with a bottle of red each. They stepped into the house and started on the hummus and celery while I fanned the barbie coals to embers before grilling loads of beef and lamb to succulent perfection for a loud and cheery dinner.

And they brought unto him gold, frankincense and myrrh

In all this, wouldn't I want to share good cheer with more of my friends? It is a day when frailty and humility was the choice of the supreme power of the universe, to befriend creation's most recalcitrant breed.

 

Would I not seek to bridge what gaps there may be? Indeed should I not??

  

Yet it is at this time of the year that the mouthpieces of the executive should seek to injure all and any manifestation of goodwill. We are not to be wished Merry Christmas. It is haram. Such edicts are no more God-ordained than the intent that drove the slaying of babies after Christ's birth in the hope of wiping Him out in the process: that innocent good is a mere pawn in the hands of those who wield power and authority.

  

I am speaking not against anyone, but speaking up for my friends across the faith divide. I was not deprived in any way, of Christmas wishes from my friends whatever  faith they professed.

  

For this, I thank you. What you do represents the way you believe your Creator to be. And come to think of it, just as was described in the Gospel of Matthew that the infant Jesus survived Herod's infanticide, the good we harbour shall survive the evil that is inflicted upon us.

  

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year my friends. May your days ahead be blessed.

Thin And Fat Again-A Hobbit's Song

The Hobbit is finally out!!

It is no secret that I am a Tolkien fan. The Lord Of The Rings is wrought of a language laden with quotables, but for me the one closest to my heart is this:

Aragorn: Gentlemen! We do not stop 'til nightfall.
Pippin: But what about breakfast?
Aragorn: You've already had it.
Pippin: We've had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?
Aragorn stares at him, then walks off.
Merry: Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.
Pippin: What about elevensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?
Merry: I wouldn't count on it Pip.

For I too, have gained my sillhouette from religious submission to a hobbit's mealtimes. And thence, do I finally find relevance in Adam Levine's lyrics. Perhaps the lipstick bit doesn't mesh perfectly, but for every other rhyme, the resonance is harmonious and most meaningful. There is an ongoing battle with weight, whereby the instruments of war are my Merida and the treadmill. So, in 21-platter salute to all those who struggle against that one last morsel, come on and anthem with me:

"One More Night"

You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war.
You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door.
You and I get so damn dysfunctional, we stopped keeping score.
You and I get sick, yeah, I know that we can't do this no more.

kl-flavours.blogspot

Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you.
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
Got you stuck on my body, on my body, like a tattoo.
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid, crawling back to you.

So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night


roommatespenang.com

Try to tell you "NO!!" but my body keeps on telling you "YES!!".
Try to tell you to "stop", but your lipstick got me so out of breath.
I'll be waking up in the morning, probably hating myself.
And I'll be waking up, feeling satisfied but guilty as hell.

Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you.
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
Got you stuck on my body, on my body, like a tattoo.
And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid, crawling back to you.

kl-flavours.blogspot

So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night

Yeah, baby, give me one more night
Yeah, baby, give me one more night
Yeah, baby, give me one more night

Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again making me love you.
Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go.
Got you stuck on my body, on my body like a tattoo.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

gillsrestaurant.com

So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night

So I cross my heart and I hope to die
That I'll only stay with you one more night
And I know I said it a million times
But I'll only stay with you one more night

Follies



Kellie's Castle in profile

I know that many people would say they want a job with no work to do and a decent enough pay packet to have a good time with.

 

Yeah, perhaps we all want a job that doesn't throw out our backs.

The lift tower

I am at present, rarely at work. I have nothing to do! I do not ask to be this way. It's anyone's guess that I would much rather be up in the air than be stuck on the ground.
 

Yes, there are times when even work gets to be this way. Utter doldrums, boundless limbo and I hear the clamourings of nonchalant optimism that we will be off the ground soon in a decibular battle against the industry prophets of doom who insist that the end is not yet in sight.



The Peoples' Car, with currently valid road tax!!!

I believe that this hiatus is granted to me for a reason. I know that when I am on the work cycle, days melt into each other in a seamless conglomerate of sectors, month-end summaries, check rides and days off. There is the hunt for a breather to work out the outstanding chores, repairs in waiting and the loyalty to a fitness programme that each day slips further out of enforcement's reach. Since the words of the prophets say that there is no end in sight, I proposed, unchallenged by recognisably violent objections, a road trip to Taiping.

And they were each assigned very hazardous duties

Now, I know that being on the east coast means we stand many hours away from Taiping, a rough figure of 7 hours' drive on the best of days. But it's the one place that seems to have slipped past as a touristy seaside resort or favourite holiday destination, therefore we would be circumnavigating those hordes that soil our beaches after the industrial effluents have. I did grow up partly in Taiping, for the first 3 years of education at least, and I remembered vaguely as it may be, a Zoological garden and a museum. The kind of people who plugged up her hotels the last time I checked on the occupancy rates would be the kind who sought history, as Taiping is a heritage town. So Taiping it was!

The front view of the castle, with Mammoiselle Rue on the bridge

Brenda had for some time, even from the days of our courtship on the saddle of a Suzuki, asked for a visit to Kellie's Castle. It was time to sniff out this location, as my daughters were agog with their mother's thrilling suggestion. As the 1.8 litre Nu engine was fired up on the gloom of Tuesday morning, the relic's destination was acquired on the GPS. 

The view must have been much better in Smith's time

We made Kellie's Castle at about 1400H, and looking at its structure, I felt immediate awe and respect for this man who laboured for the ones he loved amidst much tragedy. The castle was beautiful, set atop a knoll which in its time would have overlooked the lush countryside towards the west and the limestone bluffs of the silver state towards its eastern gaze, with the spine of the Titiwangsa as its backdrop.

The stairs to the upper rooms. Lovely wooden balustrade

As I strode through the corridors and looked upon the lifeless dressing-rooms and dining halls, I mused at what so enrapt Mr Smith so as to make him choose this place as his abode. You would not have set off on such a task as our own Taj Mahal on a whimsy and then take off back to Blighty.

The girls in Helen's room

This would have been a magnificient home. The estate was well-thought, with linen rooms, wine cellars, a rooftop courtyard for parties and underground and underwater tunnels so that the family could get to the Hindu temple Kellie Smith had built across the river in gratitude to the Hindu deity whom he believed blessed him with his long awaited son Anthony.

The Corridor

It is heartbreaking to follow the tragic story of this obviously successful planter's endeavour to build his family home which ended in ruin and abandon till the government takeover to mint its tourist potential. I concur that perhaps it should be seen to its opulent completion, and thereby set the Smith family's souls to eternal rest instead of  sentencing them to ceaselessly wander the corridors till kingdom come.

Down to the dungeon!!!

The next item was to shoot directly for Sentosa Villa. The hours were advancing well past lunchtime, and the sandwiches and grapes we had stuffed our faces with over the past seven hours would not hold indefinitely. We smacked into the middle of Taiping and I felt quite lost. I couldn't orient myself to figure out where the old bus-stop was, and realising that decades had past since I was here, I abandoned all thought of smart-assing my way to the good eateries.

The walkway through the Villa

Instead, we chanced a loop around the town's perplexing streets and spied an empty parking lot which turned out be right where a good kopitiam stood. Here we stopped to the encounter of smalltown-friendly staff and food that did not disappoint the impression given by the blackened interior decor. I am sure the locals would shred my appraisal to bits, but to a visitor, Prima served decent dishes for not too much dosh. With our hunger sated, we returned to the car and resumed faith in the voice navigation of Papago's baffling directions to Sentosa Villa.

I surmise that  Hyundai's "Fluidic Sculpture" has a lineage: the senior Elantra spotted outside Prima

The light in the sky was fading with the last sighings of evening as we finally checked in at Sentosa Villa. The air was laden with the enticing aroma of durians and jackfruits hanging from the trees, with trapeze nets suspended under them to safeguard the unwary. I was grateful that the management had thought of this, as I see a descending durian as more of a spiked anvil in freefall.

Ducks amidst the pandan

I love the place. Reasonably priced and tucked well away from the centre of town, the hotel sat close to the foothill of Maxwell. From the room we could gaze up at the rainclouds cascading down the slopes, here, at the wettest region in the country. Or, we could look  down at the grass pathways and watch the ducks and geese and turkeys quack and honk and gobble in daily business fashion as they waddled to and fro in their quaint surroundings.

Absolutely darling

There stood an air of serenity here, in the Villa. All around the hotel grounds, a stream ran, babbling cheerfully, aerating the still pools where various kinds of fish were being bred. There were walkways to invigorate the guests, uphill, downhill and always lush and green. The poultry walked about with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing nobody would hurt them. The grounds belonged to them as much as they did to the proprietor. The room was gorgeous too, carefully conceived as the place you bathe and set your head down to sleep. No fridge, no in-room broadband, small television, lovely shower and minimalist cabinetry. I am definitely staying here if ever I am in town next.

That is a mighty hunk of beef, but he has such sweet grey eyes

So the agenda over the next day was to make it to the zoo and the Perak Museum. Both destinations were preloaded on the GPS, so finding our way was a no-brainer. I do not personally love zoos. The reason for it was revisited upon me as we sat lazily in the safari train, and later, as we walked for a bit to look at the big cats and the gaur.

Antonio's endowed cousins

I always feel sad for the beasts, not so much just for the captivity, but more for their sad state of health. The ostriches had poor plumage, looking like they had been sitting in boiling water all day, nigh feathered for Rowan Atkinson's Christmas roasting. The camels looked as if they were begging to get shot, their hides all mangy like threadbare carpets, crouched so despiritedly on the ground as to be unable to muster up an insulting spit shot at passers-by. But the big cats were fun to watch, reminding us of Antonio 7 hours drive away, and how he would be contending with mean-spirited monkeys and unspayed (read as territorial) cats swarming his driveway.

And yes, here is Lopez De Squirrel doing the commando descent

As the one who suggested this hare-brained scheme of a roadtrip to Taiping, the girls decided to reward me with an Indian breakfast as the thought of the long drive home on Thursday morning made me ravenous the minute I woke up. And yes, I did in fact feel rewarded because the food at Annapurna was OMG sumptuous. Yes, perhaps the locals would draw my blood for saying that, but Indian food is Indian food for me. I would gobble it down by nosing in a trough if that were the way it presented itsef to me.

Redefining Sugar Loaf Hill

My girls will testify to the truth in that statement.

Frere Jacques, Dormez Vous?

There is an old air force barroom limmerick, apparently attributed to a Commanding Officer who used to say:

If the weather is not clear

Put the aircraft in the hangar

Report to the bar

And we'll all have a beer

It reminds me of times when following an aircraft incident or mishap, we would be stopped from flying pending investigations and declaration of airworthiness of the aircraft type affected, by the appropriate directorates.

 

The entire aviation world works in much the same way, be it civil or military, in the interest of flight safety and a zer0-accident rate. Therefore, following the incident of 22 Oct, albeit a safe controlled ditching in compliance with the aircrew checklist (ACL), we are still on a precautionary stop-flight order. In the military we would be milling 'round the crew room, gleaning gossip from our flight commanders and COs, slurping the tricklings of phone calls along with coffee to grain out whatever foggy prediction of the near future as such inconclusive indices would afford.

 

However, in civil flying, you do not simply show up for work unless called for. Turning up at work is a day's productivity allowance equivalent in money, which is not your entitlement unless your name is on the flying programme. While in this instance, the fleet grounding is no fault of the crew or company, and therefore we are still getting paid, we still can't loiter aimlessly at work. That dampened frequency of hobnobbing with those in the know, plus the looser comradeship, both thwart and dilute the gleaning process.

 

So, with the current climate of uncertainty, my flying suit has hung motionless over my bedroom door . I do not remember preparing my flying suit and yet not flying in a long time , not since leaving the air force. 

 

Which leads me to the matter of my oft-revived predicament that ever since the end of Ramadhan, my visits to Sundram's have been no more about scraping up a meal, but about indulgence while my exercise programme has slowly fallen to an indolent once in 5 days when I am on the 1300H muster. As a middle aged retiree with the dietary habits of a hobbit, it follows that this conflict of imperatives had rendered me being in need of an entirely new wardrobe as I slapped on the adipose with all the speed of a Dr David Banner metamorphosis.

 

Seeing that the aircraft are in the hangar even in the best weather, I have had good opportunity to catch up on cycling. My ears are still open for the contingency call from the ops room for a full ground run, as I cycle, but so far it's been quiet.

I am a cyclist, but not a thoroughbred avid one. Other than for that one time when I cycled 122km from Labuan to Kuala Penyu and back, I have not had the opportunity to do any really long-distance rides. Though I do love cycling, I do not hunt down jungle trails, and the word "technical" to me has to smack of circuitry, not roots and brooks and inclines. My typical ride is out the junction and down the road and back, typically a run of 28km. It serves my purpose for now. Lamenting the loss of a good group such as the one I had in KK is fruitless and a bit depressing, you know, always running back to better times and the notion of what-if-I-hadn't. I would love a 5-day a week, 30 to 40 km at a time kind of harmony with my work schedule. However, the realities of holding down a house, weather and work scheduling impede that love, so that in the end it's about giving that final bit of frustration shoehorned into the last, or perhaps the very first, few minutes of daylight before I have to be somewhere else at somebody else's behest.

 

Therefore, this hiatus in flying, unfair as it may appear to our competitors across the tarmac who have had to fly more in our stead, has been a welcome break to jump start a long neglected habit. Else by the fifth day, I would be feeling breathless from not cycling.
 

I expect that I shall do well indeed when my next medical examination comes along, and my physician will be very happy with me.
 

On the other hand, I am hoping to see in my e-mail, that I am scheduled for a real offshore sector, instead of "as required". It is not good for  the fleet to remain on ground indefinitely, and I have doubts that we could go on the long and expensive route of hardware change in order to get up in the air again. Furthermore, I really want to fly.

So, please, Frere Jacues, please wake up soon, and break the news that the grounding is lifted.

You're Grounded!!

We don't have it on our media.

 

But three days ago, a Super Puma EC225 ditched into the North Sea during an offshore operational flight. The above pic was taken from the UK's Daily Telegraph site.

 

As we are operating an aircraft of the same type, our own fleet has been grounded pending investigations and findings over the incident.

 

Well, for a non-swimmer bordering on hydrophobic such as I am, the above picture is most reassuring. I now know that the bloody beast floats!

A Shortcut To Mushrooms

 

Mushroom Cumulonimbus

When mushrooms clouds dominate the skyscape, you know the monsoon has arrived.

 

Clouds may look like marshmallow mountains, but they are an interesting  biological entity in their own right. From the ground they look pretty, and seem to be the soft-shelled Renaissance sculptures, edible images of our favourite trifles, or Megatron trucks.

 

Clouds though, are like living beings. They start small, cute. They grow. Evaporation and condensation raise the mists in vertcial winds called updrafts. Updrafts contribute to their growth. Internally the water droplets collide to form larger droplets. Above the freezing altitude levels, they morph into ice crystals, and the transition from supercooled water droplets into ice crystals make for larger crystals, all buoyed upon the stength of the updrafts as a function of what forces the air upward. So plunging into these marshmallows should not be equated to driving headlong into the thick mists along the KL-Kuantan East Coast Expressway.

The Rainy Shores

It has been a coquettish play this week, between wet grey mornings and irridiscent sunrises. Having the weather widget is no reliable index of foretelling the type of morning I face.

Brilliant Morning

Some of the early morning departures have been simply picturesque. A red sun rises, smoggy grey clouds being beaten away by his indefatigueable cheer. You could turn you head to look northward and see the coastline curl away in quaint Vespuccian perspective from Kerteh to Kuala Terengganu, were limits not imposed by Paka's contributions to the suspensions in the air just above the earth.

A Frontal Line

But as you venture away from terra firma, you can almost see inscribed upon the sky, like ripples upon a lake with the shoreline as the epycentre, cloud formations and frontal developments. And of course, mushroom clouds.

 

I do not know if it's just symptomatic of the weather, but one mushroom cloud I spotted was originating from the smoke plume of a rig's flare boom.



Posh Bali's plumage as seen from 8 miles away

I have not seen such a sight in bonny Semenanjung. The last time I saw such a phenomenon was when I was doing Bambi Bucket operations in Sabah, about the year 1999. Back then we were fighting the forest fires of both Sabah and Sarawak, taking the span of about 5 months and many detachments all over the state. I was still a beligerent copilot then, and on completion of my detachment at the Sabah Forestry HQ at Telupid, en route Labuan, we came across a peculiar sight between Keningau and Tenom, where a patch of burning forest liberated a column of smoke that sublimated into a cloud. I suppose that this is possible, should a particuarly strong thermal convection within the fire thrust the condensation nuclei made of ash and dust high enough, fast enough in a vertical updraft to allow its water vapour to become cloud. 

Posh Bali up close and Purrsonal alongside Trident 9

I wonder if similiar conditions existed over Posh Bali, a jack-up rig near Trident 9, to cause this visual curiosity . But the question is, yeah, the incipient monsoon freights moisture-laden air to our coasts for the rain spell, making cloud formation easier due to vapour saturation, but why only over Posh Bali does this manifestation occur? Why not the other rigs as well? I noticed it over the past few days, so it can't be the sudden convergence of all factors conducive to the formation of cloud from a flame everyday???

Coming Out Of The Dark

 

Back to the daily grind, as  you pick up passengers and off-load them and return to the mainland, the rings of cloud you had noticed earlier have now ballooned into a storm waiting to protect the coastline form your intrusions. Sometimes, dog-legging around the build-up seems like an exercise in futility as you turn the corner of one stormcloud only to be faced with the black-walled mushroom of another standing defiantly in your diversionary flight path. However, as passenger comfort is a priority, dog-legging is done when the weather radar indicates it as a profitable manouvre, and if pushing straight ahead is more prudent, taking back the speed several notches helps prevent the porpoising of the aircraft through the dark turbulence of a rainstorm.

 

But flying in the monsoon is rarely slamming into dark clouds from take-off, cruising in a quaking chopper and landing on the rig in a near-blinding storm. Rarely, only because I have been at this one year. However, even my training captain will concur, that the nastiest monsoon weather lies about 50 nautical miles from the coast. Before and beyond that, the weather is normally docile. Yes, the prevailing winds are carrying the rains to the mainland, and so yes, we will have coastal and overland rains. But you get the picture, that the severity of floods here is a function of the rainfall and relief, and not so much that it's a case of Noah revisited.

Mirrormare and a barge on tow

Therefore, if  you make it through the rain, you can come back home to the sight of a shimmering coast and fair-weather clouds reflected on a calm sea greeting you for turning up instead of turning away, as if turning away from shore was even an option. Such greetings are a welcome sight on any given day, more so days as bleak as these, lifting the mood as you seek the end of your work sector.

Long Finals Runway 34 and somewhere down there is home

It's a homecoming, I guess.