Every country has its own culture and taboos.  Australia is no different except that we are much more broad-minded than, say, Islamic countries such as Indonesia or Malaysia.  In Australia, for instance, we wear a lot less clothing than Muslims.  Their sense of modesty and what is appropriate and decent differs greatly from ours.  Most locals anywhere in the world would be insulted and offended when visitors refuse to respect the customs of the country they are visiting.  We accept open displays of affection.  Hand-holding is normal.  Certainly nobody could have a problem with that.  Or could they?  The answer is yes if you are in an Islamic country.

The old saying goes ...When in Rome, do as the Romans do.  Public shows of affection in Muslim countries are frowned upon; physical contact - even something as minor as holding hands - between members of the opposite sex unacceptable.  The dress code is very simple.  For women the shoulders, upper arms, elbows and knees and everything in between should be covered.  Men, especially when visiting officials, should be clean and tidy and wear long trousers, shoes and a shirt with a collar.   

The climate can be extremely hot and sticky.  While the locals look cool and calm, their clothes crisp and fresh we westerners look like we're inside a sauna.  The perspiration runs off us in unsightly streams and our clothes cling  uncomfortably to our bodies.  However, we believe that some discomfort while formalities are being completed is worthwhile for the respect and the genuine friendliness we have always received from every official we have met.  Respect towards the locals and their customs, and especially towards the officials, begets respect.

Sailing through Islamic countries can be challenging to westerners.  It can be more challenging to some than to others.  Until our last trip to S.E. Asia I would have considered myself to be one of the others rather than one of the some, however, after an incident in Malaysia I'm no longer too sure about that.

Before our first cruise to Indonesia and Malaysia we devoured everything we could put our hands on about these countries and their customs.  When dealing with the locals we acted with the utmost decorum.  For a couple like us who are touchy people, it wasn't easy but we mastered it.  Or so I thought.  I covered up if a local boat came anywhere near us and when going ashore.  We learned enough Bahasa Indonesia to make ourselves understood (something that is always appreciated by them) and we learned how to treat officials and elders with respect.  John walked beside or just behind me (for my safety) and we never touched in public. But all my good intentions and belief that I was behaving respectfully in someone else's country went right out the window one day while shopping at Johor Bahru in Malaysia. 
                   

This is how it went.  Picture a narrow-fronted shop - a computer software shop.  Both side walls of this shop were covered with Cds.  Down the middle of the shop ran a partition both sides of which were also covered with Cds.  The cash register and salesmen were at the rear wall and there were several customers scattered throughout the shop.  John and I entered.  Standing side by side but facing opposite directions we scanned the merchandise for anything that might interest us.  We'd been in the shop for five, maybe ten, minutes gradually working our way further into the shop when a group of people entered the front door and began walking towards the back.  Still absorbed in what I was doing, I took a step backwards to allow these new customers to pass in front of me.  As I did so, I bumped into John who, by then, was apparently behind me and slightly to my left.  Putting my hand back behind me to get my balance, I felt the cotton material of his pants and without a thought I instinctively patted his leg.  Then, with my brain well and truly out of gear, I grabbed a handful of flesh and gave it a squeeze as I said, Sorry, love. I smiled up at him (John's 6'7", I'm 5'4" so I have to look up) and saw only air.  As my eyes dropped lower, I saw the astonished (possibly outraged) face of a little old Malaysian man where John's chest should have been and as I looked down I noticed that clenched tight in my hand was this poor, by now very embarrassed, man's left buttock.  I'm sure my heart stopped beating, I went cold then I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks, turning bright red to match his.  I looked towards the back of the shop and about 15 feet away from me stood John with a look of total disbelief on his face.  I let go of the poor man's bottom, muttered "Ma'af. Ma'af" (sorry, sorry) and bolted to John who by now was trying - with very little success, I might add - to control his laughter.  With twitching lips and I'm sure tears in his eyes he blurted out, "Gosh, that must be embarrassing!" and instantly burst into loud guffaws which, of course, alerted the rest of the customers to my distress.  And of course to the distress of my victim who, once this mad woman had released him from her clutches, ran (with cheeks ablaze facial ones that is, I'm not sure about the other) from the shop as fast as his little legs would take him. 
 

When John was finally able to control his outrageous outburst we also made our departure, me with my head hung low, John grinning like a Cheshire cat but thankfully my victim was nowhere in sight.   

During the next few days as the shock and embarrassment gradually wore off I started to see the funny side of the situation.   John and I visualised him as he went about his business.  We could just imagine him rushing straight to the local Mosque.    Kneeling on his prayer mat he whispers to his neighbour out of the corner of his mouth, "You'll never guess what happened to me today!  Those western women", (he would probably say American as they think we are all Americans), "are as loose and immoral as we are taught.  I was sexually abused by one.  She grabbed my bottom and squeezed it , in full view of everyone!"   We haven't decided whether he would have been complaining or boasting!   Was he truly furious or was there a twinkle in his eye?  
 

You can read more of Sokari's adventures on the website www.svsokari.com