Perth Writers Festival 2009
‘Ow! My bum hurts …’
Warning: don’t read this if you haven’t read:
Ubud 2008 and preferably Edinburgh 2008.
Saturday 21 February
I don’t eat all day – it helps me cope with all the delicious Singapore Airlines food.
I arrive at Heathrow at 8 pm, to check-in for my overnight flight to Singapore, en-route to Perth.
I tell her that I’m going to Perth, for the Writers’ Festival.
Ergo, I must be a writer.
Ergo, she must upgrade me.
… Oh, why do I even bother?
I get the exact same seat I had last time, on the Airbus A380.
We are delayed nearly two hours getting out of Heathrow. Not the fault of Singapore Airlines or Airbus – the gate refuses to let go of our aircraft and eventually has to be forcibly dragged away by a tow-truck.
Once we are underway, I impress everyone in my vicinity by taking out my Sony noise reduction headphones. I note with extreme disapproval that two further episodes of the decadent and immoral Californication are available to view. I am only able to watch the first one, before the system seizes up and won’t let me watch the second. I want to report this serious malfunction to the Captain, but the cockpit door is closed, locked and seems to be armour plated. I consider knocking, but decide not to bother.
Another problem with the Airbus: the paper towels in the toilets are so flimsy, they tear even as you pull them out. Don’t even think of wetting one so that you can wash your face – they completely disintegrate. The reason for this is obvious: even though there are signs clearly instructing passengers not to put paper towels down the toilet, some idiots always do. So the towels are designed for that situation – making them pretty useless for their primary purpose. Once again, our society and infrastructure are designed according to the lowest common denominator. Which begs the question: how do such people get the privilege of travelling between countries? Is it worth the environmental cost?
I watch the film W, which depicts George W Bush shoving a hamburger into his mouth whilst being introduced to a beautiful young woman (his future wife). I would be cynical about this, but I witnessed this same behaviour with my own eyes. He was shoving a bread roll into his mouth during the celebrated ‘Yo, Blair!’ incident, whilst discussing in an off-handed way with Tony Blair what to do about the latest Mid-East crisis – unaware that the camera and microphone (on the table) were still on. This also explains the choking pretzel incident – he literally shovels food into his mouth, without appreciating it. He should never go to Bali, where food is savoured for its texture, flavour and vitality.
I sleep, somewhat.
Sunday 22 February
I miss my evening connection in Singapore – they put me on another flight to Perth in four hours’ time and give me a voucher for dinner.
I spend a little time walking around, reading all the menus of the many restaurants, before settling for the Chilli Soft Shelled Crab. It’s delicious.
Take a shower in the lounge.
Sunday hardly happened.
Four hour flight to Perth.
I sleep, somewhat.
Monday 23 February
Because I missed my connection, Katherine Dorrington – Director of the Perth Writers’ Festival – is now picking me up at 7:30 am, instead of 2:30 am. (I was able to text her about the change of flight.) I must be pretty important, to be collected by the Festival Director, eh? (Alas, she couldn’t find anyone else to do this chore.)
Driving through the Monday morning rush hour (I love watching other people go to work), she takes me to the Duxton Hotel. Katherine gives me my welcome pack and leaves me to my own devices. My room is on the 8th floor and has a view over St George’s Terrace – a busy street leading to downtown.
Now, I’m a very savvy global traveller, so this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to stay awake, and walk all over Perth all day – thus I’ll tire myself out and easily fall asleep tonight at an appropriate time, and then wake up at a normal time on Tuesday morning. Jet lag is only for ordinary people who aren’t used to global travel, unlike me – in my transatlantic Corporate days, I was Platinum on Northwest, Platinum on American, Gold on Delta. (Don’t ask me about my status today – the grief just kills me.) I still have the prestigious tags on my attaché case, but please don’t look closely at the expiration dates.
I set off from the hotel, in my T-shirt, shorts and sandals.
Oh God, it’s so hot.
I walk a block.
Oh God, it’s so hot and humid.
I walk another block.
Oh God, it’s so hot and humid and I have no energy.
I retreat to the cool comfort of my hotel room. It’s just so hot outside – that’s why I’m here. I sit in the chair.
What shall I do? I think I’ll just lie down for a few minutes, to get my energy back.
I wake up at 7 pm.
Go for a walk, try out the Perth Eye (or whatever they call it here, it’s a smaller version of the London Eye). Have dinner across the street in the Balti restaurant.
Stay up late answering e-mails about my forthcoming US road trip.
Fall asleep at the keyboard and crawl into bed in the early hours.
Tuesday 24 February
Awake early and go for a walk by the Swan River – the cycle path looks interesting. I wonder where it goes. Many people cycle past me, on their way to work.
Breakfast at the hotel – the full buffet. When you are travelling in a situation which is not quite all expenses paid, then the hotel buffet breakfast is the bedrock of your energy requirements for the day.
I have a three course breakfast:
(1) scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes;
(2) croissant and crumpets;
(3) fruit and nuts.
Washed down with mixed fruit juices and black decaff coffee.
Stagger out of the restaurant.
The cycle path intrigues me, so I decide to ask the Concierge about it. I wait patiently behind an American man who has his laptop open on the counter and is explaining earnestly to the Concierge, in deeply technical terms, that he has all this hardware/software on his computer which demonstrates that the hotel's wireless network isn't very efficient. The African-born Concierge listens intently and nods politely, but I have a feeling that, like me, he is waiting for this bad dream to end.
I have my own thoughts on this: 'Listen, buddy, if you're so unhappy about it, why don't you just invade the country, shock and awe the population, destroy all the existing infrastructure, get Halliburton to put in a new wireless network, and make the Australian people pay for it.'
When my turn comes, the Concierge shows me on a map how the cycle path runs along the Swan River away from downtown, crosses a bridge, brings you back south of the city – on the other side of the river – and then crosses another bridge to bring you back to our side. The hotel can rent me a bicycle and helmet.
I’m a committed environmentalist – I always make a point of cycling to the local shops at least a couple of times a year. Also, when my V6 luxury car is being serviced, I take the bus from and to the garage. But nothing has prepared me for this cycle path. It runs for about 30 km (20 miles). Ow! My bum hurts.
The path takes me away from the city and into areas of immense peace and tranquillity. All along the route, there are parks and clean public lavatories at frequent intervals. Beautiful houses. But hardly any people in sight.
Where’s that bridge? Have I missed it? How can you miss a huge bridge?
There’s a couple of retired-looking men sitting on a bench by the river, so I ask one of them. I am taken aback to be assaulted by a barrage of brutal friendliness.
Look, I was only asking a quick question about where we are on this map. There’s no need to be so friendly. I just can’t cope with this. No-one would be like this in London. Stop being so friendly!
Half-an-hour later, pummelled and broken by the friendliness attack, I stagger back to my bicycle and find the bridge.
The bridge!
Back at the hotel, I feel as if the bike ride has burnt my entire breakfast. My bum hurts. I lie down, drained, exhausted.
Sleep until early evening.
Catherine Burns arrives and calls me – she’s Executive and Creative Director of The Moth. I have been asked to do a storytelling event at The Moth show to be held in Perth this weekend, as part of the Arts Festival. We go for a walk by the river and I impress her by showing her the abundance of clean public toilets. Coming from New York, she is also impressed.
Dilip Ghosh calls me and picks me up in his car. He’s a friend from Hampton School – I haven’t seen him for years. His yellow Nissan sports car has huge speakers instead of a back seat. He takes me to an expensive restaurant. I should have mentioned him in my book – then he might buy me dinner. Oh, he does buy me dinner. Thanks mate!
Wednesday 25 February
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
Rania Ghandour of the Festival picks me up at the hotel and takes me to ABC Perth, for a radio interview with Rosemary Greenham. It’s the most relaxed interview I’ve ever done. We sit down in the studio and she just starts chatting with me. She’s a real pro.
http://www.abc.net.au/local/audio/2009/02/27/2503604.htm
With Rania Ghandour
Back at the hotel, I do an initial rehearsal of my Moth story with Catherine Burns and Sarah Austin Jenness. The target duration is around 10 minutes. My time is 32 minutes. Okay, a bit of editing to be done.
Afternoon nap.
Dinner with Catherine and Sarah in Balti.
Thursday 26 February
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
Go on that bike ride again, this time with Catherine Burns. Point out all the clean lavatories on the route.
Catherine Burns
Ow! My bum hurts.
At hotel, feel drained of energy. Run out to buy a bar of chocolate.
Another Moth rehearsal – down to 22 minutes.
Afternoon nap.
Mike Daisey, the host of our Moth show, arrives this evening, and we all have a meeting in the hotel’s hot tub. Or should that be lukewarm tub? Freezing, we warm up in the sauna, then dress and reconvene in Catherine’s room.
Mike Daisey has just returned from three weeks in Vanuatu, where he was studying the people, the volcanoes and the ‘cargo cult’.
Mike shows us the most amazing photos on his laptop – rocks the size of a Volkswagen Beetle being thrown out of the volcano. Apparently, if you are unfortunate enough to have one of these rocks land on you, you are vaporised by the heat of the rock, before its weight can crush you. This happened recently to a Japanese woman who ignored the warnings and went to have a closer look at the volcano.
The so-called ‘cargo cult’ are villagers who worship America and all things American, due to being given many prized gifts delivered in cargo containers.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/6370991.stm
Mike tells us of a more sinister undercurrent to this. He discovered that an American millionaire went to Vanuatu in recent times, to deliberately set himself up as a god. He even had coins made with his picture on. I don’t remember the asshole’s name, but Mike Daisey is going to exposé him.
Go to bed without having any dinner – that makes me feel good.
Friday 27 February
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
Meet in hotel lobby with other writers for our Rottnest island boat trip. Chat with Stella Rimington (former Head of MI5). Caris Harper of the Festival leads us down to the harbour. (Caris is always smiling, which I find disconcerting.)
Mike Daisey and Sarah Austin Jenness
Anne Fogarty – a Patron of the Festival – is hosting us on her boat (or should I say ‘ocean liner’?).
I impress Stella Rimington with my diving skills, and doubtless she’ll put in a good word for me with her contacts at ‘Five’ and ‘Six’ (as we refer to them). (I need a new job.)
Stella Rimington and Imran Ahmad. I know! Reminds you of M and 007.
My hair looks a mess
We have lunch on Rottnest Island and a somewhat choppy return to the mainland.
'Everyone remember where we parked.'
Stella Rimington and Richard Mason worry about the world
I enjoyed that crayfish
All aboard!
Our hosts: Anne Fogarty and Becky Vidler
Caris Harper (always smiling!)
Reconvene in hotel lobby to be taken to the Perth Writers Festival opening address, at the University of Western Australia, given by Peter Singer.
Afterwards, attend the opening night party. Karen, a Festival volunteer, asks me if Stella Rimington is here. I say that I saw her earlier, but I haven’t seen her recently.
‘Oh wait. That woman over there, with the light hair and glasses – that’s her. Would you like to meet her?’
I take Karen over and introduce her. The woman’s distinct Australian accent tells me immediately that I have made a mistake. I feel like an idiot – I just spent all day with Stella Rimington! It takes a while to disengage, due to the unknown woman’s overwhelming friendliness.
Take last coach back to hotel.
Exhausted – today was the first day I didn’t sleep during the afternoon.
Saturday 28 February
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
Nadeem Aslam joins me at breakfast. I didn’t recognise him – his hair is much shorter than when he took my photo with Salman Rushdie at Edinburgh.
Moth rehearsal with Catherine in the hotel. 18 minutes – getting there!
Go to the Festival, attend a session and loiter around the grounds.
A beautiful woman in dark glasses comes up to me and says ‘Hello’.
‘Hello,’ I say, wondering if she’s a new fan, but thinking there’s something vaguely familiar about her.
‘It’s Janet,’ she says, helpfully.
What is wrong with me? How could I not recognise Janet De Neefe – Director of the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival – who I met in Sydney and who invited me to Bali? I am so tired.
With Janet De Neefe -- how could I not recognise her? Idiot!
In the afternoon, meet The Moth team again and do a major rehearsal session in a large hall of the university.
Stella Rimington and I have something in common – the same Australian publisher, and publicists Mary-Jayne Harper and Kate Mayor. I’ll say that again – I have the same publicists as Stella Rimington! Mary-Jayne and Kate take Stella, Benjamin Gilmour (film-maker and writer who made a film about the lawless northwest frontier province of Pakistan) and me to dinner this evening.
Life is quite good.
Benjamin Gilmour, Stella Rimngton and Kate Mayor
With Mary-Jayne Harper
Afterwards, Ben makes us go to a Tikki bar (minus Stella). I have one elaborate fruit drink and then stagger back to the hotel, exhausted. I really miss my afternoon sleeps.
Sunday 1 March
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
Go to Festival. Attend a morning session, then at 12:30 it’s my first event: ‘Writing About Race’ with the delightful Alice Pung and acclaimed James McBride (who arrived on a plane from New York, just a few hours ago).
It goes really well, and we all have long signing queues. We writers at festivals are always comparing to see who has the longest. I will see James again this evening – he’s also doing The Moth.
'I'll just write my phone number in here as well.'
Go back to the hotel to shower and change, then return to the Festival for the really scary part (for me) – The Moth! The gorgeous Kate Mayor accompanies me, to hold my hand until it begins. I really appreciate this. (I’m not complaining or anything, but I can’t help noticing that James McBride’s assigned publicist is really, I mean really, breathtakingly beautiful.) (I can’t wait until I’m a really famous writer.)
The theatre is packed – about 500 people.
Mike Daisey is up first. He’s the host and a storyteller. He’s a real pro – it’s what he does.
Then he introduces me. I apprehensively walk up on stage. What hits you is the light and the darkness. The stage lights are dazzling, but the audience is in absolute darkness. You can barely make out the faces in the front row – beyond that it’s only the laughter and applause that tell you there’s anyone there (assuming that you get any laughter and applause). It’s just you and the mic, on the wooden stage.
It goes okay.
When mine is over, I feel such relief. I really enjoy the other stories. James McBride is last, and he’s a real pro too.
After it’s all over, there is such a sense of euphoria amongst us. Catherine Burns and Sarah Austin Jenness have done such a fantastic job of shaping this production.
http://www.perthfestival.com.au/files/events/09%2001585%20PIAF%20MOTH%201%20MARCH.pdf
We go back to the hotel in various vehicles, and then Kate spots Mary-Jayne with some others in the window of Balti. We join them and I eat the ample remains of their dinner – now that The Moth is done, I’m so hungry.
Monday 2 March
Awake early.
Three course hotel breakfast.
My final session, ‘A Boy’s Life’ with Roland Rocchiccioli. Now that The Moth is over, this seems somewhat routine. Good signing queues afterwards.
You can never have too many copies of Unimagined
Susan Wyndham (of the Sydney Morning Herald) is sitting next to me at the signing table. I have a bone to pick with her. I have read an article of hers, about literary festivals.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/Books/Writers-festivals-are-a-waste-of-time/2005/03/08/1110160827736.html
I quote her: ‘For the writers there are book sales, free travel, adulation and, occasionally, sex.’
I tell Susan that I’ve had the first three, but I’ve never been able to find the fourth. Was I supposed to register or something? She laughs and says, ‘I think it’s in your welcome pack.’
I go to James McBride’s packed session in the main theatre, and something amazing happens. He starts talking about my book! I can’t believe it! He says ‘… Imran’s book is so refreshing …’ He says such nice things about it.
Just a minute Mr McBride. Tell them my full name! Tell them the name of the book! Don’t just call it ‘Imran’s book’! They don’t know who Imran is.
He moves on to talk about something else.
You idiot McBride! You didn’t tell them the name of the book! What good is that?!
Afterwards I thank James McBride for mentioning my book, and he says to look him up when I’m in New York on my road trip. He also says that he will send his NYU students to my speaking event in New York. What a nice man.
I forgive you for just calling it 'Imran's book'
Attend closing session of Perth Writers Festival – Sebastian Barry in conversation.
Say thank you and goodbye to Katherine Dorrington.
Earlier picture with Katherine Dorrington -- my shirt says it's Sunday
Have dinner with Janet and a friend of hers, in Balti.
Introduce Janet to The Moth team and we have a drink in hotel bar.
Retire to room in bittersweet, melancholy mood.
Tuesday 3 March
Awake early.
No breakfast in hotel. Have to be prepared for delicious Singapore Airlines food.
Go on final bike ride along Swan River, and explore King’s Park. I barely scratched the surface of this place. I hope that I return to Perth one day.
Check out from wonderful Duxton Hotel. Janet has left me a signed copy of her book, Fragrant Rice.
Say goodbye to Catherine and Sarah.
Take mini-bus to airport with James Campbell and Andrew Nicoll.
Fly to Singapore.
Eat Chilli Soft Shelled Crab.
Shower in lounge.
Board Airbus A380 to London.
Am able to watch that next episode of Californication. I like this programme.
Read Janet's book, Fragant Rice. It brings tears to my eyes (re the Bali bombs).
Sleep, somewhat.
Wednesday 4 March
At Heathrow, the African-born immigration officer takes my passport, then proceeds to fiddle about tidying up the elastic band around his MP3 player, before returning my passport to me.
At the bus stop, two men are smoking in the bus shelter, even though there is a clear ‘No Smoking’ sign …
UK: www.unimagined.co.uk
US: www.unimagined.org
Public Speaking: www.unimagined.biz
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