This blog is dedicated to the adventurer in all of us. Join us as we sail, travel, learn, contemplate, work and play. Cress and Irena
Now there is a phrase to haunt the careless nuclear power plant operator or maybe a parachutist imagining pulling his parachute harness release instead of his rip-cord. Whatever its application, I thought when I first heard the phrase “instant failure” it had a ringing finality to it. There could be no coming back from an “instant failure”. But not so in Singapore: In Singapore instant failure is a way of doing things. I have many times personally experienced instant failure and, now that I am just visiting Singapore, I am here to tell this tale.
I suppose if I had thought about it, I might have associated instant failure with a driving school. You know, the kind of failure we would associate with a flustered student driving the school car into an office showroom window. Or maybe “instant failure” would apply to a driving student caught whispering into a two way radio in his jacket breast pocket during the theory exam. I met the anguish of “instant failure” in the clutches of Comfort Driving School.
I am not sure where the name “Comfort Driving School” comes from. Getting motorcycle lessons in the 33 degree Celsius heat in Singapore, wasn’t particularly comfortable, nor were the long pants, gloves, helmet, elbow and knee pads we had to wear. Maybe it was intended that I take ‘comfort’ in the fact that I was being trained inside the most thorough motorcycle training regimes on this side of the milky way.
I didn’t take any comfort knowing that only a fraction of those who start the training actually persevere long enough to obtain a license. Maybe I was to take comfort from knowing, for all this effort, the biggest motorcycle I would be able to drive would be one with a less than 200 cc engine. But 200 CCs or 2000 CCs, there was no comfort knowing we are all still just sitting ducks for any of Singapore’s 15,000 geriatric taxis drivers. One person dies on a motorcycle every other day in Singapore. That’s certainly no comfort. One thing for sure, it was no comfort to know that at anytime, during anyone of my 12 examinations, the prospect of ‘instant failure’ was one false step away.
Here is how the how it works at the Comfort Driving School. It starts with riding theory, and, of course, a riding theory exam. The riding theory exam is passed by getting at least 45 of 50 multiple choice questions correct on at least one of your multiple attempts at the exam in the computer lab. Only get forty four questions correct? - Instant Failure!
Now I confess I didn’t make this easy for myself. To prepare for the theory exam, we were required to attend two theory lesson nights of about three hours each. The night of the first evening, after registration, the door was locked presumably to keep those in who had registered. But having been appraised of this beforehand, and having made previous business commitments, when the instructor turned his head, I slipped out the back of the room through the side door that I had unlocked in planning my escape. I ran out of the building and jumped into a waiting taxi and sped across town to attend my evening appointment. After the meeting, I jumped in another taxi and roared back to the school to slip back into my seat just before the sessions ended. You see, I had to return in order to get my student card stamped that I had been in attendance. I guess if you treat me like an adolescent, that’s how I will act. And you know, it was just as much fun as I remember it. On the second evening, to ward off what my friend had reported from the first session as a crushingly boring time, we brought in a very tall bottle of pre-mixed vodka and orange juice. It seemed to work. Although I am slightly ashamed of my behavior both nights – In retrospect it was preparation for what was to follow – the practical lessons and traffic police examinations.
After passing the theory test examinations, we could begin the onsite practical training – presented in 12 ‘easy’ lessons. Well, not so easy actually. Most students averaged about 3 to 4 attempts to “pass” through each of the 12 lesson exams, plus practice revisions, not to mention retraining if one were to fail the traffic police test at the end. I meet one stalwart soul who had been at it more than two years, and had failed the traffic police test five times! I didn’t think he wanted me to ask him how many lessons he had paid for. You see, you must pass each lesson in the subjective opinion of the instructor, or repeat it.
You have to admit this is a pretty good business model. Students can’t move on to the next lesson until the school says so. There are no individual private lessons allowed in
I suppose I shouldn’t complain, at least I wasn’t a motorcycle in the Comfort Driving School. As you can imagine, your lot as a motorcycle in a driving school, is not a happy one. After you have been thrashed around by the motorcycle trainees for 6 months or so, the final duty of a motorcycle before retirement at the Comfort Driving School is to expire in the first lesson fleet. One drill in the first lesson is driving one of these bikes, from very close range, into a large rubber tire mounted on a brick wall. This is our first opportunity to practice moving off, and I guess, stopping. Another drill is circling endlessly, and starting and stopping in unison without crashing into the guy in front. As you can imagine the sound of motorcycles falling over is fairly constant in the first lesson.
In lessons two, three and four, we were introduced to the driving site. Within the
Now where was I?
Oh yes, “instant failure”
Within the site, there are 10 specific training stations designed for instant failure. There is the starting and stopping slope, the figure 8 course, the crank course, the emergency brake course and the slalom course. Finally, there is the greatest nemesis of them all - the “plank”. The “plank” is about four inches high, only a foot wide and about 30 feet long. Students ride and fall off the plank until they can stay on for its full length. After that, students must ride it at ultra slow speed, taking at least 6 seconds to traverse its length. In all of the training stations, touch a cone, touch the ground with your right foot, fall off the plank, be too fast, be too slow, look right first instead of looking left first, stop outside the line, fail to turn on your headlight -- instant failure! Instant failure means repeating the lesson, and that means waiting another 7 to 10 days for a lesson opening and making the sojourn back to the
It is at lesson five that many simply give up; it seems they cannot pass. After three practice sessions and three repeats of lesson five, I was ready to call it a day. The first time I failed from too many demerit points, primarily because I failed to enter the course when the flashing light started (nobody had told me what the flashing light was for). The second time, my right foot touched down in the crank course when I blew a shift into second gear – instant failure. The third time, I fell off the plank – instant failure. Finally, on my fourth try at the lesson test I passed.
By now, I had been in the process four months, made about 20 trips to the Comfort Driving Centre, and reached the point where I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was like a boot camp recruit – all resistance beaten out of me. In the end, I was determined to pass, even if for no better reason than just to prove to myself that I, in another life, was a competent human being. For thirty five years I have driven everything from motorcycles to tanker trucks. I am licensed to fly airplanes, but at the Singapore Comfort Driving School I was a driving nobody!
Finally, after another two more months of lessons and waiting, lessons and waiting, the big day arrived. Ninety students assembled at 7:15 am at the Comfort Driving School for the traffic police examination. Those that passed would be granted the dubious privilege of driving a motorbike on the public streets of Singapore. Those that failed, well, they got to continue the bondage for at least another 6 months or walk away from their considerable investment. All that stood between freedom and drudgery was a single instant failure: forget to turn on the headlight, the briefest brush of a cone, a missed shift, stopping behind the wrong line or falling off the damn plank and we would be toast. Is it any wonder so many Singaporeans say getting their drivers license is their greatest accomplishment?
The School sent us out on a practice round before the examination, first around the site, then our around the street test route. By 10:00 am we were numbered up in clusters of ten, assigned a bike from the pack at random and assembled like soldiers on the parade ground. Looking around, there were some pretty anxious faces hanging out in that hot morning sun, including my own.
Out of ninety students, only two expats were lined up to take the test, and we were numbered one and two. Number One, my friend, Chris, would lead us all around the test course, I was to be number two behind him. At last, the first ten were told to ‘start your engines’. With an indifferent wave, my expat compatriot and I we were the first two sent out onto the course.
I was like a puppy dog following Chris. We made our way to the stopping slope, the figure 8, the crank course and then to the dreaded plank, which neither of us fell from. After the emergency stop, we were still clear of the dreaded instant failure zones on site and clear to ride the open road test. But alas, all would not be well. At the first intersection, we waited behind a very large truck on a right turn. Chris started across the intersection, but stopped suddenly to avoid a car running the red light. I looked down – oh my gawd - Chris had put his foot down outside the turning pocket - Instant Failure!
Afterward the road test, we assembled with all 88 other students in a big classroom to wait the final verdict. One by one, the traffic police called people out of the room. Those called out were briefed, presumably, on why they failed. Long minutes later, the room was half empty. We sat. We sweated. Chris and I sat hoping. One of the instructors winked at us and gave us the high sign. We guessed either the traffic police couldn’t’ see Chris’ transgression behind the truck, or that Chris was forgiven for stopping outside the turning pocket as acceptable under the pressure of a car running a red light. We were never called out of the room, but couldn’t allow ourselves to believe that it was true we had passed until at last they closed the door and started showing the final films of our training – an hour of videos on all the ways we could die riding a bike on the streets of Singapore. Now they tell us!
I will never forget the Comfort Driving School. Its regimented approach to training, typical of the whole education system in Singapore, helped me understand my adult Singaporean coaching clients better. I learned humility, or at least what it might look like. And I thank my lucky stars every morning when I wake, that I will never, ever, again be forced to submit to the terror of instant failure!
Okay, I promise, next blog, back to sailing!
Cress
In this heavily fished part of the world, Indonesian fishing boats steam about day and night in search of an ever diminishing catch. During the day there are usually one or two fishing boats in sight, but at night, with their lights, their numbers seem to treble. Some are vastly lit squid boats, with booms and racks of fishing lights visible over the horizon for more than 20 miles. Others are lit with whatever flash lights or candles come to hand. And some, of course, are unlit. Fishing boats are the main reason to keep watch on this passage over the Java Sea. It was late afternoon and we were approaching Jakarta on the coast of Java after a fast and reasonably comfortable 3 day, 400 hundred nautical mile passage from Borneo. On board with Irena and I was, Ali, a young Indonesian crew. Both were asleep below, leaving me alone on deck.
I was on edge to begin with. In the best of circumstances I am tense arriving in a city of 8 million people, but when it is a place of 7,999,900 poor people scratching a living from dirt and steaming garbage, my gut tightens in defence of my shame for their poverty - and in defence of my precious possessions. I had flown into Jakarta several times before, but then to see business clients. I had felt protected from the poverty by my suit and tie. Passing down the back streets ofJakarta, peering from the back seat of luxury cab the, the distance between me and their lives was far greater than the thickness of a single pane of tinted auto glass. And this time, it was different: I was on their ground. I was just a another sailor, at sea in a small boat, making landfall.
On we sailed till we were within shouting distance of the wooden fish boat. She was about 40 feet in length, with an open deck forward and deck house aft constructed so haphazardly of scrap lumber, it wasn’t clear why it didn’t simply collapse and fall overboard. Thumping away in the background was an old single cylinder diesel blowing smoke rings out a pipe exhaust stack. Lines and nets lay about on deck everywhere, but though mostly unpainted, she had the strong sea worthy look of a working boat. I counted a crew of five small brown men on deck, all shirtless, looking at us approach with great interest. I could sense again how we are a curiosity to them in this part of the world with our smooth fibreglass hull and clean white sails. I wondered, How do they regard our apparent wealth and freedom to go about simply for our entertainment and delight?
As we came abeam, one of them held up what must have been the largest of their catch, maybe a 10 pound fish of what kind I had no idea, gesturing, smiling and calling out in Bahas what I guessed too be an invitation to come alongside and buy. I had been approached like this several times before, but in Malaysia. Once I had allowed myself to be persuaded by my own crew to come alongside, and we had ended up paying a big price for a long eel-ish looking fish that I found barely edible, though to local tastes it must have been at least fine. Not today I decided. “No thanks” I shook my head, and smiled as broadly as I could. As I waved and sailed past, as is so often the way with Indonesians, the crew broke forth with all the English they knew “Hello, where are you going?”, “Where are you from?” and “How much?” Great questions.
Over the coming days in Jakarta, my anxiety eased, but my shame did not. Many times walking and driving amongst the crowds, exhaust and dirt of Jakarta, Irena and I were called to reflect on the poverty and the apparent gap between what we have and what they do not have. How can we, as the developed world, hoard our wealth and deny the majority of people in world basic civilized comforts? How can we cruelly and hypocritically tempt developing worlds into debt, and then take so much and give so little? How can the minority rich and powerful of Indonesia do so little to reverse the spiral into poverty of the majority? In Jakarta, poverty is in our face.
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Cresswell
The only cruising boat in the river, we easily found a nice spot to anchor across from the town. Finally we were anchored, fed and cleaned up as Dennis, Rita and I ventured out to see the town, while Cress went to work preparing for his conference call later that afternoon. Both operators told us they had a place for us to dock our dinghy while we went ashore, and we choose the place closest to the National Park Office - which happened to be near Adi and his crew. As soon as we neared the shore, there were Adi and his friends (Ali and one other) ready to take our lines and help us on shore, securing the dinghy and inviting us to tea, and talking about anything else they could do to help us. So we had tea with Adi at his house across the street, and learned a bit about his tour operation. Very good English and good recommendation letters.
Also friendly and helpful. He even showed us the boat that we would be going on, which was large and commodious to accommodate only the 4 of us. He explained we would have a guide, a cook, a captain and an assistant.All good. Again, not rushing in, we walked into the town, found the market and stocked up with some fresh fruit and veggies.
When we returned to the dinghy, Adi and Ali were both there again to help us with all our stuff. Ali then invited us to attend a local wedding celebration that evening for dinner. Although we did not want to impose, he assured us that this was standard practice to invite 'tourists' - so we agreed to come. Later that evening, we all came back to shore, Ali and his wife and daughter were there to meet us and escort us into the wedding. It was an unusual affair, in an alleyway at the back of the main street with a buffet table setup and about 30 tables for guests. Guests came in through a receiving line made up of family of the bride and groom. Next we immediately went to the buffet table, loaded up and found a table to sit and eat.
The bride and groom were in a throne like setting right near our table and were seated as if on display - fully made up and dressed up (man they would have been hot, it was about 85 degrees still). After we finished the local dinner (fairly meagre), we went to congratulate the bride and groom, dropping off our 'gift' (money). And that was it! We left! And more people arrived to take our place. Basically people rotate through for a couple of hours eating and then making space for new guests. I suppose this way the young couple maximize their 'gifts' without needed to rent a huge hall or find enough tables for everyone. We were told there would be dancing later on, but we did not stick around.
Cress here, continuing the tale.
In the end we booked with Adi, and we had a good trip with excellent crew, great Orangutan viewing and a comfortable, but slow boat. It was a great two nights and three days, really, very relaxing going up the jungle river sitting up on the top deck, the crew, captain and cook preparing meals, laying out bedding and pointing out the Proboscis and Macaque monkeys hanging over the river from the tree tops.
We all loved it. The Orangutans were so impressive – especially the ‘Kings’ of the 2 large families we encountered. Basically at several camps along the river, we took a 15-20 minute walk through the jungle to a feeding station, where the rehabilitated Orangutans are fed once a day as they transition back into jungle life. They were amazing to watch, the mum’s and babies were adorable.
The little ones were so much like 2 year olds – squirming and jiggling and jumping around with one hand or foot always on mum. But there was never any doubt about the hierarchy. When the king arrived on the scene, the whole area cleared immediately to make room and left him alone to eat what he pleased for as long as he pleased. It truly felt like he was gracing us with his presence, totally on his terms!
Now, back to the river boat….. and Adi. We learned over time that Adi was quick with promises and short on delivery on a number of fronts. We all went along in the spirit of not taking things too seriously, but we took him to task when he shortened our trip by half a day without telling us before-hand. After some serious feedback to Adi and some rather harsh negotiations, we settled for a reduced rate on the balance of the trip. We learned later Adi has a reputation as bit of an operator with a taste for the local rice wine apparently, and other substances. I think I re-learned, when the second sentence out of Adi’s mouth after we first met him was, “You can trust me”, I ought in the future to be thinking about moving on. To you cruisers out there reading this, we recommend this excellent trip up the River from Kumai, but do it with a different operator. And, oh yes, when we returned to Conversations after the river trip, that night we had a new guest onboard – a rat scurrying under foot, crinkling at the food packaging all night long in the dark. Later Irena laughed, “I smell a rat” and we all wondered “Did Adi leave a calling card?” We don’t know for sure how he got on board – could have swam from a nearby freighter and climbed up the anchor chain, could have jumped from another boat while we were away and Adi and his ‘guard’ were minding the boat…. We will never know. Luckily we managed to get hold of some rat poison and within a couple days our new crew Ali found the dead rat lying in the cockpit and threw him overboard for good. What a relief!!!
One of Adi’s crew from the river trip, Ali, is still onboard with us. We were curious to experiment with having paid crew on board and he practically begged to come with us. So, while Dennis and Rita flew overhead on their flight to Jakarta, the three of us set sail from Kumai on the 400 NM ocean passage to Jakarta. Ali, at 36, has been a delight to have onboard. He has proved to be a quick learner, agile and at ease, and speaking some English, has helped us interpret here in Jakarta.
The passage from Kumai was, mercifully, downwind. Though we had to beat our way out of the river and over the approach shoals against 20 knots of southerly winds, after two hours we were able to lay off on a beam reach for Jakarta. We sailed most of the passage at 7 and 8 knots down the rhumb line – pure magic after the five days pounding to reach Kumai. With trepidation, we sailed into Jakarta in the dark and approached the shoal shore line where the marina was thought to be. We found a pair of marks and ducked into the wrong harbour! We got the Marina on the phone and they sent out a boat to guide us down an adjacent channel – least depth of 2.0 meters, which is coincidently exactly what we draw! Sweating bullets in the dark, it was a long slow trip over the bar. When we finally ‘landed’ at the dock, we discovered we were, and are, the only sailing yacht at the Batavia Marina. In the heart of old Jakarta, the delight of the Batavia Marina club is the new and stunning building. The folly and passion of a wealthy Indonesian, it is brimming with the best of classic Indonesian furnishings, art, antiques and architecture. Truly an amazing building, well kept, well staffed and a secure place to leave the boat for a few weeks while we go back to Singapore for work.
We will return here by the end of July to prepare for the next leg of our journey to Cocos Keeling. Until then, hope you are all enjoying a great summer!
Dennis-- Upon arriving at Kumai in the mid-morning we noticed many freighters lined along the shoreline of the river with many concrete building about 6 stories high all along the water's edge. They were many other buildings currently under construction but on closer look they had very few windows and the only openings were at the top. We realized that there were thousands of birds flying around them, darting in and out of them. When we got to shore we saw hundreds of 4" holes on each floor for ventilation. While some were solely bird houses some had a business on the ground floor, an apartment on the second then 4-6 stories of bird houses. I will not feel guilty about eating birds nest soup anymore as it is a big business down here. 
Birds to banking.... Here in Kumai things are tough to get, especially money. Apart from the wad of Rupiahs you get, finding a bank ATM is a challenge. We went to an Indonesian National Bank 24h ATM but it was closed. Great!! Went to the open branch a few blocks away and they wouldn't let me take money out from the counter and it had no ATM and they said the other would be repaired in an hour. Went to another bank (BRI) and the ATM would not spit any money. Went inside and they said the machine is out of money and wouldn't have any that day. So we had to wait by the first machine for it to be repaired. Luckily we were able to sit under cover from the downpours that are frequent right now. Banks here don't accept travellers cheques. So a warning get lots of Indonesian Rupiah as you will spend them quickly even when you take out 2 million of them!
Anyway this is my last entry into the blog as we are going to the Tanjung Puting National Park to see the Orangutans tomorrow for 3 days then Rita and I will be flying home. Someone will write about our park trip I'm sure. We have really enjoyed our sail and look forward to more in the future.
