During the conversation with Petra and Nicole, I seem to be saying that this state of heightened perception is an end goal. I make the silly statement that I'd like to maintain such a state "90% of the time." After parting with them I immediately recognize the folly in this. I've talked myself into an extreme state of increased perception. Everything in my room seems to jump out at me like a 3-D movie. All of the colors are too intense, sounds are too blaring, smells are overpowering, and even my sense of touch is too sensitive. Hey! It's time for bed now, stop that! I'm reminded of why the monks sought caves for meditation and miss the mental state I had in the Princess Cave.

Even after I've rid myself of this intensity, I carry the thoughts around with me to a greater extent than usual. As I depart Thailand, I take particular note -- a mental snapshot of its flawed beauty. Likewise, when I return to Singapore, its enforced modernity jumps out at me.

Perhaps more importantly, I'm focused on Henning as well and find it easy to grasp his perspectives. We go out to dinner with his irascible friend Yohan at Broth, exactly the type of trendy fou-fou restaurant I've so often ridiculed in the past. Yes, I'm still a cheap night market guy and do not actively seek out S$30 entrees at Duxton Hill.

However, I've now slipped myself into Henning's shoes, literally as well as figuratively since I dress myself up with his nice clothes. I joke that I'm now Henning's Mini-Me. Now, I can enjoy the classy elegance of Broth, the professionalism of the wait staff and the ambience of our patio seating. I savor my snails and sip my wine, relishing my new perspective as much as the taste.

Part of my traveling philigion decrees that I should seize the opportunities to do things I would not normally do. This explains my earlier nightclubbing at Asia as well as my kayaking trip. The novelty of these experiences appeals to me.

Along the same vein, I'm open to just about any crazy excursion plan. So, when Henning suggests a run over the border to bicycle ride on lonely dirt roads, I'm gung-ho for the plan. Not that we actually have much of a plan. We drive over the nearly deserted "second link" causeway and randomly drive around Jahore, passing ugly garbage dumps on the outskirts of towns, until we find ourselves on streets that lead to nowhere.

We seem to be some sort of planned community in an incipient stage. We have streets, streetlights, signs, but absolutely nothing else. Perhaps this is an abandoned project that will never get off the ground, but it makes for a great parking space to set out from.

After a few false starts on the bikes, we find a proper dirt path that leads up into palm plantations. Wow! This is a great spot for mountain biking! We bump up and down hills, skirt past streams and lakes, avoid the scattered cut palm fruits and just have an amazingly good sweaty time biking around here. Henning keeps asking me if I know the way back and I keep lying and say that I do. The few guys we see on these paths, driving ancient trucks, don't seem to care that we're here. I'm certain we could start a new fad with this palm plantation mountain biking.

Henning wants to see the west coast, even though I tell him it is ugly and he already knows that. We drive a lot, see bits of the neglected Malaysian coast and have a good crab dinner down in Kukup. We lose our way back a few times (don't really need to say that we're mapless, do I?), stopping at kopi tiem shops to ask directions. Even when we have a clear path back on the bizarre "linkadua" Henning inexplicable takes a wrong turn and puts us back a bit.

Doesn't matter, I'm enjoying it all, even Henning's autobahn speed driving on these dangerous Malaysian night roads. We had a great day and I'm having fun with the new experiences. Back home, we toast the success of our trip with Australian sparking wine. Inside, I'm drinking to this concentrated, mindfully aware existence that I've thrown myself into.