A Few “Lesser Known and Obscure” Facts I Learned While Visiting Singapore, Indonesia & Australia

Bottom line: Nothing ventured ... nothing gained.

Janet, my wife, and I enjoyed our recent trip to these three countries and wished we could’ve continued on. Perhaps, these facts will encourage you to consider a visit to one or more of them.

1) Located at the southern tip on Malaysia, and only 85 miles north of the equator, Singapore, clean and modern, is a forested city and island nation (hot and humid while we were there).

A limited view of Singapore's

waterfront from Gardens by the Bay.

2) Singapore is one of two cities, the other Rio de Janeiro, to have a rain forest within it’s city limits, though it is modern and clean.

Noah’s Ark found in Singapore?

3) The second largest exporter of used cars, behind Japan, Singapore heavily taxes vehicles after ten years, which encourages purchase of new cars. That’s one way to cut down on gas consumption and pollution!

4) Singapore hosts several great tourist attractions. We visited Gardens by the Bay and Botanical Gardens.

An elevated view of the Supertree

Grove at Singapore's Gardens

by the Bay.

We toured the Cloud Forest, also part of Gardens by the Bay, where we enjoyed the Avatar Experience.

The Pandoran Mountain

Banshee that greets visitors

to the Cloud Forest.

5) Singapore wants to strengthening it’s position as the hub of shipping (commerce) between the Indian and Pacific Oceans.

6) The current largest super cargo ships can carry more than 24,000 TEUs (standard 20-foot shipping containers). Even larger ships are in planning or construction, and they’ll be able to load and unload in Singapore docks.

7) Street vendors of the past have been relocated to one of a number of Hawker Centers around the city, AKA food courts. We stayed in the heart of the financial district, where we discovered the nearby Hawker Center.

Hawker Center in the historic

Lau Pa Sat (wet market), reportedly

housing 200 vendors!

(I didn’t count them, however.)

8) With Asian food-selection galore, we enjoyed satay (BBQ skewers of shrimp, beef and chicken with peanut sauce) … and beer.

Janet takes a break from

enjoying our meal at the

Lau Pa Sat Hawker Center.

9) Having grown up in Kentucky, I confess my skepticism of some food choices, however.

Dessert made from

green beans?

(Yeah ... no!)

From Signapore, we flew to Bali, one of many of Indonesia’s islands.

10) Indonesia claims to have over 18,000 islands. Some may say more. Some may say less. But what’s a few thousand among friends?

11) Though other Indonesian islands are primarily Muslim, Bali is primarily Hindu.

12) The Balinese perform and enjoy magical and colorful reenactments of religious stories.

The gist? Two male gods

fight over a female god!

13) The Indonesian currency exchange rate is approximately 15,000 Rupiahs to US$1. Though I felt rich, I couldn’t keep track of exact prices in dollars. What’s a few Rupiahs here or there?

14) Balinese roads were generally clogged with traffic as the island, about the size of Delaware, has about 4.2 million inhabitants.

15) While there we visited their Monkey Forest, a great source of curiosity … for humans.

This resident was brushing

up on his/her tool making skills.

(A Shakespeare play

coming soon?)

We boarded a cruise ship in Bali and from there sailed east and south, destined for Sydney via Australia’s Sunshine Coast. However, still in Indonesian waters, we stopped at Lombok Island where we took a short bus ride to a beach, consumed a cocktail, then sailed onward to Rinca Island.

16) Komodo dragons currently occupy five islands, though only Komodo Island is inhabited by humans. Now and then, someone gets bitten. From 1972-2012 twenty-four attacks have been reported, five fatal.

17) Though Komodos can climb trees while young, they loose that ability as they grow in size and weight.

Two smaller Komodos fled

up a tree to avoid a larger one.

We sailed past East Timor before stopping in Darwin.

18) The name East Timor can be considered redundant, as Timor can be translated as “east.”

19) Aussies refer to Darwin, in Australia’s Northern Territory, as the “top end.”

20) Darwin was a frequent bombing target by the Japanese during World War II. As result, fuel storage tunnels were built underground, though not used a result of leakage.

This is one such storage

tunnel accessible to tourists.

21) BTW, in case you’ve ever wondered, QANTAS (airlines) is an acronym of Queensland And Northern Territories Aerial Services.

22) Did you know that there are more camels in Australia than in Egypt? So many that Australia exports camels to Saudi Arabia. You might ask, how did camles get to Australia? Before the arrival of motorized vehicles, camels were used to haul cargo across Australia’s outback. When motorized vehicles replaced them, some camels were set free to roam. Since then, they've multiplied in the desert like rabbits, I take it.

We stopped at Thursday Island, an area of significant past pearl harvesting, before continuing eastward through the Torres Straits.

A WWII gun emplacement at Green

Hill Fort on Thursday Island.

(Never used, I believe.)

23) Torres Strait is thought to have been a land bridge to Australia during previous ice ages when sea levels were lower. Hence, allowing the settlement of Australia by the Aboriginals. Now a shallow sea, its home to numerous corral reefs, which comprise the northern portion of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef.

A map of Torres Strait.

(Australia claims the islands

northward to the coast of Papua

New Guinea.)

24) The Great Barrier Reef is the largest living thing on earth, can be seen from space, and is comprised of some 3,000 individual reefs stretching 1,400 miles along Australia’s northeastern corner/coast.

We sailed on to Cairns, pronounced without the R, as in cans! Cairns serves as one of many jump-off point for reef snorkeling. However, since Janet and I snorkeled the reef a few years ago, we strolled around and sampled local beer within a few minutes walk from our docked ship.

Sampling "Mr. Wong," a

traditionally styled Hefeweizen

at Hemingway’s Brewery.

Sunset as we leave Cairns.

(Yes, the tug boat is

traveling backwards!)

Next came Townsville with its distinctive hill, which I wanted to ascend, though didn’t.

Leaving Townsville at sunset.

25) We anchored near Airlie Beach, located on one of the WhitSundays, a group of islands misnamed by Cook in 1770. The International Date Line not having been established yet, he unknowingly had arrived a day later! We cruised among a few of the white-sand-beach islands and pristine waters on a motorized catamaran.

(Twas difficult to get a good

selfie with background on

a fast moving boat!)

One of the Whitsunday Islands.

(Tilt your head to the right.

Remind you of any relatives?)

After our catamaran ride, we headed into Airlie Beach for some local fresh shrimp and assorted meats (you know, kangaroo, crocodile, wild boar and emu).

Next, when our ship stopped at Mooloolaba (Moo-loola-ba, pronounced /mululɑbə/ or moo-loo-lah-bah), we visited the Australian Zoo of Steve Irwin fame. Crikey!

26) We enjoyed the Australian Zoo’s “croc” show. I marvelled at crocodiles’ ability to hold their breath up to two hours, generally ... though as much as seven hours if inactive in cold water.

A demonstration of what

a croc will do for food.

27) We walked among kangaroos at the zoo. They can travel at 44 miles-an-hour for short distances, though cannot walk backwards. Those we encountered preferred to move very little, however. I suspect that they were well fed by visitors … and it was the hot part of the day when we visited.

This one’s posture suggested,

Don’t you dare touch my food!

From Airlie Beach we sailed to Newcastle, where we visited the Backbutt (pronounce black-but) Nature Preserve, which houses a number of indigenous animals.

A snoozing wombat.

The following morning, our cruise ship glided into Sydney Harbor before sunrise. Once docked, Janet and I disembarked, and headed home on a fourteen-hour flight.

A panoramic view of Sydney.

Walk in beauty, fellow earthling.

A Detour Undone … Partly (PCT)

Bottom line: Don’t let the moss grow under your feet.

As I had planned to do, I returned to the scene of the detour. Call me a purist, but I want to walk every foot, if not inch, of the PCT!

When first there in 2017, I'd bypassed the section of the PCT from Hwy 74 junction (mile marker 151.9) to Saddle Junction (mile marker 179.4) due to trail closure as a result of previous fire. Instead, I'd hiked the detour along Hwy 74. Most thru-hikers would've considered that sufficient, out of necessity and with their bigger goal in mind, moved along. But not me.

So, “Wrongway” Mark and I planned to hike this section, north to south, with one overnight camp somewhere along the way.

8/17/23 (Day 0, “Meet You at the Bunkhouse”) - Mark and I met at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse. We dropped my car at the Hwy 74 and PCT junction, then had a good meal and beer at the Idyllwild Brewpub before early retirement for the night.

8/18/23 (Day 1, “There’s A Storm A’comin’ ”) - Yay, Prim8 said as I hoisted my backpack.

Don’t start celebrating just yet, dude. We haven’t carried this much weight in a while.

We started up Devil’s Slide trail from Humber Park about 7AM, our hike plans already shifting per Hurricane Hillary’s projected arrival. We’d noted the good weather window the evening before at the Idyllwild Bunkhouse, with the major impact of the storm arriving Sunday. And blue sky above provided encouragement.

Though slow, we hiked the 2.5-mile Devil’s Slide Trail to the Saddle Junction, carrying additional water weight, about 3 liters worth, for our overnight. Plus, I carried a small stove with fuel and a “Bug Hut,” while Mark carried his two-person tent. My pack didn’t seem that heavy, but hauling the overnight gear had an immediate and cumulative effect.

Prim8 prepares to head south

from Saddle Junction,

mile marker 179.4

Our thoughts turned to completing the 27.5-mile hike to my car as early as possible, Saturday evening the latest.

"Wrongway" Mark takes a short

break near Tahquitz Peak.

Mostly clear sky allowed distant mountain and desert view. However, I paid the price of hiking in full sun by perspiring continuously.

Too hot, Prim8 complained.

This ain't no fun for me, either, fella.

Looking northward

to Coachella Valley.

Evidence of fire, the reasons for previous trail closures and my necessary detour, pervaded our views as we advanced south along the trail.

Prim8 takes in the view.

A number of fallen trees blocked the trail, requiring a cumbersome climb over or an awkward squat under, and at times an outright detour. To say the least, the trail’s poor condition slowed our progress. At one point, we missed a switchback turn and lost half an hour re-acquiring the trail. The combination of sun, fallen trees, trail brush, and the additional weight I carried beat me down.

Prim8 constantly complained of being miserable. Can’t say I blamed him.

Though slow, I slogged on towards Fobes Ranch Trail Junction, at mile-marker 166.5 and 12.9 miles south of Saddle Junction. We had expectations to reach my car before the heaviest portion of Hurricane Hillary would reach us. It came down to a matter of time. Could we out run … er, out hike Hillary?

Mark checked the weather forecast periodically. Early afternoon, he said, “The forecast moved the arrival from 1PM to 9AM morning tomorrow.”

“I guess, we’ll be hiking out in the rain,” I said.

“I don’t want to get caught in the lightening,” Mark said.

“Not a good idea,” I said.

Both of our phones squawked at the same time.

“An emergency alert, “ I noted. Riverside County had sent an emergency alert warning of potential flash flooding, high winds, heavy rain, etc, etc. “Whoa, I suppose it’s going to get serious,” I said.

“If we can make it to a campsite near Cedar Spring today, which is beyond the highest points south of Fobes Trail Junction, we can avoid the worst of the storm. From there it’s all downhill.”

I had my doubts about reaching Cedar Spring at mile-marker 161.0, another four-and-a-half miles beyond Fobes. “Yeah, nothing like being at 6,500 feet on a trail in a hurricane. We could start out earlier in the morning, too. You know, like o-dark-thirty.”

Try as I did, I couldn’t go any faster, however. Wanted to ... but couldn't. I paused numerous times to catch my breath and rest my legs. Despite my awareness of the effects of fatigue, I'd slipped and tripped a half-dozen times over the course of the day. My brain couldn’t will my body to do its bidding. As the hours passed, Mark’s goal of reaching the long downhill portion on the trail, beyond the 7,000-foot plus high point, melted away. By default, Fobes Trail Junction became our camp location for the night.

Snake! Prim8 yelled.

I’d expected to see a snake on the trail, so wasn’t surprised. It’s not poisonous, Prim8. The 18-incher checked us out for a moment before slithering away.

Shortly after, and with Fobes Trail Junction in sight down slope about two-hundred yards distance, Mark waited. As I approached, he said, “Stop there. Leave the trail and walk towards me.”

On alert, What? Prim8 said.

Maybe a rattler. I took a beeline towards Mark, then turned to look as he pointed at a coiled rattlesnake aside the trail in ambush mode.

Mark explained, “I spotted it as I walked up, and said, ‘Whoa.’ ”

Ooh, Prim8 whispered.

Yeah. And we could've walked right up to that guy without seeing him. At that point, exhausted and fixated on getting to Fobes Trail Junction, I had no energy to maintain focus on anything other than not tripping over my own feet.

Said rattler takes a slither from

it's ambush position aside the trail.

(Note the circular depression.)

When we reached Fobes Trail Junction, we had run of the place. We set up Mark’s tent in a site snuggled between two trees. Scrub oaks I believed, though I wasn't sure what kind of trees they were ... not that I cared. They’d provide a welcomed wind break, of sorts, if it came to that.

Mark joked, "We could get hit by a falling branch in a strong wind. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

"Yeah, I suppose we could get clobbered," I replied. What are the odds?

Neither of us suggested moving to a different campsite, however. Too tired to even boil water for a freeze-dried dinner that I’d carried, we snacked lightly on dry food as we prepared for sleep.

An occasional wind rustled the nearby brush and trees. A few scattered rain drops fell. The temperature remained warmer than I expected at 6,000 feet as the sun set.

“Maybe, we can start early and get beyond the high points before the worst of the storm arrives,” Mark suggested.

“Are you going to set your phone alarm?” I said.

“No,” Mark said. “I’m a light sleeper.”

I didn’t have the energy to insist he do so. And besides, wanting to save my phone battery, I’d turned mine off. The colors of dusk that I could glimpse from under our tree-covered campsite encouraged me to take one last look before I tucked in for the night.

Ooh, pretty! Prim8 said.

Yeah, but don’t judge a hurricane by it’s looks, fella. I stood awed and humbled by the sight, and wondered what lay in store for Mark and I.

Hurricane Hillary's approach as

seen from Fobes Junction, PCT.

“Hey, Mark, you ought to check out the clouds,” I said as I clambered into the tent.

Mark didn’t budge ... didn’t even make a sound.

8/19/23 (Day 2, “Uncle Joe’s Moving Kinda Slow At the Junction”) - We spent the night without signs of a storm—no downpour, no gusting wind, no lightening, no thunder. In fact, eerily, the air remained calm and the temperature unusually warm.

Half-awake, I heard Mark rustling, then say, “It’s 6AM.”

We broke camp as quickly as possible, snacking on dried food as we packed up.

"I didn't expect it to be so warm last night. Didn't need to cover myself with my sleeping bag," I said. "Never would've guessed it." Perhaps, the unusual warm temperature wasn't a good omen.

"I didn't either," Mark said.

Headed south on the trail within thirty minutes, we started up the two-mile stretch with a one-thousand-foot elevation gain leading to Eagle Spring Trail Junction, hoping to beat the worst of what Hillary might dish, but figured we’d get deluged no matter what.

Bushwhacking through overgrown trail in warm, humid air didn’t help matters. Reminded of a jungle, I prayed for any slight breeze that might help cool me, though what air moved provided little relief. My pace remained slow, my legs not recovered from their previous day’s beating. And, as usual, Mark hiked on ahead.

Slogging my way up trail, I saw Mark’s approach as he descended..

“We’re not moving fast enough to get beyond the high points before the storm hits," Mark said. "It doesn't look good from farther up."

Not faster, Prim8 whined.

We won’t ... we can't, anyway. “If I try to go any faster, I’ll burn out altogether,” I replied to Mark.

“I think we should head down from Fobes Trail Junction to lower elevation. It’s better to bail now, and live to hike another day. We can always return for a day hike to complete this section,” he said.

Yes, tired, Prim8 said.

I agree, fella. Mark had me at we’re not moving fast enough. “Okay,” I said. I didn’t have a counter argument in me. Knew he was correct.

We descended to the saddle at Fobes Trail Junction, then turned toward Hwy 74 on the shortest, quickest descent route available to us.

Once on the dirt of Fobes Ranch Road, some two-and-a-half miles hike from the PCT, and per our agreement, Mark took my car keys. The plan? He'd hike ahead, then drop his pack at some point where I would wait for his return in my car.

Stop, Prim8 insisted.

No, we need to keep moving. We’ll get there … eventually.

Long before I reached Hwy 74 or Mark’s pack, however, a pickup pulled alongside and the driver offered me a lift.

Yay, Prim8 said.

I accepted with gratitude. Trail angels still exist, guy.

Maybe, a mile farther down the bumpy and rutted dirt road, she stopped for Mark, then dropped us at my car. The three of us chatted a few minutes, before she headed on to Anza. In the meantime, she'd mentioned Mark and I should consider grabbing a bite at the Paradise Cafe. I figured she thought I was on my last leg, though I couldn’t have argued any differently.

After she’d pulled away, I said to Mark, “Yeah, maybe we could get breakfast or lunch at the Paradise. What time is it?”

“9:30,” he said.

“Then, breakfast it is,” I proclaimed.

I consumed a fantastic three-egg omelet, probably, the best I’ve ever had!

Though the sky's overcast looked ominous, Mark and I drove away from the Paradise Cafe well ahead of Hurricane Hillary’s fury.

I shall return to hike the section of the PCT from Fobes Trail Junction to Hwy 74, if for no other reason than stubbornness.

Walk in beauty.

Another One of My Babies (Memoirs) is Born

Bottom line: Publishing a book is as difficult as writing one ... marketing it even worse.

I'm holding the original paperback proof

copy (galley) of my second published

memoir "Barbwire, Brothels and Bombs

in the Night: Surviving Vietnam".

My second published memoir, you ask? Yes, and since memories are only "a slice of life,"an author can have more than one!

As was, and still is, true of my first book, there is a load of marketing to be done in order to provide my book the best opportunity to thrive. If you considered writing a book to be one-third of the work, publishing it would be one-third of the work and marketing would be two-thirds of the work! Competition for attention and reader's time are the big hurdles. According to the website Zippia.com, four million books were published in 2022 alone.

My memoirs official launch celebration will occur Thursday, June 8 at 4PM PT via Zoom. Though free, registration is required to attend. You can do that quickly and easily here: https://tinyurl.com/bdd6w6bk.

Rachel S. Thurston, branding coach and marketing consultant (among a number of other talents) at State of Sparkle will interview me, and I'll read excerpts. A Q&A will follow.

As was also true regarding my first book, I'm deeply touched by the wonderful book blurbs I received. Here's an excerpt from Elizabeth Ridley, author, Searching for Celia: "... marks an important and incisive addition to the literature and legacy of the war in Vietnam. In his searing (but ultimately inspiring) memoir, Hogan, who was drafted at age 20, mines his own experience as an Intelligence Analyst to shine a bright light on the dark currents of toxic masculinity, generational trauma, addiction and PTSD that combined to make the conflict in Vietnam America’s most unpopular war, a war from which many never came home, and many more have yet to recover."  

Your support in spreading the news about my book, and any other efforts to increase public awareness, would be greatly appreciated.

Walk in beauty.

(Photo Credit: Paul McCaffrey)