A short lesson in world politics

Sitting on a couch, reading Sherlock Holmes.

It's not a bad way to finish the day, particularly when it's hot, and the couch is beside a pool. Anyway.

I was interrupted by three guys, all about my age, who stopped for a chat. Which is good, I'm a chatty sort of person.  So we chatted.
It could've been a joke...

Two Persians and a Malaysian walk into a bar. The first Persian requests a soft drink, because he's studying later.

The second says absolutely nothing, and promptly fires up his sheesha.

And the Malaysian wanders over and punches 90's western pop songs into the juke box.

Interesting bunch. Each quite different. 

All are studying. One mechanical engineering, one IT, and one, from what I could gather, some sort of business-mixed-with-english studies.

One of the Iranian guys (learnt something that day: Persian=Iranian) that we'll call Mike for fun, gave me a new insight into world politics. In this case, it was perhaps better described as fate. 

He was explaining the problem with life in Iran.
Mike comes from a well off family. His father is a helicopter pilot, his brother and sisters all went to university and went on to get good jobs. His mother was able to stay at home and keep house.
They're clearly a hardworking, intelligent bunch. In any other country, that would be enough.
But Mike is uneasy about his current situation.
I was surprised about how many Iranian students I found studying in Malaysia. There are two reasons, from what I can gather. The first is financial. Malaysian Universities are pretty cheap by world standards.
And while no-one actually said it, I get the feeling that Malaysia's standing as a modern Islamic nation has a bit to do with it's popularity as well.
(don't follow? Can you imagine doing an Australian O-week as a non-drinking muslim?)
Mike loves it here. He's made friends, and his studies are going well. His english is excellent.
But he's worried that he'll have to go home early.

His family isn't running out of money. They're not poor. The problem they face is a simple one of currency and exchange rates. Ten years ago, the Iranian Rial was selling at 908 IRR per Australian dollar. Now, it's more like 12,000 to one. 

Their currency rates are on the borderline of being in freefall. None of the banks will exchange IRR for another currency, because no-one wants to be stuck holding the cash. It's a colossal game of hot potato.
This presents a major problem for Mike, because as an international student in Malaysia, he's not allowed to work. So he relies on funding from his family. And funding can't be sent if it can't be exchanged.

Time passed.

But I spoke to Mike again last week. He was back in Iran. Until the financial market changes, he's stuck there, with half a degree, in a country that may or may not be on America's future hit list.

Now any sort major conflict is a terrible idea. I would guess most people agree with me there.
But it's funny how news reports tend to desensitise you to the human side of international affairs.

It's funny how easy it is to think of a people, rather than a regime of being evil or dangerous. Even for a second.

But here was a regular guy, with regular dreams of career, family, wealth, you name it. With all of his prospects being dictated by the things you see at the end of the news.
I can come to grips with poverty affecting someones life. That makes sense.
But I'd never realised how something as inconsequential (in my eyes, at least) as nationality could interrupt someone's otherwise well laid out plans.

And now, it seems so obvious. I guess it's hard to understand until it hits you in the face.

First he's here, now he's not. Mike stuck in limbo, and no-one can tell him what his future holds.

In regards to driving

New term- 'Napoleoned'

(past tense, verb)

To have thrown one's GPS unit out the window with the recharge cord still attached, allowing it to bounce along the asphalt behind the vehicle, in order to prolong the unit's suffering, rather than bringing about it's immediate destruction.

Driving in Malaysia's kinda fun. If you like that sort of thing. Which I do, of course.

Most of the highways have three lanes of traffic during the non-rush hour times. Simple enough to negotiate, then, provided you have a GPS, which will frequently get you very lost. But far better to yell at an inanimate object than at your wife, with a map spread across her lap, and a confused look on her face, in the passenger seat. So with the GPS I persevere.

The left lane is occupied almost entirely by scooters. Smoky, slow, unpredictable things they are, and best avoided whenever possible. Scooter riders have a death wish, and no respect for the fact that all they wear is nylon jackets and open face helmets for their protection.

The right lane is mostly occupied by police escorts (of which you can hire if you wish to simplify this mess) and fast european cars. The Merc, Beemer, Lamborghini, Porsche crew (especially those big Cayeene 4WDs) and stupidly fast pimped-out Taragos, called Alphards. Which is, predictably, my new favourite car name in the whole wide world. (Say it to yourself a few times. Alphard... Alphard...)

You can surf the right hand lane, but you need to keep and eye in your rear view mirror, looking for the tiny black spec that oft approaches at 180kph.

Middle lane's the go, then, avoiding the worst of the bikes, europe's fearless finest, and stern looking police officers, on ridiculously oversized Hondas that point angrily at you as though you had some means of getting out of their way.

Don't bother looking for speed signs. That'll get you killed. Besides, speed cameras are few and far between, and it would seem that most of them are offline.

Just drive with the traffic flow, and let the tailgaters past. And should someone's driving offend you, don't worry, very soon you will have someone different to be offended by.

It's inevitable. Like death, or taxes. Or John Farnham comeback tours.

Rush hour changes things. What was three lanes becomes seven. An extra one for cars on the far left, and on the far right, and a lane between each of the other lanes, just big enough to fit a scooter through. Not really big enough to fit a Kancil(the Malaysian equivalent of a Daihatsu Curoe, or possibly a mini), but that won't stop anyone from trying. It's also just the right size for a fifty seater bus.

Two things consistently amaze me about rush hour traffic. The first is that the scooter riders seem to speed up. And don't seem to die. Which causes my logic driven mind to skip a beat.

The second thing causes my logic driven mind to blank out for a second or two, and loop over simple mathematical equations until things settle down again. Bikes are the quickest way through the mess. The second quickest way is on a bus.

They're faster than the ambulances. They give horn blasts for one and all, but no hoots are given for anyone. These bus drivers, the Schumacers of the Heavy Rigid scene, blast through traffic jams, barely altering their timetables. People actually drive behind them to speed up their transit.

I'm in awe. It's like Moses parting the red sea. With a bus. And air horns.

So. Watch out for the buses, because they'll flatten you.

Watch out for the scooters, because they seem to aim for you.

Otherwise, you can basically drive as you wish, without regard for signalling or road rules, but always keep in mind that everyone else on the road is driving in exactly that fashion as well.

And above all, watch out for people with their indicator on.

At no stage should you assume that they're signalling direction. More likely, they're staring hard at not the road, but their dashboard, and trying to figure out where that annoying clicking sound is coming from.