The pursuit of happiness.

I've often thought, and remembered again yesterday during a conversation with a friend, that one thing people rely too much on which leads to their unhappiness is the very pursuit of happiness. I think happiness cannot be a goal in itself. It an elusive goal, found best when not looked for. Have you ever been in a really dark room and tried to focus on the few things in the room that have a tiny bit more light on them? For some reason, when you look straight at it, it disappears, but when you focus on something else and look at it out of the corner of your eye, it's much clearer. I think alot of people are depressed because they find that they are not happy. Know what I mean? One of the best therapeutic approaches to depression is to give the patient an activity that he/she must do; by giving them an activity, their focus is brought down to the task before them instead of their misery and unhappiness; eventually they often can enjoy the activity and in the end there is some satisfaction to be derived from the completed task. Or, take a marriage, for example. If the whole purpose of marrying someone is for that person to make you happy, or you both to make each other happy, you will inevitably be disappointed at some point and possibly become very unhappy with each other. But if your purpose in the marriage is something beyond mere happiness, then perhaps happiness can grow out of the meeting of that purpose. If your purpose as a couple is to help each other grow and to become better persons, then encouraging each other and watching each other develop will bring some joy in itself. If at some point you find yourself unhappy it is a sign that something is not going right. But to focus on that happiness, or lack thereof, would be pointless; instead you have to figure out why it is that you are unhappy, what it is that is going wrong and fix that. Happiness will inevitably follow when the couple works together toward the same goal.
I'm doing a course on decision making; one thing that I read recently was that people constantly over- and under-estimate how they will feel about certain outcomes. We are terrible at predicting our emotions. In particular, we often think that our response to those things that we are dying to have or to those things we absolutely dread will be much greater than they are in the end. We are affected by so much more than just that one thing in any given situation and when we predict our emotional response we tend to forget that it will not be the only thing we are responding too. In our pursuit of happiness I am convinced we do the same thing. We focus on those things that we think will bring us great happiness, but when we actually get it, we are disappointed because it wasn't everything we thought it was...or rather, we had overestimated its capacity to bring us happiness. Instead, if we were to put our energies into other things, perhaps more noble activities like work or helping others or whatever it is that we feel called to do, we might find much more happiness in the mere process and outcome than we could have hoped for.

Oh, the ships are burning...there'll be no turning... back for you an me!

I had a conversation the other day that is still bothering me because I didn't feel I defended my case as well as I could have had I been first given three days to replay it all in my head and make up all the right answers in retrospect.
Egh.
Well, anyway, we somehow got on the topic of marriage and I mentioned that Luuk and I decided before we married that divorce would never be an option/solution. The response was that we were setting ourselves up for disappointment because what if something happened and we did end up divorced?, we would feel it was a personal failure. I said yes, I guess I would see it as a personal failure, and then proceeded to try to defend what I had just said with a bunch of unconvincing arguments that I have much improved in my head over the past few days.
But what struck me was that "personal failure" bit. Is that so bad? I would imagine, at this point in my inexperienced life, that if we ever divorced it would be because one or both of us hadn't done everything we could to not only stick together but to love each other (and I never met a couple who divorced still loving each other). Are we so averse to responsibility that we would hope not to feel like a failure or like it was our fault should something go wrong? (And we say "should something go wrong" as if it were some outside force that we had nothing to do with...). That we could ever take seperate ways and not feel any guilt or responsibility seems impossible to me; and if it is possible, then I suppose I should no longer be surprised at the state of relationships these days.
When Luuk and I said "no divorce", it wasn't without the recognition that things don't always go as you expect/hope, or that it won't always be easy (though I must say so far it's been a breeze...maybe it helps that he's out of the country...ha..ha... just kidding...sniff, oh, I crack myself up...). But "no divorce" is part of "commitment", "loyalty", "faithfulness". (In Dutch there is one word that seems to encompass them all: trouw). If we are both commited to each other, commited to sticking together, to helping the other grow, to encouraging and supporting each other, etc., and if we are loyal and faithful to each other above career, friends, and blonde bimbos and handsome colleagues, then it seems to make sense that divorce will not follow. But making the actual decision to never consider divorce does two things: it forces/enables (depending on how you look at it, I guess) us to look for other ways to solve things if we ever get to the point of not being able to stand each other, and it gives us more space for trust (or reduces fear/distrust), I think, given that we both know the other will not be thinking divorce or looking for a way out but will, like me, be looking for a better solution.
So, basically, I think that removing that option, or burning that good ole cliché ship, creates the space where a relationship can thrive in complete trust. And if something goes wrong, then it really is our own fault and we better take the responsibility for it or we'll never be able to patch things up. Doesn't that make sense?

What is this world coming to when "world peace" isn't enough?

Ok, regardless of my usual disdain for this competition, and regardless of what I actually think on the subject of gay marriage, I'm annoyed with this: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8009359.stm . Do they seriously want Miss America to be an airheaded bimbo who doesn't have an opinion of her own but takes on only those opinions regarded as okay or cool by the organization? Pff. To be appalled that she would say what she did...ridiculous. Freedom of speech and equality for all, my ass!

Also, yesterday I read an article in one of the free newspapers on the train (Metro) about how all of a sudden more Americans are "coming out of the closet" about being atheists. As if they were scared to before. It's some sort of reaction to Bush and the ultra-conservatism that was rampant in the past 8yrs. Since when have Americans been afraid to admit to not believing in any god? Did I miss something?
Sometimes the way other countries see the US just boggles my mind. Where do they get these crazy ideas?

Strange

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/8007895.stm

A quote. Any thoughts?

We only regard those unions as real examples of love and real marriages in which a fixed and unalterable decision has been taken. If men or women contemplate an escape, they do not collect all their powers for the task. In none of the serious and important tasks of life do we arrange such a "getaway." We cannot love and be limited.

-- Alfred Adler

One of my favorite memories.

I must have been around 6 yrs old, maybe older, I'm not sure. We were on furlough/homeleave, staying in Canada for a couple months after traveling from Yucatan to Michigan to Alberta in the van. We were staying on my uncle's farm in the honeybarn. It had a kitchen and a bathroom and shower, so with a little bit of work it was easily turned into the coolest house we ever lived in. We could even rollerblade and bike indoors, though we got in trouble if we tried to go through the kitchen.
We had packed as light as we could for a six-month van trip through the continent. The kids were allowed to bring a few toys along. I had a cabbage patch doll with brown hair made of yarn. Carmela had the bald one.
My parents liked to listen to Paul Harvey on the radio every day over breakfast, or lunch, or one of the meals anyway. This particular day my cabbage patch doll was cranky. I had put her in a doll crib while eating but she kept fussing through the whole meal. When I was finished, I picked her up and patted her back and bounced her, but she just kept crying.
"Amanda, please be quiet, we are trying to listen to the radio."
But daddy, it's not me, its the baby.
Bounce bounce, sniffle, sniffle, waaaaa!
"Amanda...."
Shhh baby, daddy is trying to listen to the radio.
Sniffle, sniffle....waaaaaa!
"Amanda, how many times do I have to ask you?"
Baby, shhh!
Waaaaa!
"Amanda! Shut up!"
I almost dropped the baby in shock. Daddy had told me to shut up. That was a bad word. If we knew anything, it was not to say bad words to each other and "shut up" was one of the worst cause mom said it was rude, there were nicer ways to ask someone to be quiet. And daddy had said it and he never said any bad words except for shit but that was ok cause mom said he grew up in Canada on a farm, though we couldn't use it...
I ran out of the barn, into the farmyard, and hid behind one of the silo's. I cried and felt sorry for myself. It wasn't my fault, I was just playing with my doll. That's what babies do, they cry! Daddy had been so mean!
It felt like I had been there for a long time, though it was probably only a matter of minutes or however long it took my dad to find me. He appeared around the side of the silo and sat next to me. I looked away and sniffled, wanting to be angry but mostly I was just hurt. Then he said "I am sorry. Will you forgive me?" That was the first time I distinctly remember him apologizing, and to me. I don't remember what I said, but I am pretty sure I forgave him on the spot.

Who says the west is free?

"Singapore is a fine city;" I was told often. "A fine for smoking, a fine for chewing gum, a fine for this, a fine for that..." A typical complaint by a Singaporean who had apparently never been to a country lacking in clean streets and fresh air. They do not realize that those very constraints on their freedom provide the space to live more freely.

In Singapore I was free to walk through the streets without staring at the ground to avoid pieces of gum scattered literally everywhere that had melted in the sun and would create a nasty mess if stepped in; to walk out my front door without having to step over a gigantic pile of dog-poo that some asshole had not even thought about picking up. I could walk around at night, alone, without constantly looking around me and making sure I had my cellphone and house keys ready for just-in-case. I could get in the train without being assaulted with the smell of some passenger's onion-and-mayo french-fries or the occasional teenager who likes to see if he can get away with smoking in the back of the tram.

Singaporeans take for granted the freedom they have to go about their day without being bothered by these and other albeit small but very annoying factors because there are not only rules imposed on them, but people follow them (most of the time) even if simply to avoid a hefty fine.

Yes, a fine city indeed.

Neighbors

From our apartment, I can see two pigeon coops. One is across the street on the rooftop of another place identical but mirror image to ours. Once in a while a boy in a man's body stands on the rooftop calling to his birds, cooing and whooping to wake the world. The other is behind us, two houses down where occasionally I spot a chubby guy with a big smile standing quietly, watching and petting his little friends.
In our neighborhood there are alot of fat pigeons. They have full feet, no missing parts. Clean feathers. Fluffy faces. Sometimes, when they've enjoyed their roost for a while and are ready to set to flight, they lift off, then drop a foot or two, then fly off fluttering and weaving about under the strain of carrying their heavy chests through the air before plopping down again to rest and poop on someone else's railing.

Diagnosis: Temporary Adult-form ADD

I just read through a full article on the mental control of the bilingual lexico-semantic system...and don't know what I just read. Ever do that? Your eyes read the words, follow through the entire 10-20 pages, but none of it actually registers in your brain and at the end you don't even remember reading that last page with the weird graphs and have no idea how the article reaches the conclusions about bilingual language control that it does...? Egh. I am so not back in student mode. My mind keeps wandering.

"This system involved a process termed contention scheduling in which schemas..."

... I gotta remember to buy garbage bags. Hmm, should I use a green theme or a blue theme for my next painting? Oh, I should remember to call my old lady tonight to tell her I am back in the country...

"Simulations of contention scheduling system..."

... Where did I leave the user-guide for our phone that doesn't work? Hmm, the bathroom could use a good scrub-down...it's the only room I haven't fully cleaned yet since I got back.

Oh, right... "...evidence for the role of frontal lobes in regulating language tasks in unilingual speakers..."

...Did I email about that internship position yet? No, crap, I should do that yet... "And in conclusion, the IC model shares commonalities with existing proposals....".

Egh. I could use some coffee.

Byebyebaby

I am half-packed, just waiting for the rest of my laundry to dry. Tomorrow night I fly back to NL, without Luuk. You'd think that I'd be used to this idea, but I'm not liking it too much. At least it's only six weeks and not six months...

Nice Singapore.

The staff in our hotel building are some of the nicest people in this country. I am sure that is part of their training and whatnot. But they are really good at it. We never pass in the hallway without a "good day, ma'am". Walking into the dining area we are always greeted with cheerful smile and a bright "good morning!". Our cleaning lady always apologizes for cleaning the room when I am around and thanks me when she is finished. The other day, we walked out of the elevator into the lobby and were met with a chorus of "good evening!"; five smiling faces beamed at us from behind the desk where I assume they were waiting for the evening shift change.
I am never quite sure how to treat our friendly cleaners and cooks and receptionists. Their every move speaks of servitude. Even the way they take our money and return our change when we pay for something at the desk is one of respect, using both hands to hold the money by two corners. I fear being perceived as an arrogant colonial, so I smile back and thank them and probably over-do my display of gratitude for whatever it was that they just did for me. Yet since arriving here two months ago, I have become quite lazy with picking up after ourselves and doing the dishes...that is, afterall, what they are paid to do, right?
I wonder sometimes how we look through their eyes. Growing up with a negative response to the word "servant", usually equating it with something akin to "slave", I have a hard time imagining that working with a continual attitude of servitude would be satisfying or pleasant. To me it would seem so demeaning and I would find myself resenting the lazy foreigners who can't even do their dishes even when they have nothing better to do with their time...
But this place is different. It is not only the staff in this building that bear this attitude; everywhere we go we are met with a pleasant smile and an eager offer to help, by business men and street cleaners alike. Once, I asked someone for directions to a place where I was meeting some friends, and after being offered directions from several different people closeby, I was finally brought to the place I was looking for.
Perhaps a shift in perception is due on my part. I could learn much from these people.

(almost) discovered

A few weeks ago a girl walked up to me and asked if I would like to model for some pictures for her portfolio. She gave me the address, in a big busy mall, and I figured, "what the hey, I have nothing better to do" and made an appointment. I worried about it all weekend, what kind of agency, would it be safe, should I go...?...but decided that this being Singapore, and the office being in a mall, the likelihood of that sort of thing happening was pretty minimal, so I should just go to the place and check it out. Then the day of the appointment I completely forgot about it. Yes, forgot. Cause I am such a busy woman these days. Have so much going on in my day to distract me...

Anyway, I remembered two days later.

Today I got a call from someone I presume to be the same girl, saying that I had been recommended for some tv commercial and a magazine of some sort. She asked if I would be willing to come by on Thursday for an interview... "No, sorry, " I said, "I am leaving for Bali for a few days and when I come back I will only be here for two days before I leave again for home. So it won't work out." Undeterred, she asked if I could come by tomorrow instead. "But what would be the point?" To figure out if there are any projects I can do. "But I won't be here to do them...so what's the point?" Well, would you just be willing to come by and talk about it? I finally convinced her that I would not be here to do anything agreed upon in any interview, thanked her, and hung up.

Seriously.

Well, there goes my modeling career!

Thoughts of a hopeless romantic.

Dane wrote a blog recently about love. I have lots of time to think about things. So I kept thinking about it. And here are some rambling thoughts...

That God uses marriage as an example/portrayal of our relationship to Him, has always fascinated me. Obviously, given the state of marriages today, this is not a perfect example... or actually, maybe it still is, though in some cases more of a "how not to..." sort of way.
Think of any marriage that ever impressed or amazed you. Most marriages are admirable, given the effort that sometimes must go into it. But I have seen only a handful (and I can proudly say that my parents' is one of them), that created in me complete admiration and the desire to have 'that' some day. The kind where more than just the cliches were alive, but where something like unquestioning acceptance, loyalty, servitude were all combined to create something that suddenly made all those Bible passages about love make sense. It is those marriages that create the desire to have that special kind of relationship with God that is reflected therein.
Obviously, it's different...I mean, God and I can't hold hands or cuddle or say sweet cheesy things to each other. But that's not even the stuff that impresses me about these marriages; these are only superficial evidence of a deeper underlying power that exists in their relationship. To think that that kind of love can exist between God and His bride the church, is, to me anyway, astounding. This picture of what relationship with God might be like is so different from the 'judging grandfather watching from above' picture that I struggle with so often, or even from the 'loving Father teaching His growing children' picture that I once in a while can handle.
Why we don't hear more sermons on this kind of love, I don't know. Maybe we can't understand it for lack of suitable examples so it's best not to touch on the subject. (Or maybe we get too caught up on roles and who is supposed to do what... Funny thing is, those particular marriages that I admired so much, seemed to work with little regard to those oh-so-important roles. Perhaps they naturally fit into their roles so well I didn't see it, but I think the reason the roles didn't seem to be important was because both parties were too interested in serving the other to care about who was doing his/her part.) It was those marriages and Biblical use of the analogy that began to form my ideal for marriage. I began to see marriage not just as a way to hook up/have kids/find yourself a life partner to make the treck more bearable, but as a way to broaden our understanding of love and of God. As if God actually created the concept of marriage, if at least in part, for that very purpose.
When Luuk and I were planning the wedding, we had to answer some questions for the civil ceremony. As we filled out the answers, we became more aware that we both wanted more than just a happy marriage that lasts. We wanted ours to be a marriage in which others could catch even just a glimpse of the sort of love that can exist between God and His people. I suppose that sort of relationship is one that takes a long time to develop. Somehow the best marriages are those that form a threesome (pardon the lack of a better term) with God.
We are still learning, still working on that(though I like to think we have a good start), yet even in this beginning, growing stage, I have found that my approach to God has changed. The way I see Him is different and the relationship that I desire to have with Him is different, better I think. This will sound incredibly cheesy, I know, but loving Luuk as much and in the way that I do now has made me aware a kind of a love that I did not know existed; I want to love God like that, but more. Because those marriages and because of my own short experience with marriage, I am aware of a different side of God. Does that make sense? I like to think that this was part of the purpose of marriage in the first place... But maye I am just a hopeless romantic.

Recap: the rest of our 'Nam trip

After a visit to the Cu Chi tunnels (where the Vietcon guerillas lived and fought during the war, which in the end was a great factor in defeating the Americans) and the War Remnant Museum (which made me glad to be in Vietnam on my Canadian passport), we escaped the dirt, smog, and traffic of Saigon and took a night train to the quieter, cleaner beachtown of Nah Trang.

Highlights included a trip on a bike-cart (picture a short, skinny, Vietnamese dude huffing us big Westerners up and down the hills of the town, though don't feel too bad, he was paid well by both us and the owner of the sea-food restaurant he took us to); a giant Buddha statue at a monestary (where we were guilted into buying some postcards from some monks-in-training and where we found a group of young boys of various ages who were well-experienced in begging and one of whom carried an expensive looking camera I am sure he did not get for his birthday, and where I was felt up by a 2-foot-tall four-year-old who was, it seems, being instructed by an older boy to either find hidden pockets or search for something little four-year-olds shouldn't even know about...); and a group of Hindu temples from the 7th century, darkened on the inside from hundreds of years of inscence and prayers.

The most interesting experience was the boat tour, the highlight of which was our crazy guide who kept making and laughing at his own jokes that no one understood; at one point he pulled out a styrofoam slab, on which was stuck a plastic basket with several bottels of what he, to the amusement of some and the shock of others, repeatedly called "fucking-mingen-Vietnam wine", which we all figured out really means "really really bad wine". This was our floating bar, around which we floated in our tubes, wine in hand.

Our next stop was Da Lat, a city in the mountains. This place has a bit of a French Alp resort feel to it, only tropical and littered with garbage. Apparently Vietnam royalty used to spend vacations there, and we can understand why. The mountains are beautiful and the temperatures are much more bearable. We took a tour with the Easy Riders (dudes on motorcycles); we each sat on the back of a bike and followed out guides through the mountains to surrounding villages where we saw how silk is taken from the cocoons and turned into the thread and then into cloth; then how "happy water" is made from fermented rice (it is some of the nastiest drink I have ever tried), and how mushrooms are grown out of fermented tapioca and sweet potatoes ("same same, but different", as they say). And of course we took many pictures of the layered farms where families grow all sorts of fruits and vegetables sold in the rest of the country. The day we left Da Lat we took golfing lessons at the incredible golf course on top of a hill, the view being green and mountains; then we flew back to Saigon in a propeller airplane.

Our final adventure was a tour through the Mekong Delta, the highlights of which included the boat ride through a palm tree and bamboo sided canal and the Jewish Israeli guy with a somewhat French accent we met whose greatest joy on this trip was not the food, culture, or scenery, but rather bargaining.

The strongest impression of the whole trip was how similar Vietnam was to Central America and Mexico. Different food, different language, but similar colours, buildings, people, professions/methods of survival, fruit, dirt, treatment of environment, poverty/wealth dichotomy, friendliness. Same same but different, I guess.

(Hmm...I was going to post some pictures but can't find our adapter...That's not good.)

P.S.: Interesting food we tried while in Nam included frog legs, crocodile, pigeon, and snails. Luuk will have to remind me if I missed any interesting ones...

Saigon Dance

The most notable characteristic of Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh) is the way traffic works despite the craziness of obviously untrained drivers and millions (literally, millions) of motorcycles and cars and taxis on the roads that also happen to be filled with pedestrians crossing anywhere and anytime, the occasional suicidal biker, and once in a while a short guy pushing a cart filled to ridiculous heights with some thing or other. There is really no way to describe the experience of maneuvering through this strangely coordinated chaos in a way that can draw a comparable picture. Traffic lights are no meaningless, just slightly ignored; right of way is not a matter of traffic rules, but size; lanes are suggested, not necessarily respected; and pedestrian crossings might as well be non-existant. How we survived our few brave attempts to cross the streets of this smoggy city is beyond me. We simply started crossing and hoped we would be avoided by the wave of motors and lights heading to and around us. Somehow, they always saw us and always missed us. Occasionaly we witnessed a slight fenderbender, but most of the time this dance (which is really the best way to describe it) went on uninterrupted and accompanied with the tune of millions of horns warning other drivers of their presence.

On a side note, Vietnam seems to be filled with extremely talented artists and painters waiting to be discovered by the world. I find myself continuously drooling at gallery and shop windows, wishing that we were not here with just a backpack and seriously considering daring to take the galleries up on their offer to ship for us, at "a special price, good for you, good for me".

so not a morning person...

The breakfast room can get very busy and noisy. I really do not like kids in the morning, especially loud, whiny, expressive ones. Some days I can tune them out; most of the time I amuse Luuk with my grumbling.

Once he leaves for work, I fill my cup with a second helping of coffee and sit outside where I hope to find some quiet amid the thousands of airconditioners hanging out of the surrounding buildings, honking horns on the street below, and the crows that dare to sit on the chair across from me and caw expectantly.

I always thought crows were the mean birds of the city, but the pigeons actually stole more from the crows than the other way around. Funny.

I saw a black pigeon with one single random long white feather in his wing... I wonder if random feathers on birds are like moles or freckles on people. Or spots on dogs.

And why do city pigeons seem to always have messed up feet? Ten points to the best answer.

Real rain.

There must be something basic or elemental to the pleasure taken in listening to rain fall. It's like staring at a bonfire. I could do that for hours and my best sleeps have been to the sound of rain and thunder. Soothing. Therapeutic. Fantasical, in a way.
Watching tropical rainfall from the 13th floor out our window over our pigeon-poo-covered patio is just plain lovely. If the pool weren't on the 9th floor or if there weren't thunder and lightning, I would be swimming in the rain right now.
This is one of the things about the tropics that I enjoy the most. Warm temperatures and heavy straight-falling rain. This is what I miss when I am in Holland, the land of fizzy rain and feel-it-in-your-bones cold.
Sigh. I love this kind of rain.

Take a walk down memory lane...

Last night, Luuk went to bed early cause he wasn't feel well, so I looked for ways to quietly entertain myself in our little hotel room. I started reading my old blogs. I began with the first I ever wrote, continued on through goodbyes to Dordt, the big move to Holland, my oh-so-long year as an aupair, driving lessons, university struggles, wedding plans, homesickness, frustrations, questions about God, and finally up to the beginning of this past year where the memories were still fresh enough to less interesting to read through. The experience was... well, I can't say cathartic or therapeutic cause that would assume I still had some pent up emotions, tensions, or issues to work through from the past three years... but it was something akin to that. As I read, I could remember so many details that I had forgotten. I could picture the very situation, dream, or feeling that had created the necessity to write it in the first place. I relived so many struggles and small triumphs in a matter of minutes before I moved on to the next entry. I realized just how much this blog has been my therapy. It keeps me sane.
And I read through every comment left by fellow blogger friends. Wow do I miss some people right now. The feeling of nostalgia accompanied me through the whole session and didn't leave even after I finally went to bed.
I have a private journal where I write all the thoughts and feelings that I dare not share with the world. It's the kind of journal that is mostly dark and depressing and doesn't really remember the details of my life, only the worst parts of it with only occasional relief. It's not the sort of book I would like to reread through. So I am very glad today that I have kept this blog. This has become the sort of journal I can reread later when I am old, forgetful, and have grandchildren to shock with stories of my youth.

So, yeah, just thought I'd share that with y'all.

The modern child.

This morning at our buffet-breakfast included in the room deal here at our serviced-apartment building, I filled my bowl with papaya and watermelon. A full cup of some incredible coffee, of which origins I have yet to discover, in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, I enjoyed a quiet wake up to the day. The tv shared a news piece on the detrimental effects of high-heels, in the background. Fellow residents from different countries and cultures chewed quietly at various tables spread strategically through the room. A mother and her approx. 2yr old child walked into the room and I groaned. I dislike children in the morning. They are loud, whiny, and annoying, too early in the day. But this one seemed quiet enough, so I smiled at him and went back to sipping my coffee. He noticed the tv on the wall. Tugging at his mother's sleeve and pointing at the tv, he asked, "Obama?"

Kusu

This past weekend Luuk and I took a boat, fashioned like what I would imagine an old Chinese sail boat for royalty used to look like, to a tiny island of Kusu. It is small. I know people who's yards are bigger than this island (no, not in the Netherlands).

Anyway, story goes that years ago some fishermen were caught in a storm and would have died were it not for their rescue by two giant turtles. These men built a shrine on the island where the turtles brought them and today this island contains a Buddhist temple (where a family lives and spends their days watching tv next to shrines, candles, and fat smiling Buddha statues) and a strange haphazard semi-open completely yellow 'building' of sorts on top of what looks like one giant rock. People come to the island to climb the 152 steps up to this yellow place to ask the gods or ancestors or turtles to give prosperity, luck, and/or children. It's especially good luck for a newly married couple to climb the stairs, pay a few dollars, and ring the bell.

The island also contains a turtle sanctuary with seriously a good hundred or so turtles of all sizes. They are not afraid of people. In fact, they scramble straight to you in hopes of being given some of that nasty looking red crap we were handed to share with the turtles. Some of those turtles have some pretty freaky looking mouths. But they are still cute. Especially their little bums, with their fat legs sticking out of their shells and that cute little tail... (Teehee!). If they were more interesting, maybe I'd adopt one.

The website describing the island claimed that people loved to come here to swim in the beautiful lagoons. When I think lagoon, I think lush tropical trees on either side, backed by cliffs and waterfalls, with clear blue fresh water in the middle with perhaps a shiny fish or two... Well, it wasn't exactly that...but good enough. Sunshine, palm-trees, sand, water...what more could we want? And all this with almost no one in sight. We bought lunch from the family at the temple and spent the day reading next to one of the lagoons facing the Singapore sky-scrapers across the water. That's hard to top.

But we are gonna try: 28 Feb, we are on our way to Vietnam!