Every travel has its moments. You know, the places you see, people you meet and things you do, some of them simply linger on long after you’ve settled your credit cards. They turn a plain passage into a thriller trip. I can still feel the joy of getting back Aida’s stroller left at Waitomo glow-worm cave in New Zealand, and I’m now rallying behind Barack Obama because I love his spirited speech at Abang’s convocation at Northwestern in 2006. Who can forget the companionship of some real backpackers and fruit pickers in Brisbane? Chihuahuas at Sydney airport, kids? Pak Cu talks fondly of Frank, the witty car rental operator in Auckland. And Pak Lang wants to see Mt. Tambourine again. There’s always something to take away from your travels: new experience, new perspectives, new t-shirts. Our five-day Bali outing certainly has its defining moments:


1. Pregnant? Who’s pregnant? (18 October 2007)

Sorry, we’re not yet in Bali on this date. We’re actually at the immigration office at the old Subang airport. All sixteen of us, young, old and very old, had to line up at this not-so-exotic place one fine Thursday morning to apply for a group passport for the twelve of us who’re without valid passports to travel to Indonesia (Bali is part of Indonesia, in case you’re confused. Ottawa is in Canada). We gladly appointed Mak Cu as the leader for the group passport, not only because she’s an Umno member but also because she works in Subang.


The queue was long, and the crowd swelled in no time. As the air got thinner and the stench developing nicely, the kids became restive, with the younger ones beginning to question the wisdom of waiting at this rundown office and not at Subang Parade. The situation was getting so helpless that Pak Lang had to swing into action with his bag of tricks. He went straight to the counter and insisted that we deserved priority treatment because Mak Long was many months pregnant. It worked. The officer apologized profusely and attended to all sixteen of us immediately. Pak Cu had to identify all his five children. No easy task considering that most of the time he’s away either at his surau or in Tawau. We’re out of the building after two hours instead of two pm! To set the record straight, Mak Long was not pregnant (She’s fabulous 48 and Pak Long was retiring). Neither was Mak Lang. Mak Cu? We’re not sure. We’ve to ask Pak Cu.

2. Wayan, Made, Nyoman, Ketut and Mariezka (11 November 2007)

Anticipating a long check-in process, we arrived at KLIA quite early that Sunday morning for the 10 am flight to Bali. The check-in lady redirected us to a group check-in counter, just ahead of a group of randy pensioners on a Bangkok tour. We had a group passport, a group check-in, and what’s next? Group air pockets? It took the kind lady about half and hour to clear all 16 pax and 10 bags. We could see her struggling to tally and match the long names in the tickets against the passports and her computer. Quite a feat since she had to do all this in a tight fitting dress. We’re all set, in descending order: Pak Long, Mak Long, Pak Cu, Pak Lang, Mak Lang, Mak Cu, Azra, Faliq, Aida, Afzal, Nisa, Sarah, Zarif, Irina, Aizat, and Aqila, with 50 good years separating Pak Long and Aqila. The children had been waiting for this for the last two months and they just couldn’t wait any longer. The Airbus took off as scheduled (which means 20 minutes late). Due to some booking problems, we’re not seated together, although the children somehow managed to sit next to each other. Pak Lang and Mak Lang also managed to sit together, away from us. Wow. Just like what they always say in Hollywood, if you’re hot, you’re hot!


We touched down at Denpasar Ngurah Rai Airport with the usual dose of rattles and shakes. This wasn’t totally unexpected given that the whole world now is facing an acute shortage of trained pilots. Immigration clearance was surprisingly smooth. No question, no extortion. After retrieving our bags, we walked out to look for transport to our hotel. Pak Long saw the familiar Bluebird car rental office and went in to enquire, and settled for the biggest mpv in Bali to take all of us to the hotel for 150,000 Rupiah. Sounds an exorbitant lot of money, but it’s actually less than RM60. Like most Indonesians, the driver was friendly and engaging. He spoke in typical Indonesian language, just like the way bibik Sirami and Ponayah speak. You can’t help but admire the Indonesians for their language skills. They could articulate and spin something ordinary and unimportant into an eighth wonder of the world. Of course most of us Malaysians could never get down to marvelling at the way our maids talk; we’re far too busy managing their passports. Even after more than three years in and out of Jakarta, I’ve yet to fully master the shades and subtleties of the language. Every time I break into Indonesian language, people would ask me which part of Kelantan I'm from. Anyway, back to the driver. His name was Made. Actually Made is one of the four standard first names in Balinese naming system. Technically they’re not names like Amran or Mawi in Malaysia but rather titles or forms of address signifying the sequence of birth (like Along, Alang etc). The eldest son or daughter is named Wayan. The second is Made, the third Nyoman or Komang, and the fourth Ketut. The fifth will take the name Wayan again and the cycle repeats. With a population of three million, there’ve to be at least 500,000 Wayans running around in Bali today. Mak Long would be a Wayan, Pak Long a Ketut.


We reached our hotel, Harris Resort, after a short ride. With kids and bags on top of each other, it’s hardly a joyride. There’s simply no space for the children to breathe and misbehave. The hotel was located around Kuta beach, one of the tourist hotspots in Bali. There're more than sixty hotels of various sizes, shapes and stars in Kuta alone. Harris Resort was strongly recommended to me by a close Indonesian friend and former co-worker by the name of Mariezka. Extraordinary name for an everyday girl. Sounds like Sanskrit, but it’s actually meaningless in any language, living or dead. She’s not a Balinese, she’s from Bangka, which makes her a Bangkese. She cautioned me against taking the children to the beach, which was notorious for sumur (Indonesian acronym for susu jemur. Sorry) We took three rooms, and what a pleasant surprise. The rooms were clean and tasteful, big enough to accommodate all Pak Cu’s Wayan, Made, Komang, Ketut and Wayan again. The toilet was spacious, without complimentary cockroaches. Mariezka had described this hotel as minimalist. I couldn’t agree more. You notice the language? She didn't say cheap, three-star, basic or other put-downs. We decided not to venture out today, but just to hang around and let the kids enjoy the swimming pool.


3. Ubud (12 November 2007)

We did some homework before coming to Bali: surfing Bali websites, consulting Mak Cu’s boss who’d visited Bali three times a year, and talking to Kak Maria (a family friend and an illegal travel agent). Not much really, but enough for us to conclude that there were plenty of reasons why Australians keep flocking to Bali: Beaches, nightlife, culture, nightlife, temples, nightlife and probably rural sceneries, you know, mundane things like hills, hill slopes, rice fields on hill slopes, trees and monkeys on trees, which you could easily find in Sri Menanti on the way to Kuala Pilah. Since we’re not from Canberra (capital of Australia, see you’re confused again) and we had 10 children with short attention span, we decided that we’d skip the beaches, nightlife and temples, and go for some culture, rural life, and maybe a bit of shopping and nasi padang in between. For culture, crafts and country side, look no further than Ubud. With a wealth of local and foreign painters, carvers and dancers, it’s the last word in Balinese artistry. I also read somewhere that a wayward Dutch artist and a German musician, nothing less, had fallen so deeply in love with Ubud that they made their home there. We thought if Ubud was good enough for the Dutch and the Germans, it should also be good for those from Kg Pandan. So we started with Ubud.


We rented a 14-seater Isuzu Elf for our Ubud excursion. Without the bags, the space was more generous and the children were livelier than yesterday. The driver was Pak Agung (Nyoman Agung, I think) who doubled as our guide. Like all friendly Indonesians, he talked non-stop and found his match in Pak Cu who fired questions non-stop. We reached Ubud after about two hours of pleasant ride, passing through Denpasar, Batubulan, Celuk and Mas. Ubud lived up to our expectation, and certainly deserved all the rage and reputation. It’s all arts and crafts. Shops and galleries selling paintings, carvings and other forms of Balinese art lined up the main road. We couldn’t resist the temptation and stopped for a look at the paintings. Man, they’re so lovely, all done by local artists, you know, people like you and me, except that they’re more talented and creative. I know Mak Lang has an artistic bent, but I don’t think she’d have any space and energy left to draw or paint after those long hours managing her manic minister. What a pity. Most of the works here were of the modern variety and highly abstract. Not even one out of the sixteen of us knew the slightest meaning of any of them. Certainly not Aqila. I doubt whether the painters themselves knew what they’re up to. But who cares. Come on, we’re talking art here. People get away with art, remember. We hopped from one roadside ‘gallery’ to another, looking for something we might like. Seeing all the options, Pak Long and Mak Long went crazy as they’re totally spoilt for choice. They’re beautiful and incredibly cheap (the paintings, not Pak Long and Mak Long). Cheap in price but definitely not cheap in quality. I’d seen inferior quality ones priced much, much higher at Pasar Seni Ancol in Jakarta. All of us finally ended up with a few pieces each. Even Afzal and Faliq bought one each for their bedrooms. Pak Cu bought a dozen, all for his surau friends.


After we’re done with Ubud, we headed for Kintamani, an hour’s easy drive uphill, passing quaint villages, temples, kebun jeruk, dogs and a police road block. Apparently the police here were artists and sculptors in their small way, I mean the way they made the driver 30,000 Rupiah poorer without upsetting him one bit. We reached a small hilltop resort with a couple of restaurants with an outstanding view but outrageous food. We’re right at the rim of a deep valley, facing the majestic Gunung Batur, an active volcano. We stopped just long enough to snap some pictures. We boarded our bus and began our journey back to Kuta. We stopped at Ubud again for another round of crafts, this time wooden posters for the kitchen: Paris Café, Espresso, Today’s Menu and other fancy gastronomic battle cries, which reminded us that it’s way past lunch time, so we’d to hurry back. Everybody agreed on nasi padang for lunch. It’s almost three, anybody would agree to anything for lunch. We stopped at Natrabu, a nasi padang restaurant in Sanur, not far from Kuta. The food was simply out of this world. The waiter had to work overtime to bring us plates after plates of nasi tambah. All the children agreed to rate Natrabu ten out of ten. Better than Paris Café. Mak Cu said she’d not seen Zarif eating until today. Mak Lang had seen Pak Lang eating many times before, but never this much.


4. The Nightlife (13 November 2007)

Travel experts and freaks all agreed that, for a true Bali experience, you’ve to see its nightlife. We thought it’s fair to check this out, after paying good money for this trip. So we ventured out this evening, taking the narrow back lane to Jalan Legian, the most happening and pulsating part of Bali. True enough, what greeted us was a complete contrast to the tranquility and easy pace of Ubud or Taman Nirwana in Ampang. The street had been turned into a full-blown tourist strip, with bright lights, restaurants, massage, lounges, discos and shops selling just about anything needed by tourists (except turbines). The one-way traffic was heavy, and the music, blaring out at full speed from all corners, was maddening. And it’s not yet peak season. Now we knew why the Australians ignored all terror threats and travel advisories to be here. It’s life in the fast lane. Nothing could slow them down, not even the sombre memorial to the 2002 bombing victims. For us, there’s nothing much on offer here. So we just picked one corner and watched the proceedings. Some loud and rowdy tourists were having the time of their lives, drinking and shouting and swearing at the locals. Finally we decided that we’d seen all, and strolled towards Kuta town centre. The children, bored and clueless, stopped at 7-Eleven four times. From Kuta town, we took Jalan Pantai Kuta and we’re back at Harris Resort. We’d got our money’s worth.

5. Whitewater rafting (14 November 2007)

It’s time for some real action, and it’s whitewater rafting. Until now I’m not sure why it’s called whitewater. Why not river rafting or just water rafting if you really need to differentiate it from rafting on land? Bad joke. Actually rafting was Pak Lang’s idea. On the way back to our hotel last night, Pak Lang stopped at a travel agency to enquire about rafting. I never knew that Pak Lang was so outdoorsy. I’d gladly accept it if he decided to take up painting or ballroom dancing or even wushu, for a change, but rafting? Was this an attempt to make up for last night’s nightlife? Or the simple need to whip up the adrenaline and mojo? Who knew. With Pak Lang leading the negotiation, we managed to get a competitive package for eleven of us, with transport and lunch thrown in. In the morning the number increased to thirteen, with Mak Cu (surprise, surprise) and Mak Long (reluctantly as usual) also joining the trip. Pak Cu opted to stay back with Ijat and Aqila.


Actually none of us had ever tried rafting before, and we had only a vague idea of what it’s all about. What we knew for sure was that rafting involved water. Is it dangerous? Is it deep? No time for second thoughts as two vans arrived to haul us to a place called Kareng Asem. (We forgot to ask whether Kareng Asem was Balinese for Kurang Asam). From Kuta, it’s about two hours of glorious countryside with narrow and steep road, rice fields, Balinese gardens (gardens!), temples and all. Pak Lang was speechless throughout. We reached the starting point on the bank of a river called Telaga Waja. I could almost hear Mak Long’s huge sigh of relief. The river was actually narrow and not too deep, but it flowed very fast. It’s so clear that you could see the pebbles and sand below. All the way the river would run over rocks of all shapes and sizes, breaking into a series of rapids. So for the first time we’d be rafting and shooting the rapids. We’d to wait for our turn since there’re already two noisy groups ahead of us. From the way they looked and talked, we could tell that they’re Koreans and Caucasians, not Kelantanese. Thirteen of us were split into three groups, each in one inflatable raft led by a local guide. Everyone was given a paddle, more for show and style since none of us actually knew how to row. We just couldn’t wait.

It’s two hours of non-stop turning and twisting and tumbling down the fast river. Like Proud Mary, we're rollin’, rollin’, rollin’on the river! It’s fast and furious from start to finish. After half an hour, all of us were drenched to the skin. How we wished Pak Cu, Shakhir, Ida, Pak Di, Mak Di, Mak Ngah, Udin, Acik, Mak Cik, Adik, Abang, Abang Jilan were here. We screamed and laughed, passing and shoving and splashing and taunting each other all the way. It’s certainly faster and more exciting than painting. I couldn’t help but notice Mak Cu playfully screaming and splashing her way with abandon, and why not? After all Pak Cu was also having fun with Ijat and Aqila at the hotel (Ha ha ha. Lepas ni boleh la pi surau). The climax was when we’d to negotiate a five-meter waterfall and nobody drowned. I must thank Pak Lang for this little escapade, because my two girls, Aida and Sarah, seemed to enjoy it. Many times better than maths tuition, they told me. It’s also heartening to see the younger ones like Nisa, Irina and Zarif coming through and raring for more. The children certainly deserved a round of applause and nasi padang.

6. Jainori and Jimbaran (14 November 2007)

Seafood at Jimbaran was my idea, but Jainori was Pak Cu’s idea. We’d befriended one taxi driver by the name of Jainori who took us to the Discovery mall the night before. We had a soft spot for him because he’s a Muslim, which was a rarity in Bali. His Latin complexion and sharp dress reminded us of our Pak Uteh. He went off after dropping us at the mall. But when we flagged a taxi on our way back an hour later, it’s him again! There’re literally thousands of taxis in Bali, and the odds on hitting him twice were statistically impossible. Pak Cu and Jainori quietly exchanged mobile numbers. You’ll never know, one day this lucky guy might need turbines, Pak Cu thought. Fair enough.

Seafood at Jimbaran is highly recommended by any smart travel guide and travel agent, legal or illegal. Jimbaran is a beach less than10 km away from Kuta. Alfresco seafood dinner on Jimbaran beach, especially during sunset, is a highlight in any Bali travel itinerary. Since we had ten children with ten different ideas, we took longer time to get dressed, and missed the sunset. But that wasn’t a problem. The problem was transport. There’re plenty of transport options around but we hadn’t made any arrangement. Luckily Pak Cu, a multinational businessman, had the presence of mind to strike a deal with his new-found friend, Jainori. At only 100,000 rupiah for Jainori and his big van to take us all to Jimbaran and return, it’s a steal. We thanked Pak Cu for his strategic thinking. We waited and waited and finally Jainori showed up with his van, or something that looked like a van. My pulse raced and my cholesterol rose. What we saw was a wreck. It’s nothing more than a beat-up, rickety contraption with four tyres, torn seats, pungent smell, without aircon, enough maybe for eight small persons. It’s too late to change plans, so we squeezed in, and immediately I could hear choking sounds like somebody was grasping for air. Pak Long and Pak Cu were up in arms, griping and growling all the way, dressing down Jainori for not honouring his promise of a big, proper van with enough air for us to breath. We reached Jimbaran safely, and saw a long row of seafood restaurants right on the beach, with tables all the way down to the water. We chose one restaurant, took a long table, and quickly made our order. The food was good but not spectacular, just the normal seafood fare you’d easily find around Pernu in Melaka. But the ambience was certainly different, and romantic enough for mid-life couples like Pak Long and Mak Long. The crowd, mostly tourists, were surprisingly well behaved.

Jainori took us back to Kuta. He happily accepted 100,000 rupiah and quickly drove off. Pak Cu and Pak Long took one last look at the van, shook their heads and just laughed. Travel is lot of fun.


7. Maya Karin (14 - 15 November 2007)

There’s just one more thing left. Spa. Yes, Spa. There’re Balinese spas at Ikano Power Centre and Great Eastern Mall, of course, but why settle for Balinese spas in KL while you can get the real thing in Bali? What’s more rewarding after a terror ride than a round of uplifting massage and herbal bath? And wasn’t it about time for the three mums to clean up and rid themselves of the ravages left by years of raising children and husbands? Pak Long, Pak Lang and Pak Cu agreed that Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu deserved a break, at long last. Pak Long had negotiated a rock-bottom rate with Giri Loka spa at the hotel. It’s going to be a long and comprehensive session (10 children, remember?) over two days, starting 10.30 pm on 14 November until 1 am on 15 November (two and half hours actually). So the three mums sneaked into Giri Loka, leaving the dads to tend to the multi-talented children.


Aida and Sarah were sleeping like a log and I was still packing for tomorrow’s flight to KL when somebody knocked on the door. It’s already past 1 am. At small hours like this, men of my age are bound to see ghosts. I opened the door and came face to face with Maya Karin. No, it’s Mak Long after a Balinese spa. I thanked god she didn’t smell like Maya Karin. Now you know why some men pay for their wives’ expensive spa trips. At breakfast the next morning, I saw the other two Maya Karins, sitting next to Pak Lang and Pak Cu. Balinese spas are truly effective. It’s close to one million rupiah for the spa. A tidy sum, but it’s money well spent. Pak Lang and Pak Cu were eating very slowly, deep in thought, reflecting and probably reconsidering their plans. Pak Long? Well, it’s too late now.

8. Milestone (15 November 2007)

It’s a milestone for Aida and Faliq. Their UPSR results were out this morning. Bali would forever be close to their heart. After all, how often do you get to know your exam results in an exotic setting like Bali? The results, well, no reason to complain. Were they happy? You just couldn’t tell. Children, you’ll never know them enough. They’re an enigmatic lot. One day they’re up, the next day they’re way down. Today she wants to be a lawyer, tomorrow a princess. A princess? You’ll never know what plays in their mind.

9. Too soon, Too soon (15 November 2007)


We checked out at about 11, plenty of time to catch our 3 pm flight back to KL. Much wiser now, we got hold of two hotel vans to ferry us to the airport. The check-in was painstakingly slow, but we’re just in time for boarding.

I always leave a place I like with a tinge of sadness. Well, not really sadness, but a sense of loss or, perhaps, feeling of guilt for leaving too soon, and, of course, the prospect of never seeing it again. You’d feel like staying a day longer. Or is it just the stark reality gripping you, reminding you that the carefree days are over and now is the time to pamper the bosses again? Bali has been one of our best holidays. It’s certainly value for money, or bang for the buck, said the bloody Americans. The moments will linger on for a long while. I was half way on board the MH flight to KL when something hit me. It’s the smooth, soulful opening lines of an obscure love song I’d heard the first time on Columbo, a hit 70’s TV series. It’s a Frank Sinatra cover of a Billie Holiday original. The title is Speak Low, and I thought I must share with you (but you must listen to Ol’ Blue Eyes to savour the atmosphere):

Speak low when you speak, love
Our summer day withers away too soon, too soon
Speak low when you speak, love
Our moment is swift, like ships adrift, we’re swept apart, too soon.

Sunday, 25 May 2003



Places: KLIA, Aboard MH0137

The day's finally here. We'd be leaving on a jet plane. 15 of us: Pak Long, Mak Long, Pak Lang, Mak Lang, Pak Cu, Mak Cu, Adik Fadli Hafiz, Faliq, Azra, Aida, Nisa, Afzal, Sarah, Zarif and Irina. Destination: Gold Coast and Brisbane, Australia. Yes, Australia. The children had been looking forward to this day since March, when their mothers started using Gold Coast as reward for any good behaviour. The excitement hit a fever pitch when Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu bought new jackets for the children, but not for Pak Long, Pak Lang and Pak Cu. For the record, Shakhir and Ida had wanted very much to join, but Ida's condition didn't allow even a trip to Giant, let alone Brisbane. Biasalah tu. Dia orang ni sebab dah tau tak boleh pergi, lagilah dia beria-ia nak pergi sangat (gimmick, gimmick).

The idea of an overseas trip was floated early this year. It had been almost two years since our last trip (to NZ), we thought we're primed for another trip somewhere (not PD). Various exotic places popped up: Chicago, Switzerland, Turkey, NZ (South), South Africa and Australia. After some research and free lunches at No. 26, Lorong C4, we settled for Gold Coast, Australia. Reason: it's a fun place for the children. It's also fun for Pak Long, Pak Lang and Pak Cu because they had to pay. It's the cheapest of the lot. Actually Lahad Datu is much cheaper, but it's not in Australia.

Unlike the trip to NZ, this trip suffered OAOAOAS (On And Off And On Again Syndrome) at the outset. On when Pak Long bought the tickets. Off when SARS hit the region. On again when Australia was not affected. Off again on rumours of two-day quarantine for visitors to Australia. On again when the rumours were baseless. Off again when Mak Lang had to complete an assignment for the government of Malaysia. On again when Mak Lang managed to force some luckless junior guy to take over. Almost off again when Pak Cu and Mak Cu had an accident (well, Pak Cu is good at turbine maintenance, but not family planning). On when Dr Hamid cleared Mak Cu. So it's on.

It's about 5 when when we all left home for KLIA. Pak Long with Shakhir, Ida and Yasmin (free), Pak Cu took a taxi (RM50), Pak Lang took ERL (RM10). Rosman had earlier agreed to take Pak Cu to the airport but couldn't make it at the last minute because he's busy with Sharifah Aini. We all met at the departure lounge. Shakhir was happy to see that Pak Lang got off at KLIA and not Salak Tinggi station. The children began a serious discussion to decide on who should sleep with whom in Australia. We boarded a B747, flight MH0137, to Brisbane (BNE) at 7.30 evening. Pak Lang was seated in front of Pak Long. Pak Cu was seated in front of the toilet, for obvious reason (Mak Cu booked his seat. Perfect wife).

We're supposed to sleep during a night flight like this, especially after a tasteless meal. The lights were off. The stewardesses went off after giving everybody a pack of peanuts. With the children asleep, Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu settled down nicely for a round of well-deserved action-packed movie (Mami Jarum). Pak Long, Pak Lang and Pak Cu found it impossible to sleep with their children's heads, arms and legs all over them.

New Friends:
The stewards and stewardesses (confirmed not the ones who'd appeared on the infamous vcd).

Date: Monday 26 May 2003



Places: Brisbane Airport, Europcar Car Rental, Pacific Highway, Tanah Merah, Sanctuary Cove, Gold Coast (Surfers Paradise, Broadbeach,Burleigh Heads ) Sunset Court Holiday Apartments, Pacific Fair Mall, Paradise Centre Mall (beachfront), Bi Lo, Coles and Woolworth's.

Landed at BNE at 5.00 am local time (3.00 am Kg Pandan time) after seven hours. We staggered out of the aircraft like a bunch of zombies. The children were ok, even at wee hours like this. You'd just wonder at their staying power and tolerance level, especially for first-timers like Zarif and Irina. Immigration was smooth. No silly questions from the Aussies, like 'what's the capital of Australia' (it's not Ottawa). We joined the crowd at the baggage carousel, dreamily waiting for our luggage. Suddenly the kids jumped and screamed: chihuahua! The small and ugly dog that Pak lang had warned us about was here and real. Like a true professional, it went about its business of twisting and wriggling and sniffing its way through everybody's legs and bags, creating chaos and commotion among us. Mak Long stepped back violently when the dog tried to kiss her stinking shoes (last washed in Auckland in 2001). The dog handler, also small and smelly, was offended and promptly told Mak Long off that 'my dog doesn't bite, ma'am. No reason for over-reacting'. Actually he owed Mak Long an apology. Had Mak Long just let his dog smell the shoes, his dog would drop dead (Mak Long is still waiting for the thank you letter).

All our bags retrieved, we're now ready for the stomach-wrenching and nerve-wrecking part: the customs and health. We'd heard plenty of horror stories about this one. But we're ready. The strategy was to spread the risk by distributing the foodstuff we bought from Giant among the three families. And each of us picked a different officer, if possible an aborigine. No aborigine or similar on duty at this time, but the plan worked like a miracle. Only Milo was dumped, while the rest (Brahim's, Maggi, Meehon,Teh Tarik etc) were cleared. We wheeled out happily into the arrival lounge. Australia, here we come!

Pak Long and Pak Cu confidently walked to the car rental area and secured a 12-seater Toyota van (nothing bigger than that in Australia). The van was just nice for the 15 of us without Mak Ngah and Udin. The children were excited to see the van because it's bigger than Kelisa Pak Long. It's about 7 when we drove out of the airport, found Pacific Highway and headed for Gold Coast, about 80 km south of Brisbane. We had our first taste of Queensland driving and drivers. On a scale of 0 to 10, Malaysian drivers are about 3. Queensland drivers are about 3.5. On the way, we passed a place named Tanah Merah. Then only we knew why the drivers were bad.

We took an exit for Sanctuary Cove but found only a golf course. Finally we reached Surfers Paradise, the hippest part of Gold Coast. Everybody was half-awake as we checked into our apartments, glamorously named Sunset Court Holiday Apartments. Pak Long went to see the owner (Bill) and proudly announced "I'm Omar. I've a booking here". Pak Long tried his best to sound like somebody from Newcastle, Australia instead of Kota Bharu, Kelantan. This trick apparently failed when Bill, unimpressed, just smiled and said "Oh, really?". Bill handed the keys and Pak Long handed his credit card. These days nothing works like a credit card.



Sunset Court was really basic but good enough. Not to mention cheap. We took two separate units, both on the first floor. Each unit had 2 bedrooms, 1 bath/bowl, 1 kitchen, fans, sofa, but no aircon. (We found out later that aircon wasn't really necessary, unless you're in Lahad Datu). Pak Long and Pak Cu shared one unit. Pak Lang, Mak Lang and 8 of the children took the other unit. Good luck to Pak Lang and Mak Lang!
After a quick bath ( bath and bowl for Pak Cu) and a bread/Brahim's combo lunch, we hit the road again for a quick tour of Gold Coast. We cruised along the coastal road covering the three main parts of Gold Coast (Surfers Paradise, Broadbeach, Burleigh Heads). Lovely place. So developed and civilised. No wonder it's been consistently rated as one of the best beach resorts in the world. Made you wonder when would PD ever be like this. Still no craft shops or markets in sight, so we turned back and stopped at Pacific Fair Mall, the biggest shopping mall in Gold Coast. We're just too sleepy to indulge in anything. So we just hang around and went in and out of K-mart, Coles, Myer, Target and numerous specialty shops. The prices were ok at first sight, but not ok when you converted them to Kelantanese ringgit.

Had a dinner of masak asam ikan and Australian rice, thanks to Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu who had to struggle with odd-sized pots and pans.( Of course, Cik Na Bukit Mahkota could've done it alone). The children went for maggi. Pak Long, Pak Cu and Adik FH ventured out and into the beach area. You'd find plenty of action here: elegant stores, discos, food, beach, Woolworth's, Ripley's, Chinese. Pak Cu was shaking all over when he saw the flashing lights and heard the loud music from the disco. But Pak Long was there to calm him down and get him to think of turbine and oil palm plantation.

As the three of us walked around aimlessly, we stumbled on some travel agencies hawking tickets for scuba diving and theme parks. We decided that Pak Lang wasn't quite ready for scuba diving, so we just bought tickets for Movie World theme park. It cost us $500/RM1260, after a discount of $60. There's nothing cheaper than this in Australia..

Finally everybody settled down for a much-needed rest. It's only our first day in Australia, but Pak Cu was already in and out of toilet four times.

New Friends:
Tony: the car rental clerk
Bill Atkinson: Sunset Court Apt owner
Suzie: Travel Agency lady who sold us Movie World tickets.
The chihuahua handler.

Date: Tuesday 27 May 2003



Places: Movie World, Mt Tamborine, Woolworth's

Bright and beautiful morning. Pak Long went out running around Sunset Road and Chevron Island before hitting the beach. Running on the beach in Gold Coast was nirvana, a dream coming true. The view was stunning, with the splendour of endless trees and apartments lining one side and the grandeur of the mighty Pacific Ocean on the other. The people, men and women and Pak Long, just ran and dressed freely. Nothing matters and nobody cares here. Aaahhh, the feeling..... simply out of this world.

Everyone's all fired up after a good rest and a grand breakfast of fried mee hoon and sardine sandwich, courtesy of the three Maks. Today's program: Warner Brothers Movie World theme park, about 20km from Surfers Paradise. Pak Cu took the wheel again. Pak Long took the map and planned our route despite his poor eyesight. Pak Lang took it easy and assured Mak Long, Mak Lang, Mak Cu and the kids that everything would be just fine because Pak Long and Pak Cu knew their way around here. Thank you, Pak Lang!

Reached Movie World at 10.15. What greeted us was Hollywood in miniature. The park was filled with sets and props and characters from the famous movies like Looney Tunes, Batman, Superman, Scooby Doo, Austin Powers, Harry Potter and the very latest flick, Matrix Reloaded. It's truly a world of make-believe. We began with Looney Tunes Musical Revue, a heart-thumping dance and music extravaganza by Looney Tunes characters. Then we moved on to Movie Magic Special Effects show, where we got to see how they made Superman fly ( but not Superman's fly), and then Bat Attack, a mock battle between Batman and bad guys, right before our very eyes. We wore on with Looney Tunes River Ride and other silly rides, before converging on Main Street for Star Parade, the day's highlight and an opportunity to see all the characters at one go. We wound up with Police Academy Stunt Show, a slapstick comedy show quite similar to Senario.

All in all, the kids had a good time cheering and touching Scooby Doo, Daffy Duck, Sylvester, Batman, Catwoman etc. The mothers had an even better time without bibis and bosses to bother. But the fathers had the best time of all as they had Marilyn Monroe to cuddle.



It's about 4 when we decided that we'd had enough of Austin Powers' teeth and made our way out. The park management must be relieved that our loud group was finally out of their park without leaving any trail of destruction, except for some bio-chemical by-product left in the toilet bowl by Pak Cu and his offspring.

Since it's still early, we made a detour into the hinterland, through the mountains, towards a village called Mount Tamborine. This was totally unplanned, so we had no idea what's ahead. We all held our breath as the van twisted and turned around and up the hillslopes. Nobody talked until we finally reached the top and the village, when Mak Long and Pak Lang screamed and went wild at the sight of antique and craft shops on the road side. Mak Lang and Mak Cu? They just stood and stared. We found out later that Mt Tamborine was actually famous for crafts and antiques, besides mountain and scenery and winery, but not for tambourine. It's really unfortunate that we had very little time because it's already dark, and the shops were closing. But Pak Lang had seen enough to fall in love with this lovely and quaint place. No surprise when Pak Lang, Mak Long and Shakhir agreed that we should've climbed this mountain earlier. Pak Cu immediately agreed and offered the same opinion, but since we'd known Pak Cu very well, we didn't take his viewpoint too seriously. Mak Lang and Mak Cu continued to stand and stare. The children were thinking of maggi.

On the way down to Surfers Paradise, we stopped at Woolworth's at the foot of the mountain to replenish our supply of bread, sardines, milk, eggs etc.

New Friends:
Marilyn Monroe

Date: Wednesday 28 May 2003



Places: Coolangatta, Murwillumbah, Mudgeeraba

Woke up to gentle showers outside. Rain in paradise. It's below 20C. Cold, but our spirits weren't dampened one bit. Pak Long was humming J Lo's famous lines 'Let's get loud, let's get loud...', but who'd be interested in a crooning old man when breakfast was nasi lemak (and sardine sandwich!). Nasi Lemak was Mak Cu's special. She knew Pak Cu couldn't last another hour without nasi lemak. True lovers. We should expect another accident. After a glimpse of the countryside yesterday, everybody was game for another excursion into the wild side of Queensland. The plan was to take the coastal route and Pacific Highway southward via Coolangatta to a seaside resort of Byron Bay in New South Wales ( another state in Australia, if Pak Lang asked). On the way back, we would cut inland into the mountains and a national park before rejoining Pacific Highway to Gold Coast.

It's still raining when we started. Pak Cu's at the wheel again, with Pak Long navigating, and Pak Lang comforting everybody else. Stopped at a fruit market for some apples and oranges. About half-way to Byron Bay, we'd to shift to plan B due to persistent rain. Aborted Byron Bay, and, instead, took a shorter route via a tourist drive up the mountains and down toward Gold Coast. It turned out to be one long and winding and rolling road. Narrow, lonely but scenic. We passed banana and sugar-cane plantations along the way, and had to constantly remind ourselves that this was indeed Australia, and not Perlis.

Our next stop was a town named Murwillumbah (what?). It's a small and old town, just like Taiping minus the Chinese. We had all the time in the world to eat lunch in the van, stand and stare, catch up with the children's vocab, and hunt for something not made in China to bring back home. We kept criss crossing each other. We passed the same shops three or four times. Mak Long was the busiest. She passed Pak Long five times. Pak Cu had always complained that everywhere his travels took him, he'd bump into somebody from Kelantan. But after two hours in this remote town, the only Kelantanese he met was Pak Long.

The adventure continued as we rocked and rolled through valleys and mountains and rain, passing small villages and dairy farms. We're hoping to find a kangaroo or two just to wake the children out of their dream of maggi. But none crossed our path. There're cows and sheep for sure, but they'd seen enough of that in Kuala Pilah. Suddenly our champion driver (that's Pak Cu) discovered that the van was low on fuel, and Pak Long quickly discovered that we're in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town and fuel was about 15 km away, and we'd to climb a mountain to get there. An easy drive turned into a suspenseful one as Pak Cu summoned all his skills and experience of driving Aman Services lorry in Puchong to maneuver the van up and up and up and down, left and right, with aircon turned off to save fuel. Thank God we finally reached the town of Mudgeeraba. Funny name, but sweet because it had service stations. So we stopped briefly for the van to refuel and some of us to defuel. We're back on Pacific Highway, and merrily cruised toward Surfers Paradise, with the aircon on.

It's still early but already dark when we're back at Sunset Court. The children were beginning to get loud, swarming and jostling around a big bowl of steaming maggi jointly prepared by Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu. Cooking maggi was certainly a complex process. It took three highly experienced and productive mothers to do it. It'd been a long day, but not long enough for Pak Long, Pak Cu, Mak Long, Mak Lang and Adik FH, who went out again to the beachfront shops, believe it or not. As if to prove the point, Adik FH sneaked into Ripley's Believe it or Not. We looked high and low for Suzie again and finally found her. Since Pak Lang was still not ready for scuba diving, we just bought tickets to Sea World. Same deal: we paid $500, we saved $60.

It's quite late when we're back at Sunset Court, but Adik FH was nowhere around. Worried, Pak Long and Pak Cu took off again, now in the van, to look for Adik FH (actually Pak Long and Pak Cu ni cari sebab nak keluar saja. Half a chance saja, depa keluar). After one round, Pak Long and Pak Cu spotted Adik FH, swaggering and swinging along the road towards Sunset Court, like somebody who's born in Mudgeeraba or somewhere in Queensland. Pak Long and Pak Cu picked him up and drove back to Sunset Court because there's really nowhere else to go.

New Friends: Suzie (again?)

Date: Thursday 29 May 2003



Places: Sea World, Australia Fair Mall

It's another day of showers, shine, showers. But the children were all set for Sea World, and nothing in this world was going to stop them. After a breakfast of nasi goreng (and sardine sandwich!), Pak Cu was behind the wheel again, Pak Long with three maps, and Pak Lang comforting the rest.

After a sweet 15-minute drive, we're at Sea World. It's located in Southport, north of Gold Coast (we couldn't figure out why Southport is north). It's drizzling when we filed into the park. Sea World was a haven and showcase of marine life like penguins, dolphins, sea lions, pirates etc. But there're also other attractions on offer: rides, live shows and live characters from Cartoon Network (yes, Powerpuff Girls). We headed straight for the monorail which took us to a dolphin show. As we hopped from from one show to another in the rain, we're soon drenched to the skin. The children were shivering and dripping, but not in the least discouraged by this minor inconvenience. They're having the time of their life. So we pressed on. We took a cable car to the next show, Pirates 3D Adventure, where we'd to wear the special glasses provided to experience the movie in 3D. The Powerpuff Girls were nowhere to be found. We had a lunch of mega-size and mega-price French fries on the terraces while watching Ski Challenge, a show of water skiing skills and acrobatics. The rain suddenly stopped, and the sun was shining brightly. And then it rained again. We're quite early for the next show, the Quest for the Golden Seal, another display of skills and acrobatics, this time by sea lions, in heavy rain. Where're the Powerpuff Girls?. The sky's clear, so we we went for the rides. Adik FH took the triple-loop corkscrew roller coaster. He came out alive, but shaken and whiter. Pak Cu rode the Pirate Ship and then went straight to the toilet. The children and Pak Lang just took the easy ones. We're still looking for the Powerpuff Girls. But all we met were the Powderpuff Girls (Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu). Finally it rained again.

We completed Sea World after half a day, but nobody's really thinking of going back to Sunset Court. We'd paid a fortune to come this far, going back early was certainly not value for money. So we headed north for Harbour Town Factory Outlet at Biggera Waters, just outside Gold Coast. Somehow we lost our way and couldn't find the place. Three maps were no substitute for good eyesight. So we turned back towards Southport and stopped at Australia Fair mall.

After a couple of hours at the mall, we began to age and tire. We're making a move when Mak Long realised that her bulky handbag was missing. The bag contained the most valuable asset on earth: Pak Long's passport. The frantic search for the golden bag began. Pak Long used all his running and acrobatic skills to dash up and down the escalator to look for the bag. Pak Cu, who's also missing at the time, knew that something was terribly amiss when he saw Pak Long running up and down the mall, instead of up and down the beach. Pak Lang was as cool as the dolphin. He and Adik FH had enough composure and presence of mind to enquire at K-Mart, where Mak Long had been. Thank God, the bag was there. Somebody had found it and left it with the K-Mart info counter. We love you, Australia.

On the way back, Pak Long and Mak Long stopped at Woolworth's (where else) for bread and sardines and eggs.

Sarah was down with fever.

New Friends: The person who found Mak Long's bag and returned it.

Date: Friday 30 May 2003



Places: Brisbane ( Queen Street Mall, West End on Vulture Road, Brisbane Backpackers Resort

Lovely morning. The sound of our children's chattering and clattering along the corridor outside was sweet music to our ears. So young and playful and carefree. How we should thank them all for the joys of this travel. Would they grow to be loving like Pak Cu? Or giving like Pak Lang? Or plain old like Pak Long? Que sera, sera. Would they ever get to be together like this again (not counting Saturdays in Kg Pandan)? Why're we asking these questions in Gold Coast? Pak Cu quietly went out walking or jogging or just moving. This was certainly a cause for celebration because the last time he ran was on 30 May 1983 in PJ Old Town.

Baywatch and beach time. Pak Lang, Pak Cu, Mak Lang, Mak Cu, Adik FH and the children went down to the beach. It's Surfers Paradise beach, not Tg Tuan beach. Pak Long couldn't resist the temptation, and joined this beach party, leaving Mak Long to care for sick Sarah.

Kids and parents had plenty of quality time, splashing and frolicking in the Pacific Ocean in the glorious morning sunshine and a cool 20C temp. Pak Long ran again, from end to end. It's difficult to sweat here, and you could play and run on the beach practically the whole day (but what's the point).

Back to hotel, time for quick bath and bowl and second round of breakfast. Then set out on a long drive, this time to Brisbane, looking for accomodation in the city for the next two nights. Pak Long had tried to book rooms in Brisbane on line a few weeks before the trip, but none was available due to heavy booking. Heard from Bill that 16,000 Rotary Club members from all corners of the world would be descending on Brisbane over the weekend. No wonder. Now we'd to compete against 16,000 Rotarians for rooms in Brisbane. Only Pak Lang was optimistic.

Despite the heavy odds against us, we're all in an exceptionally jovial and bullish mood during the journey (must be due to sardine sandwich). To kill time, we played riddles. Somebody would ask brainless questions, and the rest would take turn to give wrong (and stupid) answers. (eg. Stupid question: What's the name of the doctor at the clinic across our Sunset Court apartment?. Wrong answer: Dr Mahathir. Right answer: Dr Mohammad. Quite close actually, but still wrong). The questions were so challenging that even Pak Cu (who's supposed to concentrate on driving) wanted to participate, and he lost his concentration. We very narrowly miss hitting a car slowing down in front. Only Pak Cu's quick reflex gained from driving in Bahau saved us as he managed to swerve the van and avoid the car. Half a second late, we'd have banged the car. No more riddles.

Missing bag yesterday, near accident today. God's telling us something. Time to ponder and reflect.

We hit downtown Brisbane at about noon, and stopped at every 3-star, 2-star or no-star hotel and motel we saw. As expected, no rooms. Pak Lang suggested seeking assistance at the Tourist Information Centre. Good idea. Thank you, Pak Lang. There's actually one Tourist Info Centre at Queen Street Mall.

After a run around, we found Queen Street Mall. QSM was Brisbane's landmark and centerpiece. It's a mile-long pedestrian mall with 1200 shops and 200 non-halal eateries, sandwiched between two massive department stores (Myer and David Jones). It's full of people, walking and talking and gawking. The Tourist Info Centre was smack in the middle of QSM. Pak Long and Pak Lang approached a tourist assistant, an elderly lady named Millie. After 5 days in Australia, Pak Long finally met somebody who's actually older than him. She looked genuinely sympathetic and interested in our problem After half-an-hour of phone calls, she managed to find a decent (and cheap) place to accomodate all 15 of us. It's located at West End, on Vulture Road, in the southern part of the city across the Brisbane River. Its name: Brisbane Backpackers Resort. . Pak Long thanked Millie profusely. She's an angel, a godsend. After an hour or two in and out of the 1200 shops, we made our way towards Vulture Road, about 5 km from QSM, via Victoria Bridge. We found Brisbane Backpackers Resort. Even with poor eyesight, you could see that it's not part of Hilton or Sheraton. But it's certainly brighter and livelier than any UPM hostel. With options running out, we quickly booked three rooms for two nights. It's already dark when we found Pacific Highway and returned to Gold Coast. The fuel was running low again. If there's anything we'd never learned, it's how to manage our fuel. We had to exit again and refuel.

It's drizzling when we reached Surfers Paradise. There's a pasar malam at the beach front. We eagerly stepped out and braved the rain to survey. Nothing worth taking home. On the way back Pak Long and Adik FH volunteered for for one last grocery trip to Woolworth's. By now, the Woolworth's people already knew Pak Long's full name.

Pak Cu went out and came back proudly showing off a bundle of cheap Gold Coast t-shirts he bought from a Taiwanese gift shop. At last he bought something bigger than peanuts. He got it cheap after promising the Taiwanese that we'd all buy t-shirts from his shop.

Sarah was still down with fever.

New Friends: Millie, the tourist assistant at Queen Street Mall.(She's a volunteer). We all agreed to send a thank-you note to Millie and the guy at K-Mart yesterday.

Date: Saturday 31 May 2003



Places: Harbour Town Factory Outlet, Brisbane Backpackers Resort

Last day in Gold Coast. We'd be relocating to Brisbane for the next three days and two nights, exactly as planned. We checked out of Sunset Court at 10 after yet another breakfast of you guess what. Bill's wife was on hand to wish us luck and see us off. Soon we're back at the beachfront for last-gasp shopping and photos. Only Pak Long remained in the van, nursing sick Sarah. We're beginning to bump into newly-arrived and ever-excited Melayu families, with rowdy children and that trademark lepak look. So we'd to get out of Gold Coast fast before we met somebody who spoke Kelantanese.

Everybody on board, and we're ready to leave Gold Coast. It's five days ago when we came here and, after the thrills and spills and sardine sandwiches, it all seemed like yesterday. Parting is such sweet sorrow, said Shakespeare. Let's move on, said Pak Long. Mana toilet, said Pak Cu. We bid Goodbye to Surfers Paradise and Gold Coast. Pak Cu checked the fuel (good idea), took one final turn, and off we go. Pak Long dumped the map. We didn't need it. Even Pak Lang now knew the road to Brisbane.

On the way to Brisbane, we stopped at Harbour Town Factory Outlet, the one that had eluded us two days ago. What we saw was a big mall with discount shops sporting familiar brands like Corning, Royal Doulton, Sheridan, David Jones, DVD, and...hold your breath....Woolworth's! We went separate ways looking for a kill: Mak Long went for cheap Sheridan bedding, Pak Long cheap muffins, Pak Cu cheap turbine. What was supposed to be a brief stop-over and look-around turned into a major shopping expedition for Mak & Pak Long. Everybody's thinking of Brisbane but had to wait in the van for them, with sick Sarah crying and whining. Understandably Adik FH and every Malaysian in the car park were not too happy with Mak Long's time-insensitive diversion. Of course they're happy with Pak Long. Being old obviously has its advantages.

We reached Brisbane and checked into the place we'd booked the day before. Pak Long took room 210, Pak Lang room 207 and Pak Cu room 220. We opened and appraised our rooms with mixed feelings and short breaths. Bed, bath, bowl, TV were all there as expected. No towel, no welcome drink, no free massage. One common kitchen for the whole floor. Welcome to Brisbane Backpackers Resort (resort?). Pak Long and Pak Lang each got a big room with seven beds in military formation. Pak Cu's room was smaller, with only four beds. He's ok with less than seven beds so long as there's a bowl. We're now seven backpackers with eight children. And we're about to experience a new culture. Were we scared? Not at all. It's the other way round. The other backpackers were worried. Our children soon took over the whole floor. They'd run and scream and squeal along the corridor, and the lady backpacker at the end room would come out and grumble.

We had a simple dinner at the kitchen. No more masak asam or curries. Later in the evening, Pak Long, Pak Cu and Adik FH hung around the lobby, mingling with the tattoo and earring crowd. We made friend with the receptionist. According to Pak Cu his name was Abu Bakr, from Jordan (how we wished he were Bakar from Penang). Friendly guy. He told us where to find mosque and halal food in the area. It's amazing that in spite of the many rough and not-so-good-looking backpackers coming in and out, the place was orderly and respectable. No fighting or flashing. Feeling safe and secure, Pak Long, Pak Cu and Adik FH ventured out and took a lazy walk along Vulture Street and into a 7-Eleven for a fresh supply of bread, jam and butter for tomorrow.

Finally all of us settled down for our first night in Brisbane. Pak Long was about to doze off when Sarah suddenly woke up and mumbled something. After three days of high fever, she finally recovered. Alhamdulillah.

New Friends: Bakr, the receptionist at Brisbane Backpackers Resort.

Date: Sunday 1 June 2003



Places: Riverside Market, Sunshine Highway, Bruce Highway, Noosa Heads, Eumundi, Queen Street Mall, Chinatown.

First morning in Brisbane. Pak Long was the earliest to rise, breaking his own record set in Kuala Duyong, Melaka, on the morning of Pak Lang's wedding many many years ago. Mak Lang, who'd been the earliest everyday for the last five days, was still busy trying all the seven beds. Eager to show off, Pak Long strutted noisily along the corridor, back and forth, in a true backpacker style: skin head, green Marlboro sweater, Timberland mountain shoes, bundle t-shirt and kain pelikat cap gajah duduk! A tattoo and an earring should complete the package. Mak Cu actually heard Pak Long rioting outside and alerted Pak Cu, who's busy clearing up his blocked digestive system.

Our breakfast was a quick and colourless affair. We had to do without everybody's favourite, sardine sandwich. But it's still tastier than the koko krunch fare Pak Lang had on KTM first class to JB. At about 8 we're all aboard and out of the hotel, looking for Riverside Sunday market at Eagle Street. We found the market quite easily, right on the bank of Brisbane River. Pak Lang was lost for words. It's exactly the kind of market we'd been visualizing: flowers, frames, fruits, hand-painted shirts, hand-painted paintings, handicraft, pastries, hats, nick-nacks, nonsense. The traders were pure Australians, not pure Indons. The wares were mostly handmade in Australia, and prices were reasonable. The muffins and apple pies, ahhh, were savoury and gorgeous, all homemade from organic and low-fat ingredients. A fitness freak's fantasy. Pak Long made no attempt to resist and bought loads of them. And the lady returned the compliment with four pieces of lovely croissants on the house. Apparently she'd never seen such a good-looking and well-behaved customer in her life.

We headed northwards to Sunshine Coast, about 150 km from Brisbane, via Sunshine Highway and Bruce Highway. Our destination was Noosa Heads, the part of Sunshine Coast recommended by most travel books. We reached Noosa at noon. What we saw wasn't actually what we'd had in mind. It's a pretty, well-kept seaside resort, but nothing else. We'd expected a smaller-scale Surfers Paradise. A letdown in a way, but the journey and the anticipation was well worth it. There's always something to see, wonder, learn and take away. The adventure is inside, not outside, remember? After an hour or so, we turned back towards Brisbane. We stopped over at a small market town called Eumundi, just outside Sunshine Coast. It's the right place, but wrong day. So no market.

It's about 2 when we swung into Charlotte Street, downtown Brisbane. We agreed on a separate agenda. We dropped Pak Lang, Mak Lang and Mak Cu at Queen Street Mall, and the rest followed Mak Long to Stone Corner, a small shopping mall in south Brisbane, to look for Mak Long's dream dinner set. Found Stone Corner. Right place, wrong time. The store was closed. We rejoined at QSM, just before the 5 o'clock closing time.

We left QSM for another weekend market at Chinatown Mall at Brunswick Street. We found the location, but no mall and not a single Chinese. Must be SARS. Nowhere to go, we just coasted leisurely until we found Victoria Bridge and our way back to hotel. It's still about 7 or 8 and we went round and round looking for Coles or Woolworth's. But all supermarkets were closed at this time except Giant in USJ. So what's for dinner? Mak Long, Mak Lang and Mak Cu looked drained and rundown (as always). Nobody's sober enough to cook. Since this was our last night in Australia, we thought that we might loosen up a bit. Just let our hair down, so to speak. Everybody agreed, even Pak Long, who'd no hair to let down actually. There're two halal joints around our hotel: Nandos chicken and Turkish kebab. So kebab for the debab and chicken for the rest, all take-away. Each family had a private dinner in their dorm that evening. The food was so good and we're starving. We ate and ate and nobody spoke.

We made a rude discovery at the kitchen. It's in a mess, some of our foodstuff (maggi, Ipoh white coffee) were missing. We guessed it's all part of the culture. Mak Cu's bowls had been used and left unwashed. Who knows, if we stayed longer, they might even use Pak Cu's bowels. Bloody backpackers!

After dinner, Pak Long, Pak Cu and Adik FH went down to the lobby again, bought a $5 phone card and rushed out to find a public phone. Pak Long made a call to Abang at Northwestern, but Abang was half-alive and too sleepy to say anything that made half-sense. Adik FH called his good friend Shakhir, but he's engaged with his alumni. Pak Cu called his mother-in-law in Kg Pandan to speak to Ijat. Since reception was poor and Ijat was too young and still angry, Pak Cu had to half-scream 'Ijat, Ijat, Ijat'. Half of Brisbane could hear him.

Date: Monday 2 June 2003



Places: Stone Corner, Brisbane Airport, On board MH 0136, KLIA

Last day in Australia, and last chance to run in Brisbane. It's cool and breezy. Too good to pass up, so Pak Long and Pak Cu stepped out, running at first and then strolling at 2 km/hr. At this speed Pak Cu would only need a new pair of running shoes in 2020. The outing was short, but good enough for us to brag about for a long time.

After breakfast, we all got busy with the dumbest job in the world : packing. We packed, unpacked, repacked, unpacked, repacked. Mak Long needed at least three more bags to fit in all the stuff she'd bought. We checked out at 9, and had to bring down the bed sheets to claim a paltry $30 refund. Our last-minute shopping started at the hotel itself when everybody bought the official Brisbane Backpackers Resort t-shirts at the lobby. Good quality, made in China. Pak Lang bought eight (one for Shakhir). Pak Cu bought five (one for Shakhir). Pak Long bought ten (one for Shakhir). Everybody seemed to agree that the cheap, made in China t-shirt should look good on Shakhir.

With all our bloated bags loaded up, the van was filled to the brim, and its weight had doubled. We're supposed to fly out at 3.30, so plenty of time to wander around. Stone Corner again, for that dream dinner set. It's open now. Mak Long just grabbed and Pak Long just paid (this is called a win-lose relationship). Mak Cu also bought something for her new kitchen but wasn't really sure what it's used for. Finally time for some chocolates for the nieces and nephews. We found a supermarket named Action, and we emptied the chocolate shelf. We crammed the van until there's no more space to breathe.

All set, we looked up the map for the fastest route to the airport. It's a short, jam-free drive across the city. The airport was quiet and deserted. Pak Long and Pak Cu returned the overworked van. It took the airline staff half an hour to check in 28 of us (15 people, 13 bags). She was struggling with all the F and Z in Fadli Hafiz, Faliq Haziq and Afzal Zikri.

We had only enough time at the departure lounge for Pak Long to collect all the left-over Australian coins to buy three packets of macademia nuts. One packet for each family, and one nut for each family member. Only 10 cents left. Call it perfect planning.

Finally we're on board MH 0136 flight to KL. We took off at 3.30 as scheduled. Goodbye, Australia, goodbye. We promised to come back if Azra or Faliq or Aida or all three somehow found their way to study at the world famous University of Queensland instead of Universiti Putra Malaysia (also famous, but only in Kg Pandan).

The plane was almost full. No prize for guessing where Pak Cu's seated. The flight was so uneventful that even the airline food looked exciting. The children were abnormally subdued, realising that the freewheeling days were over, and their bibis were waiting. We landed at KLIA at 9.30 evening. The customs cleared all our 13 bags without silly questions. The arrival hall was crowded and maddening as ever. We parted and promised to meet again on Saturday. Pak Cu took a taxi (rm50), Pak Long took a bigger taxi (rm60), Pak Lang took ERL (don't guess).

We're back home, tired and thankful. All's well that ends well. Pushing the door open, we're overwhelmed by the warmth, sweetness and serenity of home. What rushed to our mind were George Moore's words:

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs, and returns home to find it. We couldn't agree more. Home is where our heart is.

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