I entered a building the other day to meet someone. A guy walked in, took the escalator and doesn’t realise he had dropped a document.
I picked it up and alerted him. He took the other escalator down and thanked me for it.
Then I go up to the 9th floor by elevator for my meeting.
What I didn’t know was that I had lost my wallet until a security woman approached me.
“Strange isn’t it?” She said. “You returned the other person’s document, and now I am returning your wallet.”
Taxi driver: You Chinese, Malay or Indian ?
Khaled: I am from Mongolia.
Taxi driver: Huh? What is Mongolia?
Khaled: You dono Mongolia ?
Taxi driver: No, dono.
Khaled A country inside China.
Taxi driver: But you said you not Chinese?
Khaled: Ya I am not. I am Mongolian. We are different. You know Kublai Khan? Genghis Khan?
Taxi driver: Dono. You come Singapore for what? Holiday? Business ?
Khaled: I come to buy horses.
Taxi driver: Oh, you like horse racing?
Khaled: No, we drink their blood.
[Silence]
Baniyas, a few kilometers from Abu Dhabi. This was more than 25 years ago. when I was invited to dinner at a chieftain’s home somewhere in the desert.
About a hundred men sat crossed legged on the floor around the carpeted dewan. I sat beside the host, an elderly version of Captain Jack Sparrow who wore the same headgear, coal around his eyes, rolled up sleeves, a tattoo visible on one arm.
When dinner was served, we ate with our hands. I made the mistake of finishing the food faster than everyone else. I was hungry. After I had finished, the chieftain licked his fingers and scooped more rice with that hand from a big plate and poured it on mine.
“Kul,”he said, encouraging me to eat some more. What did you think I did? I nodded, smiled, and finished the meal. To decline would be to offend the man’s honor. No choice
I was standing at a curb waiting for a cab. A young lady appears and stands in front of me. She knows I am waiting for a cab. She keeps looking at my direction and then starts to move forward nearer to the bus stop. This is a typical Singapore culture of being afraid to lose. But I am a believer of fate and if fate wills it so be it. Then I see a taxi coming. The young woman flags it down. But the cabby doesn’t stop, and instead drives towards me. I raise my hand and it stopped. The young lady stares at me with that “What magic does he have?”look. I asked the cabby why didn’t he stop for her and he replied that he couldn’t because she was standing near the bus lane. The moral of the story is…
Legend has it that if you make a wish at the Trevi fountain, it will culminate in a blessing. So the story goes.
Unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to visit Rome (perhaps next time), but a trip to Lake Como and Venice made me realize that miracles can happen anywhere, anytime. You don’t have to drop coins into a fountain for things to happen, if it’s meant to be.
After a week in Bellagio, Lake Como, I decided to spend a few days hiking and exploring St Moritz. But then I realized I had forgotten to take my pocket camera. Although I had an SLR with me, the pocket camera would have spared the burden of carrying the big camera and its equipment during my hiking adventure. I just couldn’t remember where I placed it. Complete blankness. I tried to retrace my steps and I was sure it wasn’t back at the hotel in Bellagio. Where did I leave it?
Upon my return, I stopped at my regular haunt, Café Rossi in Bellagio, for cappuccino. I asked one of the waitresses if she had found a silver-colored camera, I may have possibly left it here. The young woman replied excitedly that the camera had indeed been found by another waitress named Francesca. But she was off duty and so I would have to wait till the next day.
Francesca showed up the next day with my camera. I asked her how she knew the camera belonged to me and she said she recognized me in some of the photos when she turned it on. What luck!
Days later, as I took the train from Varenna to Milan and then to Venice, I wondered what adventures lie ahead. Venice was dreamy and magnificent, an extraordinary place that you must visit at least ten times in your life. I had almost decided not to visit her, but I was encouraged by a relative to go before it sank.
I was pleased to have seen some of the more famous sites of the city in between pizzas and gelato. I spent my days walking and exploring, shopping and people watching (and trying very hard to sleep as drunken revelers in Gondola passed by my window at 3 am singing out of tune Sopranos.
I couldn’t resist buying a few of the famous Venetian handmade party masks during my shopping expedition. It was a good thing that I learned quickly how to differentiate between a handmade one and a China-made piece.
On my way back to Singapore via Milan airport, I found myself in a scary position. After going through immigration counter, I suddenly discovered that I did not have my haversack with me. The bag contained cash, a new watch for my mom, and a super Nikon camera. I approached one of the officers and sought his help. He advised me to stay put as he went to search for it. But all he did was chat casually with another officer as he made me stand in the middle of the floor. Keep calm, I said – do not panic. Have faith things would find its way back to you, if it’s meant to be.
A good five minutes or more must have passed when the officer suddenly noticed me and gestured me to follow him into an office. Inside, I saw my haversack on a desk. Behind it, another officer sat. I was asked to reveal the contents of the bag (standard procedure to check if I am the real owner). So I did.
The first officer then handed the bag to me. His friend then walked around the desk towards me with a stack of cash in his hand. Mine. He said something in Italian and although I could not understand a word what he was saying, I assumed he was asking for a finder’s fee. But it was not until the man held out his hand with the cash in it that I realized that he was trying to return it to me. Naturally, when he opened the bag to probe its content, he had found the money. And so I left Italy a happy person.
When I returned to Singapore, I realized I had forgotten my laptop in the airplane’s compartment. Tired, I did not even bother to fuss about it. I left the airport with the same attitude that somehow if it’s meant to be, the laptop — like the camera, the money, the watch and the pocket camera — would return to me.
The next day I called the airline to check if anyone had found my laptop. Apparently someone did, and it’s sitting in the airline’s office at the airport, waiting for me to collect.
How’s that for luck?
During a trip to Saint Moritz I decided to trek Muottas Muragl in the Engadin region. You can go up the mountain, which is more than 2000 feet high, on a funicular and arrived at the Romantik Hotel. Here, you can have cup of coffee, sandwich and chocolates at the hotel’s cafeteria before embarking on your hike along the pristine snow circuit, and then return to base for another round. It reminded me of one of Agatha Christie’s crime series, “The Labours of Hercules,” in which the Belgian detective Poirot spent some time at a Swiss hotel high up in the mountains.
I had my camera and a video simultaneously in active mode to capture the spectacular and breathtaking view of my surroundings. I refused to leave behind any scenes of the time spent there. During the hike, I met a Swiss lady from Zurich who told me she comes to this mountain for walks on a regular basis to get away from it all. Apart from her chattiness, the only other sound was snow crunching under my boots.
You will find markings to assist you along the path. I cannot but stress how important it is to obey the signs. It is here that I learned a very important lesson in obedience. In the initial, I followed the trek and did not stray. I was not sure what to expect, and lacking the confidence of an experienced hiker, I decided to follow the signs. In the meantime, I was trying to figure out why people were carrying ski poles when they were not skiing. I soon learned the hard way.
As I ascended higher along the slope trek, I found it difficult to balance myself, and because I had a haversack with me, I felt as if I was being pulled from behind. Those sticks would have made my experience much easier. As someone born in the tropics, what do I know? Nevertheless, I should have done my homework.
I continued, my breathing heavy. I noticed a few quirky sign posts with sayings from famous people, including Ernest Hemingway. Also, there were park benches to soak up and enjoy the view of the landscape. The stillness of the snow felt like a soft bed welcoming the sleeper to a dreamy slumber.
On my way down, I saw a boy taking a short cut across the plateau. What a silly boy. Didn’t he read the signs? And then I saw a woman doing the same. I thought maybe they knew something I didn’t. It would most certainly save me a lot of time retracing my steps back to the hotel if I could cut through. What the heck. Everyone’s doing it. I might as well. Big mistake.
Halfway down, I found myself slumping to my thigh in the snow. Unlike the woman and the boy who were both light weight, I had failed to consider my own. Two questions popped into my head: Am I going to sink into this snow quick sand? Worse, could this be a cornice? I might fall through!
I tried to keep calm. Did I have a choice? I took another step forward, probing the ground for solidity. Yes. One step at a time.
Well, I survived to tell this tale. I was lucky this time. Next time I’ll wear a wing suit, just in case…
During a trip to Cape Town, South Africa, I decided to join a few people for a shark cage diving trip. The place: Hans Bay, a regular hangout for this apex predator. Peter Benchley’s book-turned-movie by Steven Spielberg certainly raised most people’s curiosity level, mine included.
Confession: I was among the millions of people psychologically affected by the movie that I started to think twice about going swimming. In fact, I even refrained from going to the pool at one time. I just couldn’t get the image of that enormous and bloody gaping mouth out of my head.
But I had to see “Jaws” — to confront my fear. Who was I kidding? You can’t confront your fear. You can’t learn all the martial arts of the world and take on the great white shark. You can’t even hire Mike Tyson to knock it out. Unfortunately for most of us, they don’t sell RPGs at your favorite corner shop.
So, knowing these things, why did I still decide to go? It’s been said that animals instinctively run for their lives when danger lurks, but man, being the curious animal that he is, would try to check out the fuss before deciding to flee.
Prior to going out to see on a flimsy double-deck, fiber-glass boat, the skipper gave us a rundown of what to expect, along with some instructions, like don’t touch the shark when you are inside the cage otherwise orders would be given to return the boat to shore. Also, in case of an emergency, we were told lifeboat jackets will be issued to each and every one of us. And we were told not to panic. Are you kidding me? I could feel an arrow of sarcasm about to shoot from my mouth saying, “Like those jackets will save us!”
The day was calm, everyone soaking up the salty sea air and breeze. Not me. I was on full alert, expecting the shark to give a surprise attack. I wrong. He didn’t come alone. There must have been at least twenty great white sharks that day. There were four other boats out at sea that day, each one with a crew member assigned to pour buckets of blood into the water constantly to draw attention to the sharks.
As we waited, I saw a woman sitting at the edge of the boat with her back facing the sea. It reminded of the scene in which actor Roy Scheider did the same as he poured bloodied chunks of meat into the water when suddenly our good friend decided to show up, literally. Quietly, I advised the lady to stay clear of the edge, just in case.
I opted not to go inside the cage. Looking at the flimsy structure, I was not sure about my luck. A few questions also popped into my head: “What if the cage broke?” and “What if I got into the cage and someone inside with me had a panic attack?” If this sounds like the person who saw a coin in the fountain and can’t decide to pick it up or not, I can only say this was a different situation. We are not talking about an opportunity; we’re talking about a great white shark. Basically, you can’t win.
No matter how safe and secure or how experienced the staff of these tour companies can claim to be, accidents can happen. Besides, we were all told to sign a disclaimer and assumption of risk. So there you go.
I decided to ascend to the upper level of the boat and record the whole thing on a video cam. Some people were wondering why I even bothered to follow, thinking how I could possibly see the shark from above. Well, if you’ve seen enough shark documentaries, and have spoken to world renowned shark experts like I have, you know these apex water kahunas are unpredictable and super fast. And they can jump.
Above, I sat cross-legged on the floor and leaned against the wall of the superstructure, bordered by a short railing all around, which also allowed me to look over the edge clearly. I had a good reason for sitting in this position instead of standing with the crowd. For one thing, there were other people on board, strangers. Having experienced once before being thrown into sea from high above a boardwalk by a friend (as a joke), I am constantly reminded to watch my back. What if there was a psychopath on board?
With my legs cross-legged and sitting against the wall, there was no chance of that happening. No way now someone could creep up from behind and push me into the water. And why would I even think like that? You’d know if you’ve read the famous poster: “This is the most dangerous animal in the world, responsible for millions of death every year. By his side we can see a white shark swimming peacefully.”
With the amount of blood poured into the water that day, I doubt, if I had been thrown overboard, those sharks would have pass me with just a flipper waive and tell me to have a nice day. They are, after all, instinct-driven eating machines. But man… well, he is…
According to a report I read in Al Arabiya, researchers relying on “virtual autopsy” discovered that King Tut was not as pretty as his golden mask. He had buck teeth and a severe limp, among other things. But you got to admit, he was most certainly a flashy dude.
If you’re wondering why it was easy for ancient Egyptians to produce everything in gold it’s because gold was in abundance back then; the cheapest commodity. And you’ll find a lot of that in the famous Egyptian Museum of Antiquities in Cairo.
I have to make a confession: I once thought about stealing King Tut’s dagger in the museum. How easy it would have been — and what a thrill it would be. I noticed that the lock on the glass casing was old and rusty, and all it took was a knock to break it. The surrounding of the casing didn’t appear to have an alarm sensor, back then. I am not sure about now. Also, the museum didn’t seem to have many cameras, but things may have changed. It’s been a while since I returned.
I had surveyed the interior and saw a few loopholes, but it would mean staying overnight at the museum, complete with some tools, and dressed in black attire and a balaclava – just to look the part of course). I was sure there would be security patrolling, but that’s manageable. However, the question that crossed my mind, how do I smuggle a world-famous dagger out of the country? And even if I managed to do that, should I not be acting on my values instead of my thoughts?
You’ll find your fair share of rogue cops everywhere and anywhere. I can still remember the time when I lived in Cairo and I was advised by everyone to stay away from police stations. Don’t even walk near one, they used to tell me. Well, as luck would have it…
The first time wasn’t that bad, but it sent a signal as to how cops behave in Egypt, and how for a very long time they got away with things. Lest we forget what happened to Khaled Saeed, who was murdered by the police in Alexandria in June 2010, and who become a symbol of the Mubarak regime’s brutality.
I had accompanied a friend to a police station after his house was burgled. Before the officer took a statement, he chided my friend in Arabic saying, “Must you bring the whole tribe to the station?” I am not Egyptian, incidentally, but I could pass off as someone from the Middle East or the Mediterranean.
There had been several other incidences, like the time a policeman grabbed me by the collar and prevented me from entering the Egyptian national museum. I managed to convince a senior officer who approached that my intention to visit the museum was purely touristic with no plans to steal the dagger of King Tut or bomb the place.
But it was in Kerdassa, a famous Egyptian village known for its handicrafts, trinkets, brassware and souvenirs that I soon tasted how scary things can be. Another Egyptian friend had offered to take me to the village. When I was done shopping, my friend wanted to go to the mosque to pray. Meanwhile, I waited outside the mosque, located beside a small police station. A few cops, some in civilian attire, some in black uniforms with rifles, huddled outside the compound, smoking. The distance between us, maybe 30 meters. All of a sudden one of the men turned and yelled at me, twice. I ignored him. I guess my three large bags of shopping goodies looked delicious.
The cop, along with another, then walked towards me. He stood in front of me while his colleague positioned himself behind me, rifle in hand. The front man queried in Arabic what I was doing in the village (as if it was not obvious) in a voice he thought would intimidate me. I didn’t reply and instead chose to play dumb. But I didn’t appreciate the way he spoke to me. He then insisted that I follow him back to the station. At that moment I gestured that I wanted to procure my passport from my jacket. I handed it over. The cop man was taken aback. “Agnaby (Foreigner)?” he asked. I nodded with a grin. They left me. I guess it was a bad day to go fishing.
Had I been an ordinary Egyptian, things would have turned out differently.
CONTEST:
Purchase a paperback copy of the espionage novel, Smokescreen, and you may stand a chance to win an authentic spy coin! Yes, the one that you can slip in an SD Memory Card.
All you have to do is be creative and adventurous by coming up with what you think is the best and wackiest Selfie-Reading Photograph. Then send your picture to khaled.talib@gmail.com
The first 3 photos that appeal to the author will win a spy coin. Deadline is November 30, 2014. Get going!
NOTE: You don’t really have to skydive, unless you can. A photo of you reading the author’s novel while being chased by a bull is cool too.
Terms: All submitted photos must show you holding a paperback copy of Smokescreen by Khaled Talib. Good luck!
Good luck!
