WritersShowcase

To see the world as a traveller, to reside on foreign places, working and living with the local indigenous people……and get a princely sum to boot . This is the world of the Expatriate

This novel cannot cover all the tales I have to tell, many of which remain largely forgotten, and even after completion of the manuscript, I reflect on the contents, and discover another tale, which I had neglected to include.

The whole manuscripts covers tales of many places, from my initial experience of expatriate life in Iran, to an overland journey, across eight (8) countries.

This was my initiation into the Expatriate life, and a severe culture shock. After a quiet life in London,. I was to be transported to the wilds of the Middle East, via Teheran,Shiraz and Aberdan, to spend the next three years of my life on the Island of Kharg, an inhospitable lump of rock. The main Iranian oil export terminal, located in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

After all those years spent on Kharg Ialand, my next assignment was quite different, with Singapore the destination.

It was paradise after the privations of the Persian Gulf, with lush vegetation replacing the rock and stunted landscape of Kharg, and sandy beaches devoid of those lumps of Crude Oil, awaiting the unwary.

After just a few years, it was to be goodbye to the jewel of South East Asia, but not travelling too far away ……This time to the island of Borneo, just a short trip across the South China Sea,

A tale I just had to include. Following the end of the contract in Borneo, My new wife and I were finally heading back to Europe, but first, a holiday, and an experience to remember for years to come..

Those itchy feet got the better of me, and after just two years subjected to the vagaries of the UK climate, another assignment was offered…Back in the Middle East..

A Journey, undertaken by a team of four expatriates. in a trusty British 4x4

Despite all my arguments, my plans to repeat this, on our final departure from Kuwait were firmly vetoed by my better half

Arrival at Teheran Airport was not what we had expected. It was supposed to be warm, Humid and Sultry. Instead it was cold, and there was snow on the roof of the terminal building.

We were bound for "Kharg", an island somewhere in the middle of the Persian Gulf, but certainly not discernable on any of our maps.

According to the information gleaned from the Company, before our departure, this unknown island was not too large,, approximately eight miles by ten, and not too far above sea level, located fifty miles offshore, South of Aberdan, bounded by Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and Iraq

It was the Main Offshore Terminal for the export of the National Iranian Oil Company’s (NIOC) products, and managed by BP on behalf of the Persian Company.

We were to stay overnight in Teheran.

It had taken an hour to clear immigration, our passports examined in minute detail by more than one unhappy looking official, finally stamped it , allowing us to proceed to the baggage area.

Having obtained our clearance, it was the turn of our luggage, which together with that of the other two hundred or so passengers, was spread out along the customs counter, ready to be examined by the numerous officials.

It was chaotic, everyone was talking at the same time, mostly in languages we did not understand, until finally it was explained that we should identify our belongings, which I mumbled under my breath….would have been simple if we could have got anywhere near close to them

Getting to the counter was well nigh an impossibility, the crush of people wasn’t going to diminish, and it was only with the help of a "sharp elbow", that I managed to get close enough to point out our belongings.,

The baggage clearance proceedings took almost two hours,

Eventually, and miraculously, order was restored, and our cases were declared free of any suspicious objects, passed to the waiting porter, who placed them on his trolley.

Quite a performance I remarked to the Company driver, who met us at the exit, as we loaded the cases into a Range Rover. Yes he replied with a wide grin. It never ceases to amaze me at the efforts the authorities take in order to keep visitors out?

As we drove through the brightly-lit streets of the city, we really felt we were finally in the Middle East. Most of the traffic were minus the usual lighting supplied by the manufacturers, but equipped with coloured lights, above the windscreen, obviously installed by the owners.

Trucks of all kinds did have headlights etc, but the same lighting was installed, all along their length. There were bicycles and Mopeds everywhere, but these being devoid of lighting of any kind.

The quantity of traffic was amazing, with most of the other road users completely ignoring the traffic signals, and on more than one occasion we had to avoid large unlit concrete obstructions in the middle of the road, which appeared to be marking various roadworks on the highway..

Our host travelled at what seemed breakneck speed through the outskirts of the city, and as he swerved to avoid a pile of stones, which was marking yet another "roadwork excavation" Bloody people, he muttered, they steal all the flashing hazard lights, but I don’t know what use they can put them to, eventually turning off the main highway and into very much quieter residential roads, before stopping in front of large wrought iron gates, and sounding his horn.

A figure appeared from the shadows, waving to our driver as he opened the gates wide for us to enter

We crunched up the gravel drive, drawing to a stop in front of an imposing entrance, with marble columns either side of a large stairway, leading to the entrance.

As we stepped out, more figures appeared, just as mysteriously as the figure at the gate, hurriedly collecting the luggage from the back, before disappearing up the staircase and into the hotel.

We followed our luggage, through the entrance, which was flanked by yet more marble, in the shape of an archway, heading for the reception desk, across a vast expanse of terrazzo tiled floor, strewn with dozens of Persian carpets. .

Rosewood tables and matching chairs were located around this vast area, each adorned with highly polished brass ornament, the entire area was lit by a crystal chandelier set high in the ceiling.

My wife whispered, It looks like a palace, and I had had to agree……..Yes, direct from the Arabian nights.

The check-in formalities were brief, our driver dealing with most of the formalities, and as he returned our passports, he said, with a smile, okay, all done, have a nice evening, I will pick you up tomorrow morning around eight.

This way sir, said the porter; your luggage will follow, and beckoned us towards to the lifts.

.

This is your room sir explained the porter, as we stopped in front of a very ornate carved door, and producing a large key opened the door, stepping inside, switched on the lights and with a slight bow said…….I hope you find everything to your liking, before disappearing along the corridor. He didn’t even hang around for tip exclaimed my wife. Well I replied, no doubt he didn’t have any use for a English currency, and by the looks of us he realised we wouldn’t have any of the local stuff....

The room was furnished even more sumptuously than the lobby downstairs, with Terrazzo tiled floor covered with a profusion of rugs everywhere, including some hung on the walls…Dark wood cabinets, with brass fittings were placed around the room and two large and comfortable looking couches occupied the centre of this area…

Come look at the bedroom, my wife called, and walking through an archway, was another room equally as large as the living room, and just as well appointed. .

The two double beds looked large enough to accommodate four Sumo wrestlers with the furnishings similar, dark carved wood, inlaid with brass fitting, which glistened like gold. .

The bathroom contained a tubof gargantuan proportions, and behind a glass door, what appeared to an additional room, proved to be a shower cubicle, complete with a profusion of fittings, all of which were gold plated .

It was fantastic, but quite wasted on us. The journey and the tine difference had taken their toll, all we needed was sleep, in a bed of any kind, and, the kids were getting a little fractious, so expeditions of any other parts of the accommodation were deferred. . .

I was woken early the following morning, by the sound of the call to prayers from an adjacent Mosque.

It was still dark, and I had no idea what the local time was. Squinting at my watch I calculated it must be approximately five am…But was I correct?

The rest of the family was soon awake, and the girls complaining. We are starving, they both complained…. We haven’t eaten for hours…How about breakfast.

After the rigours of the previous day, I had forgotten all about eating, and with our arrival being so late, sleep had been more important than a meal .....

Well it’s quite early I responded, and I had to admit that I will feeling peckish too. I doubt if there will be anyone but lets have a look anyway…Hurry, get a shower, and dressed and we will investigate

It was cathedral quiet as we descended the staircase, looking down into the lobby, which was deserted. There was not a sound, and not a soul to be seen as we entered the lobby.

At one end of the lobby were double glass doors with a sign above proclaiming "Dining Room". Here we are girls I exclaimed, lets investigate….

The dining room was circular, and the size of a small ballroom, and unlike the rest of the area, it was not terrazzo tiled….The floor was glistening marble, with a forest of columns the same colour as the floor rising high, which disappeared into a cavernous ceiling.

Dozens of circular tables were located between the columns, each one laid ready for a meal. Sparkling cutlery on a pristine white cloth, at each place setting, a purple napkin in a bright gold ring.

In the centre of each table, was a crystal vase, containing a small orchid.

Breakfast yelled the girls, and headed for a large circular table in the centre of the room, .piled high with cereals of all kinds, jugs of milk, fruit juices, bread and rolls. Selecting the nearest table, we sat down, waiting for the girls to join us.

Good morning sir, said a voice at my elbow, appearing like a genie from a lamp, would you like to order breakfast .

Yes please I responded looking up to see a waiter unlike any other I had seen, He was dressed in a long white flowing robe, and sported a large black moustache.

Hot Coffee, and Tea, in silver pots appeared. We ordered scrambled eggs and toast, leaving the children to investigate all the various goodies on the centre table, which they visited on numerous occasions .

After just a few minutes, another few hardy souls appeared, all looking as bemused as we were, and were similarly served by yet more men, who appeared almost as magically, all identically dressed in the same garb, and most surprising of all , all sporting similar black moustache’s.

After a leisurely breakfast, I checked the local time, discovering it was not yet seven o’clock.

Plenty of time I remarked, there is plenty of time to pack the cases and relax for a few minutes, and read the morning newspapers, if there were any available, before our driver was due to collect us..

As our driver strode through the entrance, I was on page 5 of yesterday mornings newspaper, and with a wave of his hand, greeted me with a "good morning", it’s a lovely day for a flight,

The hotel bill has already been settled he explained, as our luggage appeared in the lobby, to be collected by the porter, and heading for the front door….

So when you are ready we’ll be on our way .,

A we headed out on the highway, it was already busy, although it was still comparatively early, the roads were busy, with even more of those cyclists we had seen the previous evening, this time with more than one rider, and complete, with what appeared to be, all their belongings strapped behind them.. The journey back to the airport seemed to take less time than the previous evening, with all those roadwork obstructions even less in evidence .

As we unloaded the luggage onto a trolley, our guide handed us a package of papers.. Look after these, he said, they are the boarding cards.

You can go directly to the departure lounge, and explained. If you had to queue at the check-in desk, you would probably miss the flight, and added with a chuckle, Have a nice journey, Hope to see you all again sometime, and with a wave of his hand headed into the maelstrom of traffic. .

As we entered the airport building, how right he was.. The mass of humanity was identical to that on our arrival.

Where had all these people come from, or had they all been here overnight.? We made our way through the throng, and headed for the departure lounge, thankful to our guide and his local knowledge.

Devoid of our luggage, we settled down in the comparative comfort of the lounge, we ascertained that our flight was not due to depart for another two hours. But our guide had imparted another few words of wisdom, and we had been advised to be in place at least two hours before the flight is due to depart. Flights apparently were so popular (and overbooked), that there was a tendency for your reservations being cancelled if you are not in evidence well in advance

By the time the flight was finally called, we had added to our collection of hand baggage, yet another couple of large plastic bag; full of local brassware, and the girls had discovered the candy store, filling another bag with sweets and chocolates.

We passed through the departure gate, and down a long corridor, at the end of which was a staircase, leading down to the tarmac.

All the baggage was deposited alongside the aircraft. A large heap of suitcases, boxes, and packages, of all shapes and sizes. You need to identify you luggage sir, explained the hostess, before it is loaded into the aircraft

At this point it occurred to me…….I did not know exactly what our luggage looked like,

With the mass suitcases piled on the tarmac, they all looked surprising similar. Walking over to the assorted baggage, I hoped we had affixed labels to it all, and found I was not alone, with more than 100 passengers mumbling, as they attempted to identify their property.

It took some time, but eventually, we all seemed to have succeeded in identifying our own suitcases, and it all disappeared in the bowels of the aircraft.

Settling down in our seats, we heard the hostess announce that one piece of luggage was still unidentified, and through the window, we spotted the offending piece. A black Samsonite case, tied around with a blue plastic strap

Despite repeated requests from the hostess, there was no response, the doors subsequently closed, and as we started to taxi away from the terminal, I looked back.

That black Samsonite was still there, alone on the tarmac Where was the owner I wondered, maybe he (or she) had not understood te announcement, Whatever the answer that bag was now well and truly separated from its owner

The Iran-Air flight to Kharg Island was quite uneventful, and being an internal flight, had one hour stopovers en-route, Shiraz, Isfahan, and Aberdan, although we had to stay abound at each location .

The total journey time was in excess of six hours, and by the time we approached our final destination the sun was getting low in the sky, and the landscape changing from green hills and valleys, to one of one of sand and rocky desert, with in the distance a glimpse of the sea, shimmering in the evening sun.

Not long now I said, thinking, How nice it will be, to be back on Terra Firma again.

Christmas was only two months away, and here we were heading for an small, and "apparently uncharted" island in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

.

It was just after six o’clock in the evening as we descended to what looked like a small bare patch of sand coloured rock, which appeared far too small on which to land this aircraft.

The view, as we banked for the final approach, was of a place almost devoid of vegetation, the main feature being the silver coloured Oil storage tanks in the centre of the island and the ugly looking black jetty, shaped like a letter "T" jutting out in bright blue sea, occupied by numerous vessels of all sizes.

On one side of the island a large yellow mountain, dominated the landscape. It was later to be determined as sulphur, a oil by-product, which at present was not in great demand, thus the large deposit.

As we headed lower and lower, the runway appeared even smaller, until finally, with a bump, and a screech of rubber on tarmac, we arrived. With a roar of reverse thrust, we finally slowed and it became obvious that after all my misgivings, the runway had been sufficient, as we came to a halt, just a few yards from the end, before turning around, and heading for the terminal..

Arrival at Kharg, was similar to that of Teheran, but on a much smaller scale, as we had off-loaded the majority of our passengers before this, our final destination.

In contrast to the Capital the weather here was quite different, and not a hint of the snow we had experienced in Teheran, and we were not dressed for it.

The temperature was well above 30 degrees, very humid and extremely oppressive....

The terminal building was also scaled down, being little more than a garden shed, with room for less than half a dozen passengers at one time.

This meant large numbers most of us standing outside, complete with all our luggage which was now sitting alongside the pathway leading to the "terminal" whilst a number who had obviously been here before, had hurriedly grabbed their luggage and were ahead of the us and being processed inside the "shed"

After half an hour, we were ushered in, wishing almost immediately to be outside again.

with the atmosphere in the building quite stifling .I was not in the least surprised at how quickly the immigration formalities were, as it must been torture for the officials, having to work in such conditions..

Thus after a cursory inspection of out luggage, and passports we exited….. We had officially arrived on Kharg Island

Welcome, said a voice as we passed though the outer door, and I looked around to see a tanned tall guy, dressed in khaki shorts, and open necked shirt, grinning at me. Can’t mistake the new arrivals he continued, still grinning.

My name is Trevor, your tour guide for this evening. My guess is you would love to get out of this heat..

That’s an understatement Trevor, I replied.. Nice to meet you .as I introduced the family... Lets get going then, and don’t worry about the luggage, it wont "walk", I will collect it later and get it to you.

The truck is just over here, pointing to a dusty looking Land Rover, parked just a few yards away

.

It wasn’t too far from the "Airport" to our accommodation, a white painted flat roofed "Porta-cabin" constructed of timber and plastic, and raised some two foot from the ground . Stepping inside was sheer bliss. It was cool and airy, the air conditioning a little noisy, but surprisingly spacious, with two bedrooms, lounge, all the usual conveniences, and an outside patio, complete with wicker chairs and table.

We had a call from head office this morning, telling us of your imminent arrival said Trevor.

No doubt you are a mite weary, and tomorrow is soon enough to sort things out, so I will leave you investigate the Kharg Hilton……See you in a moment., and departed in a cloud of dust and a wave of his hand.

We were still looking around the accommodation when the sound of the Landrover sugnalled Trevor’s complete with all the luggage, which we unloaded from the truck, depositing it in the centre of the room.

Okay folks, see yon tomorrow morning, around nine, okay, adding as he departed,

Welcome to the holiday Isle.

After all the rigours of the journey we were once again ready for a good nights sleep, and pleased to find the fridge was stocked with a few goodies, so after a quick meal, and a welcome cup of tea, we all retired for the night, despite it being only eight o’clock in the evening...

The sun rises early in this part of the world, and I was woken early, not this time by the call to prayers, but by the sound of vehicles passing close by.

Looking out of the window, a convoy of vehicles were heading up the nearby road, all loaded with a variety of steel pipes, and packing cases of all sizes.

The family too were awakened by the commotion. What’s going on they exclaimed ?, what’s all that racket.

Its only people going to work I explained, lets get some breakfast, I’m starving.

The well stocked was once more raided, containing more than sufficient for our breakfast, of Eggs, toast, and hot coffee, although my wife did confessed to me, that the eggs were the powdered variety, although to me, they tasted like the real thing

Soon after I had finished breakfast, the sound of a horn, reminded me that this was my first day of work, and I called out through the window, I’ll be right out Trevor.

Leaving the family to take care of the mound of baggage, we headed for the offices, only a mile or so from our accommodation, in the compound.

As we turned onto the main road, I noted a line of washing fluttering outside one of the other "Cabins". At least I thought, there is at least one other occupant in this compound, We are not alone

The offices, were of the construction, but stacked end to end in a long row, and divided into individual offices.

Lets go see if the "Old Man" is in said Trevor, in a low voice, as we walked up the corridor, and knocked at a door labelled "Construction Manager".

There was a muttered sound of "Enter", from within. He’s in okay whispered Trevor, and in a good mood by the sound of it..

This then was my introduction to the man who ran things on this Island, whose word was law, the Company (BP) representative, responsible for all activities affecting Construction..

He was a middle aged Dutchman just under six feet tall, with a suntan gained from prolonged exposure to the weather, with the physique of an all in wrestler.

Growling a greeting, he welcomed me to the team, and in a few short minutes informed ,me how he had built, almost single handed, a pipeline across Indonesia, and how he was now saddled with the most incompetent bunch of people imaginable.

Then he grinned at me, remarking, I hope you are not as incompetent as the rest of them, to which I felt I should not reply, as he picked up a, plastic card from his desk, handing it to me, and adding. You will need this to survive here.

It was my ID card.

Leaving the office, I thought …So that was the boss. Trevor turned to me and said,. Gerry spent most of his life in the Far East, his father was something to do with the Dutch Colonial Service, adding, don’t worry about him too much, his bite is a lot worse than his bark, as I followed him down the hall and into another office, where six guys were sitting behind metal desks,

Morning fella’s said Trevor, as we entered, which received a number of ribald responses.

Hey Trev said one, Who is this guy with you?.

Surely not another poor bugger who has been sent to Kharg for his sins.

Take no notice of this bunch Trevor responded, as he introduced me to them all. Lets get out of here, and go have a look around this rock. We have organised a vehicle or you., hope you can handle a Land Rovers, and as we walked to the Truck, he handed me the keys.

Ever driven one of these he asked, as we climbed in. I shook my head, as I looked down, wondering what all the knobs were for, especially the yellow coloured ones.

Well its not too difficult he continued, with a smile…Just like a bumper car really.

I managed to pull away from the car park with a minimal amount of noise, and we travelled back past our accommodation, until a few miles up the road, Trevor said, take a right here, and we pulled into a parking area, containing a couple of large cylindrical storage tanks and a petrol pump.

The most important parking lot on the island. This is the company fuel area explained Trevor, and that building over there, pointing to another "Portacabin" style structure. That’s the Commissary….. "Kharg Supermarket", and the building next to that is the Post Office. But I’ll tell you all about that later..

You need that ID Gerry gave you to use the facilities here. Fuel and Food, so don’t lose it, at least not until the guy at the Commissary, gets to know you, otherwise you won’t eat.

Leaving the "Company "area, we travelled another few miles before coming to a small fishing village. This is Esfahi explained Trevor, the only Village cum Town on the Island.

All kinds of local produce c an be obtained here, sometimes even fresh eggs, which is something of a delicacy here, although I don’t know where they come from, as I have never seen a chicken on the Island

Eggs he continued don’t seem to travel well, the last lot air freighted in from Teheran had to be vacuumed out of the hold

All the local stuff is shipped over from the mainland by Dhow, even there is plenty of beer, in fact we built the roads on the island with empty bottles, and plenty of Caviar, at reasonable prices, adding…..If you like that kind of thing.

We spent the rest of that morning touring around the Island, driving past those Oil storage tanks I had seen on the way in , They were even larger up close, each capable of storing one million barrels of oil, (a barrel equaling 140 Litres)

We continued the tour across the opposite side of the Island, to where construction of the new project was underway.

The area was a mass of warehouses, storage bays and workshops, the place a hive of activity, with steel structures of all type and size being fabricated. Welding arcs lit the already bright sky, sparks flew from the grinding wheels. Trucks were constantly coming and going, loading and unloading steel columns, and pipes of all sizes

The structures to be installed offshore were well under construction.

Huge platforms, each the size of a football pitch, at currently only a skeleton, but when complete would weigh in excess of 300 tonnes, and when complete would form the main berthing platforms

We parked outside the Contractors offices, which looked a deal smarter than those we had on the other side of the island, and as we entered, I could smell the aroma of fresh coffee, and a local guy who apparently was a mind reader, smiled and said Coffee sir… .

I didn’t have to be asked twice and sat down to enjoy a cup of real fresh coffee.

As I was refilling my cup, the door opened and in through the door came a couple of the largest men I had ever seen, both dressed in smart blue overalls and tooled leather boots

Hi Trev , one of them called out, What the heck brings you over to this neck of the woods..

Hi Jake, Ken, Trevor replied with a broad grin. This is, our new team member, and I am letting him see what the opposition looks like....

Oh yeah, was the response. I bet Gerry sent you around to check on us, and grinning, held out a hand the size of a ham…

Howdy, I’m Ken he said, and as I reclaimed my hand, he indicated his companion, and the Ugly one here, is Jake, whose handshake was equally as firm.

.

This ya first time in Iran asked Jake

Yes I replied as I recovered my hand for the second time, , a little taken aback by their stature,

How about you fellows …

You fellows replied Ken..his grin getting wider, I like that, Yup it’s the first, and last darned time too. It’s a hell of a place to work, and I have been in some god forsaken places in my life. Even the beer here tastes like seawater, .

Don’t take heed of Ken said Jake, the smile on his face seeming permanent. He hails from New Mexico, and not used to all this good living.

Following a few more well chosen remarks from both of them and yet more coffee, it was, time Trevor remarked to head back.

After even more of those handshakes, it was Bye now,, nice to meet ya,. Come again, and have a nice day,, from both of them, as we finally managed to excuse ourselves. As we drove wau Trevor said, There are a good bunch, but like most yanks, talk a great deal.

We arrived back on "our side" of the island in time for lunch.

You can drop me at the office said Trevor, and I’ll see you back at the office after lunch. This afternoon we can organise all the necessary . I have to get all the papers to Teheran, for your residence, and work permit,…and of course there is the small matter of finances.

In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten that I would need money here. A proportion of my salary would be paid here in local currency (Riyals) , although I was ignorant of the exchange rate, but that would not be too big a problem. There should be sufficient for the immediate living expenses, which would only be groceries, Plus, maybe a pot or two of that Caviar

Everything was under control at the "Cabin". All the luggage had disappeared, the kids exploring the immediate area, inside outside (and under) the accommodation, appearing to be quite content

Over lunch I told the family of my mornings exploits. I will take you all on the grand tour this evening I promised, and we can visit that local supermarket, lapsing into Trevor’s language.

The afternoon was fully occupied, with Trevor and myself filling in innumerable forms,

We use petty cash for living expenses he explained, handing me a wad of notes,. If you need more than that, just let me know, handing me a pen he grinned and said…Sign here please, for your first months allowance .

As promised, we all piled into the truck that evening for our first "solo" trip. It was still very warm and the Land Rover, not equipped with air conditioning, was stuffy and warm, and dust blew in through the vents in front, which was not exactly to my wife’s liking.

First stop was the Commissary, the entrance guarded by a large local, dressed in black baggy trousers, and with ,to my surprise, a jacket buttoned to the neck. On his head a peaked cap, complete with a brass Company badge .

We received a big smile, and a minor salute from him as I displayed my new ID pass, entering the Company "Supermarket" for the first time.

The place was almost empty, and after walking up and down the gangways, my wife came up to me, remarking . Not a big selection of stuff really, No fresh milk, and whispered, they don’t have any toilet rolls either

As we paused at the counter to pay for the goods, she continued, We will have to invite that nice Trevor to dinner as soon as we are settled.

Yes I replied, although just at that moment, the lack of toilet rolls seemed more important.

Over the next weeks, things began to get settled. All my paperwork was sent off to the head office in Teheran. The Commissary had fresh milk (and toilet rolls), and I visited the construction area on a regular basis, to see how work was progressing, although my function was not yet necessary, being associated with the electrical equipment to be installed later, after the steel fabrication.

Our first Christmas on Kharg Island was quite uneventful, although we had to forgo the usual Turkey with trimmings. The Commissary however managed to produce some larger than usual chickens, which although a little scraggy looking, proved to taste quite nice… .

The children had some gifts, courtesy of the kind folk in Teheran, who sent candy bars, soft toys and games, all it seems organised by Trevor…

He really was indispensable.

The Christmas holiday was no more than a couple of days, and was immediately followed by a hectic round of meetings and discussions on the work schedule, and it settled into a regular routine..

We got to know the other "cabin" residents, and over the months, the community expanded, another three families arrived, and we took turns in meeting each new arrival.

The school opened its doors, and soon expanded, with two teachers, and a total of twelve pupils

The wives began to organise social events, with coffee mornings between themselves, and during the evening dinner parties, each one attempting to be just a little exotic than previous one.

The wives vied with each other to produce "something different", a little difficult with limited produce. The one item which was in good supply, was that local Caviar, and it was on almost every menu, served on local bread, or crisp biscuits, although I developed a taste for it "just on its own".

We visited the bachelor quarters, just a short stroll across the road, where we drank beer, played snooker, and darts. There was the occasional game of poker, a distinctly men only affair, and although my losses were minimal , there were kept secret from the "better half".

Despite the office in Teheran assuring us that they would "take care" of my residence and work permit, we had still not received them, and we were informed that as I had overstayed the prescribed period, I would have to leave the country.?

Don’t let it worry you said Trevor, although I was tearing my hair…Its only a formality, and its always happening...

It means you have to leave for a minimum of 24 hours, get another entry stamp in your passport, for six months. Your paperwork should certainly be processed by then.

How do I do that I wailed ….go back to London or elsewhere.

No Trevor assured me.. Its only means a local trip. You can go over to Kuwait, there is an Iranian Consulate there, and it will only mean an overnight stay

Oh well that doesn’t seem too bad, I said, greatly relived, and thinking to myself. A trip to Kuwait would be a nice break from Kharg Island?

I travelled in the late afternoon, heading north for Aberdan, where the flight to Kuwait, was scheduled to leave at midnight., due to arrive there, just one hour later.

The flight was obviously well known, and very popular, particularly with the locals, who traveled with most of their possessions, including their livestock.

I was to finally discover where all those chickens go, as almost every passenger was carrying a box containing at least three clucking chickens, which were carefully stored in the overhead luggage lockers above our head.

One bearded Arab, who didn’t possess any chickens was arguing heatedly with a member of crew, who were refusing entry to his livestock, a rather smelly and dirty looking goat.

The chickens were obviously used to this form of travel, and were reasonably quiet during the flight, but there was a peculiar smell permeating the cabin, although I was unsure whether it was the fowl, the goat, or their owners

Fortunately the flight time to Kuwait was less than one hour on this occasion, , and with only a small overnight back I was soon through the formalities and heading for Kuwait city, a twenty minute taxi ride away.

The Sheraton Hotel was supreme luxury after Kharg, with only the gentle whisper of the air conditioning breaking the silence, compared to the clatter of our unit back on Kharg, The bed large and soft, and with the whisper of the aircon, I soon fell fast asleep. . .

The following morning, after a breakfast of "Real Eggs", and "Beef Bacon", which necessitated double portions ,I inquired the location of the Iranian Consulate, which happily I discovered, was within walking distance, and would be open at nine..

Many of the Embassies etc were located in one area, and only a few minutes walk away…. The formalities were quite painless, if a little protracted. Even with a letter of introduction to smooth my path, it took the best part of the morning, before I had completed the innumerable forms, and obtained all the necessary extension stamps in my passport..

The flight back to Aberdan was scheduled for later that afternoon, and there was time to get lunch, before heading back to the Airport, and I had time on my hands. Window shopping was ideal I mused. Shops on Kharg, other than those selling local produce were non existent, and here in Kuwait there appeared to everywhere.

The stores in Kuwait were like Aladdin’s cave, with every conceivable item on display, from TV sets, radio, and the like, Cameras of all kinds and more electrical goods than most department stores in UK. .

In one store, I spied just the thing, a necessary item, It was not too large to be transported back to Kharg, and it seemed to be reasonably priced at fifty dinars, although just how many UK pounds, or Iranian Riyals that was, I had little idea. A Hi Fi set, complete with radio, and tape player…I I could listen to my music again, and we could record messages to send to our friends in England.

The temptation was too much. I entered the shop and after a few minutes bargaining, passed my credit card over the counter, emerging quite elated, with a very large box.

As I headed back to the hotel came across the gold shops. Dozens of them, all displaying more gold than I had ever seen before . This is what the vaults of the Bank of England must look like I thought…..But temptation was resisted on looking at the prices, which all seemed to be four or five digits in length. So a gift for the missus was limited to a few very colourful scarves with a Chanel label……

Clutching my new acquisitions, I treated myself to a slap-up lunch at the Sheraton, and with a definite spring in my step, I headed for the airport, checking in for the flight back to Aberdan, (and Kharg),

On the return trip, I was pleased to note that the complement of domestic animals, which accompanied me on the outward flight were conspicuous by there absence. I assumed they must be a one way traffic, now presumably being displayed for sale, in one of the markets of downtown Kuwait

My new Hi Fi was invaluable, and music filled the house far into the evenings. Purchasing a few blank tapes from the Village, we made a number of recordings, telling of life here, dispatching them to friends in England, although I had my doubts on whether they ever reached the intended recipients, for the following reasons…..

The "Post Office" at Kharg was something of a Hit and Miss affair.

Staffed by members of the Persian postal service, for whom a tour of duty at Kharg was not the most prestigious and who on occasion could be downright awkward.

All the "Company" mail was delivered personally by the crew of the incoming flights to the office, but all other mail was deposited at the Post Office.

The staff would then sort the mail into two groups, "Us" and "Them ", The former being anything in Arabic, and the latter which was addressed in any other language.

As the majority of the Post office staff were only versed in Arabic, all the "Us" mail was placed in pigeon holes for collection, with all the "Them" mail put to one side..

There was no arrangement for mail deliveries of any kind, thus arrangements were necessary to get all the "Them" mail to its rightful owner.

It all seemed quite simple, and worked for most of the time, with most officials being quite amenable to us coming in to clear the piles of packages and letters, every few days.

There were though some staff who took great exception to allowing anyone but themselves into their domain. The delay in gaining access caused severe backlogs, and with more than 200 expats, of various nationalities, on the Island there could be a considerable amount of mail, which would be heaped in one corner of the room .

It had to be dealt with, by whoever could spare the time, and who had the best chance of gaining access, or even "bribing" their way into the Post Office.

Despite the niggling problems, the heat and humidity, lack of suitable groceries, and our beloved Construction Manager flying into a temper when things didn’t go right, the work continued quite well, and progress was well on schedule

I would travel, most mornings across to the other side of the Island, where discussions on the days work were held.

Those two big Texans, Ken and Jake would regale me with many stories of their exploits, in the most out of the way places over the years, whilst we drank coffee and planned the days events.

The hours were long with activity going on around the clock. The majority of the skilled construction crew were from the Philippines, overseen by Jake, who was treated like a father by most of them.

One of the major jobs under my jurisdiction, would be the laying of the High Tension cable from the shore to the offshore structure, a distance of three miles.

This involved a number of lengths of cable, each on a drum weighing in excess of five tonne, and would need to be laid and jointed all at one time, which we had estimated as being approximately 36 hours..

The work commenced early in the morning, when the seas were at their calmest. The barge containing all the cable drums was positioned at the structure and we were ready to go.

It was a delicate maneuver, with the huge barge accompanied by tugs, who picked up the barge fore and aft anchors, and relocating them further away from the barge, which would then slowly pull itself toward the shoreline, with the barge direction controlled by a laser beam.

It was necessary to repeat this maneuver many times, until the shore was reached.

Luckily the weather was kind, but it still took almost four days to get all cable laying and jointing completed. It was the longest time I had ever spent with minimal amounts of sleep, but it was rewarding, when tests were satisfactorily carried out on the finished job to ensure the cable was undamaged

The project was going ahead at "full steam", and progressing with minimal delays, and only a few minor problems.

I watched in amazement as the platform structures fabricated onshore were put aboard a barge ready to be floated out to the offshore location.

Two cranes were positioned, one on the waiting barge, and one on the shore, Once the platform was lifted clear of the ground the cranes inched forward, finally lowering the huge structure onto the deck of the barge.

It all seemed so easy, but it had taken weeks to plan this part of the job, the cranes tested, and checked to ensure they could accommodate the weight of the structure . The final stage of the operation was to float the barge out to sea, and repeat the operation, lifting the platform up and locating it on the "legs" constructed of 56 inch diameter pipes, which protruded above the surface, and which were 70 metres into the seabed.

It all went well with the 300 Tonne platform finally installed, and perfectly located. It was a great engineering feat, with the barge and cranes constantly bobbing around in the swell around the structure. Even our Construction manager was seen to smile as the job was completed.?

My work was getting into full swing. All the electrical could now be installed on the finished platforms. The Heli-deck and the Living Quarters, which would accommodate twenty men, was lowered into position using those same barges, and it was a great moment when we energised the electrical systems.

The complex was now very visible from the shore, its myriad lights twinkling in the distance.

Celebrations were certainly in order and the Filipino crew knew how to organise that, with a traditional barbecue.

A large hole was dug on the beach and filled with large smooth stones. A whole pig was then placed in the hole, and covered with suitable timber, and ignited..

Some time later, when the flames had died down and only the embers remained, the pig was removed…Perfectly cooked, and absolutely delicious, washed down with a considerably amount of beer. .

Whilst all we men had been be fully employed on the Project, all the ladies had found other occupations to keep them busy

Trips were arranged trips to the mainland, to visit some of the wonders of the region.

To Isfahan, where Persian carpets are strewn on the streets, and to Shiraz, where Persopolis, the great city of Cirrus the Great, had been excavated, after being buried beneath the desert sands for more than two thousand years.?

They would return days later, laden with Persian carpets, of all shapes and sizes, together with brassware from the many Bazaars and Souk’s in the towns they visited

I was to find that my living allowance did not cover the cost of all these artifacts, and Trevor would be approached before months end. I was expecting you he would remark, as I walked into his office, they all came back just yesterday, Oh..by the way. They were asking about flights next weekend to Aberdan … .

The family disappeared back to England during the worst part of the year, when the temperatures were at their highest, and the humidity demanded the use of the windscreen wipers on the Landrover most of the time.

The following two Christmas holidays were spent on Kharg, although the work schedule allowed little time for celebrating. But like previous years we managed some semblance of the Holiday spirit. The single guys Mess was decorated with tinsel and one year somebody had acquired a large "Turkey Looking" bird, although nobody was quite sure exactly what breed really was.

During our last year on the Island , there were ominous signs of military developments on the western fringe of the Island. The Iranians had constructed a Naval Base, complete with hovercraft , which buzzed around the island at all hours, and there were rumours that a missile base was going to be included.

Access to this part of the Island was suddenly very restricted and wire fencing appeared overnight., with tales of "Savak", the Iranian secret police being in residence, which seemingly frightened the life out of the local populace in the village.

Life began to get a bit tense, and nobody knew exactly what was going on. The Oil Company were tight lipped about everything, and there was much coming and going of officials from the Company, and the Government , who disappeared behind the closed door of Gerry’s office for hour on end.

Trevor either wouldn’t or couldn’t shed any light on these developments, and Gerry had the most fearful bouts of bad temper I have ever experienced, because as Trevor remarked. Anything which interferes with his beloved Project, is not tolerated by him, and this interference is something over which he has no control .

It all culminated in a curfew being imposed on all and sundry, when nobody was allowed to venture outside after dark. This remained in force for some weeks , before being lifted, allowing us to return to some form of normality.

The Complex was fast approaching completion. The computer systems had all been installed, and made operational. The living quarters were now functional, and occupied, providing an air conditioned haven. This offshore export terminal was ready to receive tankers, with a capacity of One Million Dead Weight Tonnage.

It was the largest Oil export terminal in the world.

The official opening of this masterpiece was to be a grand affair, performed by no other than the Shah himself, one of his last official functions before he was deposed and left the country..

During the actual opening ceremony, all us Expatriates were "evacuated", (for reasons unknown), and shipped over to Aberdan, where we were housed, in superb luxury, at the local Hilton for the duration of the opening celebrations.

Upon our return to Kharg, after nearly a week spent in such surroundings, (all at Company expense), it was with some regret that we began preparations for our departure.

The family, who didn’t quite share my views on our imminent departure, talked excitedly of getting back to "civilisation" and of spending the next Xmas in more familiar surroundings

Packing was to me a sad time. I had mixed feelings about our return to Europe, and had developed a strange fondness for this ugly patch of brown rock in the middle of the Persian Gulf, although I was looking forward to getting back to England, to all our friends there, and enjoy some of the money we had accumulated over the past years

As I had anticipated packing was not an easy task. We couldn’t possibly carry it all, especially the multitude of brassware, carpets and associated miscellany of stuff my wife had collected on her many excursions. We decided to air freight most of our possessions back via Teheran and began to determine which items were not immediately needed.

It would only take a week before they arrived in UK, and I anticipated we could limit ourselves to a couple of suitcases. So with a couple of large robust boxes from the company warehouse, everything was carefully packed, addressed to ourselves, delivered to Kharg airport for subsequent shipment to Teheran, and onwards to England.

Despite my plans to ship the majority of our goods, we were still in possession of a large number of suitcases. This "amount" of hand baggage, had been the result of the family insisting, during my packing , of "Don’t pack that" we may need it before we go, and all my objections had been vetoed, with a good many items retained, and which would have accompany us

..

Although we were booked through to our final destination, our luggage was not so lucky and we had to reclaim it at Teheran airport, and check it in again for the flight to Europe.

My thoughts returned to that arrival many years ago, and I wondered if that unclaimed piece of luggage was still sitting on the runway?..

We were standing at the departure desk in Teheran , with our luggage piled high on a trolley watched over by a vigilant porter.

Despite all my attempts at keeping our luggage to manageable proportions we were overweight.. What is the cost of the excess I inquired.

But there didn’t seem to be any method by which I could pay the excess. I looked at the porter, who shook his head knowingly, as he retrieved the luggage and put it back on the trolley.

Just give the porter a tip sir, said the man behind the desk, and that will be okay, so putting my hand in my pocket I handed him a few Rial notes. The porter looked at me and the money and smiled, but remained where he was.

Perhaps he doesn’t want any money whispered my wife, the porter immediately giving her a funny look, as I opened my wallet and took out another few notes, which I proffered to him.

His response was similar, and smiling, he pointed to the larger denomination notes in my hand, which I handed to him.

With a nod of his head and a broad grin, the trolley was pushed through the barrier, and he unloaded the bags onto the conveyer.

From the time I left the shores of England, and embarked on a life of an expatriate in Europe, initially in Holland, I had spent much of my working life travelling around the globe.

It seemed so long ago that I had first departed for foreign climes. Travel had become a way of life, and here I was once more, in the departure lounge, waiting for yet another flight.

But that journey to Holland, way back in the 70’s seemed so long ago

I was now heading into the unknown, to a place which conjured up visions of mystery, and those same doubts began to emerge

As I sat in my seat waiting for the plane to depart the terminal, and join the many others at the end of the runway,. I browsed through the in-flight magazine, and turned to the airline route maps.

The maps extended over three pages, with Europe on the first fold out, the second, coloured yellow, depicting the sands of the Middle East , a place which after my experiences on that small island in the Persian Gulf, wasn’t top of my favorite places to live and work.

On the final pages, the Far East..

Those routes from Europe to the Middle East I knew quite well, but still only a third of the way from my destination, the Orient.

Tracing the route with my finger, across the Indian ocean, and then the subcontinent of India, Bombay to Calcutta, still a long, long, way to Singapore

.

With a roar that disturbed my map-reading, the engines opened up, and we began the long take off, the first stage of my journey.

As the lights below faded away, we banked left, heading for the first stop, somewhere in the Middle East, and I settled back, closing my eyes as we climbed even higher, until finally the engines settled down to a steady hum.

The first stage of the journey was a little over six hours, and after a few welcome drinks and an attempt at trying to sleep, the hours passed quicker than I had anticipated, and we began our gradual descent to somewhere in the dusty regions of the Middle East…the Gulf state of Dubai, one of the Emirates, tucked in between Saudi Arabia and the Sultanate of Oman.. This was a stop for a crew change, and we were allowed to disembark for the hour it would take for the aircraft to be readied. for the next stage.

There wasn’t a lot to do except to browse the many shopping arcades, which were stocked with every conceivable make and brand of cigarette, together with more bottles of wine and spirits, than I had ever seen before…This was rather strange, and made me wonder, why, in this small Gulf State, there should be such a proliferation of such, when the majority of the surrounding states do not even allow alcohol on their flights.

Just one hour later we were once again airborne, and following the usual welcome announcement to those who had joined us, we soon reached our cruising altitude, settling down to yet another meal, finally nodding off as we headed across the ocean, and the Sub Continent..

I woke with a start., it was getting light, and glancing at my watch, surely I thought we must be close to India. Looking out of the window the vista below was grey, but turning to a dusky brown as the sun brightened.

As I drunk my fifth coffee of the day, the engine note changed, as we perceptively began our second descent of the journey...

Calcutta was very different from Dubai, the stopover duration being the same, and the terminal building like any other throughout the world, but this one was devoid of any services.

The "lounges" were packed with sleeping people, spread out, filling not just the seating area, but all over the floor too.

Like a few of the other passengers, I strolled through the terminal, doing my level best to avoid the sleeping masses, before returning to the aircraft and taking my seat..

We appeared to have "lost" considerably more passengers here than we gained, and the aircraft was seemed strangely empty, and I was still contemplating this fact as we roared, once more done the runway, heading east, across the bay of Bengal.,

Once more the flight map was retrieved, and the latter page consulted….Our next stop was Kuala Lumpur, in Malaysia, just north of Singapore…..The Orient was certainly getting closer..

Even the vista was changing, and the view from the window had changed from dusky brown to clear azure blue…and to celebrate it, yet another meal, the third of the day, although the term day, didn’t seem to have much meaning. Was it, still today..? We were heading into bright sunshine now, and it would soon be behind us, as it headed West, while we headed ever further East.

I had lost track of all time. Was it six hours since we had left Calcutta, or seven. Glancing at my watch gave me no answers. Was it morning or evening.. Oh well never mind, it was obviously a long way yet to go, and….Can I have another scotch please.

Calcutta was far behind us, and I had slept uneasily, waking suddenly, and deciding to watch the in-flight movie.

Was that that another dawn on the horizon, I wondered, as looking out I could discern the bright sunshine on the horizon.. There were sounds of clinking from afar. Another meal, this time breakfast, must be imminent, which was confirmed minutes later as everyone began to stir, with folk shuffling up and down the gangway, clutching the inevitable toiletries bag.

Queues formed at all the toilets, with everyone attempting to make themselves presentable, after their nights rest.

The inevitable meal, (breakfast) soon appeared, so I deduced it must be another day, and once more we began the long descent, heading over clear blue seas , and on the horizon, the unmistakable signs of land could be seen.

The lower we descended, the brighter the colours became, the blueness of the ocean contrasting with almost white beaches, and deep green of the jungle foliage along the shoreline,

Jungle gave way to green rolling hills, followed by the gleaming white, high rise skyscrapers of Kuala Lumpur.

With the exception of the disembarking passengers, everyone stayed aboard, the doors wide open, allowing the steamy heat to permeate to the cabin. I walked to the open door, and. looking across the airport, to where through the haze, the hills beyond shimmered in the heat.

Our stop here was supposed to be one hour, but for some unknown reason was closer to two, before we took departed once more, heading for my final destination of Singapore, just fifty minutes, and another quick drink .away

Spot on schedule, just forty minutes later we were on final approach into Changi the airport of Singapore. with the same "Manhattan" skyline we had seen in the Malaysian capital clearly visible.,as we skimmed over the palm tress fringing the white sandy beaches.

Changi airport was a big surprise.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was not expecting an airport like this It was the most modern airport in the world, with construction completed only a few years previously. It was festooned with plants and trees everywhere, from the arrivals area, all the way through to the terminal concourse.

Formalities were the most rapid I had ever experienced, and within thirty minutes of arrival, I was at the terminal exit, where the warm tropical air hit me, like stepping into a large oven, as I walked through the doors, which closed immediately behind me.

Lines of taxis were drawn up on the roadside, and one drew to a stop in front of me…The driver jumped out, grabbing my case…Where to mister, he inquired.

The Hotel Merlin Plaza I replied.. Its on Beach Road…That’s right he replied as I climbed into the seat beside him….I know it well.

The taxi was cool after the heat outside, as we turned away from the airport, turning onto a dual carriage-way heading towards the city.

The East Coast highway, ran alongside the ocean, the verges were well tended lawn and bordered with flowers. The central reservation covered with plants of all descriptions, the pedestrian overpasses festooned with hanging plants.. I was beginning to understand the reason for Singapore being called "Flower City".

My driver a Chinese guy was busy humming gently to himself, when, just thirty minutes later we passed over the Benjamin Shires bridge, spanning the harbour, turning left, and past the famous Raffles Hotel.

The signpost read "Beach Road"…..The plaza hotel I noted being walking distance from "Raffles", and I promised myself to visit at the earliest opportunity.

At the Plaza, my reservations were confirmed, and like the airport, the formalities were extremely rapid, and I was soon ensconced in my comfortable and spacious room on the fifth floor, with a glorious view of the harbour, and that bridge we had just passed over.

After a shower and a change of clothes I called the Company office to inform tem of my safe arrival. The receptionist welcomed me. Yes she said,, I was expected, but as its late in the afternoon she suggested I travel down to the office the following morning.

Will nine o’clock be okay she inquired, giving me directions on how to locate the office..

There was plenty of daylight left, and an ideal opportunity to investigate the surrounding area, and discover what the hotel had to offer..

There were twenty seven floors to the Merlin Plaza. Complex. The hotel proper occupied the first fifteen, with the health club, Gym, swimming pool etc, on floor No 12, the remaining floors being service apartments. .

A good nights sleep was certainly overdue, with a touch of Jetlag beginning to affect me, so following a light meal, and a couple of drinks in the bar, I returned to my room

Booking an early call for the morning, I fell into the large comfortable bed, and was asleep almost immediately.

At eight am the following morning the telephone rang….My early call. Almost midnight according to my watch, which I realised I had not adjusted since departing Europe, and reminding me , Its tomorrow here, but still yesterday there.??

After breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, I stepped out through the hotel entrance, where although early in the morning was pleasantly warm, but not oppressive, but now, I was dressed for the weather, with an open neck shirt, and linen jacket although my necktie was safely housed in the jacket pocket, just in case the dress convention here demanded thus.. The streets were already busy, taxis cruising in and out of the hotel environs. Hailing one them, heading for the address given to me the previous evening,

Middle Road.

It was less than a ten minutes journey, through the Business Zone, an area where I discovered later, that a permit is necessary for all private vehicles entering. Middle Road. was just inside this zone and a brass plaque on a nondescript looking building, informed me that this was the Singapore offices of our Dutch Company..

Climbing the stairs to the reception area, I approached a glass door, embellished with the Company logo. Knocking just once, I entered.

A young Asian girl, sitting behind a large wooden desk looked up. Good morning sir she said in a very soft voice, can I help you.. I introduced myself., and she replied, Oh yes, I am Polly, we spoke last evening. Welcome to Singapore, I hope you had a pleasant flight, .

Yes I replied, thank you Polly, the hotel was pleasant, and after such a long journey, very welcome

Well she said, its nice to meet you, please come in and meet everyone, indicating a doorway behind her desk

The office was light and airy, with picture windows overlooking the street, Metal desks were arranged in groups in the centre of the room, and tropical plants, in large pots, were strategically located around the room..

Papers and files were spread out all over the large table at one end of the room, and curious faces looked up from behind the desks as we entered.

Introductions were simple, and I was to form my own impression of my colleagues here in the coming months.

I met the resident manager, a tall gangling man from the wilds of Surrey, who everyone addressed as Wally, although I later discovered he preferred to be called Wallace. Like me had been recruited from the European (UK) office, and had only been here for a few weeks, and it transpired that most of us were "new boys", and the office was in its infancy.

David, a pilot in his spare time, was the commercial manager, with a penchant for snappy dressing. Two Australian Engineers, were completely the opposite, dressing in floral shirts, and sneakers, much to the disapproval of "Wallace"

An extrovert New Zealander, with a permanent smile on his face was our Structural Engineer, who subsequently became my constant companion at the East Coast Sailing club, where we both learnt the skills, or was it an art, of Windsurfing.

Two local guys made up the complement, A chubby Chinese and his colleague, a native from Malaysia.

The were two other ladies of the office, our secretarial, staff who in addition to Polly, who manned the reception, added a touch of glamour to the place They all dressed extremely well, putting all the males to shame, and were more in keeping with Bond Street than our small office. in Middle Road.

After that first day, things settled down to the daily work schedule, and life was very easy going. Polly our "Girl Friday", very petite, with long black hair down to her waist , would greet us each morning with coffee. Janet who was PA to Wally…(Sorry "Wallace") , and of model proportions, tall and elegant, given to wearing a different outfit every day of the week, would take care of all the administration problems, be it work permits with the authorities, to arranging bank accounts for us expatriates

Our Managing Director, together with the Company accountant were located elsewhere in the city, only appearing for the weekly meetings, held to discuss the work progress, and more importantly, to sign our salary cheques, and expense accounts..

My hotel expenses for the first fourteen days, would be paid by the company. Following that period I was expected to find a suitable place to live, for which I would be allowed a set amount each month.

The first two weeks therefore, were occupied by the hunt for such, and I soon found that the cost of living in Singapore, and particularly rents, were much higher than those in Europe and after a week of studying the local newspapers, and viewing a few properties, I was no nearer finding a place to live.

With only a few more days to go, before my fourteen days expired, I discovered there was a fully furnished apartment available, located on the upper reaches of the Merlin Plaza Complex.

But could I afford it..??.

Negotiations with the owner commenced, and after a little bargaining, he agreed to let me have it on a year’s lease, for a price which would not break my budget..

With this problem solved life settled down to a regular routine. I had a place to stay, the bank accounts had been arranged, with a little help from Janet, and the necessary residence and work permits had all been submitted to the authorities.

Finally, my transport, a vehicle provided by the company, a"must" item anywhere in the world, and mine here, was a Datsun Cherry, slightly diminutive, but nevertheless transport. . .

I was mobile, had a place to lay my head, and itching to sample the delights of Singapore.

Dressing in my linen jacket, and donning my only necktie, I headed down Beach Road in the "Cherry", and into the car park at "Raffles" hotel. Handing the car keys to the attendant, As I headed towards the entrance, the "Cherry" passed me, heading for the car parking area at the rear of the hotel.

Why not the front car park I thought. There was plenty of space alongside the Ferrrari’s and Bentleys, but I thought it best not to object on this occasion ? .

I strolled into the lobby, and through into the bar. An enormous area, and littered with wicker chairs and tables. This is the place where Somerset Maughan would sit, I thought to myself, sipping drinks, playing backgammon and possibly even planning his next novel.?.

I wandered up to the bar and ordered a "Singapore Sling", something I had heard off but not really sure what it comprised…..When it arrived I was still unaware of its contents, and other than deciding it was a concoction of many ingredients, topped by a mountain of fruit, and drunk through a straw, I headed, with my mountainous drink and headed for a table, where I could safely contemplate, and peruse the other occupants, most of whom were imbibing drinks considerably less conspicuous than mine.

.By the time my "Sling" had almost disappeared, the place had filled up, with most of the tables now occupied by groups of people, including a group of chines who had begone a lod game of Ma Jong…. I suddenly felt somewhat conspicuous and decided to call it a day, returning to the Merlin aprtment..

There was a more serious side to life in Singapore, however, and work proliferated, keeping us busy from eight in the morning until after five in the evening, with little time for much else.

Representatives from our client "Shell" who were located in Brunei and Sarawak , visited Singapore regularly, and extensive discussions would be held, which lasted well into the evenings..

Holidays in Singapore were varied, tmany, with Chinese, Moslem and of course the Christian festivals all being celebrated.. The Christmas holidays occurred not long after my arrival and were very welcome, giving me an opportunity to experience the delights of shopping in Singapore. There was a further bonus, with all the stores staying open late, for the whole of the holiday period.

It was an experience strolling around the many Shopping Malls, and Plaza’s which abounded here. Each of these Malls included stores, cinemas, and restaurants on the different floors, with one level reserved for car parking, which ensured there was never a parking problem. Parking on the street is frowned upon by the local authority, and would lead to a fairly hefty fine, with on occasion the offending vehicle removed to the local pound. .

Orchard Road, is to Singapore, what Regent street is to London, and department stores from both the East and the Western world, could be found here.

"Isetan" from Tokyo, "Gallerie Lafayette" from Paris, and "John Little", of London, the latter, not a name which is well known, but it is the Non de plume of "Marks and Spencer".Just why thay don’t market as M&S I don’t know, but all the goods are identical to the stores in the UK, and the prices in Singapore are considerably less. .

All the stores carried top name goods, but there were other establishments where anything "lookalike" be it watches like Rolex, or Cartier, etc, or any other designer product, could be had for a fraction of the cost of the original on sale in Orchard Road

Parking on the streets was unknown in the city centre. During weekdays it was necessary to have an "Entry permit" affixed to the windscreen in order to enter the precincts of the what was referred to as the Business District of the City,

The only private vehicles allowed to enter without this permit, were those with four passengers, or more, public transport, and taxis.

The daily cost of these permits was almost 10 pounds sterling, but as "Middle road" was (just) within these precincts, we were lucky enough to have them provided by the company, which made our forays into the city affordable,.

Singapore is a very small nation, having a land mass of only 225 square miles and a population of just 2 million.

With a host of incoming visitors from points East who stopover here, on their way to Europe, (and the reverse)., plus the many tourists, it seems, on occasion that "visitors" vastly outnumbered the population..

Singapore has many faces, and some of them a little seamy, which some of the more adventurous among the Expat community sampled .

The bars on the Raffles Quay waterfront, included the infamous Offshore club, closed down by the authorities on many occasions, but managing to bounce back, until the next riot, which invariably left the place like a pile of matchwood.

The back street clubs and bars, where the "Girls from Bangkok" would congregate, and where, on a regular basis, they would be rounded up by the Immigration police, and shipped back to Thailand, but they eventually returned to Singapore, by one route or another, when the process would be repeated

Bugis Street, known as the best place in Singapore for fried chicken wings, but possibly even better known for the absolutely beautiful women who frequented the area..

But Singapore was full of surprises, and these beauties, were not really women at all, but Males, who had a longing to be the opposite sex, spending vast sums in the process of achieving their ambition.

For all the "seamy atmosphere" of the place there was surprisingly little crime, even drunkenness in public places being firmly dealt with, and sometimes quite severely . Drugs were a different problem and not even mentioned, probably due to the fact that possession of even a small amount could result in dire penalties, including the death penalty, if trafficking was proved.? .

Eating out was the norm, and could be less costly than eating in. The best value could be found at the many "Hawker" centres, or street bazaars, where for a few local dollars, a sumptuous meal would be available/

One of the favourite haunts was Newton Circus, close to the centre of town, where there were myriad stalls offering the most mouth watering dishes. After making your selection of dishes, from the many stalls, it remained only to find a shady spot, and after just a few moments the dishes would appear. Just how the stall-holders remembered who had ordered which, and where you were was a mystery we never managed to resolve.

Fow something different a visit to Satay park was a must. Satay is succulent pieces of meat, of your choice, together with vegetables, on a bamboo skewer, and grilled over a charcoal fire, served with peanut butter sauce, and accompanied by fruit juices, which defy belief, Crushed Sugar Cane and Pineapple, Coconut Milk, clear and sweet, with Mango juice, just two amongst the staggering variety available

For seafood, a trip to "Sambawang", on the northern coast, and although an hours drive from the city, was well worth the trip.

An amazing variety of shellfish dishes, with "Chili Crab", the house speciality. The live crabs all displayed in a very large tank, would be individually selected by the diner, subsequently cooked to perfection, smothered in Chili Sauce, and washed down with liberal amounts of "Tiger" beer. Suitable tools, (nutcrackers, and hammers), were provided to the owner, in order for the diners to get the most succulent meat, and following the meal the tables would be cleared, by the waiters, and "hosed down" ready for the next group. . .

Weekends were the only time we would indulge in the many, and varied pursuits available all over the island. Two days of relaxation, and in a tropical climate. With Singapore being only one degree off the equator, the sun shone almost every day of the year with winter an unknown word.

Summer temperatures were in the mid thirties and seldom dropped below twenty degrees.

A few miles out of the city was the East Coast Recreation Sailing Centre, where water sports of all kinds could be found. At weekends it was thronged with folk of all nationalities some more active than others, indulging in sailing of all kinds, or just lounging around in the wicker chairs, sipping cool drinks.

The latest water sport of that period, was that of windsurfing, something I had never attempted, probably due to the vagaries of the European weather, but the waters here were considerably warmer, than those around the European shores. So that New Zealander colleague, and myself decided to "give it a try". After watching a few of the locals skimming across the waves, it didn’t look too difficult.

We invested in a lightweight "board", a seven foot long plank of hard plastic covered polyethylene, twelve inches wide. The rest of the equipment, being a fibreglass mast, twenty feet in length, which attached to the :"board", via a swivel joint, and finally, the very necessary three square metres of sail surrounded by a wooden hoop to hold on to.

We found that standing upright on the board posed something of a problem, with the board tending to roll around on the water, depositing us into the water, which was the least of our problem, as the sail and mast, usually descending on our head as we surfaced.

After a number of attempts we almost abandoned the entire exercise, but having invested a considerable sum of money in the equipment, we persisted, and after a few weekends of practice we discovered we could stay on the "plank" for longer and longer periods. and eventually actually move in more than one direction.

Over the coming months we actually became quite proficient. That first "rig" was replaced by state of the art equipment. Multi coloured sails, motif embellished board, and a few necessary accessories, such as rubber boots, gloves, and colourful shorts.

We both entered competitions, sailing for miles up and down the coast, and to our delight managed to gain some prizes, even beating the more experienced locals who had been doing this sort of thing for years.

It was agreed by all, This was a perfect place to live and work, a perfect climate, very agreeable people, and plenty of activities.

Being a resident of the Merlin Plaza, I was automatically a member of the Health Club, and I played squash regularly with "Wally" who proved to be a superior exponent of this game.. The climate was not really conducive to such exercise, but the pool was close by, and provided a means of cooling off after an hour in the court, whacking a small ball against a wall .

The other members of the team lived in similar surroundings, mostly condominiums, with all the usual facilities, such as swimming pools and tennis courts., where we would congregate, indulging in that very Australian pastime, the barbecue, (Barbie)

It was high summer in Europe, and my daughters wrote, asking if they could come spend some time with me in Singapore. It was a request I found impossible to refuse, and suitable airline tickets were obtained, and mailed to them.

I was subsequently relegated to sleeping on the living room couch, for the next month, during which time we took trips all over the Island. I introduced them both to the delights of the sailing club, where they made a big impression on the local male population, particularly the life guards, which meant I would have to keep a close eye on their activities.

I decided to introduce them into one of the most prestigious event in the sporting calendar, The yearly cricket match, played between the Financial members, and the Diplomat members of the Singapore cricket club.

These matches were something of "an Event" , the cricket pitch was located in the busiest part of the city, and bounded on both sides by the main road , where even a "Four" would cause traffic chaos.

Additional "fielders", recruited from the local police force were strategically located at the roadside, to restore order in the event of the ball being struck amongst the traffic.

After that first trip, during the summer, it was impossible to keep my daughters away, and the next opportunity was the following Christmas, when they insisted that "Dad" must not spend it alone. They would gladly give up the delights of Holland for a few weeks, and spend the holiday period with me, assuming of course that the "Old Man" would be kind enough to supply the tickets??

The Company Xmas party was to be held during their visit, and I had arranged to bring a partner, a Chinese girl; who I had met, recently, and who shared the same interests as I did, including a love of sailing.

I was a little apprehensive, and wondered if my "fraternising" with thee locals, would meet with the disapproval of either our Company "BigWigs", or my daughters.

My fears were totally unfounded, the evening went off famously, My partner and I danced the night away, my daughters finding no lack of young partners to entertain them.

Not only was I sleeping on the couch once more, but my social life was severely interrupted.

My "young lady" and the daughters, became inseparable, disappearing for extended shopping expeditions, which proved to cost me considerably more than I had bargained for, as they returned with the most outrageous "bargains".

Following the Christmas and new years holidays, the girls returned to the European winter, with life once again settling into a regular routine, with plenty to keep us all occupied in the office. An extended holiday early in the new year however, gave us the opportunity to be a bit more adventurous, and we decided to undertake a trip to Malaysia.

Loading the "Cherry", as I had lost the bet on whose car should be subjected to this journey, we started off early in the morning, heading for the Causeway across the Straits, which separated the island of Singapore, from the peninsula of Malaysia.

It was a pleasantly cool morning and the Causeway was not too busy, as we headed through the small Malaysian town of Johore Bahru., on the opposite side, and onto the highway leading to Kuala Lumpur

The roads were good, and with minimal traffic. The highway wound through the hills and forests of the lowlands, soon getting steeper as we climbed into the mountainous areas.

The trip was uneventful, taking less than five hours before we could discern the city of Kuala Lumpur, on the horizon.

Bypassing Kuala Lumpur, we headed for Genting, high in the mountains, which could be accessed ( in a straight line) by cable car, and by car, up a very long winding road…..We chose the more direct

Once at the top, the vista was of fluffy clouds, the city almost out of sight.

Accommodation was at the luxury hotel, where we parted with some of our Malaysian "Ringgets" in the casino, before descending once more to Kuala Lumpur, for one last look, before returning to Singapore later in the evening, another five hour trip, arriving back exhausted, but exhilarated We all agreed, it was a great success, and we would spend longer, on our next trip, and discover more of Malaysia in the very near future

Another summer was here, but this year the daughters heading elsewhere for their summer vacation. My relationship was blooming, and I was invited to a grand affair, organised by her employer, a public relations company, for one of their clients..

The evening was a roaring success, and very up market. Me, in a rented Tuxedo, with my companion looking gorgeous in a ball gown of white silk

We drunk champagne, and I made the mistake of downing far too many oysters, feeling distinctly queasy, for days after the event.

During my stay in Singapore I played my first (and only) game of Baseball. Well it was actually Softball but the principle was similar. It was arranged by one of the Ladies Colleges, and we were quite convinced that a team of beefy males could beat these diminutive Asian girls….

But we were very wrong, being well and truly beaten, and quite humiliated,. A return march was offered by us males, who suggested the game be cricket, instead of Softball, , but this offer was not taken up

The work was progressing well, and close to completion. The contracts with Shell Brunei were coming to an end, and there was talk of the Company closing the Singapore offices, and relocating to Malaysia.

My opposite number in Sarawak had asked if I would consider coming over and continuing the work there, but I was unsure of what future plans the Company had for the Singapore office, and declined the offer.

During the coming months rumours were rife, with much coming and going from our Head Office in Holland, finally culminating with the Company informing us of the imminent closure if the Singapore office, with the offer to recompense us with a bonus of three months salary.

It was a sad period. All of us very disappointed, with morale very low. .

Wally and I travelled over to Sarawak and Brunei, to complete all the current contracts, and ensure all the outstanding invoices were settled.

It seemed that I was destined to return to Europe, My lease was not due to expire for another month, and I had decided to stay there for as long as possible.

I spent almost every day the East Coast Sailing club, wondering what life would be like back in Holland.

Returning, late in the evening, after a day spent on the beach, contemplating what seemed to be a dull future, I had a call from one of the Australian guys. Shell in Sarawak have been trying to get in touch he informed me. . You lucky bugger…They have a vacancy and want you over there "Yesterday".

So began my experiences in Sarawak,on the island of Borneo, which was to change my life beyond all recognition.

This then was to become my home for many years, where the only developments, along the coast were those carried out by the Oil Company, who had brought me here. Where there are places, in the interior where man has never set foot

This is a "Story Book" land, with many strange tales abounding, although tales of Headhunters were much exaggerated. The early pioneers, (Shell had been here since the early thirties), had to make do with the bare essentials, and there are still many examples of the colonial style houses built with t he local hardwood, reminiscent of Tea, coffee and Rubber plantations which exist up to the present day .

For those unfamiliar with the geography of the region, , the island of Borneo is part way between Australia and China. It is approximately 60% Indonesian, with 40% Malaysian.

The Malaysian provinces being Sarawak in the south, and Sabah, previously British North Borneo to the north, with the independent state of Brunei, sandwiched between them

Arrival in Sarawak was something of a culture shock. I had resided in Singapore for the last few years, and although I had experienced the vagaries of travel to Borneo on previous occasions, it had been of short duration, and I had previously travelled light. This time I was loaded with luggage, and here to stay.

Only a two hour trip from Singapore, but it was like travelling back in time. The airport at Kuching, the capital of Sarawak, was undeveloped, the terminal building a small single storey timber building, which meant , a long walk from the aircraft.

The flight from Singapore, as I was well aware, terminated at Kuching, and there would be a three hour wait until the Malaysian airline flight, from Kuala Lumpur arrived, to deliver me to the final destination, the Oil town of Miri, a one hour journey along the coast.

Immigration and customs formalities at Kuching proved to be "lengthy", taking up almost half the waiting time. I mused, maybe that’s the reason for the long time between connecting flights.

I finally headed into the terminal building, which was without air conditioning, the air being stirred, by numerous ceiling fans., I found a spot, close by one of them, flopping into a chair

The terminal soon began to fill with passengers, the public address suddenly crackling to announce the flight to Miri, (and points north), was ready for boarding

Collecting my luggage which had cleared customs, I checked it in once more.

I was on the way.

I was a very uneventful flight, travelling along the coast, with the South China on one side and a mysterious looking jungle terrain on the other. Just fifty minutes later we arrived in the coastal town of Miri, .

As I walked to the airport building, the trucks arrived to collect the baggage, and I mused on my previous journey here. This time with luggage to impede me, the formalities would not be as simple as my previous experiences..

All the luggage was delivered to the airport building, a wooden structure much smaller than the terminal, in Kuching, perhaps terminal was not really the correct word, and I soon discovered it did not even have the luxury of ceiling fans..

A number of large trolleys, piled high with cases and packages were deposited just inside the building lobby, , with the passengers crowded around, all attempting to retrieve their belongings. As joined the throng I hoped that my luggage was somewhere near the top of the pile, or worse still, that mine would still be there, after the crowd had dispersed..

But all was well, and after a few minutes my suitcases and I were reunited, and I followed the crown to the exit.

It wasn’t that simple though, and discovered that despite gong through customs at Kuching, I was obliged to clear it all again. However, it appeared to be just a formality, and after just a cursory look at me, and the luggage, I was waved through.

With all my luggage surrounding me, hot and quite exhaustedl, I was finally out of the building, and despite the heat, found it preferably to the arrival area, which had been stifling.

The matter of finding transport was the next obstacle

Amongst all the varied vehicles parked in the area around the "terminal", there were none with a discernable "Taxi" sign, and one by one, they soon disappeared, leaving only a few trucks and a few bicycles in the dusty car park.. .

All was not lost however, and I soon discovered that the natives were a very enterprising bunch of people, and I was approached by one of the remaining vehicle owners, who, for a modest amount, offered to transport me, and the luggage to the Shell offices at Lutong, which he informed me was not too far away.

It was a moderately pleasant drive, the road was paved most of the way, with only an occasional area of potholes, a fact which my driver was obviously aware, avoiding the worst of them, much to my consternation, as he suddenly swung across the road for no apparent reason.

The road wound through the unspoilt countryside, bypassing the small fishing village of Miri, up and over the hill, from where the South China sea could be seen sparkling in the distance, and after just 30 minutes, we arrived at Lutong, the major headquarters of Shell in Sarawak, where thanking my driver, I parted with a few of the colourful currency notes, and wished him well,

Collecting my luggage I headed for the adjacent building, signposted Admin/Visitors, feeling considerably more relaxed, and confident, after the journey from Singapore, where the lifestyle had been very "westernised", Here in Sarawak, it was going to be different, but how different was something I was to find out .??. .

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The Shell base at Lutong was small, comprising a cluster of timber offices, a small refinery complex and a profusion of oil storage tanks. The main facilities were the offshore gas and oil production fields, where products were loaded into tankers offshore for subsequent export around the world.

I was aware of the numerous developments underway, including extensions to the offshore gas production facilities, and it was this offshore development I would be involved with.

Just a mile away from these offices was the "Camp", An enclave of a few dozen houses, of varying size, surrounded by palm trees and neat well tended lawns, in which many of the personnel were housed..

For the married personnel they were spacious, raised of the ground, (on stilts), with the area under the house, a cool place to house the car. The bachelor accommodation on the opposite side of the road was simpler, and smaller, bungalow’s, which I was to discover, extremely comfortable, the air conditioning making it feel like a refrigerator after my journey from Kuching

The total "Expat" population was modest, being only a few hundred. The permanent "Shell personnel resided on the Shell Enclave, the other "indirectly employed " expatriates, who possibly outnumbered the "Shell" guys being housed in outlying areas, in housing which I was later to discover was even more luxurious to the company married quarters..

A visit to the personnel department was arranged for the following day, and proved to be quite simple. The contract was initially for a two year term,. With all the usual formalities taking less than an hour, I headed for the offices, where following introductions to the other members of the team, I met my boss, the man I was to work with for the next few years.

He was a grizzled Dutchman, middle aged, and with a shock of grey hair, but vastly different in temperament to that Construction man I had worked under. In Iran

A very articulate man , and I noted his office was filled with books on a variety of subjects, and I was later to discover his all consuming interest was the study of the indigenous peoples of Sarawak.

The following few weeks were spent in acclimatizing to the way things were done here, and the work proved interesting, and varied. The normal working hours were from 7am until 3pm, and having been provided with a company vehicle, just a little larger than the "Cherry", I had in Singapore, the journeys to and from the office being only a few miles, I decided it was time to investigate the immediate area.

The road system was simple, there was only one road, which heading south, led to Miri,, and beyond to the airport, and in the opposite direction, (to the north), to Brunei, some 60 miles away.

The other Malaysian province of Sabah was a further 100 miles, but was inaccessible by road, I was informed.

Taking up an offer from one of my colleagues, a dour Scot, who had been here for many years, to "show me around", we headed for Miri where the Shell Club.was situated

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The Shell "Club" in Miri boasted a superb restaurant, and a variety of sports facilities, and a good sized swimming pool,. Another "Shell" facility, was the Boat Club, just a short distance from the Camp, and along the coast at Piasau. This offered sailing, and windsurfing, which aroused my interest, although my equipment was still in Singapore, being cared for by my Lady Friend.

Piasau, was a small village, of some dozen local houses, and also housed the only "Supermarket " in the area, which had a good selection of European produce.

Piasau was the preferred venue during the lunch period, and was considerably cheaper than the Shell Club.

It wasn’t too long before I found my way around, travelling into the town of Miri, no more than a few miles from Lutong, browsing the many stores and markets, where produce, including some of the more exotic (and unknown) variety could be found., Eggs sold by weight, live chickens, minus feet, to stop them escsping I was informed by a local, and a profusion of fresh fish, landed daily from the boats plying the South China seas,

I would then head back to my "bachelor pad", to relax after a days work.

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The town of Miri was jokingly named "Dodge City" in the early days, with its two main streets aptly named"Front Street", and "Back Street", the only two thoroughfares, but during my stay here, it very soon expanded, with restaurants, bars and discos springing up all over the town.

In all my travels I had not experiences any major degree of crime, but here, in the wilds of Sarawak, it took a most bizarre form.

The first tale involved a case of highway robbery, when a friend, travelling late one evening, was confronted by a bunch of locals brandishing Parangs, (rather nasty looking meat cleavers), who stopped his car, and demanded money…..Discovering he had only a few dollars in his possession, they demanded more….After explaining he did not have any other cash he offered to give them a cheque, made out to cash……To his surprise, after a discussion between them, they accepted, and duly went on their way.???

These highwaymen were subsequently apprehended the following day, when they attempted to cash this at the local bank..???.

Another odd case was of a burglary at one of the company houses, during the absence of the occupants who were on their annual vacation. The only items missing appeared to be clothing, including a very smart pin striped suit, which only saw the light of day at the yearly functions.

The burglar was eventually caught after being seen strolling thru town clad in a pin stripe suit, a tee shirt advertising a well know beer, and a pair of dusty sandals.. .

Life here was pleasant, although a little basic. Travel was not easy, unless you were prepared to fly everywhere. Paved roads were in short supply , extending only as far as the town boundaries, just past the airport, and the company facilities at Lutong.

Expeditions to the nether regions of Sarawak were not to be taken lightly, and there were a multitude of hazards, the least of which were the lack of infrastructure, but this all added to the romance of the place.

A visit to a "Longhouse", was fascinating, where true communal living was the norm.

Life for these local inhabitants revolved around a veranda, running the whole length of the Longhouse, with as many families occupying the Longhouse as there were doors, the norm being One Hundred

A visit to these friendly people necessitated a bottle of scotch, for the headman, and bags of candy for the children. The overnight stay, which was obligatory, would be a good excuse for a party thrown by all the longhouse residents, with gastronomic delights, containing unknown ingredients, which proved to be delicious, and of course, much imbibing of the local rice wine, The morning ablutions, were undertaken at a nearby rock pool, and showering in a waterfall where the water was ice cold was an somewhat unique experience. . . .

We became inveterate explorers, travel to Gunnong National park which was spectacular, with the largest caves on the planet. A stout pair of boots and a local guide were a must, as once inside it was as black as pitch, and infested with creatures which could not always be seen, but from the sounds the imagination would run wild.

Like much of Borneo, the area of the caves were only accessible by river, and great care was taken on these trips. A large proportion of what appeared to be floating logs, in the muddy river would suddenly exhibit teeth, and although quite shy, we were informed would certainly take a bite at anything dangling in the water

We were introduced to places and things I had never experienced before, the jungle retreat of Sepolok, where Orang Utan, (the Malay word means Wild men of the Jungle), live wild in a jungle sanctuary, a journey by steam train, (the only one in the country) across the Crocker mountains, and through the jungles of Sabah, a journey of more than 100 miles.

Travel to Brunei was well worth the effort. The Expatriate community was considerably larger than that in Sarawak, and the Shell club their, a good source of information. British Airways flights, heading for Australia stopped over, every Friday , and English newspapers no more than a few days old could be obtained.

Beer and fuel in Brunei was cheaper in Brunei too, and although the journey could end up in disaster many of us would attempt the trip

The real problem was the unreliability of the two river crossings, the first just a few miles from Lutong, the other in Brunei, close to the border. There were no paved roads, and during good weather the rough track was passable. During bad weather the "road became a quagmire, and anyone becoming stuck, would have to pay for a tow from one of the trucks who regularly made this journey. There was however another route from Sarawak though to Brunei, although this too had its hazards…This was along the beach. However care had to taken to ensure the tide was "going out", as being caught by an incoming tide could lead to a long walk if the car got stuck in the soft sand.

One truck driver found to his cost that being stuck on the incoming tide, could be more than just wet feet. Deserting his vehicle, he returned later to find it buried in the sand, up to the roof. That vehicle was never seen again??

The ferry crossing across the Baram river, only a few miles from Lutong was the most troublesome. The river was almost a mile wide at this point, with treacherous currents.

It would take the chain ferry more than thirty minutes to get across the river, and it was advisable to arrive at a very early hour, but there was no guarantee. It was not unknown for travellers to still be waiting for a ferry at midday

The ferry within Brunei was a much simpler affair, the river much smaller and further from the coast, with the advantage of it being a "Drive on Drive off", The Sarawak Ferry across the Baram was not, with access only from one end. If you drove on, then it was necessary to "reverse off’, and that meant down two timber strips, not much wider than the wheels of your vehicle.

If anyone was unfortunate enough to have an " an accident" and missed the ramps, the whole operation came to a standstill, sometimes for hours on end

Overland travel to Sabah was possible only by the most intrepid traveller, but had proved inaccessible by the average car, the tracks, and paths through the jungle proving to be too small. The only person who had reportedly made it all the way, utilised a motor cycle, but the trip had taken him, (and his pillion rider) more than a day.

Some foolhardy souls had attempted the journey, but even with a four wheel drive, had found the route impassable beyond Brunei, returning after two days in the jungle, vowing never to attempt such an expedition again

Travel then was definitely by air, just a thirty minute flight from Miri, and well worth the effort. There were two International Resort Hotels based in Sabah, on the coast, the most luxurious the Tanjong Aru, located on the beach, where the cost of a weekend stay was well within our means, but the flights were popular and the "Fokker Friendship" aircraft used on this route were of limited capacity , so booking well in advance was a necessity..

Sabah was paradise, and trips to Mount Kinabalu, the highest mountain on the island of Borneo, and the adjacent National Park available

For the very adventurous, travel to the top of Mount Kinabulu was a must. A two day trip, with an overnight stop half way up, but it proved to be a hard slog and certainly required a high degree of fitness.

My many letters back home, extolling the wonders of Borneo resulted in my daughters deciding. They simply "must" come and see for themselves., which they did, (on more than one occasion).

Their visits were like those to Singapore, during the holiday periods, (summer and winter), which meant I was once more reduced to sleeping on a couch for weeks, and although I had two bedrooms in the bungalow, I only had one bed.

Life in Borneo was basically a bachelor existence, unlike Singapore, and there was a limited social life, except for the few dinner invitations to some of the other family expatriates who lived outside the Shell camp, including my good friend Neil, the Scot whom I had met on my arrival

We would sit in his living room, together with his wife and two children, reminiscing on the delights of Scotland and consuming his favourite tipple, Famous Grouse whisky and Seven Up.

I saw her quite by chance, She was, sitting in the corner of the lobby bar, accompanied by a group of when I first saw her. It was early on a Friday evening, and I had come into town to do some shopping, stopping of for a "quick one". She was not too tall, with short jet black hair, and had a mischievous look in her eye.

I caught her eye, and as she, and her companions left, she smiled to me.

I too left the bar intending to have dinner in the Shell club, but changing my mind, headed for one of the new places in town, a disco type restaurant, which was reputed to have an excellent menu.

Walking in through the double doors, I looked around for a table. It was not busy and quiet at that time of the evening.

As I looked across the room in the gloom it was unmistakable, It was "that girt", the one I had just seen in the hotel bar. She was sitting with the same group of people, and as she looked over at me, she smiled. But that’s typical I thought, all the girls around here do that.

The meal I had ordered arrived, and I found myself looking over to where she sat, and as I ordered a beer, was wondering who she was, and who was the guy, a local, with her.?

Over the following week’s, I found myself looking for her, visiting that same disco on many occasions, but she never appeared.

It was a weekend, and together with a group of friends, celebrating a birthday, in the lobby bar of that Hotel.

Suddenly I looked across the room, and there she was. again, and sitting with that same group of friends, and looking in our direction. I smiled at her, and she raising her glass in response, .

This time I was determined she would not depart before I discovered who she was, and as I walked to the bar to order another round of drinks, I passed her table.

She looked up at me, and, with a smile said, So, we meet again, Yes I replied, I keep running into you, and your "entourage",

Well I had better let you know who this entourage are she said, introducing me to her companions.

She and her brother (the local guy) it seems were here visiting their relatives. Her married sister lived on the outskirts of Miri, and they regularly travelled down from Kuching.

We are going down to the disco later she said, why don’t you and your friends join us, there.

..

I danced with her for the rest of the evening, and she told me she was returning to Kuching the following day..

That’s a pity I said, but when you come to Miri again, give me a call, and I will meet you at the airport, and take you dancing again….

Laughing she retorted…..Maybe. .

Just a week later, I was pleasantly surprised when she called, and as promised, I picked her up at the airport, and we wined and dined for the next few days, before once more she departed, back to Kuching.

In the months that followed, we met almost every weekend. We became almost permanent residents at the Boat club, spending hours on the veranda of the clubhouse, whiling away the time, as she told me about life in Borneo, and her family in Kuching

We travelled to Sabah, where she guided me around the old sections of the town, explaining all the aspects of the Malay culture.

We visited her sister, meeting her brother in law, who was "Iban", one of the indiginous native groups, who like the "Dyaks" and "Penans" were originally nomadic, and had lived in the jungles, of Sarawak, but who were now being integrated into life in the towns..

I was fascinated by the tales of years past, of the tales of the "headhunters" of the region. During our many trips to the interior we did, on one occasion see evidence of Headhunting (a shrunken head), but were told in no uncertain terms that what we had just experienced did not exist, as it was illegal to even posses just a gory relic from the past.

The stories we heard, and the ways of these friendly and hospitable peoples were fascinating, and the sense of loss they felt, at the developments being carried out to "their habitat", were understood by us…The destruction of the rain forests is something which has received more publicity of the years, and the plight oft these gentle people’s needs is receiving a degree of attention, but unfortunately, it seems that commercial interests will win the day..

During one visit I was informed …she couldn’t come down to Miri the following weekend.

But why don’t you come to Kuching instead she inquired, its not far away, and you could stay over in our guest house.. My relatives would be interested in meeting you.

It seemed a good idea, and the mention of "Guest House" intriguing. There had to be a good reason for such an invitation.??.

I travelled the following Friday evening, a little apprehensive at meeting her relatives. although all those I had met in Miri were pleasant, and made me feel very welcome.

As I walked from the aircraft towards the terminal building, I could see her at the entrance waving to me.

and as I walked through the door of the terminal ,she excitedly grabbed my arm, and we were whisked through immigration as if they did not exist.

Quite nonplussed, she still clutching my arm, we continued, through the exit door and into the car park.

A man in a peaked cap stood beside a large white car, and finally letting go of my arm she leapt into the back seat, beckoning me to get in too.

Welcome to Kuching she whispered, and I was so surprised that for a moment I didn’t respond, until the man in the peaked cap closed the door and got into the drivers seat.

Leaving the airport we headed toward the town, and just thirty minutes later pulled into a driveway, coming to a standstill behind a station wagon parked in front of a colonial style house

Jumping out she exclaimed This is it, come on I will show you around, explaining, This is my uncles house, and the little bit on that end is the Guest House, pointing at what looked like a large country house, attached to the colonial bulding

The "Little bit" was a self contained apartment and sumptuously furnished. Is that all you have for the weekend she continued, indicating my small overnight bag. Yes I replied, still a little taken aback by the evenings events, feeling more than just a little bit out of place.

My expression must have given me away. What’s the matter she asked, with that mischievous smile Didn’t I tell you about my uncle. He is Chief Minister here. Do you like the house….

No I mumbled you didn’t mention your uncle…..

And yes, the house is very nice…

From that moment on, I called her "Princess"

That weekend was an education, and I was on my best behavior, being introduced to the whole family of myriad uncles and aunts. . Her mother claimed she could not speak English, and on more than one occasion I noticed she was studying me intently, and I suspected she understood every word I uttered,

The uncles and aunts were, "Datin" and "Datuk", which were Malaysian "titles", but I never discovered if there was any equivalent to the aristocracy of the UK.

I must have satisfactorily "passed" the test, because the following weekend, as we sat by the river, the "Princess" informed me….My uncles liked you.

Following that initial visit I travelled to Kuching many times, falling in love with this place, a mixture of the old and the new, where tall hotels, and modern office blocks rubbed shoulders with the Colonial grandeur of bygone days, when the "White Rajahs" of Sarawak, (the Brooke family) held sway..

The "Princes came to Miri regularly, the romance blossomed, and later that year we were married… In Miri

Our honeymoon was a prolonged trip. To Kuala Lumpur where once more we headed for the Genting Highlands, travelling high into the mountains by cable car, staying there for a week.

From Kuala Lumpur we set off for Sabah, experiencing the most pampered luxury at the "Tanjung Aru" beach resort, with no Jungle trekking on this trip, just lazy days by the poolside, relaxing as we had never done before, and would probably never do again.

The "Princess" and I would sit in the Jacuzzi sipping cool drinks.

We would dance under the stars, to the sound of quiet guitars, from a Filipino group, or just sit on the balcony of our room, listening to the sound of the ocean.

Returning to Sarawak, (and Work once more), I was now a family man, and thus eligible for married accommodation, with "Shell" moving me out of my bachelor bungalow, and into one of those very grand three bedroomed house on stilts.

Achieving family status however involved its responsibilities, and we were now integrated into the "family" community on the camp, and expected to entertain accordingly.

Coffee Mornings, and dinner parties, were usual, although the "Princess" was not exactly a "Coffee morning" type, but the dinner parties were her "Forte" and she excelled, preparing the most exotic local dishes, the like of which had never been seen in this community before.

Our life was soon to be interrupted by another momentous event….

The birth of our sons…Twin Boys….

Life suddenly became hectic. It had been years since I had been a father , almost forgetting what a handful infants could be.

Now there were two of them demanding attention simultaneously.

The boys were a unique event here, and celebrities. Expat wives would normally disappear back to their homeland, returning months later, with their offspring, (if at all).

In contrast we had opted for a private clinic in Miri, where the boys were born, and overnight, we too became celebrities, even gaining a mention in the Managing Directors yearly speech.

A local nanny was employed, who was indispensable, and slowly life became a little less chaotic.

The boys grew with alarming speed, and I became a regular sight in town, pushing a "stroller" through the market. We were unique, our sons being the only twins in the area, which enhanced my "status".

Having a son in this part of the world was considered "Macho". And I had two.??.

Relatives arrived from far and wide, all bearing gifts of all kinds, it seemed the "Princess" must have been related to half the population of Sarawak.

The house began to fill up with non essential items, bicycles they would not ride for years, and electric train sets which provided me with hours of enjoyment, Neill and his family would visit, and it became a regular event for all of us to take over the Boat Club, the staff taking possession of the twins while Neill and I would have a game of tennis.

For our yearly vacation we decided to take a trip to UK, leaving the boys in the capable hands of the many relatives in Kuching.

Travelling to Sabah, we flew to Hong Kong where we were to connect with a Cathay Pacific flight, Non Stop to Gatwick.

As connecting passengers we would have an overnight stop in Hong Kong,, courtesy of the airline, and that experiences was beyond belief.

There would be a car, we were informed, to transport us to the hotel. But the car we discovered was not just any limousine….

A gleaming Rolls Royce was waiting for us, and our luggage which had "disappeared" upon our arrival in Hong Kong, miraculously reappeared later in the hotel room.

The service was identical upon our departure, the following day, with our luggage preceding us, and awaiting our arrival at the terminal.

The flight was excellent, although upon our arrival at Gatwick that Rolls Royce was conspicuous by its absence.

We stayed at a hotel close by the airport, and with this being the first trip the "Princess" had made to England, took full advantage, becoming tourists for the duration of our stay..

The daughters travelled over from Holland, and the three of them immediately "Hit it Off" travelling all over the town, more like sisters, discovering a shared passion for clothes, fashion and all things female..

Returning to Sarawak, I was plunged back into work, with more and more visitors arriving to coo over the twins who were beginning to appreciate all the attention they were receiving

Later in the year, thing began to change. The political climate demanding more and more locals (Malaysians) were employed in the industry, making a "rundown" of the expatriate community inevitable.

I was requested to remain for a further six months, until my Malaysian counterpart had integrated into the company routine, and I would be providing him with "on the job training".

I had no reason to refuse, although was disappointed that my years in this land would soon be at an end, with us all returning to the ways of life in Europe.

The "packers" perused all our belongings, my wife, the "Ptincess" informing them which was to packed and which were not., Yes the chairs are to go, and Please be careful to pack the computer properly.

Looks like six, or maybe an eight cubic metre job said the "Chief Packer" an experienced man from "Shell Transport", who specialised in transporting employees property around the world.

Over the next few weeks everything was carefully packed in robust cardboard boxes, ending up in a large wooden packing case, for eventual shipment (by sea freight), hopefully to arrive intact (in Holland) within the next two months.

We had a "Garage Sale" a week prior to our departure, and disposed of all the accumulated belongings, which had been collected over the past years.

Hundreds of audio tapes, purchased in the local markets, most of them pirate copies. Enough books to fill a small library, and innumerable boxes of household pots pans, and sundry items, were all laid out filling the area under the house.

Folk from far and wide arrived, spending the whole day perusing the objects on display, and it was late evening before it was all disposed off ..

The day finally arrived when we, accompanied by a throng of people headed for the airport, the twins in that trusty "stroller, excited at the prospect of the coming trip

Our itinerary was a flight to Singapore, vis Kuching where the Princess’s relatives would be congregated, to wish us well as we departed Sarawak

.

But there was to be one final adventure before we arrived back in the wintry climate of Europe, but that’s another tale.

It was after midnight, and we, my wife and myself, together with our year old twin sons, were afloat, somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean. . The four of us, were huddled in the stern of the "boat", an Arab style Dhow, accompanied only by the crew, four piratical looking locals, who spoke no English.

We headed further and further, from the lights of the harbour, with no other signs of life, the only noise the chuffing of the engine, and the swish of the sea.

After travelling for almost an hour, not a light was to be seen in any direction, and my wife was beginning to get a little apprehensive. When are we going to get there she exclaimed? Surely it cant be so far? Are you sure we are going in the right direction? I don't like this at all she continued getting even more agitated. As she huddled, together with the twins, in the back of the Dhow,

Don't worry I replied, they (the crew) must know what they are doing, and although I was loath to admit it, I was beginning to have the same doubts.

Lets turn back she implored, and after a few minutes contemplation, I stood up and headed for where the "crew" were standing at the front of the vessel, smoking and talking to each other, as we headed into the darkness of the ocean.

But explaining the situation to the crew, and persuading them to turn the boat around, and return us to the harbour was easier said than done. All my arguments and gesticulations were to no avail... they didn't understand a word I said.

However after some fifteen minutes of sign language, and in an effort to convince my wife of my authority.... A few threatening postures, it seemed to work.

With much mumbling amongst themselves, and looking at us in obvious disdain, they turned the boat around, heading back in the opposite direction.

The flight from Singapore had departed late in the evening, with arrival at Mali, the Maldives airport after midnight. The customs and immigration formalities were slow, and it was early in the morning when we finally stepped out of the island airport.

We were En Route to Europe, after travelling from Sarawak, on the island of Borneo, to Singapore, where we planned to stay, before travelling home to England the following day.

But, upon arrival in Singapore there had been a change of plans, deciding to break our journey, and take a "Holiday Stopover" on the way back to Europe.

The Company had provided air tickets, which were valid for use on any route of our choice, early the following morning we headed for a local Singaporean travel agent to determine what the cost would be for a stopover on our route back home. Yes said the travel agent advised you can certainly exchange these tickets, break your journey, and take a holiday en route to Europe.

How about India he suggested, which I agreed was not a bad choice. No said the wife, not India, that's not suitable for the twins. I was thinking of somewhere really exotic she continued possibly an island in the sun, somewhere, where the boys can enjoy themselves, and where we can have a quiet time.

I know just the place then, said the Travel Agent. How about a place without Television, Telephones or Newspapers, and produced a glossy brochure.

It was most impressive. The Maldives. Hundreds of islands spread over thousands of square miles, surrounded by coral reefs, all set in Azure blue seas. Many of the islands were completely uninhabited the agent continued, only the larger ones were being developed for the tourist industry, with holiday hotels and villas located in prime locations, right on the beach, and ….all equipped with air conditioning, he added.

Flights leave Singapore during the evening we were informed, the flight time being just a couple of hours The island of your choice, and there are many, is just a short boat ride from the airport, on Mali Island....

Suitably impressed we booked for a week's stay.

A perturbed looking official, a radio in his hand was standing on the harbour steps, as we returned, bumping into the jetty. The crew scrambling off the Dhow, all talking to him excitedly.

He turned to us, and in perfect English exclaimed, What is the problem? Have you had an accident, Why are you back here ?

I was now feeling a little foolish, now that we were back in the harbour, I should have realised that the crew were able to communicate by radio, although we had been unaware of this fact, who they were talking to, or what they were saying. They were now quite obviously, explaining to the official, that we were the cause for their return, and that everything was perfectly normal, and there was no emergency. .

The official shook his head. What to do now he muttered. Maybe I can find you a room over there, indicating a string of lights in the distance. You will have to speak to the agent there in the morning, and still shaking his head turned to the crew, saying something I didn't understand, but which caused them all to smile as they looked at me.

This boat will take you to the accommodation he growled, and under his breath a deal more I imagined.

.

The "accommodation" a small hotel, was not the most comfortable, but we were all exhausted after the nights events, and slept until late the following morning, when after a brief breakfast in the dining room, we ventured out to find the agents office.

The agent was very apologetic, but my wife was furious. We want the next flight out of here she said. Any flight will do, I don't care where it's going, but the very next flight heading west.

The agent interrupted her before she could continue. I am sorry madam, but there are no flights until next week. The flights from Singapore only stop here once every week.

Are you telling me we cannot get out of here my wife continuing her tirade That's ridiculous, there must be other flights?

The agent was nonplussed by her outburst. I am really so sorry he said, I am sure you will enjoy your stay. I will immediately arrange transport to your destination, and please, once more accept my apologies.

I had kept quiet during the "discussions" my better half was having with the agent, and was feeling more than just a little embarrassed, at her outburst.

As promised the agent had a launch waiting for us, when I returned with the luggage, and he wished us well as we stepped in.

This is better I remarked, the launch swiftly travelling across the blue water, leaving a creamy white trail behind us, its certainly an improvement on list nights transport, but with a "Huh", she replied, Why wasn't it like this then, when we arrived last evening, and was silent until just fifty minutes later we arrived at the holiday island of Bhouras.

The manager of the hotel was there to receive us. We had a message telling us of your "misfortune" he remarked, his choice of words bringing a smile to my face, and without further ado he and his helpers unloaded the bags and we were shown to our Villa, which was all that the brochure had promised, just a few yards from the beach, and complete with a veranda, overlooking the sea. My wife appeared a little mollified, although her only comment being a terse "Its alright" as she and the boys began to minutely inspect the interior, and I began to unpack the luggage. .

This is very nice I remarked, later that evening, as we sat on the veranda, sipping cool drinks, provided by the hotel manager, who had also arranged room service in our villa, with a very good meal. All the attention appeared to have the desired affect on my wife, who was now smiling and made no mention of the previous days events..

The boys had settled down for the night, the only sounds being of the sea gently lapping on the nearby beach and the buzz of insects.

The following morning we were woken early by the twins, who were quite unperturbed by all the travelling and just wanted to leap around the place. We headed for th restaurant for breakfast, with plans to investigate the island later. The "disasters" of the previous day had now been forgotten, it seemed, my wife now talking animatedly, and quite enthusiastic about the remainder of the holiday, as we walked across the deserted sandy beach, finding a place on the veranda of the restaurant, and all settling down to a leisurely meal.

The boys need diapers my wife informed me, later that morning. ..The hotel tell me they don't have them here, here, but apparently they are shops on that island we came from, which have them. So can you go over and get some.

Walking across the beach toward the jetty I reflected on the decision to come her. Despite the "foul up" upon our arrival, the place was fantastic, the beaches stretched as far as the eye could see, and they were virtually empty. The only other guests we had seen were two couples, who, we were informed by the manager, were honeymoon couples The seas were just as azure blue as the brochure, broken only by white surf on the reef some half mile offshore. The skies were clear blue, and the sun shone for almost 12 hours every day. I had plans to do some sailing, and there were a group of "Hobycats" which I had noticed on an adjoining beach, which could be hired for a modest sum.

Our decision to have a stopover holiday had been a good one I mused. We would have been back in England by now, where it was probably raining. Folk pay a small fortune to come to a place like this, and its costing us very little..

I need to go over to the stores to get some baby things I said to the man sitting on the jetty steps, is that launch which brought us here available ?

Sorry sir he replied, its not here, but we can go by Dhow, indicating the boat moored just offshore. It was just like the vessel on which we had commenced our travels, but it was the only one available. Okay, I said, and just a few minutes later I stepped in and we headed out to sea. .

Being on the ocean during daylight was certainly better than the experience of that initial trip in the hours of darkness, but as we headed out of sight of the island, I began to appreciate just how hot it could be, in the middle of the day, and on a slow going wooden boat .

Two hours later, hot and tired, and thirsty, we headed into the jetty, which stretched out from the shore at Mali, and I was glad to get off and head for a shady spot onshore.

Walking down the wooden Jetty, I headed for the many shops dotted alongside the beach, most of them appeared to be no more than stalls, with striped awnings over the top, with their many goods displayed in buckets and sacks, spread out along the frontage.

First things first I thought, the diapers, and then find a place where I can get a cool drink and relax for a while, before heading back to comfort of the air conditioned accommodation.

But it was not to prove that easy...What do locals use I wondered, as every shopkeeper shook his head at my mention of "Diapers".

It was an hour later. I had walked the length of the "shopping area ", and was now almost into the fish market, judging by the smell.. I was fast running out of establishments, when I saw them, unmistakably Diapers.. Up there I exclaimed, pointing to the unmistakably plastic wrapped packages on the top shelf... It suddenly became clear, as the shopkeeper climbed to the top shelf and muttered Baby Towels, "Diapers was a word they didn't understand.

Clutching my many packages, and with a feeling of relief, at my success, I headed back in the direction of the Jetty. I was thirsty and hungry, as in my efforts to locate Diapers, I had not stopped for any sustenance.

It was mid afternoon, and now additionally loaded down with as many packages of diapers as I could manage, it was time to find somewhere to stop for a while and to get a cool drink,

This proved to be much simpler, and there were a profusion of street vendors alongside the jetty with crates of soft drinks piled high, and although rather warm the liquid was very welcome.

..

Returning to Bhouras was not an easy task however. There were dozens of boats of all descriptions and sizes everywhere, on the beach, and moored alongside the jetty where I had arrived. Bit it seemed not heading in that direction, as I was greeted with a shake of the head, when I mentioned Bhouras.. It was almost an hour, and with my packages beginning to get heavier, before I found someone who understood English, and my pronunciation of the island, who was willing to transport me.

The journey back to Bhouras, in an even smaller dhow, was equally as demanding as the outward trip, and it was late afternoon when I arrived back on the holiday Isle, laden down with packages, and not on a very good frame of mind

The boys were on the beach, busy playing with buckets of water, and my wife, dressed in her best summer frock, and sporting a large Panama style hat, together with the hotel manager, was sitting under a large parasol ; drinking iced tea.

You have been a very long time darling, she remarked, and as I dropped the packages, and collapsed into a beach chair, said...Oh good, you managed to get the diapers, Did you have a good trip, adding with a smile, Its such a lovely place don't you think, .

Participation in all the available activities were not possible and I never managed to get to do the sailing I had promised myself. No way, my wife remarked when I mentioned it. You are not going out alone on a boat in these waters, There are certain to be sharks, and lots of other nasty things in the sea.

She proved to be right about the sharks and we did get a close view of them, during an evening "shark feeding" trip. The boys meanwhile, had been "adopted" by a few of the local population who were employed in the hotel, with the baby siting service proving to be excellent. and although I had to curtail my sailing, I did manage a communal fishing trip, returning with the largest fish I had ever seen. .

My catch was duly barbecued the same evening, by the hotel kitchen, which we shared with our fellow guests.

Local lobster, and King prawns were amongst the delights we sampled, and fresh local, fruits were available at every meal.. We would sit on the veranda, watching the sun go down below the horizon, the sea changing colour as it disappeared, until the breeze fluttered the palms, reminding us it was time for the insects to come out to eat.

The remaining days passed far to quickly, and as we stood on the stern of that Dhow, with what appeared to be, the same, crew who we had met on our arrival, headed for the airport,

Looking back across the sea, at the island, we both agreed, it was one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Memories of this all to brief sojourn, in the Maldives would stay with us for years to come and we promised ourselves, to return to this paradise island again. When diapers would not be uppermost on our list of priorities

For as long as I can remember, I had been one of that band of intrepid wanderers, an Expatriate, and after many long years spent overseas finally returned to England .

I was anticipating a tranquil life, having purchased a small property in West London with a view to "possible" early retirement, Weekends at the golf club, with time to go visit all those friends spread around the globe

Just one year later however , those "itchy feet" began to manifest themselves, and the offer of yet another "stint" in foreign climes was something I found impossible to resist.

My latest departure to Points East began in London, en route for the Middle East, via Amsterdam and Bahrain, to my final destination, the Gulf State of Kuwait.

Delays at Amsterdam resulted in the late arrival at my final destination. It was early morning when we finally arrived in Kuwait, where despite the early hour the temperature was still in the mid 30's and the humidity stifling, requiring the use of the windscreen wipers all the way into town, where my accommodation was located.

What of the family, while I was enjoying the surf and sun of this Middle Eastern paradise...

My family life was certainly not mundane, the family not exactly enamoured with life in England, and my wife, whom I had met in the Far East, a native of Malaysia, revelled in the realisation that she could once again take trips to see her family whilst I was in the Middle East.

After much deliberation we decided that she would travel to Malaysia, taking our twin sons with her, stay in Malaysia for a few months, before travelling back to Kuwait to spend the Christmas holidays together.

Schooling in Malaysia was not a problem. There were many establishments suitable for the boys. The curriculum was based on that in UK, and utilised the English language.

So it was decided. We would find a suitable tenant for our house, and both be "globetrotters" for a period. So after a few weeks of my departure to Kuwait, the family set off on their travels heading even further East...

During our first month away from England, things appeared to be working out quite well. My wife had secured a position with the British Council in Brunei, the boys safely housed in the local International school, whilst I was busy saving my money in order to afford the trip they were to make from Brunei later .

After less than one month in the country, it was necessary to take a short trip to the neighbouring state of Bahrain to have my visa extended by a further 30 days, whilst the bureaucracy continued to process my residency permits etc.

The journey to Bahrain was a welcome break. After weeks of working in unfamiliar surroundings, the prospect of even a short trip, and being pampered in a luxury hotel for at least one night, with the added incentive of a cool beer. (Bahrain was not a dry state) - was something worth looking forward to.

The flight to Bahrain was a short one, just 40 minutes, and made even more enjoyable by my First Class status, due to the visit being classified as Government business. .

Arrival in Bahrain was the usual round of paperwork, before being allowed to depart the airport, where a very large limousine was awaiting my arrival, whisking me to the hotel ,very rapidly indeed, and, in superb comfort.

Formalities at the Gulf Hotel were quite the reverse of those at the airport, and I was ensconced in my room within five minutes of arrival.

Stopping only to deposit my overnight bag I made my way downstairs to investigate the "Sherlock Holmes", a replica of a traditional English "Pub", to take advantage of the welcome drink voucher provided by the hotel.

I was not disappointed. The bar was exactly as had been described. With low oak beams and a long wooden bar, almost fully occupied by a host of Expatriates, all clutching a pint glass of cool dark liquid.

As is usual in all pubs, it wasn't long before I struck up a conversation with one of the other "participants" - and our ranks soon swelled to more than half a dozen.

The majority were from various places around the Gulf States, and all had a tale to tell. Everyone drawing the same conclusion. Bahrain was a pretty good Oasis in a sea of "dryness" prevalent in the region, .

All too soon the reason for my being in Bahrain was concluded. Following a after a couple of visits to the Kuwaiti Consulate, to deposit, and subsequently, to collect my passport, and original visa, I was once more heading for Manama airport, for the flight back to Kuwait.

There was a short stay in the first class lounge before boarding the flight, when I took full advantage of the generosity of the airline, and my first class status, having what would probably be, my last few Gin and Tonics for some time.

Arrival back at the airport in Kuwait, it was the usual mad rush to get to the immigration counter ahead of the crowd, where it could take almost as long as the flight time to clear the formalities, where a thoughtful colleague was awaiting my arrival, and we were soon on the highway, back to our accommodation on the coast - in Abu Halifa.

My first month in the Middle East had been a success, I had travelled to Bahrain, my residence papers were underway, and I had been paid for my first months labour.

I was now well prepared for the foibles of the authorities in going about obtaining the residence documents necessary in order to live and work in the country.

The first requirement was visit to the police station, .to have my dabs (fingerprints) recorded., (all of them), including a print of my palm. It was rather messy business, leaving me with hands looking like a Black and White Minstrel player.

Next stop the local hospital. This time to deposit a drop of blood from the end of my dirty finger onto a slide, followed by providing a larger sample of the same into a container....The latest thing throughout the Middle East "An Aids test".

Life in Kuwait was proving very amenable, and I was looking forward, with anticipation, to the time when the family would be arriving, for the Christmas holidays, only a few months hence..

My past months had been uneventful, and I was settling down to a life of relative comfort, in the Company accommodation. A well appointed apartment, in a nine floor high Rise Complex, twenty five kilometres from Kuwait City, and overlooking the Arabian Gulf..

The Complex was reputed to have been the Iraqi Command Headquarters during the Gulf conflict, and evidence of this was clearly demonstrated by the hundreds of hastily repaired "pock marks", on the outside walls.

The two bedroomed apartments were on a "shared" basis, with two of us sharing all the facilities. My flatemate however was currently based in Tokyo, and so I had the place all too myself.

The transport arrangements were of a similar nature to the accommodation, and "shared", although due to the lack of sufficient vehicles, the current sharing meant, one car to a trio of us. My role as "duty driver" would therefore only occur every third day.

With the vehicle in my possession only two times every week, there was little opportunity to travel further afield, and activities would have to be confined to the immediate area. However the facilities at the Complex were more than adequate, with Squash, and Tennis courts, whilst for the less energetic, the pool on the roof of the block was a welcome place to cool off during the late afternoon, while contemplating where to eat dinner...

We were a motley bunch, some twenty five in number, but destined to increase to double that number in the coming years, with a very diverse cross section of guys from all over the United Kingdom, (and Beyond)

AK, my immediate neighbour, who hailed from the sub continent, but whose education, and attitude was distinctly Scottish, having attended university north of the border.

Bob and .Keith, another pair of flatemates, with Bob who would never tire of telling us of his past culinary accomplishments, as a master Chef, and who refused to allow Keith anywhere near the kitchen.

Strangely enough, Keith seemed to accept this odd situation and in fact had his own strange habits. At the end of each working day he would don his shorts and trainers, and irrespective of the weather, would "jog" the five miles, back to the apartment.

For the first few weeks following my arrival, I shared with another of the team, who acted in an entirely different manner.. Bill Hearn was truly an "English Gentleman",from a small village on the South Coast

His experience of working overseas was obviously limited, and he was in awe of everything going on around him

His diet was of great concern, and communications from his wife would include advice on what kinds of food to eat and what he should avoid.. The one delicacy which he considered absolutely safe was Jelly and Blancmange, and he managed to exist for days on end with nothing else.

During the brief period I shared with Bill, his one delight was our weekly visit to the local Chinese restaurant, when he would tuck into double portions of seafood.. .

The management team were from U.S, head office, with the majority of the specialist engineering personnel, like myself, from the UK offices of the Company,. We were all based here in Kuwait in the capacity of Project Management Consultants, . and acting on behalf of the Oil Company to oversee the Design and Construction works to be undertaken by their Japanese Contractors.

Some of our number were at present located in the Contractors offices, in Tokyo and they would be returning to the Kuwait offices during the new year.. . .

The present Kuwait contingent would congregate, at half past six in the morning, just as the sun appeared on the Eastern horizon, in the car park downstairs, to travel the few miles to the Offices in the refinery, joining the mass of traffic heading along the highway leading to the Industrial and Refinery areas..

The sharing simile extended to the offices, and I found myself sharing, with an amiable staff man from the UK office, who had been lucky enough to secure a married status contract, and an apartment of their own, although, like the rest of us was a member of the "car share club".

The "Sharing" concept" did not extend to the Management however. Most of them were on married status and housed in an adjacent Complex, which was considerably more luxurious than our single status apartments . .

Our vehicles, too were quite modest Japanese Toyota Corolla's, whereas the individual managers were provided with Chevrolet Caprice's, which evoked more than just a little feeling of resentment.

Despite the frustrations of car share etc, I soon settled into a regular routine, the work at this stage not proving to in the least demanding

With the local bank accounts all arranged, and the monthly salaries being deposited on a regular basis, I was once more solvent. The monthly "living expenses", (an extra to our salary), were proving to be more than sufficient for the day to day expenditure. The daily supermarket visits, being the major expense for most of us, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover the cost of most foodstuffs here in Kuwait, were considerable less than those back home..

Eating out too was comparatively inexpensive, and the variety and places where, for a few dinars, a delicious meal could be obtained, was many and varied.

Transport

I had decided, to investigate the used car markets. I would certainly need a vehicle when the family arrived, and the current car sharing arrangement was becoming frustrating.

So on the next occasion the car was in my possession I headed for the "Fourth ring road" where according to the local English language newspaper, the used car establishments proliferated.

It didn't take long to locate them. There were certainly no lack of used cars in Kuwait,and there are plenty of used car lots everywhere.

The 4 by 4's were particularly attractive, and to my liking.

A nice "little" 5 litre Cherokee Jeep on the forecourt caught my eye priced at only 2700 dinars. (a smidgin over 5000 pounds sterling).Its vintage is 1994 I was informed, just two years old, but being black, it was the wrong colour for the Middle East.

We do have others said the salesman.

How about a Mitsubishi Pajero, a top of the range model of the same vintage but unfortunately only a 3.5 litre engine.

I will have to think it all over I told the salesman, lusting after the other cars on his forecourt, including BMW's, Jaguar's, and a very nice red Ferrari, but all just a little beyond my immediate budget.

How the heck I wondered , would I be able to afford to run such a vehicle if I shipped it back to UK . Not just the cost of fuel, which here, in Kuwait was only seven pence a litre. In UK it's ten times that price.?

It would also require a second mortgage for the insurance too, and I headed back to the Fahad Sultan, a little disappointed at the evenings outcome.

The quest for vehicles however continued.

This time a visit to Al Mulla, the local agent for more than one brand of Japanese cars. The "Ad" in the local newspaper proclaiming "Good deals" on used vehicles, and with guarantees galore.

Among all the oriental vehicles on display was something a little up market., but of elderly vintage, A 1988 BMW,320i. just like the one we had owned in UK,. years ago

Only 1950 Dinars too, (4000 pounds sterling) but without the usual Guarantee which was being offered on most of the oriental models.

Common sense prevailed, and although I was tempted, the cost of spare parts for European cars were very high, and for an older car probably impossible to obtain.

After weeks of investigating all the available transport, I finally arranged to rent, rather than spend all my hard earned money at one time, and managed to secure a good deal with a local hire company.

Not one of those five litre Jeeps, but a Toyota Landcruiser, of similar capacity, and four years old, which was considered to be elderly here in Kuwait.

I was now independent, no more car share. My partners could have that Corolla permanently.

In order for any visitor to visit Kuwait, it was necessary for them to be "sponsored". It didn't matter too much who the sponsor was, but it had to be someone either resident here, or a company who were operating in Kuwait. It was possible, for instance, for a hotel to sponsor a visiting businessman,, and in my case, it was possible for me to sponsor my family members

The formalities for such were reasonably simple, but with all the immigration forms being in Arabic, not easy to understand. The first stage of the procedure was to make application for permission to sponsor the individual. Copies of the various documents were required, including my own residence permit, and usually a copy of the persons passport, and in my case, proof that it was actually my wife and kids that I was "importing" into the country..

With this stage completed, it was then just a case of waiting. Approval was normally forthcoming, which meant the wheels of the bureaucracy could now be set in motion, and it didn't take too long before the "Visit Visa's were ready for collection. A quick visit to the immigration office, to pay the fee and collect all the necessary papers completed the procedure.

This was not the end of the matter however, it was not going to be that easy. A copy of this Visa had to be sent to the person entering Kuwait. It would be impossible to get on the flight heading for Kuwait, if you were not in possession of a copy of the all important visa..

Arrival in Kuwait was something else.

The incoming travellor was obliged to collect the "Original" of the Visa before passing through immigration in the arrivals hall .

I was in possession of this Original..?....

So you may ask, How did the family get hold of the "Original"??.

Simple.

On the day of their arrival,. and, after the plane had arrived, I had to deliver the original Visa to the immigration officials at the airport, and they would take it to the other side of the barrier, ready for collection.

Well, it all went to plan, I arrived at the airport early, to await the flight from the East., which fortunately arrived on schedule. The visas were duly delivered, to the immigration guys, who disappeared,with them.

After a wait of nearly an hour, I glimpsed the family waving to me as the doors opened for arriving passengers. They were at the customs counter, with a very large trolley, containing a considerable amount of luggage.

The Christmas celebrations were as close to the "Normal" western style affair that we were used to at home in England,, with all the "Extras", such as Christmas Tree, Crackers, and decorations, which were all readily available.

In this respect Kuwait is extraordinary. In some other Arab States, this Christian Festival was not accepted, or even tolerated by the authorities. In some States,, even Xmas cards were banned from the stores.

However Christmas day was not recognised as an official holiday and I was obliged to attend the office on both the 25th and the 26th.

But despite this minor "Glitch" to the proceedings it went off extremely well, and with the local stores having no lack of Turkey,'s Plum Pudding, (minus the brandy) , and Mince pies, we all (as usual) ate far too much..

The family itinerary was to fly back to UK, after the Christmas holidays, where she would check out our house, taking the opportunity to deliver all the Xmas gifts to friends, before travelling back (before the New Year), to Brunei..

So the family stay was not to be of too long a duration, but we packed a lot into the time available, with the added advantage, that winter in Kuwait is the nicest time, without the scorching sun of summer.

Shopping was the main occupation, with eating coming a close second, and Kuwait had a multitude of both, with superb shopping Malls, all containing branches of the most outrageously pricey stores from around the world

The only store not represented here was (I think) Harrods, but they don't need branches, their customers come to them from the four corners of the earth.

There were also a huge variety of places to eat, from the usual "Fast Food" outlets found everywhere, to restaurants serving food from every country imaginable.

The kids favourite was "Fr.idays"or "Fuddrukkers", and although in the "Fast food" bracket, were both excellent value and served the most delicious food.

The "Grown Ups" favourite, was the Friday morning buffet, available in the restaurant overlooking the Marina, near the town of Salmiya., just a few miles fromKuwait City

Every combination of breakfast's possible were here, from the traditional "Bacon" and Eggs, (although the Bacon was labelled as being Beef or Turkey), to Steaks, Waffles and Pancakes.

Eggs would be prepared in any way you desired, and for the fixed price of just a couple of Dinars, , you could eat all the way through till late morning, when the "Breakfast Buffet" would be cleared and replaced by the "Lunch Buffet" ..

All too soon though, the time came for the family departure. We are coming back this way my wife said, with the connecting flight to Singapore only one hour later, so it will be any easy matter to call you from the airport before we head back..

I would have loved us to celebrate the new year together, but as she explained, I am supposed to be back at the British Council on the second, of January, (the first of course being a holiday), and the boys school starts just a few days later,

I realised it would be impossible, and she was insistent on going to UK and visit all her friends.

It may be a while she pointed out, before I see them all again, and so laden with all the packages she had acquired on the numerous shopping forays, they headed back to UK only a week before the years end

Fatimah and the boys were at Kuwait airport.

They had arrived from London, at nine in the evening (local time), and would have to wait for the connecting flight to Singapore, which was due to depart just before midnight, so its touch and go as to whether the New Year will be celebrated...If its celebrated at all, in Kuwait airport, or somewhere up above the Arabian Gulf.

Being transit passengers, they cannot leave the airport but we are in contact by telephone, and as local phone calls in Kuwait were free, they can make as many calls as they want, and we could talk for as long as we wish.

The flight however left Kuwait just before the new year, so the celebrations could begin as soon as they were airborne, although, with the Kuwait airways policy of not serving intoxicating liquids, their new year would have to be welcomed with a glass of lemonade...Not really a suitable substitute for the usual champagne.

Its been four months since my arrival in Kuwait, and the family have arrived safely, back in Malaysia, and would be travelling to Brunei later in the month although, judging from the Fax sent on her arrival, she is not too happy. The boys, it seems would rather be here in Kuwait, there being (I was informed) no "Fuddruckers" or "Fridays" there..

Talk was of quitting the job with the British Council and returning to England after the "Hari Raya" celebrations at the end of Ramadan, which is the beginning of March. But my first holiday entitlement (R&R), will be due in just over a month, so it seems I will be spending it back home, alone.

It all seemed a bit empty as I drove down to that Marina restaurant for a lone buffet breakfast, with the misty weather adding a touch of gloom to my day.

As I sat down for breakfast, the waiters remark of Good morning sir, no family today, didn' t help my feeling of loneliness either, and even the meal didn't seem as appetising.

The rest of the morning was spent wandering around the town, when coffee mid morning, at a local establishment was necessary, in order to avoid the rain which began again during the morning.

It persisted for the rest of the day, and during the monsoon season, when it rains in the Middle East, many inches fall in a very short space of time. Its not unusual for traffic to be brought to a standstill on the highways, when the underpasses flood, but thankfully its only for a short period, and it soon disappears, with only steamy mists rising in the bright sun .

That night the storms continued, and the following morning we discovered the floods had left the office underwater, and disrupting the power for a few hours..

With modern communications keeping in touch with the family was simplicity itself., and I had set the Computer up with Communication programs.

Faxes to the family were sent overnight to the British Council, so that Fatimah could receive them first thing in the morning

Two faxes from her contained a "WHAT DO YOU THINK", asking my advice about her quitting the job. I would have to think about a suitable reply to that question.

Plenty to keep me occupied at present. Golf, my second Love, (my wife being No 1) was quite accessible here. There were three Golf Clubs in Kuwait,, (but all devoid of grass) .

Players were thus obliged to carry with them, a piece of "Astroturf", a twelve inch square of plastic grass, and place the ball upon it for every shot.

The "Greens" were aptly named "Browns", being sand to which a oil had been added to make them smooth and firm

I was looking forward to gaining membership of one of them, and like all clubs, I had to apply and gaining acceptance would not be immediate. .

In the meantime, before my membership could be arranged, there were plenty of tournaments, held at all the clubs, sponsored by some the "Big Name Companies", for which I was eligible to enter, and with prizes that were well worth winning

Friday was imminent, (our "Sunday", day of ) and it was to be a busy one, assuming the weather held up and stayed fine, because, one of those golf tournaments was to be held at the "Hunting and Equestrian" Club

This was a very prestigious club, the cost of membership, a couple of thousand dinars, and considerably more than we expatriates could afford..

The name though was something of a misnomer, and although there was a shooting section, hunting was not included amongst its activities

The equestrian section however was its main claim to fame, and at the racetrack, the only one in Kuwait, horse racing meetings would be held every Monday, attended by all the Arab gentry, although unlike the English courses, no "bookies":were to be seen,

The race course was, like everywhere else in the area mainly sand, and surrounded most of the golf holes on the course.

I needed to register for this event in plenty of time.. .

My flat-mate (Norman) is due back from Japan on the 22nd, although on holiday for a couple of weeks before (I assume) moving back into the Sultan Complex with me.

Our Engineering Manager, a tall affable Texan, having spent more than two years in Kuwait, was finally to return to his home base in Houston, and a departure dinner party was to be arranged , the first of many such events that I would attend..

The venue was "Caesers", one of the many restaurants in the immediate area, of Fahaheel, the small town closest to our complex. . It was well attended, and a great success with typical Indian fare, and well organised by Rao,our friendly draftsman.

Prior to the dinner I was co-opted as duty driver to another new arrival, Bob Barnes, a Canadian, and we spent the best part of the afternoon travelling around Hawally, a suburb of Kuwait City, on the hunt for a flower shop, to arrange for some blooms to be "wired" back to his wife in Canada.

But our efforts were fruitless...No "Interflora" could be found and those that said they could wire flowers were suspect, with no detail of what would be sent, and at a cost which was unbelievable..

My golf day, beginning at 8 in the morning was a great success, although my scores left something to be desired. There were 160 participants and the golf was enjoyable. I very nearly achieved a hole in one on the 13th, for which the prize on offer was a brand new 4 wheel drive Mitsubishi Pajero, but there were in excess of 100 players who like me who "nearly" achieved the almost impossible on that difficult par 3.

Returning home quite late after a most exhilarating day there was a bonus..Two faxes from Brunei, with news of her travels and a request for "A few dollars"...

RAMADAN....(the fasting month)

So its doors closed on all the food shops during daylight hours, although the supermarkets remain open for the sale of groceries.

Its no smoking in public, on pain of a stiff fine and there would be no Friday morning breakfasts for the next month.

Its Ramadan too in Malaysia, and some 30 days hence, the celebration of "Hari Raya".

Flatemate "Stormin Norman" is back in town, but not moving back into the Sultan Complex it seems. He has other plans and although "officially" sharing with me, as Co-Resident of apartment 220, will spend most of his sleeping hours elsewhere. He is arranging a "Do" which is to be held at 220, sometime around the 25th.

Its apparently to be a grand affair, with no doubt his young lady, and a large proportion of the Filipino community of Kuwait attending

Communications from Brunei are fairly frequent. The family having a great time in Kuching, with Grandma and the rest of all the relatives.

A suitable reply from this neck of the woods was to be compiled. together with arrangements for some "more" funds...My wife exclaiming, "I am down to my last few dollars".

As anticipated the Filipino community arrived in force, the party went extremely well. There was considerable noise from 220 which lasted well into the early hours of Friday morning. We shall have to see what repercussions from the neighbourhood there may in the morning.

My friend, A.K. and my immediate neighbour at the Complex, an Indian guy with an unpronounceable name (thus the AK), was duly transported to the airport, to begin his R&R, and upon my return to the party in the early hours it had diminished in quantity, but not in volume.

Taffy Miles, a rotund Welshman was in full swing and doing his usual John Travolta floor show, and I finally struggled into bed at 2am.

After the chaos of the previous evening it was with great difficulty that I roused myself, managing to finally get out of bed at 11 in the morning.

I was to travel down south, close on the Kuwait, Saudi Arabia border, in an attempt to locate the Bucksands Golf course at Saudi Texaco, which I was reliably informed was located within the Neutral Zone, just inside the Border.

But I managed to get lost en route, arriving at the border of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. .

.The course was finally located, and I managed a few holes on what seemed to be a very demanding course.

Arrival back in Abu Halifa, was just in time to see the remains of the previous nights festivities disappearing, with Norman collecting the remaining food, enough to feed a small army, together with the noise machine which had been donated by one of the Filipino guys....

But it was all finally cleared up and life returned to normal.

The week has seen some changes. Our Engineering Manager, departed for the States and the new man (a Canadian) who has yet to put in an appearance, is to take over the Engineering Manager reins.

My holiday plans have been adjusted., and will be travelling to UK on Feb 9th, returning to Kuwait on the 27th, but Fatimah and the boys will not be in UK during my holiday.

Vacation ..

The coming R&R, a holiday, after four months in Kuwait was a pleasant break from the day to day frustrations of living and working here. The job had certainly been an experience, and not without some drama.

The flight left Kuwait at 2am, with an early arrival at Heathrow the 6 am the same day.

I had forgotten the weather in UK would be totally different from The Middle East, and it was bitterly cold when I arrived., and I was faced with a long journey around the airport perimeter to collect the rental car from the "Avis"office which I had arranged prior to departure.

A miniscule vehicle, awaited me, a Vauxhall Corsa, quite unlike the landcruiser I had grown used to over the past months, and more a suit of armour than a vehicle, but I told myself, any transport was better than none at all .

With the heater on maximum, and the windscreen wipers flapping back and forth I headed for the highway, finding the volume of traffic another particularly UK phenomena.

Arriving back at the house, there was a multitude of things to attend to. The telephone I discovered was not operable and the hallway table was piled high with mail .

The latter was a simple matter. Separating all that which appeared to be junk, and which was immediately deposited in the trash can , and that which was not, with a view to investigating it all at a later date. .

A call to the telephone company, from the neighbours phone, was another task soon performed, with the Phone Company promising to look into the matter and they would be reconnecting me as soon as possible

The tenants had vacated the property some week previously, and a visit to our house agents was necessary in order to sort out the rental and finalise the outstanding accounts from the previous tenants, for which a cheque was forthcoming

Arrangements were made to retain the "suit of armour" for another few days. The television too was another item "on the blink", and I arranged for repairs to be done, and it was finally returned in the nick of time (on Sunday 25th), just before I was due to fly back to Kuwait

With the telephone now back in service I rang the family in Brunei, They were due to travel down to Kuching,. in Malaysia on the 21st...which was the boys birthday, but there was no reply..

The weather in England slowly improved, as the days passed by, with a little of everything.

Cold on my arrival and some snow, which managed to settle for just a couple of days, before changing to rain, until on the 26th the day of my departure a beautiful springlike day, with bright sunshine.

The return flight was in the afternoon, and as I headed west, to return the Corsa, the traffic on the highway at this time of day was minimal.

The afternoon flight back not full, but like most long flights quite boring,

There was time to reflect on the happenings of the past few months. It would be another four months before the next holiday. The family were now settled in Brunei, the boys back in school, their next visit to Kuwait was months away.

I sat back in the seat thinking, and planning the future, looking forward in a perverse way to the return to Kuwait, to the warm weather and the diverse group of people I was sharing these experiences with. Finally I moved the seat back and attempted to get some sleep on this seven hour flight.

Arrival in Kuwait was late evening, and it was almost midnight before I cleared all the usual long winded formalities. My good friends "AK" was patiently awaiting me at the arrivals hall, to deliver me back to Abu Halifa, where I managed a few more hours sleep ,before rousing at the unearthly hour of 05.30.

...

It was described as "a minor crisis" and was the talk of the Complex.. One of our guys, (Bob) has been fired, and .under peculiar circumstances.

The story was of an episode a few weeks ago. when he slipped over in the kitchen of his apartment, and was taken by his flat-mate to the local hospital for a checkup.

Bob, a somewhat introvert character, didn't take kindly to being in the hospital, and informed the staff there in no uncertain terms that he was unhappy at being there.

The local hospital staff, probably because of his attitude promptly called the police, who accused him of being drunk,...a tale which was reported the following day to our management, who without further ado, washed their hands of him and said he was now "Off the payroll" and would arrange his repatriation back to UK.

In the meantime he was confined to his apartment.?

More news of the family travel plans, which were becoming as variable as the weather and are to be changed once again .

Fatimah called to let me know she plans to travel back to UK with Royal; Brunei, in March.

Additionally I have to arrange for the family to visit Kuwait during the summer when the boys have their school holidays, which means those visas are to be organised in good time.

Some of the company guys who had been on assignment in Japan for the last months were to return to Kuwait, Stan Henderson, a tall West Indian guy with a fantastic sense of humour, and Roger Crawley, his flatemate, who hailed from Stoke Poges, who we had nicknamed "Bloggs the Plumber" due to his expertise in the piping discipline.

They were full of stories of their life in the land of the rising sun, of the problems in trying to involve themselves into the lifestyle with the contractor, who would always insist on doing things their way. The cost of living we were told was staggering, a cup of coffee costing a couple of pound, and a three course European style meal could run to hundreds of pounds.

But despite all there horror stories, I had the feeling they would rather be there than here in Kuwait

The return of our compatriot's would however necessitate a rearrangement of the apartments, and the transport, but the latter, thank goodness would not affect me .

.

Meanwhile the "Bob"saga is now in its 4th week, and remains unresolved, with talk of legal proceedings by the police.

He is still resident in the apartment. His attempt to leave the country were unsuccessful, being refused exit by the immigration authorities at Kuwait airport, and he remained at present, a virtual captive in one of the Company apartments. .

..

Its the first of April,, and a very welcome national holiday in Kuwait, `although I felt a little guilty at staying in bed until almost nine o'clock in the morning.

When I did finally manage to climb out of bed, it was off to the Sultan Centre, alongside the Marina, for a buffet breakfast.

Kuwait does not have a great deal of "tourist" attractions to offer and so after a leisurely breakfast a stroll around the stores, resisting any temptation which might prove expensive, I headed for the Armadi golf club, where a pleasant nine holes settled the morning meal, although the temperatures are climbing, reaching the high 40's during the afternoons.

Holidays such as these could be better spent at one of the more tourist oriented locations in the area...Bahrain or Dubai, but flights are usually busy and tickets not easy to arrange at short notice.

Our regular safety meeting this week saw another new face, a new Project Director. "Fred", a nice enough fellow, but as yet untried., and the fourth incumbent for this position, in almost as many months

He would prove to be a definite improvement on the previous holders of the "Big Desk" and able to hold things together in a more rational manner.

He was destined to be the most successful, and remained, at the helm, heading up the team for the remainder of the Company's tenure in Kuwait

It had been a very "Odd" few months on the management scene. with "leaders" coming and going with alarming regularity

The man in charge upon my arrival acted quite unusual for an individul in such a position, and completely undiplomatic in his approach to one and all, and in this area of the world, diplomacy was the one aptitude which was a definite asset.

The Arabs had a strange attitude towards us expatriates, a mixture of respect for our abilities, but at the same time, a sense of disdain at our culture and ways. .

In addition to being undiplomatic, our "Leader" was a very extrovert character, and with a strange manner, He would dress in the most outlandish way, arriving in the office clad in baggy trousers, sporting an open neck check shirt, and with sandals or trainers on his feet, ..

On occasion he would completely ignore everyone around him, striding through the offices, without saying a word, or even passing the time of day.

He departed following an argument with the client, when during one of the monthly meetings, he described them all as a bunch of Arab idiots.

Both his replacement(s) fared little better, the client clearly unhappy with the attitude of both of them. One incident was particularly bizarre, with our Project Director accusing someone of sabotaging the company position by informing the client of our management shortcoming.. . .

Morale over this period was a extremely low. For some the frustrations and the way of life proved unacceptable, and were about to offer their resignation and return home.

They were treated in a very offhand manner by the management, and informed that their resignation meant they were responsible for the cost of their return air fare. This though was not the only veiled threat. The costs incurred by the Company for visas and permits etc, would, they were informed, also quite possibly have to be repaid by the individual. . .

Following these revelations, more than one disgruntled individual, chose to "disappear" at the appropriate time, usually just after the months end, when the salary was deposited into the bank, and expenses had been paid for the month ahead, to reappear days later,back in his home country. ..

However things settled down, after the excitement of the past weeks with the loss of another Project Director, and a few of our engineering staff, and life returned into a regular routine. The office was rearranged, with the team assigned to the new project located adjacent to each other.

.

One of the more pleasant events, which occurred with great regularity were the parties, and the "get togethers", which managed to dispel some of the boredom of life in Kuwait

.It was to be another of Stormin Norman', events. Our likeable civil engineer had the organising skills of an entrepreneur, and on this occasion it was in celebration of somebody's birthday.??.

And a very grand affair it was to be too

The feast was to comprise a couple of real turkeys, and would be served complete with all the usual trimmings,

One small problem remained. The quantity of food to be prepared was such that the cooking could not be accommodated, in one kitchen.

So it was duly "sub-contracted", with individual menbers of the complex being made responsible for the preparation, cooking and delivery of the food to the venue. .

It all worked very well "Bloggs" was responsible for cooking one of the three turkeys. The potatoes and vegetables being the responsibility of three other participants.

With Kuwait being "Dry", alcoholic drinks were not readily available, although there were sources where a bottle of "Black Label" could be obtained, but an extremely inflated cost. It was not unusual to have to pay nearly 100 pounds for a bottle of such

A simpler method, and a drink which provided the same effects was the "home made" variety. These were not really home made, but produced from the refinery distillation as "by-products", and available at modest cost from the refinery operators.

One litre of this "hooch" type by-product could be diluted to make three litres of very potent liquid, and just a few, when mixed with soft drinks could very soon remove all inhibitions. It was also capable, (in its undiluted form) of removing varnish from furniture.? .

In addition to the "firewater" nornally consumed, the more enterprising, and sophisticated members of the group were producing a more gentile liquid.

Grape juice, (the non alcoholic type) was sold in all the supermarkets and with the aid of a good textbook on wine, lots a sugar and a little yeast we were ready to go.

Gallons of red wine could be prepared, in a large plastic dustbin, and left to forment for a month in the bathroom, before finally straining the contents into suitable containers

It became quite a contest, to discover who could produce the most drinkable stuff, and our wines began to improve with time, with just a little experimentation, and adjustments to the quantities of sugar etc being necessary.. .

All went extremely well, the food disappearing with alarming speed, even outdoing "Norms" previous events, and we all agreed was even better than the Company organised Xmas party.

The beverages flowed like water, and by midnight there was not a sober person to be seen...Except maybe Bill Hearn, the quiet English gentleman, who usually abstained..

The music, courtesy of a large Hi-Fi lent by another one of the team, continued late into the night.

The party really went well, and was swinging, when at 2am I decided to call it "a day" and disappeared to bed. The party, I was informed the following day carried on until 4 in the morning, when exhaustion it seems was responsible for everyone else calling a halt to the proceedings.

It was surprising how quickly time passed, and in a few week it was once again time for my next R&R.

These holidays though were short, being only 10 days in duration, but a welcome, if short respite

A holiday, back home with the family, which was to be even shorter than anticipated.

I had arrived, days before the family put in an appearance, due it seems to overbooking on those Far East flights, and delays, due to their not booking sufficiently in advance. .

With only a ten day holiday, we had to make the most of the time, mostly taken up with work around the house, and all too soon I was at the airport, heading back, once more, to the sunny environs of Kuwait.

With the family remaining back in UK for a period, it was simpler to keep in touch, although my home phone bills were liable to be a little higher than normal, it was certainly cheaper to call Kuwait from England than the reverse, with news that Fatimah and the boys are planning to travel back to Brunei in the next couple of weeks.

My good friend (Boiler) Bill Hearn, with whom I shared the very first accommodation upon my arrival in Kuwait, was due to depart in the coming month, returning to UK for a well earned rest, having spent the last two years designing boilers for a project that still remains to be awarded to a design contractor.

The family travel plans were as usual constantly changing, and I was informed its now to be mid June before they depart for the Far East, and planning to travel to Kuwait sometime in August, during the boys school holidays.

We can then travel back to UK for a holiday, sometime in September, assuming that the company is still in business, and has not demobilised all and sundry, because my contract due to expire on the 7th September.

Its a busy time on the work front. Our illustrious Electrical Engineer has gone off on vacation to visit his fiancée (Joy) in Thailand.

Roger (Bloggs) Crawley has also headed for a week of lechery to the same destination.

So, I am carrying the mantle of Electrical person for all the ongoing projects, and its going to be a hectic couple of weeks with the new Project bids due to be completed and sent to the potential bidders and the running Project "hotting" up with numerous "clangers" from our Japanese friends

Morale is still not at a high level, with more casualties on the work front,. Stewart Carey, one of our Instrument guys, being the latest long distance "runner", who "disappeared last Friday, it is assumed in the direction of Teheran, where his wife hails from.

"Stew" and I had arrived on the same flight from UK, although we didn't know one another at that stage. He was another of the team characters. At well over six and a half feet tall, and a physique to match he was however a gentle giant, and a very amiable person.

Whether it was an attempt to improve our morale, which was at an all time low, or for another reason which was not known to us, but the company announced we would all be relocating to another Complex, The word was...Its brand new, and far superior to the Fahad Sultan.

Contracts were coming up for renewal, and a few of the guys had decided "enough is enough, and were not going to extend their contracts for another year.

One of these was Stan Henderson, who had become disillusioned over the past year, becoming extremely critical of the company, at what he perceived as an unprofessional attitude..

Despite repeated attempts to get him to stay, his mind was made up, and his departure left a gap in our project personnel, which the company found difficult to fill.

His replacement was a young engineer from the Houston office, but the client was unhappy with such a young inexperienced person in such a position, and he only lasted a few weeks

Another guy from the Houston office, Dick Beckford, a former US navy man and someone who had vastly more experience finally filled the position.

Dick and I became good buddies, maybe because we were of similar "vintage" or could it have been an affinity where our spouses were concerned, both of us having wives who seemed intent on keeping us poor.

My wife with her expensive tastes in clothes and all things feminine, and Dick, whose wife would travel from Houston to New York for a weekend's shopping and a hair-do

Trips into town, would be undertaken on a weekly basis, and we would indulge ourselves with a couple of cups of Espresso, before heading along the coast, to the local Fudrukkers, where a couple of half pounders, mounds of salad, and on occasion pie and ice cream would be demolished.

Painting was Dick's Forte, and the art stores in town became a regular stopover, forever larger canvases tubes of paints, and numerous other artistic ' paraphernalia.

Although Dick departed Kuwait one year before I did, we kept on touch, and do so to this day. Almost weekly, Emails wing there way back and forth between London and Houston.

.The relocation to the new accommodation was imminent, and a couple of us took the opportunity to inspect it.

Although incomplete, with all the furnishings still under plastic wrappings it looked a distinct improvement to those apartments in the Fahad Sultan

The complex and the apartments were considerably larger, with five blocks, overlooking the swimming pool and tennis court, with each block comprising five apartments, (one to each floor).

The living arrangements were to be a marked improvement, and in addition to a third bedroom, there were also two bathrooms, with one "En Suite"

There would not be any arguments with my flatemate over who was to occupy the bedroom with an En Suite bathroom,. Norman my "official" room-mate, was still co-habiting elsewhere although he would "appear" from time to time.

The middle of the month, and moving time was upon us, although it was all supposed to be performed without interruption to the working day. The evenings were a frenzy of packing and readying for the "movers" to arrive.

Everything was to be packed in the cardboard boxes provided, and carefully labelled, indicating the apartment, and the room it was destined for..

During the morning I managed to sneak away from the office and transport the computer, something which I was loath to trust the local moving gang with, from the Fahad Sultan, to the new apartment. That evening was spent unpacking all the belongings..

After more than a year in the Company apartments at the Fahad Sultan, we were moving, and into very plush apartments indeed, just a few miles down the coast, and despite all our misgivings it went off surprisingly smoothly.

The first day in the new accommodation, and a few minor "glitches.

The telephones were not yet functioning, and therefore no way to communicate with the family, although the computer now back in operation at its new location

The move to the new accommodation was now all copiloted, with everyone agreeing that it was one hundred percent improvement.on the Sultan Fahad.

"Bloggs" had taken possession of the "penthouse" on the fifth floor, now sharing with a diminutive Aberdonian, and I was happily still the individual tenant of an apartment on the ground floor. .

It's the middle of the summer, and the family are due to come over to Kuwait in a few weeks. The visas applications are well in hand and it remains to get the flight reservations organised.

The family travel plans were (as usual) very prone to change, and daily faxes were winging back and forth between Kuwait and Brunei with amendments to the flight plans, the dates would constantly change. Arrival now being...either the 20th, or the 28th , which was certainly confusing for me...

In the meantime my new Contract appeared, and assuming it was acceptable to me I would remain in Kuwait for at least one more year.

With the majority of us on bachelor status, requests from the all the guys wishing to have their families visit presented something of a dilemma, but our illustrious Project Director suggested a solution to this thorny problem

There was one unoccupied apartment, normally kept free for visitors, and "Fred" gave permisision for it to be used solely for visiting families.

It would mean the individual moving into this temporary abode, and it worked well, although with a couple of dozen "bachelors" these family visits would have to be staggered.

I was supremely fortunate, being the only person who had an absent room-mate, and an apartment to myself, although I felt sure the company were well aware of Normans extraordinary arrangements.

The family's flight did finally arrive, and on schedule, and unlike their last visit, it was now the height of the 'Hot Season' which meant they spent most of their waking hours in the complex swimming pool, which as we occupied the first floor was very adjacent

On the occasion we ventured into the town during the day, it was a matter of remembering to take the umbrella, the only way of ensuring a shady spot, whilst dashing between the Air Conditioned Malls. .

They all agreed the new apartments were a great improvement to those at the Fahad Sultan, and we were soon all involved in the social scene, with invitations from all the inhabitants, for morning coffee, tea and the like.

The ladies of the complex would take the Company provided bus into Kuwait City, and, "shop till they dropped", and my wife was no exception..

On the non shopping days however, the family would spend the time, sunning themselves by the poolside, until my return mid afternoon.

I would then be press ganged into a trip into town, my wife explaining, "for a look around", which normally culminated with her disappearing into the Air Conditioned Mall, where all the designer stores could be found.

With the boys, I would then head for the nearest fast food establishment, where she would join us later, laden with bags of, what she described as absolute bargains.?

It wasn't all shopping sprees though . We did manage to indulge in just one of the more tourist type activities. Driving into the interior, heading North, where years previously we would have been able to drive all the way to Bagdad, but a big "no no" now. We left the road, and headed into the desert, driving up and down the dunes, until at last we spotted what we had come so far to see...The desert camels. Hundreds of them, and all sizes and colours, from dark brown to almost mulky white.

Travelling back was a little hairier than the outward journey, and I was a little worried at the sight of a few burnt out tanks, indicating we were not far from the "demilitarised area", and the Iraqi border, but with the overland pylons on the horizon to guide us we safely made it back to the hard road, leading to the highway, and Kuwait City

After lots of "Maybes", and changes of mind, Fatimah decided to return to Brunei, and complete her contract, planning to return to Kuwait in November.

So after less than one month in Kuwait the family once more were winging their way back to Brunei, and I would be taking a brief holiday in England before beginning the second year of my contract.

The 13th....and a Friday.too, when BA156 was to whisk me back to the UK for the autumn R&R.

The flight leaves Kuwait at 0130, and like all overnight flights, getting a seat without anyone sitting next to you is a bonus

Arrival was early in the morning, too early even to taxi all the way to the terminal, and due to the new "anti- noise" regulations the aircraft was obliged to stop some distance away, switch off the engines and be towed the remainder of the journey.

As usual retrieving the luggage was the longest part of the formalities, at terminal 4, but finally with all the cases accounted for , I headed for the "underground" and was back home thirty minutes later..

As the sun rose on this autumn Saturday morning in London, it was perfect weather, with a brilliant blue sky, far too glorious to waste, and although I had just arrived it was....Off to the Golf Club, where it seemed the whole population of the Borough had decided to play golf that day.

It was after seven in the evening when I finally completed the round. Putting the clubs back in the locker, I took the bus back home, worn out by those 18 holes of golf

After that first game. It could only get better, and I spent many hours on the golf course, determined to improve my score on every round, and time flew by with alarming speed.

With all my excursions, to the golf club it wasn't surprising that I was usually absent when Fatimah rang, but ringing her back in response to her message, she explained everything was sorted out with the British Council, her contract expiring in November, with flights to Kuwait arranged for December.

Returning to Kuwait, I soon settled back to what was becoming a hectic routine. The weather during the summer months was proving to be too severe for doing too much outdoors, and any activities were reduced to the evening period, although it was to be something just as energetic.

The new facilities, included a superb tennis court, complete with floodlighting, and competitions were arranged.by Bloggs and our Project Director, organising evening events for the more competent players, which they both proved to be, and in addition, for the "less competent" competitors.

Everyone entered into the spirit of these events, and every day of the week, the sound of tennis balls being walloped could be heard till late into the evening,.

Even those amongst us who had never played the game before would "give it a go,", and eventually proved to be the most enthusiastic, although after a few games would have to retire gracefully to the sidelines.

Everyone invested in new racquets, obtained from the local sports store, in an attempt to improve their skills, together with dozens of balls, most of which disappeared over the wall of the complex, to be collected by the local kids around the area..

With the summer months behind us, and into autumn, although the seasons have little; relevance, the weather was certainly getting a little less fierce, with daytime temperatures dropping to the low forties, and during the evenings, although humid, surprisingly pleasant.

Into November, the weather improving every day, with temperatures dropping to the mid twenties, making it perfect weather for the golf tournaments which are played at this time of the year.

Temperatures not too high, and just before the rainy season, although it has been known to rain in Kuwait during November.

There were certainly no lack of these events. The "Kuwait Open" an amateur event held at Ahmadi, but with players from all over the world congregating, for this once a year event. It was the golfing event of the year,, sponsored by the Kuwait Oil Company, with the opening ceremony conducted by one of the Kuwaiti ruling family

There were many others too, although maybe not as prestigious, but all sponsored, and with prizes well worth the effort.

The "Sands", sponsored by Erikkson, and Lufthansa, with just one week later, yet another tournament, this time sponsored by the local "Hilton", and a well known soft drinks Company.

After spending the whole of the previous year trying to understand the ways of the Japanese contractor, it appears its about to be a new learning curve. The new project which is about to commence has been awarded to a Korean company.

After "Mitsui" from Japan, the new Project is to undertaken by "Sunkyong" .

In keeping with custom, at the beginning of a project, a dinner is arranged at one of the swanky hotel in the City, attended with everyone associated with the Project,

The object it seems is supposed to give all participants the opportunity to get to know their opposite number, but it would take many months before the ways of this contractor would be revealed.

Our social habits didn't have much variety. Kuwait was indeed a shopping paradise, with a profusion of every conceivable consumer item available. With time to spare, and money burning a hole in your pocket it was not unusual acquire a considerable array of possessions. HI Fi equipment's, and Cameras being the more popular goods, but with the rapid advances in the Computer, and communications technology, everyone was soon to have at least one in their room

There was one big advantage to the acquisition of a new computer. The software available was prolific, and many of the small shops in town had racks, from floor to ceiling filled with all the newest software. The cost of a CD being no more than a few dinars, and obviously "pirate"

A close second to the shopping trips were the visits to the many restaurants, and eating out became the "norm" for most of us, and was in many cases cheaper than preparing meals at home, and the big plus. There were no dishes to clean .

The number of restaurants, with menus from the four corners of the world was prodigious. There were dozens of American style fast food outlets, and numerous roadside vendors where roast chickens rotating on a spit were a common sight..

Discovering the best places to eat, and at the best price was an ongoing exercise. ..

An Indian establishment, was discovered, where as much as you could eat was available for just 600 fils, (just over one pound sterling),.and although an all vegetarian menu it was delicious.

Fish and chips, the staple English meal could be had at "Shrimpys", one of the many fast food seafood restaurants on the seafront ,

But for something different. A visit to the tented restaurant of Al-Bustan, for a Turkish delight of a meal. was highly recommended.with a ten foot long loaf of bread, in the centre of the table and shared between all the diners at the table.

It was all confirmed. The family travel plans finalised, and they are due in Kuwait on Dec 12th.just 14 more days to go, and only 27 days until Christmas

That weekend was the occasion of yet another Golf event, the "Desert Classic", at the "Hunting & Equestrian Club", almost the last of the season,and not one to miss.

Ted Sands, Ken Siverthorne, a couple of intrepid US golfers, and myself were there before nine in the morning, and in good time, for breakfast, before the days golf began.

The weather was ideal, and the golf scores good, resulting in my collecting a small. Prize, and as was usual the buffet meal following the days play was superb..

The Company Xmas party went ahead without the family in attendance, plans once more changed at the last moment, and it would be another week before they arrived . Thee Company event was not as well attended as previous events, being held in a Pseudo Italian Taverna, not far from the apartment.

The meal was passable, but not too exciting, and before the chocolate pudding arrived, I made my apologies departing for any early night. The following day was to be another early start.....

Yes....Another Golf tournament, this one at Buck-sands, and I didn't lose my way on this trip

The family arrived , a few days late but, at last they were here. It became a hectic time, with the Christmas holiday only a week away.

Friday was particularly frantic, breakfast downtown at the Marina restaurant, and then into Kuwait City, where the gold shops were targeted by Fatimah, followed closely by the shops selling materials of al kinds.....I need to get some more dresses made she remarked

I have to look nice for Xmas don't I ??

This year was a little different from previous years Thursday 26th and Friday 27th were holidays, The chance to stay in bed a little longer, although I had no doubt the boys would be up early.

The family enjoyed these trips to Kuwait, maybe because they get rather spoilt during their infrequent trips, or maybe the lifestyle in the Middle East differs greatly from the Far East .

Parties were rife at this time of year, and invitations were received from many sources.Fatimah was in her element and at her best when dressing up,either going to a party, or playing the fool at home.

The boys for whom parties were a bit of a bore, were ready to leave as soon as they arrived, to concentrate on more important things, such as, computer games, or indulging in horseplay in the apartment.

Fatimah's recreation took a different path. The hours spent inspecting the contents of the stores containing fabrics and silks, before buying sufficient, quantity, and immediately disappearing into the local dressmakers.

Visists to the gold emporiums, where she would have the contents of the display cabinets, spread all over the counter, whilst she insisted on knowing the weight and price of many of them.

This performance occurred at more than one store, usually resulting in her remarking....I will be back, as I want to compare the prices, ....The outcome, (thank goodness) usually resulting in the purchase of nothing at all

Following the family visit and the Christmas holidays it was a vacation for us all, a trip back to the UK

It was a Thursday night (10th January) and time to start packing ready for the trip to the airport.

Our duty driver, "Hamoud" was due around ten that evening, so there was time to do some last minute shopping, before spending some a few hours with Joe and his wife Joy. The occasion being another birthday for Joe..

The boy were left watching TV while we were enjoying Joe's culinary delights....It was just 9.30 when the boys came over to Joe's place to announce..."Hmoud" is here.

So the party was abandoned and it was back to the apartment tp finish packing

We arrived at the airport just after ten...The check in formalities completed just 20 minuses later, and then it was upstairs to the coffee shop, resigned to a wait of some three hours.

The flight was due to leave Kuwait at 01.50 Friday morning and so at just after 1 am we descended once more to go through the immigration and take a look at he duty free shops...Not that there was any advantage to such.. The goods in town were similarly priced and Kuwait is a duty fee port...

I could never understand why the goods are labelled as free of something which is not applicable.

The soldier at the entrance of the departure gate refused to let us pass through. Looking at our boarding cards he insisted I go to the check in desk.

These boarding cards are okay I said, but he insisted that I check with the British Airways desk.

We soon found out the reason for his reluctance to let us through...There was no aircraft. The incoming flight had been diverted to Bahrain due to the foggy conditions at Kuwait airport and would be delayed until some time that afternoon.

So we rented a car and drove back home to await a phone call from British Airways on the Flight departure..

At 3am, just as we had climbed into bed the call came...It was confirmed the flight would indeed leave at four o'clock that afternoon. With the estimated arrival in London being later that evening, meant we had lost almost a whole day.from our vacation

Back to UK...and a cold welcome it was too. Temperatures a little below zero and a biting wind. but the forecast was for brighter conditions and temperatures rising to above freezing.

A trip to Holland was arranged for the weekend, Friday until Monday morning. The flight via KLM was busy and quick, just 40 minutes flight time, just enough time to down a sandwich and just one gin and tonic.

Schiphol we found had changed a great deal, with more space and a lot more shopping Malls. Like London Heathrow, ..more like a shopping centre than an airport

The train journey from Amsterdam to the Hague was no problem, but we had a slight problem with my elder daughters address, finally getting some help from the information service of the Post office. Eventually a taxi was necessary as the exact location was unknown...

It was dinner with daughter No 1 (Jennifer) and her husband (Hans),that evening. A "Rijstafel", which I wont attempt to explain at the moment, at a local Indonesian restaurant.. which was excellent, with the following (Sunday) afternoon spent trailing around the shopping arcade at Scheveningen, a coastal resort only a few miles from the Hague. The only place open on a Sunday, and as such attracted a huge crowd of people., with what seemed to be the population of the Hague.

.

All to soon it was Monday morning, and time to once more head for Schiphol airport. Where we were soon on our way, and just forty minutes, a sandwich, and a gin and tonic later, we were back at Heathrow, Terminal 4.

The last day in UK and so much to be done. The house was to be settled, with a satisfactory tenant for the house. Our usual agents are going to look after things again.

Fatimah is once again left to finalise the details in the house before she departs for Brunei in February, but its not for too long. Easter is not far away and the family can once again take a trip to Kuwait

Another long seven hour and a return to Kuwait, and into the office on Thursday morning, with little to do, because the situation is unchanged, and its a "non reimbursable" day. A Friday morning, and an invite for breakfast with Roger, (Bloggs) and Xia, his new love, a native of Beijing, because..its Ramadan and therefore, no breakfast at the Marina Sultan Centre..

Its February, and almost the end of Ramadan., with the "Eid" holidays to look forward to. Thursday 6th thru Sunday 9th are free days. Time to lay in bed late and do whatever takes your fancy

The family are back in the Far East. Fatimah called on the Monday 3rd from Singapore, having left London on the Sunday afternoon previously. They will all be travelling over to Malaysia to celebrate "Hari Raya" there with her family, and all those relatives, before travelling on to Brunei sometime during the month. Their next trip to Kuwait planned for the Easter holidays.

Things are still as chaotic on the work front. The current project under construction, with the new project design work in Korea getting underway. There is talk of my attending an inspection of equipment in the Philippines, and it could be very imminent, possibly during this month...because our Electrical Engineer (Joe) has quit, and is about to depart for pastures new.

The social scene has been fast expanding, with the holiday season, there is little else to do. Dinner partied with our new Project Manager, a very large person, from the north of England and a subtle sense of humour to match. He was immediately nicknamed "Bluto" by Roger, although I cannot think why, although on occasion he is a little abrupt, so maybe that was felt to be apt

Visits to the tented Turkish establishments is always a good choice, and a good crowd ( some 20 folks) attended for a celebration of the departure of yet another of our crew.

The evening with "Bluto" and his family ended abruptly for one member of the group...."Taffy Miles" our welsh snapper dresser, who managed to fall into the swimming pool on his way back to his apartment....It could have been a disaster, but the pool had been emptied some weeks earlier and he fell into the deep end which contained only a few inches of..water .Fortunately nothing more than his pride was damaged and he emerged (it is said)...non the worse for wear, but a little bedraggled...

Travel to the Philippines

Its all confirmed. I will be off to the Philippines during March for those long awaited factory acceptance tests., accompanied by two local engineers from the refinery, "Abdullah" and "Salim".

The flight, on Kuwait Airways to Manila left Kuwait at 1 am in the morning. The first stop being Bangkok, where there was an hour stopover, before final arrival in Manila at five in the afternoon (local time)..

Manila airport was chaos.

No visitors are allowed within the airport building. Everyone meeting incoming passengers were massed outside, on the opposite side of the road, far away from the terminal building,,

Finding the person who was to meet us seemed virtually impossible. The crowds stretched as far as the eye could see, with everyone holding aloft a placard with a name emblazoned on it.

We decided the best plan was to stay on the terminal side if the street, and with three of us surrounded by luggage we should be conspicuous enough to be recognised.

Luckily this ploy worked, and within half an hour, a representative from the Japanese company found us, directing us to the car parked in an adjacent car park.

All our problems were not yet over however.

Manila is a very crowded city, and we were arriving during the daily rush hour, our route taking us north, to Batangas City, some 70 kilometres from Manila. The roads were packed with traffic, and our progress was painfully slow. The journey from Manila to Batangas took in excess of five hours.

The term "City" for Batangas was something of a misnomer? It was not even a large town, consisting of one main street and one large Hotel. where we would be staying

The following morning, after a frugal breakfast, but lots of very good coffee, we headed for the Fabrication site. This was located some distance along the coast and was a huge area, where fabrication of all kinds was being undertaken, This was Atlantic Gulf & Pacific (AG&P).

The reason for our visit was soon underway, and a source of disappointment The work was nowhere near complete, and the workmanship poor.

During the days which followed, it was early starts for us all, with trips to the fab yard. But it didn't get any better, with more and more problems becoming evident every day.

The visit was extended for a few more days, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The decision was.....To reject the total package.

It was a long journey back to the Capital, beginning early in the afternoon with the prospect of a Stopover in Manila for at least one night .

Flights were arranged for the following evening, following which we booked into one of the many hotels in the City, for the night. The following day would be occupied in shopping, which would have to occupy the whole day. The Kuwait Airways Flight not due to depart until almost midnight

Shopping here was the same as anywhere else in the world, the only difference being the currency, and it was disconcerting with hundreds of Pesos, being equivalent to a few US Dollars,

Everything appeared to be enormously expensive, with prices labels indicating "thousands", but the prices were quite reasonable.and clutching our "bargains" we headed for the airport.

Departure at midnight, and a ten hour flight was not something to relish., and following dinner decided to settle down, and attempt to sleep for most of the long journey.

Arrival in Kuwait, and it was early morning. But my watch reminded me there was a six hour time difference, and my stomach was telling me.. Its time for lunch. .

Following the fiasco of the initial trip, when we were supposed to perform the "Final Acceptance Tests" on the equipment in the Philippines, another trip was arranged just two months later, when if all the faults we had discovered on the first visit had been rectified, it should be an simple exercise, and more entertaining

The programme was identical,, and having been here once before, all the obvious pitfalls were avoided, although the journey from Manila to Batangas took even longer than that initial journey.

We touched down in the Philippines late afternoon, but it was midnight before we reached the comfort of Days Hotel in Batangas

The same procedure, back and forth to the fabrication yard., and with the weather now getting warmer, making it feel sticky and muggy. It also rained,. The Tropical variety which came down by the bucketful, flooding everything, and turning the Yard into a mudpatch

After a week of examinations and testing , the equipment was , (with reservation) accepted for shipment to Kuwait, and at last It was all over and I was free to travel back to Kuwait.

Another long boring trip, but the worst was to come The flight scheduled to leave at midnight was delayed, finally departing at 2..30 am , with subsequent late arrival at our destination....This time my stomach craving for Dinner

After the trials ad tribulations of those two trips halfway round the world, things settled down, and the normal routine proved a little boring, compared to the experiences of those two trips to the Philippines.

The year is fast coming to the end, and yet another Christmas is not too far distant.The social scene has been reasonable, with Dick and I making the usual journey's to the "watering holes" of Fuddrukkers and the like.

Golf has been well to the "Fore" (forgive the pun), Last weeks event being the Mercedes Benz tournament at the usual venue (H&E).

The beginning of the end

The rumours of Stone & Webster definitely not being offered any extension to their contract, which expires at the end of the year, were substantiated when offers to remain in Kuwait, and to continue working for KNPC, under the auspices of Messr's "Sante Fe" arrived during the week.

But these offers were well below expectations..Faxes and letters have been sent in response, and the outcome of these "grumbles" awaited

Its party time tonight. Dave Mace, our erstwhile Construction Manager busy arranging a "Do", to celebrate nothing in particular....other than it's Thursday. But there are other pressing things to do, not least a trip to City Exchange, to discover the latest news on a missing transfer to Kuwait, , which after one month has still not been found.

Developments are happening on the employment front, and KNPC are talking to us with regard to the offers from Sante Fe, So it appears that the offers could be substantially improved.

Another personnel crisis, this time,the construction guys on the receiving end of a very large "boot".

Boz a likeable East European being the first casualty, getting fired, under dubious circumstances, and the tales are that Dave Mace, the Construction Manager, also received his marching orders, for reasons even more obscure.

On the weather front its settling down to the usual steady downpour, a little early, but seasonable. The only consolation is its warm moisture, with temperatures hanging in there, in the high twenties.

The sad and sorry story of that missing transfer, and my 1500 "quid" is still unresolved. Despite all the faxes, and letters back and forth, .Fatimah is still awaiting the appearance of that initial transfer, and I reluctantly sent another bundle of money last week. I hope that doesn't diaper into the same "black hole"

The following is a tale of absolute disaster, and a night without the usual meal.

Three of us were heading for Fuddrukkerss, in my trusty Landcruiser, with the weather very overcast. There had been plenty of rain over the last few days, and it looked as if more was on the way.

After travelling just a few miles on the highway, the skies opened, and we run into what began as a rainstorm, soon developing into a hailstorm, with hail the size of eggs, and finally torrential rain like of which we had never seen before.

This downpour brought all the traffic on the highway to a complete standstill, and with a three inch layer of water on the road surface which had nowhere to go.

I turned off the highway and headed for the Coast Road, which was normally not as busy.

It soon became evident why all the traffic was "snarled up", the roads ahead, of us were flooded, well that's an understatement ....

They had disappeared, and determining exactly which was road, and which was not, was only possible by the road signs and lighting poles which protruded above these lakes.

The "Landcruiser" lived up to its name, ploughing through the floods with little trouble, although the water was perilously close to the bottom of the vehicle, and we arrived at "Fuddrukkers" without mishap.

This was where our problems began....Sorry sir explained the guy behind the counter, we cannot do any cooking. With this storm the gas supplies had to be turned off, and so...All we can offer at present is......

Salads, and Ice Cream.

Dinner that night was not as enjoyable as usual.... And, there was still the small matter of getting home.

The journey back was, (to say the least) interesting, and very time consuming. Attempts to return via the highway, was frustrated by the local constabulary. All the roads were flooded and obviously closed to traffic, nobody could move.

All the low lying areas were under water, and had to be negotiated with care, using the same techniques we had on our incoming trip, being guided by "things" protruding above water, but this was not entirely infallible, and we noted that more than one vehicle had mistaken some objects at the roadside, ending up in the roadside ditch.

Some of the vehicles who did "attempt" to traverse the deeper parts of the road, soon got into trouble, adding to the general confusion, and obstructing everyone behind them.

What was normally a 40 minute journey took us over two hours, and we were starving.?...

Calls from the wilds of South East Asia, informed me the family are back in Kuching, and arrangements for the renewal of the boys passports is underway.

Good news too regarding that elusive transfer....It finally appeared in her bank, although there was no explanation on where it had been .

Another call from the land of the "Almost rising sun". She is back in Brunei, and all the travel arrangements completed. Arrival should be December 10th, so it's another trip to the immigration for me, to organise (once again), all the family visas,

I think those guys in the visa office know my face by now.

Sante Fe have been in touch, and it seems there may be n improvement in their offer, So it may be an extended stay here in Kuwait, at least for a few more months, but its all to be confirmed.

A Monday morning, and suffering from a stiff back, probably due to my being a bit too energetic on the tennis court last evening, which did result in a win though, over Larry and Mike

A quick trip to my :"hole in the wall" banker, to withdraw another bundle of cash, some to send to Fatimah (again), who informed me that the air fares have increased in price, and that a few more dollars would be "nice"

My aches and pains have returned, and I woke this morning feeling as if I had just completed a marathon.

Managing to struggle into the office, but not achieving much, it seemed a waste of time being here.Fuddrukkers was given a miss, deciding an early night was the best thing.

So it was into bed at the early hour of eight in the evening, complete with a good dose of "Panadol" tablets which seemed to do the trick, waking refreshed, (well almost) early next morning

The Sante Fe saga is beginning to make sense, with final offers and signing of contracts imminent. The logistics of changeover seem simple, and Stone & Webster are into the final countdown this week, distributing the final paperwork, flight itineraries, and most importantly the final accounts and salaries, including that bonus, a worthwhile recompense for the years spent here.

Surprise, surprise, but nothing unusual. A call from Fatimah informing of a change in travel plans, Arrival will now be 13th instead of the 11th.

A "minor glitch with the family arrival. I was awakened this morning at 5 in the morning, with a call from Dubai.The passport numbers on her visa are incorrect, with the result thare they were not allowed to embark to Kuwait.

Another early visit to the immigration office was therefore necessary, to sort out this matter, get new visas, this time with the correct number and fax them to the airline n Dubai.. It all seemed simple, but travelling around the world, is anything but that

Arriving back in the office, after the mad dash from the immigration, and the Post Office, there was a message awaiting me......Your wife called....She is at the Airport....But which airport I wondered, could they really have managed to get on that flight and travelled after all. The only solution was to get to Kuwait airport as soon as possible and investigate.

There they were, waiting for me...and the Visas. They had managed to convince someone, and had travelled on the early flight from Dubai, and not too pleased at having to wait for hours until I appeared., but it didn't take too long to complete all the formalities the family finally settled in Kuwait, although jet-lag was yet to be overcome., before they could settle down to enjoying themselves.

They would be staying here until after the Xmas holidays, and with the boys due back at school on the 12th, we having decided it best that they continue their studies in Brunei..

The Sante Fe contracts were finalised, and as it did not include any accommodation, but an allowance for same, we decided to look at the possibility of moving back to a place were I had spent the first year with Stone & Webster, the Fahad Sultan Complex.

Arrangements were made to view a suitable apartment, located on the sixth floor, which was adequately furnished, and at a price which wouldn't break the bank

Christmas, and the holidays this year were to be extended, the 25th being decreed as a holiday, together with New Years day

With the family well aware of places we simply must visit, Fudrukkers, being the first stop, followed by travels around the shopping malls, culminating with a visit to the supermarket, where although it was close to midnight, was crowded with shoppers stocking up for the Christmas holiday period.

We were no exception, resulting in an trolley load of groceries.

It was a "Stones throw" from Xmas day, and another 48 hour weekend, a busy time, with the family demanding to be entertained. Shopping trips were very much in evidence, and eating out a regular affair.

Soft drinks "Ad Infinitum, a salutary tale..

For every 5 Dinar spent at the Sultan restaurant a free case of Coca Cola was provided.

Most of our shopping trips involved stopping for a meal at one or other of these establishments, and as the average cost for the four of us was certainly in excess of this amount, resulted in at least two cases of "Coke" being received. at each visit

We were inundated with the stuff, and just before the big day, had accumulated six cases, all piled up in the kitchen. Six cases, with 30 cans per case.?.

We were now the proud owners of 130 cans of fizzy drinks.

Last minute shopping, something not necessary as the stores were to remain open on Xmas day, but it seemed to be the thing to do, and gave some feeling of "normality" to the festivities.

The boys of course woke early on Xmas morning, and it was not soon before the New Computer system was hooked up to the television, and we were treated to a "Stand em up, knock em down" style computer game on one of the many CD's they had acquired.

This continued throughout the morning, until, despite their protestations, it was disconnected, and normal television service resumed

Due to a "session with Bob Barnes on Xmas Eve, I was suffering the effects of just a little too much imbibing, sampling each of his home made wine....and it was only later during the day, that I managed to focus correctly.

Xmas lunch was the usual surfeit of food, shared this year with Dick Beckford, and we managed to inflict a great deal of damage to the Turkey and all the associated trimmings.

Boxing day was soon upon us, and time for a little exercise. A round of golf at Ahmadi, followed by a lunch, provided by the club....Which was inevitably....Turkey

It was soon all over for another year, which for us was going to be different. The following few weeks would be hectic. The move into a new accommodation, that apartment in the Fahad Sultan, early in the new year, with the family travelling back to Brunei sometime around the 10th

The boys never seem to tire of investigating the latest computer games, and on each trip into town, they headed for the many computer games stores, usually adding another few CD;s to their collection.

They were becoming regular customers at most of these stores, and spend time haggling for the best discounts.

It's the 30th, and the beginning of another Ramadan. The roads are quiet as we head towards the usual haunts, the "Gran Prix" crowd not due to appear, until after evening prayers...

The end of the old year, (1997),and only another few weeks before we could all be going our separate ways. with the majority heading back to Houston, and just a handful opting to remain on the Project, and destined to be working under the auspices of the Oil Company.

This New Years Eve was destined to be celebrated in a most unusual fashion. A group of us "Stone and Webster intellectuals" playing "Trivial Pursuit" until the early hours....

New years day was a Thursday with yet another 48 hour weekend to enjoy. A family visit to that well known eating establishment "TGIF", and on Friday a game of golf with Fred and a few of the other avid golfers, to celebrate the new year...

Our new address it seemed was almost ready for occupation. The bright red curtains and other furnishings altered to suit my wife's taste. We were almost ready to move, (back in time)...To the Fahad Sultan Complex.

Before we finally left the comfort of the plush company apartments, Fatimah decided it was necessary to head into Fahaheel, to get a few more metres of material, which was duly delivered to her dressmaker in order to complete the creation of yet another "few" masterpieces.

With the departure of Stone & Webster, The company facilities would depart with them, including the courier services, (DHL) which was used for all incoming and outgoing mail to the US and UK.offices.. In the future we would have to rely on the local Postal services in order to communicate, and arrangements were necessary for a Post Box number, in the local Post Office.

It remains to be seen if the efficiency of the mail service is adequate......Time alone will tell.

All too soon it's time for the family departure, Back to the Far East, via Singapore, and it was a sad occasion. They would all have preferred to remain here in Kuwait, and as they went though the departure gate, there were moist eyes.

I vowed that I would definitely arrange full term visas as soon as possible and get them back here and arrange for the boys schooling in Kuwait,

The major problem was the uncertainty of this contract. It was not for any specific period and .KNPC could have a change of heart and dispense with my services at any time.

Only five more days too, before "Stone and Webster" in Kuwait will be history, although a few of the staff are remaining, like me, with KNPC, and a couple of the guys are joining other Kuwait based contractors., One thing for sure, its not going to be same easy going atmosphere of the past years, with most of the old crowd gone.

Roger (Bloggs) Crawley to be gainfully employed in the US of A., and (Boiler) Bill Hearn, now in Saudi Arabia. Barry (Bluto) Nelson too had returned to UK, but would surprisingly return to Kuwait in the coming months.

Our tennis, and social evenings would be no more. The remainder of the "team" spread around the globe, from East to West, but with the trusty computer, and Email,we will not be entirely out of touch. ...

Arrriving home early one evening, feeling a little despondent, the telephone was ringing. Everthing is satisfactory, and the family is safely encamped in the Holiday Inne, having arrived at midday (local time), after a reasonably comfortable journey from Kuwait, c/o Kuwait Airways.

The quantity of possessions, all littered around the apartment was many and packing everything took up most of my time during the next few evenings.

Another call from Fatimah, who was still in from Singapore, during the evening....Serious shopping being performed I was informed..And I had no doubt the trip across to Borneo was being held in abeyance for as long as possible

The packing too was put on the back burner, and visit to Fuddrukkers was called for following the phone calls. Dick Beckford and myself stopping off to drown my sorrows, with a cup of coffee in Kuwait City before proceeding to demolish a couple of half pounders...and all the trimmings

My packing was finally completed, and all my belongings now comprised numerous large and heavy boxes. Transporting it was completed satisfactorily, with the kind help of Bob and Dale Barnes, who spent a few hours during the evening humping the packages from the truck, into the lift, and up to the sixth floor

Mid January , with the Company departure well underway. Keys to the apartments returned, and inventories carried out. The Company cars lined up on the patch of land outside the complex of Al Ayoub, before finally returning to the rental company for the last time,

But I still have the truck and with our Corolla departing to pastures new Norman will need to arrange another personal rental. .

For me, it was trips back and forth to the "Fahad Sultan" for most of the day, transporting all the items which had been retained, and not included in those large boxes. It was late afternoon before everything was complete. A quick trip to the supermarket was necessary until finally late in the evening, deciding to unpack another day, I spent the first night in the new apartment

It was the beginning of my contract with a new employer, Kuwait Sante Fe., and I was obliged to visit their Ahmadi offices for "Familiarisation", and to organise the ID's and Bank accounts etc..

..

For the rest of the month, working hours were reduced, due to it being "Ramadan", and we would be starting at 8am instead of 7am. Its only another 13 days until the months end , and the end of the fasting month, when its holidays from 29th thru 1st Feb (four days), to celebrate the end of Ramadan.(Eid El Fitr)...

In Brunei it will be "Hari Raya" and Fatimah will be able to wear all those new Malay dresses she had made here in Kuwait.

It was very quiet in the offices following the departure of Stone and Webster..One advantage is the working hours., which are less during this Ramadan period. .Its a pleasant feeling, getting out of bed with the sun streaming through the window and the sun is well and truly above the horizon by the time I get to the office.. Its quiet too at home, in the Fahad Sultan, but very comfortable, and I have taken the time to update the family "Yearbook cum Scrapbook", and its fast expanding into a full novel..

I have attempted to contact Brunei a couple of times, bur as usual the communications are abysmal and so I am unaware how things are with the family...

A call from Brunei...Fatimah called me in the office...says she has the wrong home number, and every time she calls Kuwait she gets is a bunch of Indians on the phone....I promised to call her back on Saturday next, and see what she is up too...

Talk is of them going back to Malaysia, to live in Miri..A place she likes, and it must remind her of our life there years back. .I would love go and see just how the place has changed..

It's a very small world, with a visit from one of my old acquaintances of many years ago, when I worked for a company in Rotterdam. He is now working for another group in Holland, and had news of another ex colleague, now managing a project in Indonesia, who I had known very well when we had both been employed by Shell, and it brought back memories of those times....

Life settled into another form of routine, with the working environment somewhat different from the last two years. KNPC tend to do things do things "their way", which at times appears to be a little confusing....The workload is spread, and control of the job is fast disappearing, with the professional approach less evident.

A trip to the post office was fruitful on Sunday afternoon.. It was, to my surprise "business as usual",with my postbox bulging with mail, forwarded from SWEC in Milton Keynes.

Credit cards bills were first to be dealt with.....

Fatimah'sxpenditure during the last couple of months amount to a "goodly sum"..So a necessary cheque was scribbled, together with a note reminding them of the new address...

More family news too, this time from my brothers. Brother No 2 (John), enclosing a letter from brother No 3 (Peter), who had emigrated to Australia many years ago, was presently on company business, in the wilds of China...with tales of severe deprivation, and being forced to consume rice at every meal , and a lack of almost every Western and/or Australian convenience..

Over the following months, life in Kuwait settled back into a regular routine, but with a different attitude pervading the office. There was not the same feeling of "togetherness" that was evident when Stone & Webster was "At the helm". The social life, which was so evident when we all lived in such close proximity was sadly missing, and, although working with the local (Arab) staff of the Oil Company, was reasonably amenable, the sense of humour was missing, and we were devoid of the daily "office chat"which made working life more tolerable.

Communication with the family was as before, with the computer providing easy access to the Far East, with faxes rapidly providing all the weekly news, back and forth from Kuwait, and Brunei.

Another R&R....This one to points East.

.

My R&R was due in the Middle of the year, (August), and I had decided to travel to Singapore, Borneo, and finally to Brunei, to stay with the family, where we would holiday, before all travelling back to Kuwait and remaining until years end.

Arrangements were made with the Family. They would be there in Brunei to meet me.We could stay with her sister for a few days, before taking a few days in Sarawak,, and visiting the In laws.

Travel was simplicity itself. I booked from Kuwait travelling to Dubai, where I could connect with a late evening flight to Singapore, with arrival in Singapore early in the day. I had sufficient knowledge of the place to get a reasonable hotel not too far from the city centre.,

My stay was only to be for two days, and it was an opportunity to indulge myself, and purchase some new golf equipment, before heading for Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of Brunei, a direct flight from Singapore.

The flight to Bandar was less than two hours and as I stepped out of the terminal, was delighted to find them all waiting for me, My wife in shorts and sandals, the boys excitedly rushing around, both talking at the same time in an effort to tell me all their news.

The rental car my wife had acquired, was an old model, but sufficient for our needs and it was only a short drive, to her sister's house.. . .

Brunei was delightful, and after years of life in the Middle East, with little vegetation, the profusion of foliage and greenery everywhere was wonderful.to see. There were more surprises to come.too and not more than a mile away was a glorious golf course, with lakes and lush green fairways..

Although I had only purchased a couple of new clubs in Singapore, it was the ideal location to try out this new equipment. The other necessary clubs etc could be rented, and over the next few days, my wife deposited me there early in the day, and collecting me at lunchtime.

Kuchng, the capital of Sarawak, a Malaysian province was only a short flight from s Brunei and we all travelled there heading for the Holiday Inn Beach Resort of "Damai", just 15 km north of Kuching

Where we booked a week long holiday, renting a villa, on the beach, surrounded by palms, tropical plants, and lots of silence.

The atmosphere was supremely relaxing, and very quiet at this time of the year.The boys would rent a bicycle for the day and cycle for miles around the area, whilst I would relax by the pool, whilst . Fatimah would drive off to visit her mother and other relatives.

Relaxation was not always spent at the poolside however, and I was on just one occasion allowed to spend a small fortune, and visit the Golf Club, where I rented clubs, a buggy, and a caddy,a knowledgable local guy and we spent a very pleasant few hours on a superb golf course.

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Eventually I was prised out of my poolside lounger, the boys returned the bikes, and we were persuaded to travel with her into Kuching, where a family reunion was the result.

The week passed far too quickly, and like all holidays, there seemed to be only 18 hours in a day, but all good things must eventually come to an end, and we with heavy hearts once again headed West, back via Bangkok, and after an overnight stop in Dubai, where we managed a few hours sleep in the airport hotel, it was the early morning flight to Kuwait, and back to the Fahad Sultan Complex.

Over the next months, life in Kuwait was hectic. The construction of the latest Project was well underway and innumerable disputes on the progress, and the way the whole project was being undertaken becoming the main focus of our attention. Monthly meetings with visits from the Korean Contractor became protracted, with more than just a few disagreements.

The boys were enrolled in one of the International Schools, to be collected each morning, by the school bus,and returning early in the afternoon..

They would make many friends, often to disappear with them to visits the stores in the local town, to survey, (and acquire) the newest software games.

With the year's end fast approaching, the Oil Company informed us that new contracts were not going to be offered. It appeared then, that my final departure therefore from Kuwait, would be early in the New Year.

Back to England.

An overland journey back to England.....I knew of a few guys who had achieved such a trip, and it really appealed to me. But the family did not share my enthusiasm

The Landcruiser was available for sale, and the company would be happy to offer it to me for a good price, and I had amassed plenty of information on the possible pitfalls etc of travelling through the Middle East.

The itinerary for such a trip was the first consideration and I tried to arouse some interest in considering such.

Travelling by car through the Middle East has its advantages, I argued, . Its not expensive, with the fuel prices considerably less than Europe, although .I had to admit that "some"of the roads are a little rougher. We could spare the time (approx one week) rather than a six hour flight to London, and its an easy way to get the Landcruiser back home, to use in the UK.

It was a journey that appealed to the adventurer in me. I had been in touch with the guys at the British Embassy, who had travelled this route, obtaining from them, "potted guide" for the journey. It would be different I argued, as I outlined the itinerary provided by someone who had done the trip (more than once) ........... .

But despite my entire well laid plans the family were adamant.....

No way,...

We are going to travel back the comfortable route....With BA.

The packers arrived early on a January morning, and began the long job of packaging all the belongings, which had increased over the pat months to include the a couple of bicycles, numerous carpets, and sundry furniture, which my wife had collected on her tours around the local markets, which in all, totalled in excess of 100 kilograms to have shipped by air freight back to the UK.??

By the end of the day, some thirty packages of various sizes were littered around the apartment, everything had been packed , tipping the scales at almost 700 kilos.

It subsequently all disappeared, to be delivered to the airport, where it was to be air freighted to UK.

My beloved "Landcruser" which I had planned to purchase from the rental Co was returned to them, and just 24 hours later we headed for that long seven hour flight, heading for Europe, and Home again. ...

This is a tale I just had to include, and one which I am sure is a fitting end to this expatriate tale..

Its day 1 of the trip, a thursday morning, the end of the working week, and we are all ready, the three of us, all expatriates, living and working in Kuwait. The car is packed, and its off down the Sixth Ring Road. Wave goodbye to the SAS Hotel, and ditto, as you pass the Messilah Beach Hotel

Waiting at the lights I think to myself, "Have I packed everything"?, The lights go green and its off, across the desert, towards Jahra. If you leave well before dawn it should be reasonably safe, as all the Kuwaiti drivers are off the road, safely tucked up in their beds. Its 160 Km from Salwa/Jahra, to the border post of Salmi.

Not too many Europeans pass through this border post, and the Kuwait customs and immigration are friendly, although possibly a little puzzled at the sight of the three of us so early in the day

Just a couple of pieces of advice for anyone planning a similar journey. Firstly, avoid prayer times. Secondly, try to get an immigration official with masses of stripes on his sleeve, as he is more have some idea of what to do when presented with a British passport. Remember to get your "carnet" signed as you enter Saudi Arabia, and last, but not least, remember that petrol is available a few kilometres after the border, and then only every 150-300 kms.

Its single carriageway through to Hafr al-Batin, a major metropolis.. At the first major junction, according to our flimsy directions, gained from a colleague who had made this journey before, at the second set of lights, (with the Fao Hotel on your right) it’s a left turn and then its only 4 km to the "Pipeline Road". From this point its only 1000km to the Jordanian border..

Its still not too late to turn around, I think to myself, go back to Kuwait, hide the car in the garage, and take the plane…No one need ever know?

Its soon the Pipeline Road, all dual carriageway. The next big town is Raftha some 570km distant, where the dual carriageway ends, and we discover a disturbing stretch of road, of some 50km, which although surfaced, appears to either have been used by some very heavy military vehicles, or an overzealous worker with a pneumatic drill

Not many sights to see, but there were some "Pit Stops", Hotels al- Batin, Arar, and Taraf, although, (according to our potted guide) they were not to be recommended.

Border to border took just over 11 hours, and the expenditure thus far, was 62 Saudi Riyals, on 99 litres of fuel

It took only 20 minutes to get through the Saudi Border, (don’t forget to get that "Carnet" signed on the way out), and it looked as if we were going better than expected.. However, when we reached the Jordanian border post there was a multitude of traffic ahead of us, including a large bus, which was being given the full treatment.

You need to buy your Jordanian Visa at the border, 23 dinars for British passport holders, and another 6 dinar for the road tax.. Another pearl of wisdom in the potted guide advised…Don’t forget to get the third party insurance (TPI) stamped by the authorities

All was rather protracted, but they are very friendly people and even invited us to take tea, while the paperwork was being processed, and regaling us with tales of King Hussein and his UK visits

Our first night stop was booked at the government rest hours at Azraq, nearly half way across the country, leaving us only a short hop to the Syrian border the following day . Book early we had been told, and don’t travel on a Thursday, as it gets very busy…..We ignored both these pieces of advice and, discovered the place was virtually deserted.

With thirty odd rooms, all arranged around a central swimming pool, the hotel was very quiet, and clean, and with the one thing I craved…..A large comfortable bed

At a cost of 37 Dinar its very good value, although we had to pay cash (Dollars or Pounds sterling) , as strangely, they do not accept credit cards.

We arrived at 20.00 and were the only guests in the restaurant, which was reminiscent of the seaside cafes, Formica topped tables, and no menus

What would you like to eat sir, enquired the waiter..

Well without a menu there seemed to be only one response was….What have you got I asked.?

We have boneless chicken, or Kebabs, or Kofta, or the Chefs special, all accompanied by vegetables in season .

We had the Chefs special, which turned out to be Boneless Chicken, Kebabs, Kofta, and a generous portion of French fries, all washed down by a litre of 7-Up.

Day 2.…And a Friday, Up nice and early for a 6am departure. We had a "Cool box",, stocked with a supply of milk and water, so there was little need to risk the breakfast. Another worthwhile investment, was our 12 volt travel kettle, an absolute boon for those of us, who go cold turkey when deprived of our regular dose of tannin, or caffeine boost.

The journey the rest of the way across Jordan, was uneventful, and as we discovered quite boring, with little to see, and very little sign of habitation, and just a few hours later we were approaching the Syrian border..

This was where the journey began to get a mite frustrating. Two hours attempting to get into the country. The major delay, being immigration, our first hurdle. Everyone must complete the yellow cards, and the car details are stamped on the "Drivers" card. Then its on to the Customs area, and $10 for road tax. Obtain insurance, if not in possession of such, and we need to declare just how much "Cash" we are carrying.. My companions were asked this question, but the authorities seemed to forget me.

If you are approached by one of local officials, offering assistance, it will be worthwhile to accept the offer. It will probably cost another $10.

A European diplomat, who arrived at the same time as we had, was still arguing with the officials as we drove out, presumably because he refused to bow to a little bribery……Who says life is unfair?

On the road to Damascus via Ash-Shamor and Dimasq well signposted. A word of warning. Do Not show you roadmap to a Syrian. It will only confuse him, and he is liable to direct you in entirely the wrong direction.

In retrospect Syria, and Damascus in particular, was the worst place for driving on the journey. It wasn’t the volume of traffic, and it wasn’t the speed, but the manner of their driving. They all; seemed to want to drive in a straight line, no matter where it took them, Direction of traffic, even on dual Carriageways was unpredictable… Traffic came from, (and went) in every direction, but despite the apparent chaos, there was a noticeable absence of accidents. (is there a lesson in this somewhere).

We were though Damascus by 11am, and Hama by one on the afternoon. Now its simple, just follow the signs for Aleppo

Some 60km before Aleppo, the road is well signposted to Bab al Hawa, the border crossing into Turkey. At the border, we repeated the same practice, accepting an offer of assistance, (at a cost of 5 Syrian pounds), The paper works was speedy, and we on our way in just 15 minutes?

We had travelled just over 2000km so far….Must be about half way I mused?

Another minor cost on entering Turkey. The visa, paid with a crisp new "Tenner". It felt as though we were virtually in Europe now. But you have to keep reminding yourself of this. The carnet is no longer required. The Turkish customs issue their own, although it costs another "Tenner" to help the official find the correct piece of paper. Cash is an amazing cure for amnesia, and it sure saves a great deal of time. With the car details stamped in our passport its on the road again

Petrol is now much more widely available, but strange as it may seem the car is not the first choice of transport here,. not even the bus….Its the tractor. Yes, Massey Ferguson‘s, complete with trailers rule the roads. Hundreds of them, quite literally taking the local communities out to the fields.

Then its up and over the mountains and down to Iskenderun. We were warned against spending the night here, and decide to press on a little further, before stopping for the night

The road fron Iskenderun to Adana is a toll motorway and the cost is….. 120,000.? That’s local currency of course, the equivalent of a couple of English pounds.?

The second exit for Adana takes you straight into the city and the Surmeli hotel, a choice from the potted guidebook, (with 4 stars), is easy to find. The hotel staff are friendly and show us a spot where we can park the car (at a cost of 100,000),

The hotel accepts Amex and Visa, and at just £40 for a twin room, inclusive of dinner for two, we agree that even with a parking charge (of approx £1), its excellent value for money

The staff all speak English, and surprisingly, German too

Its day 3.….And Turkey, on a Saturday morning. On the road bright eyed and bushy-tailed by six. And the petrol stations were just opening.. 24 litres of four star cost 650,000, and its worth mentioning that care should be taken with the local currency. The banknotes all look similar, except for the number of zeroes on them, and the pumps occasionally have a problem displaying all the full price, (with all the zeroes)……Finally , count your change carefully

Motorway again…Perhaps we will make Ankara by evening, but the motorway soon gives way to a mountainous route, but just another 20km and we are back on a fast road, single carriageway, but straight. There are a couple of hazards on this stretch of highway, the first being the "Smokey Joes", large brightly painted trucks, seemingly overloaded and lopsided, belching out black smoke, making it virtually impossible to overtake. The other problem are the Highway patrols These guardians of the law are always on the lookout for the odd tourist to augment their salaries, and we were stopped together with a Turk, in a French registered car and two German registered lorries….Just pay up, and don’t argue….We were fined 850,000 for an infringement, which was not explained, but we managed to "negotiate", the fine to 500,000. (without a receipt). As I commented previously, you have to remind yourself that this is "almost Europe". Well this was one of those occasions.

Despite these little glitches, things were going well. On the ring road around Ankara, by 11.30 and hoping to make Istanbul by evening.

The Turks do not seem to like travelling on the toll roads, and there was little traffic, and we are making good time so far, and its relative inexpensive too. The roads may be Toll, but fuel is significantly cheaper than other western European countries. The motorway finishes at Bolu, and we descended several thousand feet onto, the plateau heading for Istanbul.

Through Istanbul, and over the Bosphorus at 1600, which we decide it a mite early to stop, and it is agreed to continue a while, until we get off the motorway. Consulting the guidebook, we note there is hotel at Tekirdag, which appears to be halfway between Istanbul and the Turkish/Greek border, and so its there that we head.

Despite the prevalence of German tourists, and the Gastarbetter culture, nobody seems to speak anything but Turkish. But the accommodation is acceptable, and it’s a bed for the night. The hotel advertises Television, and Mini Bar. The former however had no aerial, although the screen did illuminate when switched on, the latter, to my immense disappointment, was conspicuous by its absence

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Day 4. Early the following morning, (Sunday), and with difficulty we managed to order breakfast, although describing scrambled eggs to the waiter, was obviously impossible, as we were finally confronted by fried eggs, mashed to a pulp….But toast and preserves were simpler, with a "do it yourself" regime.

At 1900 we were approaching the Turkish/Greek border, having travelled approximate 3480km, and decided to cross into Greece before looking for a spot to spend the night..

Would there be any problems here.? The only unusual sign we noted was the requirement for the vehicle to pass through a disinfectant wash.?

No carnet is required for Greece, a sure sign that we were really in Europe, as we drove into the setting sun, thinking about a place to lay our weary heads for the night

A colleague who resided in Athens, had informed us that the road from the border was "quite good ". But with his idea of quite good, I dread to think what "Bad" would hold in store. The "quite good" road was on a par with many of the "B" roads in the UK. He also advised, The road from Thessaloniki to Athens is a good Toll Motorway,. Well it is four lanes wide…If you include the culverts on either side ?

Taking turns to drive and sleep we are heading into Athens at 0840 on a Monday morning, and into the rising sun. Its now day 5.

The directions advised by our Athens resident, like his impressions of the road system were just a little suspect. Its straight down the road, and you will come out at Sindagna….Well it proved not to be so….It wasn’t, and we didn’t ?? Thus it took a while to find our bearings, with a little help from the helpful locals.

There are numerous ferries from Patras, across to Italy. Should we economise ,and take the short route across to Bari…..No we all agreed , hang the expense, Superfast Ferries introduced a new 19 hour service up to Ancona . Another important factor. Superfast accept Credit cards. The others are strictly cash.

So its was another 200km to Patras, to catch the 2200 night ferry, not forgetting to stock up with provisions. There was a choice of accommodation, and we opted for the mid option of aircraft type reclining seats, as opposed to the opulence, and expense of a cabin, or the spartan conditions of a hard wooden floor, and providing your own sleeping bag.

Day 6, After a quiet crossing the Italian officials gave only a cursory glace at the passports , as we drove of the ferry at Ancona…..Isn’t the EU marvellous.. Its just after six in the evening, and the Autostrada is minutes away. Were off, stopping only for the call of nature and the usual cup of tea…

Day 7 The Toll station, and Customs/Immigration, at Mont Blanc tunnel is an eerie place at two in the morning. We had to wake people to take our money and open the gates, but there was no delay. No questions about us, or the vehicle which still sported its Arabic number plates .They just wanted to get you on your way, and return to their slumber??

Up to this point in the journey, the air conditioning had been whirring away almost non stop, but with the temperature in the Alps below zero, it was getting rather chilly, and so here is another piece of useful advice…..Don’t forget to add a few woollen sweaters to your list of essential items

Nearly there….Avoid Paris by taking the A6 as far as Beaune, then it’s the A31 to Dijon, and on to where the A26 joins at Beauchemin. From here the A26 runs through to Calais

At two in the afternoon, we were boarding at Calais and heading for England….The UK Customs, and Immigration with more questions than the Spanish Inquisition, were loath to believe that these three unkempt individuals had actually travelled overland, from the Middle East….and by car….Which incidentally, we were obliged to formally import into the country..

finis