June 2006: Auckland, New Zealand

The Auckland Regional Transport Authority runs its train service out of the Britomart transport centre.

I was in Auckland for one night only, the stop being a transit between Samoa and Singapore. It was a nightlong stop. Not wanting to pay for a hotel, and not wanting to sleep on a seat at the airport, I decided to try my luck at the 24hrs casino in downtown Auckland. It did made about NZ$100 with a 'capital' of NZ$10. Not too shabby, I would say. In the morning, I headed for the Britomart and tried out one of the ARTA trains. The service feels like a city Metro/Underground (correct me if any Kiwi sees this), but some of the train engine looks like they are in for the long haul. It was still early in the morning when I got on the train, and it was dark outside the window. I remember the train I was on was on raised track, and looking down, I could see another line with track running across some bodies of water. In the dim morning lights, as a train runs on the track, it looks like the train was travelling on water. It reminds me of the train in the anime Spirited Away.

The Britomart station is also the starting point of the scenic rail Overlander that runs over the north island between Auckland and Wellington.





--KIV--

June 2006: Western Samoa

The pacific island of Western Samoa (not to be mistaken with American Samoa) has no railway lines. Public transport on this beautiful island is provided by taxis and buses take looks like a hybrid of a bus and lorry.

Western Samoa is famous for supplying her neighboring New Zealand and Australia with professional rugby players, for WWE's The Rock, for giving the world Tatoo, and for being the final resting place of Robert Louis Stevensons.






--KIV--

March 2006: Dakka, Bangladesh

The guy who works with me in Bangladesh, a telecom engineer, is proud of his country on two accounts: 1, that it is the most densely populated country in the world; and 2, that he could throw his rubbish any which way he likes on the street. He actually demonstrated the second point on the street of Dakka with a PET bottle which content he just emptied into his stomach. "You can't do that in Singapore, can you." Not a pretty beginning to a beautiful relationship.....It probably has something to do with my decision not to take any train ride on this country.

The trip to Dakka was a short one. Arriving on a Wednesday, work through Thurday and Friday, then sign up for a city tour with the hotel travel desk. The 100+ bucks paid for the trip comes with a private car (Toyota, if you must know), a driver and a English-speaking guide. After all the spots on the itinery were covered, I asked to be taken to the city train station. So here are some pictures of the station and the platform.






At the station, I asked that the guide buy me a train ticket. "Where are you going?" he asked. "If you are not going anywhere, why buy a ticket?", he asked, after a I told him I am going nowhere, that I would like a ticket to the nearest train station. He did go up to the ticket counter when I explained that I would like a ticket for keepsake,. However, he came back, looking defeated, explaining that the ticket seller has refuse to sell him the ticket if no one intends to make the trip. He promised to try again. Settling me down at a snack and drinks stall nearby, he trooped back to the ticket counter, "I will find a way", he promised. This time he was successful. Whatever trick he pulled remain a mystery to this day, but it worked.




--KIV--

February 2006: Galle, Sri Lanka

The island of Sri Lanka is sometimes known as the Tear Drop Isle for its shape and the way it hangs off the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent. The Tear Drop Isle would have been weeping on Boxing Day 2005, and it would still be in mourning in Febuary, 2006. The Indian Ocean tsunami has swept along the coast of Sri Lanka and had caused much death and damage. Sri Lanka probably has one of the most beautiful train ride, with a long stretch of the western line hugging the coastline, the sea barely a few meters next to the train. On weekends, walk to the tracks near the Columbo beach. You will find couples on the stoney banks, the rail tracks behind them, the Indian Ocean right before. On Boxing Day 2005, as the south-bound engine 59 was travelling towards Galle, the tsunami strucked, sweeping it off its track and taking the lives of all but a dozen of her 1700 passengers.

Jan 2006: ICE, Cologne

Cologne, the place of origine for perfume of the same name, was a stop between Atlanta, Georgia and Singapore. While checking out the destination before the trip, I found out two things of particular interest about Cologne: it has the cathedral with the largest facade in the world (the LARGEST Cathedral honor goes to Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York), and the largest whorehouse in Europe. That's an interesting mix, one hell of a integrated resort, if the Singapore government were to plan it. Hmmmm, maybe not.....

Where in the USA, the cars reign supreme; over in Germany across the pond, the rail system is an effective alternative to its autobahns.


The ICE, or Intercity Express is the flagship of the German national railway, Deutsche Bahn. It is fast and it was a cool idea to take a trip on one across the white landscape of Germany in winter, from Frankfurt Airport to Cologne.



--KIV--



Top: A race across the River Rhine? Pick your ride! My ICE will beat your old world horsey.

December 2005: Pakistan Railway, Karachi

The thought of a business trip to Karachi fills me with a bit a fear. If the media, Western or otherwise, were to be believed, it isn't one of the safest placed to visit. Once you step out of Karachi International airport, you will be greeted by the brightly litted MacDonald's restaraunt. A nice place to have dinner, except it was bombed not long before my trip.

The Karachi Sheraton that I was put up in looks like a nice safe place, too. Then again, the security check that your taxi has to go through day in day out betrays the sense of security. One night, while buying dinner at the KFC near the hotel, my curiosity was piqued by a plague that hangs by the counter. It praise the hardwork of the KFC staff that enable a quick "recovery". A trawl of Google throws up news of the restaurant's bombing back in November, the same year.

So, on one fine weekend, it was with trepidation that I started out on my "little walk" of the city. The plan was simple, find the broadest street that run out of the Sheraton, then walk all the way to the sea. Somewhere along the way, the railway will cross my path, and I will take a trip between just wo stations on the Pakistan Railway. The idea of a long rail trip was out of the way, if one was to believe the media, Western or otherwise...With that plan and a city map, it was the beach that I headed.


Once out on the street, it became apparent that the media has probably exaserated things a bit. The road to the beach was bright, clean and orderly. There was no hint of menace all the way. Of course it does help that most of the stretch looks like the city's embassy area and rich residential area. If memory still serves me, not far after the Iranian Cultural Centre, the rail road did crossed my path. The closest station was Karachi City. I made a note of it so that I could return to it on a later date.

The trip to the beach was a pleasant one. It was a pleasant surprise too when I reached the beach. The sand was black in color, and it was not because it was dirty. With Phuket and Langkawi a short flight from Singapore, I was more used to the white sandy variety. The beach wasn't much of a bathing beach. That would be expected, given that Pakistan is an Islamic republic. The showing of flesh will be frowned upon. In fact, the whole stretch of beach was devoided of women when I was there. But, it was a lively place, with camel rides and horses practising their run.....Arabian steeds, I imaged.....














The next week, I made another trip back to the Karachi City station. The next station on the line was another Karachi station, the Karachi Cantonment Station. And so it was, one short trip on the Pakistan Railway: Karachi City to Karachi Cantonment.

On the platform, an old man looks into the lens, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. The youngsters of Karachi were more open to getting their pictures taken. In fact, once they see your camera, they were likely to approach you for a pictures, a ready smile on their face. Here, the young brothers manning the colorful platform snack and drinks stall display their wares for the camera.




The trip on the train wasn't really spectacular. As with the slivers of land on both sides of railway tracks in most part of Asia, the Pakistanis park their rickety slum dwelling besides the tracks. At the end of this short trip is the Karachi Cantonment Station. As you walk out of the station, you will be greeted by coolies, or porters in their bright orange uniform, seating in line, waiting for their turn to carry a traveller's lugguage. Waiting too, are the taxi and tuk-tuk drivers.








--KIV--

October 2005: The Death Railway, Thailand

There are Disneylands and then there are the Death Railways, tourist spots where you go to for their history of death, war and killings.

In Cambodia, it is the Killing Field; in Vietnam, the War Museum (probably at least one in every major cities/towns). In Thailand, one famous railway.

As a Singaporean, my earliest memory of the Death Railway was a scene from Singapore-produced TV serial from the '80s. Then, one of the male lead was sent from Singapore to the construction of the railway. His wife would travel all the way from Singapore to Thailand (a audious journey, no Air Asia yet, remember...) and met him in the jungle. The scene that burnt into my youthful mind then was the two crawling towards each other, across a ground littered with sick and dead bodies. That's really DRAMA, man.


The trip to the Death Valley starts with a booking with one of the many travel agents in Bangkok, a transfer from the hotel on a minivan, and then on the road from Bangkok on a big tour bus. On the road to the Death Railway, the tour guide warn ofthe danger of travelling on the normal cabin: it is possible that the cabin will be full, and we would not get to get a proper window seat and the view that come with it. "It will cost a bit more, but isn't the view what you are here for? Let me know in the next few minutes, I would need to call ahead and ensure we get the seats." says the guide. And so, the busload of farangs took 10minutes and started forking out that "a bit more". Well, except for the white woman behind me, looking like one of the Kao San Rd crowd, who resisted. Once we were up on the "special tourist" cabin and checked the ticket fare at the Death Railway station, we realize the Kao San Rd farang lady is probably the only sane one amongst us. There was nothing much special obout the cabin, and the train isn't that crowded. The only "extra" was probably the hand towel and cup of drinking water given out by the train service guys. The guys were grinning at us as they were giving out the extras. I could imagine why.....

The tour of the Death Railway started with a visit to the museum, more properly called the Thailand-Burma Railway Centre. I don't have any pix of the inside of the museum....I could only reason that there must be a sign that pictures are not allowed or that there is a fee to take pictures within (the latter being the more likely case, given the cheap guy I am.)

What left the most impression about the museum wasn't the displays-proper within, but the flags, badges and plagues of military units whose veterans were forced into hard labor on the railway. Many were placed by the veterans who later visited the railway.








It was a bright sunny day, and the local boys were out with their fishing rods on the section of the railway that runs across the River Kwai. All together now.....pi-pi, pi-pi-pi pi pi pi, pi-pi, pi-pi-pi pi pi pi.....






<>


On the trip back, the bus busted a tire and was stranged on the usual Bangkok traffic jam. The tour agent arranged for taxis for all back to their hotels, footing the bill. And so it was, away from the Death Railway, back to the hassle and bussle of peacetime Thailand, and Bangkok's Micky D's.