Traffic and Golf Carts, but No Golf

Sunday nights are SKYPE night with the grandkids. Normally I try to find something special during the week to share with the kids. Bethany it needs to be fashion related, and John something to do with trucks, or bugs. Last week I was telling John about these pipes that are taller than me, the huge cranes, all the trucks, and that we drive golf carts to the massive size modules bigger than your house and…….’Wait, grandma, you have golf carts, do you have miniature golf too?’ ‘No golf John, but did you hear me tell you about the house size modules?’ ‘Grandma, do you get to drive the golf carts?’ My great story about house size modules and 6 foot pipes was blown away by the possibility of driving a golf carts                                                .Image                                         Image

When golf cart training was offered I signed up, so I would have easier access to the different parts of the yard, plus I thought they would be fun. Then I found out about the strict rules, no driving on the access road (it’s a city street), no racing (there are several carts, I saw some possible competitions), and a lot of other rules. I tell ya the Safety team knows how to take all the fun out of having golf carts on site. I was reminded by the Safety manager that there is alternate transportation available to me, a pedal bike. It’s hot and dusty on this construction site, so I opt to obey the (boring) rules and pass on the pedal bikes.Image                                      Image

I’ve mentioned the 2 quarts crazy in a one quart bucket scooter drivers before, well, on Friday I had to run an errand. Fridays are extended prayer days, and all Muslims break from 12 to 2:30 so they can attend temple and pray. I was heading back to the office a few minutes before 12 and I was horrified, seriously, my lane was full of oncoming traffic, scooter, cars, if it had wheels it was in my lane. I was in the bike lane and was still crowded. I wondered how I was going to cross all this traffic to get back to my office. I’ve learned the unwritten Malaysian rule: if you don’t make eye contact with other drivers then they don’t exist, even if you’re in their lane of traffic. So all the oncoming traffic acted as if I wasn’t there and kept coming at me. It took a great deal of patience’s and some risk taking but I made it, and learned a very valuable lesson. If I have to run an errand before lunch, stay away until 12:30, by then everyone’s at temple and the roads are safe again.                        

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Speaking of safety, Saturday Bob and Leslie invited me to go to dinner with them. So after work I hurried home, started a load of laundry, put my steel cut oatmeal on to cook, then got dressed for dinner. 6:45 sharp they showed up and we drove to a local restaurant to enjoy an evening of good conversation and food. As the food was being served I suddenly remembered by oatmeal on the cooktop… still cooking. I hurried outside, hailed a cab and started home.

The Malaya’s are known for their relaxed, laid back attitude, my taxi driver was no different. I kept as calm as possible knowing my kitchen was probably on fire. As we got close to my neighborhood he pulled into the wrong lane. I told him to turn right at the next light, he said “no worry, I’m getting petro.” I tried to explain, I was in a hurry, and please just take me home, it was urgent, he replied “no worries, I will only be a minute.” I could hear the fire marshal in my head as I waited for him to get his petro, ‘if only you had been here a few minutes earlier, you could have avoided the fire’. Finally I arrived home, to a very hot pan and a block of oatmeal. Thankfully all I lost was the oatmeal.

It’s been a very eventful week for me, but it been one of lessons learned, John prefers stories about my golf carts, stay off the roads during Fridays lunch, and be sure to turn the cook top off before leaving the house. I think the only one I will take back to the states with me, is to turn off the cook top. The rest will remain part of my Mountasia memories. 

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