Erections in the Far East , livre ebook

Pneuma Springs Publishing - David Rowley

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125 pages

English

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WARNING to British readers - This book has NOT been written by a celebrity and so may seem like total gaga.Join Rowley in his light hearted and self-deprecating antics as he works his way around SE Asia, building communication towers on and off the beaten track. In Borneo he heads up river to remote jungle long-houses to provide the natives with internet access and something called porn. He avoids death on the towers from a variety of beasts, keeps the locals on their toes by blocking their roads with overturned cranes, and, with the help of Angus, his trusty Scottish sidekick, they manage to undo much of the respect the British have earned there over the last three hundred years. Thailand allows Rowley time to ponder Thai culture; from the exciting go-go bars of Bangkok to the loneliness of the north east, where he spends a year living in a two star hotel. Eventually he begins to enjoy life there until one of his beloved towers starts falling over and he resumes his "You are a worry man" mode. Sampling the highs and lows of Vietnamese life from internet dating and male toilet massage, to the misery of pouring concrete by night and wondering where his life went so wrong. In Cambodia he tours every province and is worshipped by his intimate team of young civil engineers, though it's not they who finally bring him to a grinding halt with a variety of embarrassing ailments.It's not all humour and frolics. Rowley also gives a brief but interesting insight into the history of each location and the influence of the western world.'Hilarious' The Borneo Echo'Probably the best book I have ever skimmed through'Roderick - Author's best friend'He has a way with words that even a five year old can relate to'Duncan - Author's second best friendBook reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

East Asia

Far East

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Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	08 décembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781782281733
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0145€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Erections
in the
Far East

David Rowley
Copyright

First Published in 2011 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
Erections in the Far East Copyright © 2011 David Rowley
David Rowley has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work
Pneuma Springs
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Rowley, David. Erections in the Far East. 1. Rowley, David--Travel--Southeast Asia. 2. Rowley, David--Homes and haunts--Southeast Asia. 3. Southeast Asia--Description and travel. 4. Southeast Asia—Social conditions. 5. Radio and television towers—Southeast Asia--Design and construction. I. Title 915.9'0454-dc23
Kindle eISBN: 9781782280118 ePub eISBN: 9781782281733 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782280958 Paperback ISBN: 9781907728310
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
Map Of Work Region
BORNEO

1
“Who the heck was Babyface?” I pondered whilst chatting with the company driver on the way to Heathrow airport. I told him that I was to meet Dave B in Brunei. “You know Babyface, everyone knows Babyface,” he told me whilst trying to describe him further, but I still couldn’t put a face to him.

I have flown to SE Asia some 30 or more times but that first flight remains the most vivid because of the two Scottish characters next to me. They were oil workers from Glasgow and could have made a brilliant comedy duo, only they failed to realise their own potential. Had I recorded their varied conversations on that flight then I fancy I could be a wealthy man by now. The topic that still stands out was a discussion about which of them was biologically the more efficient. Not based on any blood pressure checks, pulse rates or even what they could do in a gymnasium, instead it was gauged by how frequently they passed stools. The elder chap informed the younger one that he went to number two just once a week, whilst the younger chap apparently went twice or even three times a day. Both seemed extreme to me, but I was merely an audience. The elder one claimed that because he only had to sit on the loo once a week rather than up to twenty one times, he was more efficient because of the time saving factor. The younger chap disagreed and argued that for much of the time he was carrying about far less excess baggage, as he put it. He had a point. He further explained that his bodily organs were kept in better shape because of the regular bowel movements, and that his colon was well exercised and therefore in tip-top condition. I struggled not to laugh out loud in disbelief at some of it. They appeared to take their various discussions seriously and any chuckling might well have caused offence.

They had attempted to strike up conversation with me early on but claimed they couldn’t understand the west-country accent, which seemed rich coming from two Glaswegians. I did remind them that it wasn’t me the Singaporean stewardess was forever repeating “Pardon me Sir?” I didn’t push my luck though, they looked as hard as nails, and I could see that hiding places were limited for the next twelve hours on a Boeing 747.

It was mid-1995 and after a spell of work in Saudi Arabia I reckoned anywhere else was going to be a step in a livelier direction. I’d had some apprehension about going to Brunei and knowing little about it had assumed it would resemble the Middle East. Like many westerners I’d lumped it in with the likes of Abu Dhabi, Dubai and Kuwait, rather than its actual location in the north of the world’s third largest island, Borneo.

Years ago as a child my family had lived in nearby Singapore and so to encourage me to try Brunei this time my mother had remarked at how friendly the locals had all been towards her. As we walked by the market stalls they would politely call out, “Hello Missy,” Mum recalled fondly. She always tends to see the pleasant side in folk, though having purchased nothing from them only my sharp young ears had heard the “Stingy old bag,” remarks once we were a little further along.

I walked out from the airport terminal and felt choked by the heavy humid air of the equatorial region. Instantly I clocked him amongst the crowd, of course, I realised who he was then, we’d recently been on the same safety training course. Babyface was two years older than me but appeared far younger, something he was to rub in for years to come. He took me for lunch at the airport café where the Chinese waitress recommended “Piss and chips” and then drove me to the house that we were to share, close to Bandar Seri Begawan, the small sleepy capital of Brunei. The old house was basic but adequate. My role was to oversee the construction of several steel telecommunication towers which in those days were shipped from the UK. It would be unheard of these days for relatively simple steel structures to be shipped nearly half way across the world.

At the house were some large wooden crates waiting for me on the front lawn and with a hammer and crowbar I set about checking the contents. It was an initial shipment which contained the hefty foot bolts for casting into the foundations. The first thing that struck me as I moved towards the crates was the unusual weed which closed around my feet. There was hardly any grass to the lawn; it was mostly a clover type plant. I started jumping about and monitoring the changes as the vibration sent out a small shock wave and the weed closed up leaving a dark circular patch. A minute or so later it reopened into a uniform green blanket once more. I was intrigued and jumped about from one spot to another, admiring the patterns. It was a bit like re-discovering snow. I had quite a sweat on when Babyface came out and shouted “What the hell are you doing man?” We didn’t know each other at that stage, apart from at the safety course we’d only really met properly that day. I tried to explain my findings and highlight the plant’s camouflage capabilities. I jumped about some more to demonstrate the effect but he showed no interest. He’d already got me down as a nutter and shaking his head returned into the house. I could see through the window that he’d picked up the phone and was talking to someone intensely. I rather hoped he hadn’t called the UK office. Later that evening I tried do some reading but was distracted by tapping and drilling sounds coming from his bedroom. It sounded much like a door lock being fitted.

I wondered a while later if my initial jumping about the front garden had been the reason why the neighbours never approached us. That didn’t deter me though, if ever I chanced upon the weed at site I’d be the first one jumping about, only I was smart enough to make sure the customer wasn’t around, I didn’t need further comments to head office.

I was quite naive at the time because the crates make perfect homes for snakes to dwell, and really Babyface should have warned me. I think he’d come outside to do so but when he saw me jumping about he thought it best for everyone if I did meet one.

The first job was straightforward, just overseeing the subcontractors to ensure the foundations were built properly and that they were casting the foot bolts into the concrete accurately, and not slinging water buffalo crap into the mix. There were always ample dung heaps about and my boots seemed to have more cohesive allure to the stuff than anyone else at site. The towers were still being fabricated so it gave me spare time to get my bearings. This wasn’t easy as the road network in Brunei follows no regular grid or organized layout, and public transport was then non-existent. To make matters worse there were no road maps due to security reasons so it was often a case of trial and error. Sometimes I drove out as far as the main coast road to establish a reference point in order to start a journey over again. It was a pleasant way to fill the days.
The size of the money took a bit of getting used to. The Brunei dollar is pegged to the Singapore dollar but Brunei does print its own money with the Sultan displayed on every bank note. One time Babyface and I were in a café when he’d just come from the bank as he had some subcontractors to pay. He produced a B$10,000 note, nearly 5,000 pounds sterling at the time, and made an embarrassing attempt to pay for the meal. It was refused. It was unfortunate that there were no Poundland or at least one dollar type shops in which to amuse ourselves.

He took me to the only bar there in those days, the BIC or ‘Brunei International club.’ Basically it was just an old timber house located on a discreet driveway, and the owner politically well-connected for it to be used as a drinking den for expats and local Chinese. All other bars had been closed down during the 1980s when Brunei took on a stricter Islamic stance. He introduced me to his friends including a loud Aussie, Kevin. I think he informed them that I was still a bit naïve to travel. One of Kevin’s kicks was to chat in front of any newcomers about the tigers that still roam Borneo. He mentioned that a mate of his had seen one only that week near to his house. I sat quietly taking everything on board.

The following morning I drove to one of the proposed tower sites located along the coast road, near to Crocodile Beach. The site was in a clearing on the border with some dense forest but luckily it already had a perimeter fence. I looked all around and then tentatively got out of the car to open the gates. I hopped back in and drove into the compound, closing the gates quickly behind. Cautiously I pegged out the site to show whereabouts the workers needed to excavate the foundations. The task took far longer than usual because I was forever casting my eyes