Just another earthquake.

It's over a week since Nepal was rocked to its foundations. That first flush of horror has passed. The journalists are beginning to pack their bags. It is no longer 'new'.

I will not claim that this disaster is worse than any other. Hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, landslides: they all leave people - real people like you and me - living in tents and begging for water. But I can talk about Nepal because it is a country I know and love.

A bit about the history - Nepal has never been invaded, because it has no resources that anyone else is interested in plundering. No oil. No gold no diamonds no uranium. (Or if it has, it is hidden so deep inside the mountains that no one knows). But this means no investment. Few foreign governments help impoverished countries unless there is something in it for them. In addition, the administration is still practising democracy after years of Maoist insurgency and the end of the monarchy so all organisations are a bit hit and miss.

On top of that they have welcomed refugees from Tibet and Kashmir - without making a performance of it. So there's no Farage-equivalent bleating about foreigners.

The lack of rural employment means that many men from the countryside have left to work in Kathmandu or the cities of north India or the Middle East, leaving the women to run small farms. Many villages are largely comprised of women, children and older people, all working their socks off to get by. They live in tiny cottages that cling to the mountainside:

The only way to reach some of these villages is paths like this:

And some are so remote that it takes several days trekking to reach them.

Meanwhile, in Kathmandu, the young men are crowded in tiny, often insanitary, apartments. If there are regulations regarding construction they don't reach streets like this one:

In the middle of all this Nepali chaos is the wonderful Durbur Square, with its temples and palaces and space for people to wander. It is Kathmandu's Trafalgar Square and Westminster Abbey and St Paul's and  Borough Market all rolled into one. There are small shops set into the walls:

And magnificent temples where the faithful go to pray.

I cannot bear to use the past tense for all this. I know so much of it is rubble. That these brave, generous, impoverished people are still living in the streets, dependent on the generosity of you and I.

The men will rebuilt their homes and their temples. The women in the villages will till their misshapen fields. They will send their children to school.

While we can only sit back and feel helpless.

Sentosa - it's best bit!

I didn't plan to visit Sentosa - a small island off the south coast of Singapore. But a combination of factors left me with little alternative but to take my default option and head for a resort. And - since I was heading south - Sentosa was the obvious option.

I've no doubt it's a great island for families. The disembodied voice on the skytrain, whisking me across from the mainland, assured me that it is the Island of Fun. Passengers on the return journey are reminding what Fun they have had, and how much more Fun they will have when they return. Notices all over the island remind you to have Fun. There's a music loop that tinkles tunes from hidden speakers, interspersed with suggestions of where you might find this Fun - from and Aquarium to a Go-cart track to a Madame Tussauds. Every attraction includes a photographer, so you can record what Fun you had, just in case you need reminding when you get home.

OK, so it's not quite my thing. Children loved these dragons - built to keep them entertained as they stroll from one attraction to the other.

If you don't fancy at attraction, there is always the beach:

That photo was taken in the late afternoon. Even so, it seems surprisingly quiet.

A view from my hotel window might explain that:

Would you want to swim in a sea filled with all the effluent etc pumped by all these ships? No, nor did I.

So what was I doing there?

I found an eco-resort. I know, it sounds all tree-huggy, but for once they not only practised what they preached but enjoyed themselves in the process. Vegetables grow on the flat roof, fertilised from the wormery - fed by scraps from the kitchens. Trees flourish in every possible corner, helping to keep the temperature down - and with it the need for air conditioning. All the water comes from an underground spring: this is a view of the pool with a waterfall hiding behind the foliage to the left. I sat on a lounger and not once did anyone mention Fun!

On top of that, the hotel welcomed visitors, including wildlife, that might be rejected elsewhere. This peahen and her chicks were making their way back to the poolside, having somehow shut themselves in the laundry.

This tolerance included staff. The welcome pack included a note that the resort employs a number of young people with special needs; they can be identified by a badge and visitors are asked to make allowances for them.

I chatted to one of the managers about this - applauding the idea but I wasn't sure about the badges. But, he explained, the young people tell us it helps. For they had introduced ten autistic young people to the staff group at the same time. Ten autistic young people! It was, he admitted, something of a challenge for the first six months. You could describe that as ambitious, or brave, or simply bonkers. But they stuck with it. Now it's fine.

And it is - I watched the young people at work and they are productive and happy, even if they do have a tendency to clear the tables a bit promptly. 

So, in the middle of all the manufactured Fun of Sentosa is the Siloso Beach Resort - where they have created something different from all the surrounding consumerism. A wonderful reminder of what can be done.

Malacca, in all its finery.

I love Malacca for the same reasons I love Penang - both are like multicultural soup!

But when I showed you pictures of Penang is was not architecture but street art that filled the blogpost. (If you missed it, you can find it here.)

Not to be left out, Malacca has also painted some of its buildings - though not with similar images to that  decorate Penang but with big, bold, wonderful sweeps of colour. These buildings were once the backs of small homes. People hung their washing here, and threw slops into the river. Now tourism has brought a different look to the riverside, and in place of washing and the stink of effluent, we have painting!! (This picture is taken from a boat, hence the odd shapes in the corners, and the pole!)

Those homes were once shacks for the poor. At the other end of the income scale, wealthy Chinese traders build mansions like this:

It's lovely from the front - and inside it stretches back with internal courtyards, one of which - right at the back - is full of small palm trees and green shrubs, and a fountain playing in the corner. Tables and chairs nestle among all the greenery. It's where I lingered so long over breakfast it morphed into coffee time.

In contrast, the Portuguese build solid colonial buildings like this:

Many of these buildings are now museums - some more interesting than others. I have no idea what a museum of beauty is doing in Malacca, but the display of Chinese foot-binding placed next to a display of modern women's shoes asked an interesting question.

And then I hit the streets. It was coming up to the Chinese New Year - well, I could hardly miss that, could I, with streets dressed up like this:

I'm not a shopper, but needed to do my bit to support the local economy. What better way than take a trishaw ride. A trishaw- for those who've not met one - is a bicycle with a seat beside it. I don't know when Malacca's trishaw riders began to decorate their contraptions. Last time I was here most had a few flowers and streamers. Over the years these decorations have become more elaborate (or maybe ridiculous, depending on your point of view) until they look like this. And what's more they come with music - and so one can ride through Malacca's streets to the theme from Frozen, or Justin Bieber ... and yes, you do feel a bit of a wally. But there are worse things to feel.

Some pictures from KL that aren't shops.

Kuala Lumpur is not my favourite city. As Asian cities go, it's a baby - founded by the British in the nineteenth century. It has no stories of derring-do, nor ancient artefacts.

There are solid colonial buildings to remind me of its past, but even so it feels to me as if it struggles to find an identify as a capital city.

And, like so many cities, it looks for that identity in commerce. From the tourists' point of view this presents as shopping. I wonder if KL has looked over her shoulder at the success of Singapore and noticed that the proliferation of shopping malls appears to have brought prosperity. So, why not try follow the same path?

As a non-shopper, it all feels a bit pointless. There's little that I can't buy at home. Besides, what has shopping to do with cultural identity - and that's the bit I'm interested in.

Having said all that, I spent my few days in KL seeking out the most non-commercial corners. Beginning with the Islamic Arts Museum - which I love. It's light, and spacious, and cool. It is a place of reflection. I could meander among its quiet beauty and think. I began to understand why Islamic art is a genre in its own right - and what makes it different, and special. The Koran discourages any representation of a living form: the result is a sequence of exotic shapes and patterns.

For instance, I looked through a window to see this dome:

And this is what it looked like from the inside:

There's also a lovely bird park, where I could wander, and marvel, and not be pressured into buying anything other than bird food. I'm sorry I don't have pictures - I gave up, as it was a Saturday when I was there and it was impossible to take a picture that didn't have someone else's selfie stick in it! (Grrrrr!)

Not all the streets are lined with shops. However, I found it impossible to take pictures of some of the more impressive buildings without a skyscraper in the background. For me, this beautiful mosque is marred by that phallic construction perched behind the central dome.

And this row of colonial buildings doesn't need an apartment block behind it.

And not all the shopping opportunities were dull. This is the covered way beside the Central Market (full of tourist trinkets but better than most), with the Chinese lanterns all ready for the New Year celebrations. It must have been riotous in that passageway that night!

One of Malaysia's secrets: Fraser's Hill

I'm reluctant to tell you about Fraser's Hill.

For one of the most wonderful things about it is there being so few other visitors. There are a couple of big hotels, and plenty of self-catering bungalows. And at weekends Malaysians drive up from KL for a couple of cooler days in the hills. But much of the time a tourist who strays there has the place to him or herself.

Though you're not quite alone. For you must share the space with birds. I've seen various estimates of the variety of birds seen here - numbers vary but it's definitely more than 250.

Imagine that!! Over 250 species of birds, twittering and squawking and cackling and generally making themselves at home in the jungle! Once a year there is a 'bird-race' here - nothing to do with lining them up and cheering all the way to the finishing line. Instead twitchers set themselves up with binoculars and notebooks and count the different species: the winner is the person who spots the most.

I don't have pictures of birds - even though they swooped around my hotel room from daybreak till the sun went down. I don't have pictures of the animals - I've mentioned the gibbons before, and I saw wild boar trot across the road in front of the hotel. I don't even have pictures of insects: tarantulas on the prowl, searching for an unsuspecting fledgling. Nor reptiles (there are snakes here).

I can't even identify many of the plants and trees, in spite of noticeboards telling me what to look for.

I only have pictures of the jungle.

Boards describe these paths as 'easy with occasional obstacles'. They fib. Some are steeper than others, but all involve some scrambling. But the rewards - being in the green of the forest, listening to birdsong and smelling the mud and whiff of animals. And this is why I'm reluctant to tell you about it, for the attraction - for me, at least - was being there on my own.

Below is a 'rest stop'. The noticeboard has plenty of useful information, and I read it - as a good tourist should. And then promptly forgot everything I'd read and just listened, and looked. You can't see the small spider holes in the bank beyond this rest stop - but I watched for a while, wondering if one would come out to play. Possibly a good thing that she didn't.

But Fraser's Hill is built for visitors. It cannot survive unless more people go there. This is the hotel where I stayed - and you can see the size of it. The staff were kind and the food good. But I rattled around, in almost-solitary spendour.

There is no easy answer. I'm not the only tourist who loves the peace and quiet. But without more visitors it's hard to see how Fraser's Hill can keep going - and then these precious paths will be left to the gibbons, and snakes, and spiders. And those who work here will have little choice but to join the migration to the city.

Cameron Highlands - beautiful or an environmental nightmare?

Cameron Highlands is on Malaysia's 'must-see' tourist trail. Every agent from Malacca to Penang can organise a visit there - hotels, transport, tours of the tea plantations.

I can see why. Rolling hills covered with patchwork tea trees are beautiful, in a gentle, undramatic way.

Yes, I did a tour - it is the easiest way to get into these hills and be sure you see them at their best. With photo stops at the most advantageous viewpoints:

There was the obligatory stop at a tea plantation, of course, with shopping opportunities and the chance to sample a cuppa while you enjoyed the view.

We were also led round the processing plant - which had changed since I was last here. Eight years ago we could wander alongside trays of drying tea leaves and soak in the bitter smell of their drying. Then into the factory where it was impossible to hear the guide for the din of machinery.This time I visited on  Saturday, and so the machines weren't working. Even so, we were safe behind protective plastic - looking at the workings from a distance, keeping our fingers away from that tempting tray of drying leaves. (So much more satisfying than pot pourri!)

From the tea station we went to a Butterfly Farm - which was, to be honest, a bit tired. Even this snake seemed to wonder if it was all worth the effort.

Having said all that, I enjoyed the morning.

I could have taken myself off along walking trails if I'd stayed longer than a couple of days. And I can't help wondering if the walking trails took the unwary traveller towards the less scenic corners of Cameron Highlands. For, while a few valleys are preserved by the tea producers, far more are farmed - legally and sometimes illegally - under polythene. Acre after acre of plastic tunnels - growing strawberries, and cauliflowers, and chrysanthemums. I stood on a hillside to gaze at plastic twinkling in the sunshine, stretching for mile after mile after mile. It isn't pretty - which is why I have no photographs.

The Malaysians know it isn't pretty. I read an article about it in a newspaper: efforts are being made to prosecute farmers who erect poly-tunnels illegally. But most, it seems, are owned by big companies and tenant farmers are given no choice but to comply. Corruption is a harsh word, but there does seem to be some serious rule-bending going on.

The conservationists, of course, demand a return to the tea plantations (itself a monoculture, and so of limited ecological value - but at least they are beautiful). The farmers point to the need to feed people, and to make a living. The world wants flowers - they can grown them here. If the tea plantations were restored hundreds would be out of work and families would go hungry.

There are no easy solutions. I only hope that Cameron Highlands succeeds in preserving the plantations they have left - or tourists will stop coming and people will be left with no alternative to those ugly plastic tunnels.

Ipoh and the caves

It is eight years since I was last on Malaysia. On that occasion I took a bus from Cameron Highland to Penang, and we stopped for what seemed like an age at some traffic lights beside one of Ipoh's caves.

That was enough to make me stay go back there for a few days, to find out more.

The city itself is only 200 years old, and so these temples relatively recent. But huge caves stretching deep into limestone hills was evidently a temptation to the temple-builders. There are four main temples, but countless more lurking in the hillsides.

Some are truly vast:

If you look closely there is a tiny woman towards the bottom of this picture - and no, she's not an Umpa Lumpa, she's a full-sized woman in an enormous cave.

And here is a huge Buddha that does not justice do the size of the cave - I failed in my efforts to get a clear picture of gods in the semi-darkness that show how how even the biggest images are dwarfed in these caverns.

In contrast, this Chinese gods, perched on a rock, are only about 40cm tall. They look to me like they are having a party while all the serious religious stuff is going on elsewhere.

In contrast, this temple is built into a cave with a front wall and open entrance and windows. Steps lead up to smaller temples - complete with monkeys - and views across and industrialised quarter of Ipoh. I decided not to take a picture of that.

Because this:

Is what excited me most of all. It is in the grounds of one of the temples, lurking in a corner like an apology. It is a wishing tree. All those colourful tags are strips of fabric that anyone can write on with a wish for someone else. So it's no asking the gods for money here. Instead you stop and think about those you love - who may be close at hand or far away - and quietly wish them well.

This is what it looks like close to:

No, I'm not going to tell you what I wished for. But my little yellow tag is still fluttering away, on its tree. Well - I'm sure you'd have written one too, if you'd been there.