Memory Monday: Haiku Challenge day

Instead of Memory Monday- this will be Haiku day :)...maybe we can somehow mix the two....we'll see....

New beginnings start

farewells said, postcards written 

memories are made

 *memories is counted as three syllables--mem·o·ries
although not specifically about a season- it speaks of spring in the sense of a new beginning.

P.S. For those who want to know what the postcard says- you can either click on the picture and enlarge it- or read my transcription-
Dear Folks-
Just a line to let you know things are going as scheduled. We got up at 5 .15 am this morning so we could get to the airport on time. Taxi driver went a block out of his way to show us his house and some trees from which they make leis. We got one for Deb and one for Pam and took their pictures at the airport. Travel expenses in Honolulu were 7.00 for Taxi, 8.71 for room, 40 cents for Pepsis (4) .75 for stamp and postcards. Food is very delicious and we got plenty- this morning scrambled eggs- orange juice- milk- toasts- fresh pineapple. All our love- Fred, Margie, Deb & Pam
The card was written in September from Hawaii in 1955 when my parents were enroute to Singapore. My mom was two weeks away from delivering my elder brother- amazing that she made it on the long flight out without delivering on the plane!

4 Palm Grove Avenue, Singapore - 1960s

The Palm Grove Avenue house was so much more than a house. It sprawled out like one of the structures in a Gothic Novel. The large lawn area in front of the house accented the massive nature of the building set off to the back of the property. Under the drooping branches of the largest tree, children played and told stories of the 'Ghosts' which walked freely in the house and on the property.

Apparently these ghosts were the lingering spirits of those who had lost their lives in the building. If stories can be believed; the building had been used as one of the temporary headquarters for the invading Japanese army. Upstairs, in the round room, people were said to have been tortured and many beheaded. Whether these stories were true, I do not know, but the telling of them offered seed for many a bad dream and eeiry experience. :)

People who slept in the round room would wake up telling tales of figures walking through the room, being choked during the night or seeing crooked little men with lanterns leaping up to the windowsill and jumping out the window. The strange thing was most of these visitors had not heard the ghost stories before they experienced these things.

How can I describe what it was like to grow up in this mysterious place? The house for me was amazingly comfortable, despite the stories. After all, it was home for me from the time I was a new born baby til I was ten years old. And yet, the nooks and crannies, the long dark hallways, and the sweeping wooden staircase tantalized me with thoughts of 'what could be lurking.'

When I had to go upstairs to my father's office, I would stand at the bottom of the wooden staircase and take a deep breath and off I would dash, disappearing into the blackness. There was no stopping until I reached the top of the stairway and pounded vigorously on the huge door. I remember getting up to the top one day and pounding on the door and no one opened it. The round room peeked over my five year old shoulder; my little heart pounded its own frightened tune inside my tiny chest. The darkness moved in around me; my little fists pounded desperately on the large door. Mustering my last bit of courage, I spun around and bounded down the eeiry stairway- bursting out into the sunny front yard. Flopping down on the grass, it took awhile before I could catch my breath and reassure myself that I was still in one piece.

Guest Traveler Story:- Journey to the Edge of Civilization

Guest Traveler: Theodorusrex*

Journey to The Edge of Civilization

Singapore 1990

The pictures in the glossy pamphlet of the Batam Island Holiday Resort looked inviting; beachfront position, swimming pool, tennis court, luxury air-conditioned twin share rooms, but we should have read between the words of the agent in the Singapore travel agency.

"Awww. Whatchuwannagotherefor?"

It was a short trip to Batam by ferry from Singapore, a tiny island of Indonesia just off the tip of Singapore and Malay Peninsula. The medium age of Batamese is 20 years old and the town of Batam is famed for its night-life of pubs, clubs and casinos. It was the latter where Shayne, a mate of mine, and I, were hoping to try our luck.

However, our resort wasn't in the town near the other hotels, it was right across the other side of the island through bush and off the sealed road and then off any road; through volcanic craters and boiling mud plains and the ruins of an ancient civilization; past several primitive tribes that had never seen white people before to a tiny clearing that had been hacked out of the bush where a hotel and a few bungalows sat - The Batam Island Holiday Resort. From the front, it looked just like it did in the glossy brochure.

A few local monkeys then came out to welcome us and look at the strange humans. They were cute and furry with white on the stomachs and light brown fur, but kept their distance from us. It was like being in some unexplored region of the Amazon. We checked in under the thatched roof. Whew! 40 something degrees Celsius. Every one of the staff had hand fans. That wasn't a good sign! Neither was the sign they brought out while we were still waiting to register.

"No Electric till 4 pm."

I looked at my Rolex copy-watch. It was 5:05 pm.

The bus that had deposited us there had already left again, so we had no choice. We had to register.

As we were taken through the resort we passed the pool, which had ropes across it, tied to chairs on either side. A sign hanging on the ropes said "Pool Closed - No Swimming", but I could see goldfish capering about quite audaciously in the invitingly cool clear waters.

The hotel porter finally wedged our door open to gain entry to our spacious twin share room. There was just enough room for two single beds squashed together in one room. The bigger room was the bathroom, which is where we had to put our luggage. Unless one of us wanted a shower when some of it had to go on the beds. The other room did have a wall air-conditioner too; accept, there was no electric yet.

Having "settled in", we went to look at the beach.

The beach! How I remember the first sight of those fabled shining oily shores. Directly opposite was Singapore. In between were about 60 huge oil tankers or cargo ships lined up and waiting to dock. Some of the crew on a big red rusting tanker waved cheerily to us. I started to wander down the beach towards the jungle but one of the hotel staff came over and grabbed me by the arm.

"Nono.Nononono!" he said, gesturing animatedly.

"Really?” I asked, letting him lead me back to the resort. "What's there?"

He looked around and then whispered to me.

"The monkeys!" he said, wide-eyed, and that was about the extent of his English. I couldn't get anything else out of him. I didn't know if they were aggressive or amorous, whether they might just take a little rabid chomp if I strayed into their domain or bands of killer monkeys hunted the forests for tourists to skin alive. Suddenly, in my mind the cute little fuzzy monkeys became horrifying mutant apes with vicious gnashing incisors!

So it was a hot and humid 40 degrees C; no air-conditioning or fans; couldn't swim in the pool because the goldfish were there; couldn't swim in the ocean for threat of being sucked into a propeller; couldn't leave the resort grounds because of the "monkeys", and no other transport available to get to Batam town. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, yet as night fell, I was certain I could still see the lights of our luxury Singapore hotel across the waters and bows of ships.

If you are interested in reading more of Guest Traveler Theodorusrex's work you can find them at theodorusrex

Singapore will survive -Singapore 1986

Most of 1986 was spent in Singapore, except for some short trips to India and Malaysia. Those were mere blips on the travel radar. I don't think I can categorize Singapore as a 'travel story'- because Singapore is home. Maybe it would be better to
classify it as a trip down memory lane.

The stairs in this postcard (courtesy of Singapore Tourist Promotion Board) remind me of my growing up. The mystery of where the stairs would lead. The realization of countless adventures once the stairs were taken.

Singapore has many titles or names. "Pearl of the Orient," "Gateway to Southeast Asia," "Lion City," "The Fine City" and "The Garden City." I'm sure the list could go on and on. Many names for such a small island. This small island proved itself to be a giant of sorts, pulling itself up in the 1960's from post-colonialism to a nation to be reckoned with today. A mighty feat furthered emphasized by the sheer amount of odds which were against the tiny new nation. No natural resources except people, even the water comes in from neighbors. Amazingly enough, Singapore has proved to be a significant actor on the world stage.