The early morning humidity is a much needed reprieve from its leviathan cousin that awaits us in the late afternoon. It is during this tender hour we make our escape from Singapore, first from the hostel, next to the metro, and then finally onto the train. The respite from the heat is short lived. We pass security on both sides and board a train only to be told we will need to switch as soon as we cross the bridge into Malaysia.
The train in Malaysia is damp; it's clad all in blue. There is air conditioning blowing in vaguely from somewhere which immediately makes this mode of transport, even if ever so slightly, better than its predecessor. We start. The train is mostly empty; I eat a bag of "cheese" popcorn that, despite the conventions of taste, is a sweet, salty, and savory snack all in one... with a distinct hint of Mexican food backing that gives pause for alarm. It was described as "cheese flavor."
Endless palm oil and rubber tree plantations roll by, the children clad in rags and adults in seldom better. It is a poor country, yet somehow a beautiful one. Not in the sorrow or hardship of those we pass who exhibit such an apparently ravaging struggle, but in the strength and perseverance which seems to possess them. They press on as steadily as the train itself. We roll for hours, it seems like ages. They toil for ages, it must seem like lifetimes.
At least an hour late we finally arrive at KL Sentral. Jon is tired and irritable. We exit the train and ask for directions- we're told to go straight ahead. Attempting this yields a dead end. We try right, we try left. Every path is blocked by construction fencing. Finally we navigate our way around the construction zone and manage to find the main street. It's dark, damp, and chaotic. Cockroaches scuttle around the sidewalks and hawker restaurants attempt to peddle the the last of their scraps before closing.
We eventually locate the hotel and are able to check in. When we later attempt to acquire Malaysian currency, the bank rudely informs us that our cards are no good. No money this evening. Ultimately relenting we retire but not before noticing my favorite all-time SE Asia sign in the elevator of the hotel:
This is a fortuitous sign. The next morning it's time to spy a few of the tourist attractions. We maneuver by monorail as close as we can and then make our way on foot to the iconic Petronas Towers. (blurb).
By now it's relentlessly hot and the overcast sky provides little relief. The mall only serves a temporary respite from the heat and humidity. On a quest for linen pants we scour the mall for what seems like hours but to no avail. Finally, after a hearty sushi lunch, we trudge back into the inferno. The goal: Chinatown. The map betrays the distance to our target and the heat makes us vividly aware of it. Eventually we progress to the Merdeka Square, the plaza in which Malaysian independence was declared from Britain. I particularly love the Sultan Abdul Samad Building. After this, it is all we could muster to find some sandals for Jon and sunglasses for both of us before scurrying back to the hotel.
The next day the city heaves- pouring heavy breaths of oppressive sultry air. You can't make it more than 25 feet outside of air conditioning, even at night, without your brow furrowing in a tidal wave of perspiration. Despite this we push on. By this point Jon's computer has completely failed and we are searching for a replacement. He's already processed the return and refund while in Singapore but he still needs a machine. We target a mall that is alleged to have a computer/technology mega-store. We arrive only to discover that, along with typical Malaysian policy, the mall we seek has closed and is being torn down for (presumably) the construction of a new mall.
All of KL is a jungle. It is both concrete and lush, as if some dastardly city planner decided one day to march into the heart of the Malaysian jungle and just when he reached it's thickest and most tangled corner he struck in his spade and declared "we shall build it here." Concrete columns rocket up from the foliage, the streets wind around and over the ancient riverbeds, and even the construction cranes have taken a life of their own. Every building is seemingly in a perpetual state of erection or demolition. We struggle to determine which is which. The jungle squeezes everything- trying to take back the city inch by inch.
It's my birthday. We meet a friend. She shows us one of the livelier, former ex-pat areas of KL. The special places where tequila shots are on extreme discount only if you buy in orders of five and beers seem to operate in similar fashion. It's a good night, possibly crazy night. We jettison- KL swirls around us from the taxis. Karaoke venues tempt and tantalize but eventually the night ends at a halal street market- roti and naan are on the menu. No beers here. It's a nice sobering end to a hectic birthday.
I didn't expect to survive to this birthday; I'd had premonitions about it since I was young. Fate, it seems, has granted me a stay of execution. What better way to show appreciation the following morning than delving into one of Malaysia's national treasures: mega-malls. We storm forth and locate an indoor theme-park. Yes, an indoor theme-park, complete with a roller coaster. We pony up the paltry entry fee and dive in.
Spinning, swirling, twisting, disorienting. Perhaps not the best way to fight a birthday hangover, but we survive. The park is insanity, the mall is berserk. The only way out of this chaos seems to be deeper within. This is a labyrinth to be sure.
We see movies, we eat mall food, finally, in the ultimate heat of the moment we discover an archery range and partake in it's graces. I flex my dominant archery prowess- shooting 10 of my 12 arrows without looking and still scoring higher than my counterpart.
We retire. We are sweaty, hot, tired, and we must make our night train to Butterworth Station (for Penang Island). I feel terrible, Jon looks worse. He reminds me of Boris from Goldeneye.
We both pour sweat. Finally our overnight train boards. Little solace. Flange is the only one of us who loves the accommodations.
We arrive Butterworth before dawn and make our way to the ferry. It's early morning by the time we traverse the bay and make landfall on Penang Island. I normally do all of my hostel-finding damage on foot in such circumstances but in this case Google Maps had deleted my entry and I have no idea where we are or where we need to go. We take the hit to our egos and gobble up a cab which speeds us toward our hostel.
We check in, pay our tab, and are afforded showers. The it's time to hit the streets of Georgetown. This city was once the British colonial capital of Malaysia, chosen because of its port access and strategic location on the ocean. Even in the historic heart of Georgetown there are but few architectural examples of the British colonial rule, the most impressive of which undoubtedly being the City Hall. We snap our photos, shoot our segments, and duck into the shade- sweat pouring from us even at this early hour.
The most notable feature of the old town that isn't a temple is Fort Cornwallis. We gaze past the well preserved canons and out into the bay.
Perhaps my favorite part of the fortress is the painting of a traditional Malay house, obviously updated as an automobile is depicted in front of the residence. It is this style of housing I find so hopelessly romantic.
We visit a temple, a mosque, and the oldest Anglican church in Asia.
Traversing the streets is a nearly insurmountable challenge. Sidewalks have no place in old Penang and the onus is on the pedestrian to avoid traffic while navigating along the streets. We struggle to adjust. Several times it seems as if one of us will most certainly be killed, but we escape. As we wind through the old narrow roads, street art pops out at us- some good, most bizarre.
On our second full day in Penang we take the bus to Penang Hill, site of the Kek Lok Si Temple, began in 1890 by Kapitan Chung Keng Quee the late 1800's millionaire philanthropist and founder of Taiping. We are dropped off on the dusty streets of the hill near the funicular railway. We ride up, enjoy the view, and ride down. Jon hates inclined railways; his nerves are apparent. The heat is overwhelming as we make our way on foot from the funicular to Kek Lok Si. We see it in the distance; dirt from the buses, cars, and motorcycles kicks stinging dust into our eyes.
As we draw near the magnitude of the temple before us becomes increasingly evident. It is less of a temple and more of a complex. The inner courtyard yields a great view of the main hall and smaller pagodas.
Just up the stairs we encounter a circular doorway leading to the rest of the complex.
One emerges from the other side of the complex in a maze of a gift shop. Buried in the back is a small funicular that takes you up to the giant Buddha statue on the hill. At the top we buy prayer ribbons and place them on sticks. We trust that Buddha will provide us with a fruitful, safe, and above all, phenomenal journey. We pay our respects and descend.
It's our last night in Penang. We decide to make the most of it by hitting the night market and doing it hard. This particular market has approximately 20 different food stands hawking everything from Malaysian to Chinese to Indian to Italian. Beer is on offer and there is live music. we take the plunge and hours of off-color joking, deep conversations, and ultimately a pinch or two of rabble-rousing ensues. Jon garners the nickname "the Boss."
"Make the Boss pay!" she says. We can't stop laughing. Time to go. "One more for the Boss." Whatever you say maddam. We know it will be a rough morning and we have a flight to Phuket, Thailand. But nothing can be done about that now. Time for that last beer. Besides, the boss is paying.
The train in Malaysia is damp; it's clad all in blue. There is air conditioning blowing in vaguely from somewhere which immediately makes this mode of transport, even if ever so slightly, better than its predecessor. We start. The train is mostly empty; I eat a bag of "cheese" popcorn that, despite the conventions of taste, is a sweet, salty, and savory snack all in one... with a distinct hint of Mexican food backing that gives pause for alarm. It was described as "cheese flavor."
Endless palm oil and rubber tree plantations roll by, the children clad in rags and adults in seldom better. It is a poor country, yet somehow a beautiful one. Not in the sorrow or hardship of those we pass who exhibit such an apparently ravaging struggle, but in the strength and perseverance which seems to possess them. They press on as steadily as the train itself. We roll for hours, it seems like ages. They toil for ages, it must seem like lifetimes.
At least an hour late we finally arrive at KL Sentral. Jon is tired and irritable. We exit the train and ask for directions- we're told to go straight ahead. Attempting this yields a dead end. We try right, we try left. Every path is blocked by construction fencing. Finally we navigate our way around the construction zone and manage to find the main street. It's dark, damp, and chaotic. Cockroaches scuttle around the sidewalks and hawker restaurants attempt to peddle the the last of their scraps before closing.
We eventually locate the hotel and are able to check in. When we later attempt to acquire Malaysian currency, the bank rudely informs us that our cards are no good. No money this evening. Ultimately relenting we retire but not before noticing my favorite all-time SE Asia sign in the elevator of the hotel:
This is a fortuitous sign. The next morning it's time to spy a few of the tourist attractions. We maneuver by monorail as close as we can and then make our way on foot to the iconic Petronas Towers. (blurb).
By now it's relentlessly hot and the overcast sky provides little relief. The mall only serves a temporary respite from the heat and humidity. On a quest for linen pants we scour the mall for what seems like hours but to no avail. Finally, after a hearty sushi lunch, we trudge back into the inferno. The goal: Chinatown. The map betrays the distance to our target and the heat makes us vividly aware of it. Eventually we progress to the Merdeka Square, the plaza in which Malaysian independence was declared from Britain. I particularly love the Sultan Abdul Samad Building. After this, it is all we could muster to find some sandals for Jon and sunglasses for both of us before scurrying back to the hotel.
The next day the city heaves- pouring heavy breaths of oppressive sultry air. You can't make it more than 25 feet outside of air conditioning, even at night, without your brow furrowing in a tidal wave of perspiration. Despite this we push on. By this point Jon's computer has completely failed and we are searching for a replacement. He's already processed the return and refund while in Singapore but he still needs a machine. We target a mall that is alleged to have a computer/technology mega-store. We arrive only to discover that, along with typical Malaysian policy, the mall we seek has closed and is being torn down for (presumably) the construction of a new mall.
All of KL is a jungle. It is both concrete and lush, as if some dastardly city planner decided one day to march into the heart of the Malaysian jungle and just when he reached it's thickest and most tangled corner he struck in his spade and declared "we shall build it here." Concrete columns rocket up from the foliage, the streets wind around and over the ancient riverbeds, and even the construction cranes have taken a life of their own. Every building is seemingly in a perpetual state of erection or demolition. We struggle to determine which is which. The jungle squeezes everything- trying to take back the city inch by inch.
It's my birthday. We meet a friend. She shows us one of the livelier, former ex-pat areas of KL. The special places where tequila shots are on extreme discount only if you buy in orders of five and beers seem to operate in similar fashion. It's a good night, possibly crazy night. We jettison- KL swirls around us from the taxis. Karaoke venues tempt and tantalize but eventually the night ends at a halal street market- roti and naan are on the menu. No beers here. It's a nice sobering end to a hectic birthday.
I didn't expect to survive to this birthday; I'd had premonitions about it since I was young. Fate, it seems, has granted me a stay of execution. What better way to show appreciation the following morning than delving into one of Malaysia's national treasures: mega-malls. We storm forth and locate an indoor theme-park. Yes, an indoor theme-park, complete with a roller coaster. We pony up the paltry entry fee and dive in.
Spinning, swirling, twisting, disorienting. Perhaps not the best way to fight a birthday hangover, but we survive. The park is insanity, the mall is berserk. The only way out of this chaos seems to be deeper within. This is a labyrinth to be sure.
We see movies, we eat mall food, finally, in the ultimate heat of the moment we discover an archery range and partake in it's graces. I flex my dominant archery prowess- shooting 10 of my 12 arrows without looking and still scoring higher than my counterpart.
We retire. We are sweaty, hot, tired, and we must make our night train to Butterworth Station (for Penang Island). I feel terrible, Jon looks worse. He reminds me of Boris from Goldeneye.
We both pour sweat. Finally our overnight train boards. Little solace. Flange is the only one of us who loves the accommodations.
We arrive Butterworth before dawn and make our way to the ferry. It's early morning by the time we traverse the bay and make landfall on Penang Island. I normally do all of my hostel-finding damage on foot in such circumstances but in this case Google Maps had deleted my entry and I have no idea where we are or where we need to go. We take the hit to our egos and gobble up a cab which speeds us toward our hostel.
We check in, pay our tab, and are afforded showers. The it's time to hit the streets of Georgetown. This city was once the British colonial capital of Malaysia, chosen because of its port access and strategic location on the ocean. Even in the historic heart of Georgetown there are but few architectural examples of the British colonial rule, the most impressive of which undoubtedly being the City Hall. We snap our photos, shoot our segments, and duck into the shade- sweat pouring from us even at this early hour.
The most notable feature of the old town that isn't a temple is Fort Cornwallis. We gaze past the well preserved canons and out into the bay.
Perhaps my favorite part of the fortress is the painting of a traditional Malay house, obviously updated as an automobile is depicted in front of the residence. It is this style of housing I find so hopelessly romantic.
We visit a temple, a mosque, and the oldest Anglican church in Asia.
Traversing the streets is a nearly insurmountable challenge. Sidewalks have no place in old Penang and the onus is on the pedestrian to avoid traffic while navigating along the streets. We struggle to adjust. Several times it seems as if one of us will most certainly be killed, but we escape. As we wind through the old narrow roads, street art pops out at us- some good, most bizarre.
On our second full day in Penang we take the bus to Penang Hill, site of the Kek Lok Si Temple, began in 1890 by Kapitan Chung Keng Quee the late 1800's millionaire philanthropist and founder of Taiping. We are dropped off on the dusty streets of the hill near the funicular railway. We ride up, enjoy the view, and ride down. Jon hates inclined railways; his nerves are apparent. The heat is overwhelming as we make our way on foot from the funicular to Kek Lok Si. We see it in the distance; dirt from the buses, cars, and motorcycles kicks stinging dust into our eyes.
As we draw near the magnitude of the temple before us becomes increasingly evident. It is less of a temple and more of a complex. The inner courtyard yields a great view of the main hall and smaller pagodas.
Just up the stairs we encounter a circular doorway leading to the rest of the complex.
One emerges from the other side of the complex in a maze of a gift shop. Buried in the back is a small funicular that takes you up to the giant Buddha statue on the hill. At the top we buy prayer ribbons and place them on sticks. We trust that Buddha will provide us with a fruitful, safe, and above all, phenomenal journey. We pay our respects and descend.
It's our last night in Penang. We decide to make the most of it by hitting the night market and doing it hard. This particular market has approximately 20 different food stands hawking everything from Malaysian to Chinese to Indian to Italian. Beer is on offer and there is live music. we take the plunge and hours of off-color joking, deep conversations, and ultimately a pinch or two of rabble-rousing ensues. Jon garners the nickname "the Boss."
"Make the Boss pay!" she says. We can't stop laughing. Time to go. "One more for the Boss." Whatever you say maddam. We know it will be a rough morning and we have a flight to Phuket, Thailand. But nothing can be done about that now. Time for that last beer. Besides, the boss is paying.
Actually, the giant statue is of Kuan Yin, not of Buddha. I'm pretty sure she's a Bodhisattva. I think I mentioned this to you while we were at the temple. =p
ReplyDeleteRight you are Ken! Thanks for the correction.
Delete