For Water Festival, we headed for the foreign visitors tent, much like last year. It was clearly much better-advertised than last year, however, as the tent was practically full of tour groups wearing matching shirts and the steps in front of the tent, which were empty last year, were packed with foreigners. I won't repeat the details of the boat races or the atmosphere - they were largely the same as our first trip to Bon Om Tuk.
Once the boat races ended, we were again treated to a wonderful display of "floats." Over a dozen boats were outfitted with the emblems of various Cambodian ministries in elaborate and hulking displays of light. After the sun set, the floats headed upriver as fireworks went off behind them. It is at this time of day that the Water Festival is at its busiest - most of the villages that flock to Phnom Penh have seen plenty of boats, but few have seen a true fireworks display or anything akin to the floats.
Attempting to get from the foreign visitors tent to streets that were not closed to traffic - probably about half a mile - was difficult to say the least. I have never been packed into a crowd so tight in my life. It was exactly the kind of situation that the Embassy or the State Department tells you to avoid when traveling to domestic situations - if a fight were to break out or somebody were to start pushing, several people would have easily been trampled. It was not until later that we realized that people were crowding so tightly to catch a glimpse of the King, who was about to make his way from the VIP tent on the riverfront back to the Royal Palace.
We managed to find our way to Street 184, usually closed to the public, between the Royal Palace and the National Museum. We walked briskly away from the waterfront along with throngs of others. About halfway to Norodom Boulevard, where the road blocks ended, a big black Lexus SUV came up behind us. Even though there are hundreds of such vehicles in Phnom Penh alone, I always try to peer inside to see if it is His Excellency. In this case, I didn't see His Excellency, but I did recognize his driver and handyman. As I waved, he pulled up along side us. What are the odds? Tens of thousands of people walking down the street, hundreds of VIP cars, and we manage to run into His Excellency?
Though the car was mostly full, we squeezed in - me and Shanti's parents in the back with His Excellency's incredibly elegant wife, His Excellency up front, and Shanti and an RCAF officer (a bodyguard for His Excellency?) in the trunk. Though it was a bit cramped, it was definitely the best option in terms of transport; there was certainly not to be any haggling with price gouging tuk-tuk drivers tonight.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Reverse Skin Tax
Leaving Memot early the morning after Sarath's wedding, we headed back to Phnom Penh. As Water Festival (Bon Om Tuk) began that afternoon, it was one of the worst possible days to be traveling to Phnom Penh. The population of the city supposedly doubles for the three-day festival from roughly three to six million people, and many of the villagers coming to town were doing so at the same time as us.
An additional concern was that at some point in the day - no one seemed to know for sure when - the bridge across the Tonle Sap would be closed to vehicular traffic. For most of the trip, the traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting; in fact, we were making really good time. About fifteen kilometers outside of town, however, we came to a dead stop. Over half an hour we moved perhaps a half kilometer. Shortly thereafter, we came to a checkpoint. Several police officers were waving all minivans (the typical, cramped, and overstuffed method for travel) to the side of the road. Apparently, only private vehicles were allowed past this checkpoint and everyone taking minivans or buses had to get out at this point and take either a moto or a tuk-tuk the 15km into town.
As we pulled up to the checkpoint, we were waved to the side of the road. The driver pulled up to one of the police officers and, in Khmer, said that he was transporting foreigners back to Phnom Penh. The officer simply nodded, and waved us down the road in which we were just about the only vehicle with more than two wheels. Just before we got to the Japanese Friendship Bridge across the Tonle Sap we came to another checkpoint. The driver tried the same technique as before, but to no avail. We were directed into a dirt parking lot, from which it was implied we would gather our belongings and walk across the bridge and back in to town.
Clearly all of us preferred to take the van all the way into town to be dropped off at our houses. So one of my coworkers and I (both foreigners) hopped out and, in Khmer, explained to the police officers that we were just coming back from a work trip to the provinces. He asked why we hadn't come back the day before, when the roads were open, to which we replied that we had to work. He seemed to mull this over for a minute, before waving our van over to him. As he did so, he gave us a nod, and we were on our way over the bridge. While crossing, one of my Khmer colleagues said, rather straightforwardly that it was because of us foreigners that we were allowed through both checkpoints. I joking replied simply "you're welcome."
It was a really interesting dynamic though. There is absolutely no way that a van full of Khmers would have been able to convince a police officer to let them through because they were coming back from a business trip. Perhaps if there was a bit of money involved or the driver was well-connected (what well-connected Khmer drives minivans for a living though?) passage would be a possibility. While we all felt a little uncomfortable with the special treatment we were getting, I suppose it was some pay back (pardon the pun) for being charged higher prices at the market, for travel, and other things. It would be much nicer, however, if we were on more level social ground, but it's going to be a long time before anything of that nature happens.
An additional concern was that at some point in the day - no one seemed to know for sure when - the bridge across the Tonle Sap would be closed to vehicular traffic. For most of the trip, the traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting; in fact, we were making really good time. About fifteen kilometers outside of town, however, we came to a dead stop. Over half an hour we moved perhaps a half kilometer. Shortly thereafter, we came to a checkpoint. Several police officers were waving all minivans (the typical, cramped, and overstuffed method for travel) to the side of the road. Apparently, only private vehicles were allowed past this checkpoint and everyone taking minivans or buses had to get out at this point and take either a moto or a tuk-tuk the 15km into town.
As we pulled up to the checkpoint, we were waved to the side of the road. The driver pulled up to one of the police officers and, in Khmer, said that he was transporting foreigners back to Phnom Penh. The officer simply nodded, and waved us down the road in which we were just about the only vehicle with more than two wheels. Just before we got to the Japanese Friendship Bridge across the Tonle Sap we came to another checkpoint. The driver tried the same technique as before, but to no avail. We were directed into a dirt parking lot, from which it was implied we would gather our belongings and walk across the bridge and back in to town.
Clearly all of us preferred to take the van all the way into town to be dropped off at our houses. So one of my coworkers and I (both foreigners) hopped out and, in Khmer, explained to the police officers that we were just coming back from a work trip to the provinces. He asked why we hadn't come back the day before, when the roads were open, to which we replied that we had to work. He seemed to mull this over for a minute, before waving our van over to him. As he did so, he gave us a nod, and we were on our way over the bridge. While crossing, one of my Khmer colleagues said, rather straightforwardly that it was because of us foreigners that we were allowed through both checkpoints. I joking replied simply "you're welcome."
It was a really interesting dynamic though. There is absolutely no way that a van full of Khmers would have been able to convince a police officer to let them through because they were coming back from a business trip. Perhaps if there was a bit of money involved or the driver was well-connected (what well-connected Khmer drives minivans for a living though?) passage would be a possibility. While we all felt a little uncomfortable with the special treatment we were getting, I suppose it was some pay back (pardon the pun) for being charged higher prices at the market, for travel, and other things. It would be much nicer, however, if we were on more level social ground, but it's going to be a long time before anything of that nature happens.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Village Wedding
The morning after dancing the night away at Vuth and Cina's wedding, we woke relatively early to celebrate Cambodia's 55th Independence Day, a rather communist style parade featuring tens of thousands of civil servants and floats from various ministries and the military. Early on Monday morning, Shanti and I and Shanti's parents piled into a minivan with about ten of my coworkers to set off for the wedding of one of my coworkers in Memot District, Kampong Cham Province. The four-hour ride was quite pleasant; it was nice to get out of Phnom Penh and see the rice fields at their peak.
We arrived at the bride's house, several kilometers outside of Memot town and right on the national road, just in time for a quick lunch. As with most village weddings, a huge tent containing dozens of tables was set up on the dirt in front of the house. There were relatively few people around - the traditional ceremonies that take place in the morning were over - so we had a quiet lunch and took the minivan into town to settle in to our guesthouse.
We relaxed a bit and then a handful of the foreigners in the group decided to go for a walk about town. The six of us were probably the most foreigners Memot had ever seen and the sight of us was cause for significant commotion. The fruit vendors were quite amused that we could speak a bit of Khmer and the moto drivers were certainly perplexed as to why we were in town. We stumbled upon a small, but interesting archaeological museum covering ancient civilizations in the surrounding area before going back to the guesthouse.
After some more relaxation we got suited up for the wedding and took the van back to the bride's house. Although it was not very crowded, there was a line out front of people waiting to get their pictures taken with Sarath, my coworker, and Kimhuch, his bride, under the archway entrance to the wedding tent. Next to the archway was a typically over-edited photograph of the couple in which they were a ghostly pale (pale skin is highly desirable across Cambodia and much of Asia and is seen as of a higher class than darker skin). Rising up from the entrance was a bamboo pole with two huge megaphones attached, one pointing in each direction the road went. The megaphones blasted music from a live band loud enough for neighbors several kilometers away to hear (another symbol of status is apparently letting as many people as possible know that you or your kin are getting married).
As we posed for pictures with Sarath and Kimhuch, a small gathering of local kids surrounded us, curious at the sight of so many barangs. We were seated at a table with discarded napkins, fish bones and other debris in a ring around the chairs, the typical disposal method for weddings. We were served a meal similar to but not quite as fancy as Vuth and Cina's wedding and were greeted with an endless supply of beer. A crew of several dozen local kids scanned the tables for those finishing their drinks and quickly snatched empty cans from the ground, a $0.03 per can gold mine.
The live band was quite loud and apparently caught the attention of the entire area. By the time it was 7:00, about an hour after we arrived, a crowd of several hundred villagers - not guests, merely onlookers - surrounded the wedding tent. The crowd quickly doubled in size once some of the barangs got up to dance and soon all of us were dancing in the best Khmer style we could, much to the amusement of the locals. It was simply amazing how many non-guests had turned out simply for entertainment. Obviously not too much happens in Memot, but I had to wonder if the crowd size was a standard or if the presence of foreigners had a particular drawing power.
At one point, a little before Sarath and Kimhuch were to make their entrance, a lotus flower fight broke out between some of the barangs and the local kids. Though it seemed as if everyone was having a good time with it, the bride's mother did not look amused. With several more beers in our bellies and another hour of dancing under our belts, we were exhausted. And it was only 8:30pm. Such is life in the provinces - it begins as soon as the sun is up and ends shortly after it goes down. Sarath's wedding was incredibly enjoyable, but in an entirely different way than Vuth and Cina's. It was certainly a unique experience that I will not soon forget.
We arrived at the bride's house, several kilometers outside of Memot town and right on the national road, just in time for a quick lunch. As with most village weddings, a huge tent containing dozens of tables was set up on the dirt in front of the house. There were relatively few people around - the traditional ceremonies that take place in the morning were over - so we had a quiet lunch and took the minivan into town to settle in to our guesthouse.
We relaxed a bit and then a handful of the foreigners in the group decided to go for a walk about town. The six of us were probably the most foreigners Memot had ever seen and the sight of us was cause for significant commotion. The fruit vendors were quite amused that we could speak a bit of Khmer and the moto drivers were certainly perplexed as to why we were in town. We stumbled upon a small, but interesting archaeological museum covering ancient civilizations in the surrounding area before going back to the guesthouse.
After some more relaxation we got suited up for the wedding and took the van back to the bride's house. Although it was not very crowded, there was a line out front of people waiting to get their pictures taken with Sarath, my coworker, and Kimhuch, his bride, under the archway entrance to the wedding tent. Next to the archway was a typically over-edited photograph of the couple in which they were a ghostly pale (pale skin is highly desirable across Cambodia and much of Asia and is seen as of a higher class than darker skin). Rising up from the entrance was a bamboo pole with two huge megaphones attached, one pointing in each direction the road went. The megaphones blasted music from a live band loud enough for neighbors several kilometers away to hear (another symbol of status is apparently letting as many people as possible know that you or your kin are getting married).
As we posed for pictures with Sarath and Kimhuch, a small gathering of local kids surrounded us, curious at the sight of so many barangs. We were seated at a table with discarded napkins, fish bones and other debris in a ring around the chairs, the typical disposal method for weddings. We were served a meal similar to but not quite as fancy as Vuth and Cina's wedding and were greeted with an endless supply of beer. A crew of several dozen local kids scanned the tables for those finishing their drinks and quickly snatched empty cans from the ground, a $0.03 per can gold mine.
The live band was quite loud and apparently caught the attention of the entire area. By the time it was 7:00, about an hour after we arrived, a crowd of several hundred villagers - not guests, merely onlookers - surrounded the wedding tent. The crowd quickly doubled in size once some of the barangs got up to dance and soon all of us were dancing in the best Khmer style we could, much to the amusement of the locals. It was simply amazing how many non-guests had turned out simply for entertainment. Obviously not too much happens in Memot, but I had to wonder if the crowd size was a standard or if the presence of foreigners had a particular drawing power.
At one point, a little before Sarath and Kimhuch were to make their entrance, a lotus flower fight broke out between some of the barangs and the local kids. Though it seemed as if everyone was having a good time with it, the bride's mother did not look amused. With several more beers in our bellies and another hour of dancing under our belts, we were exhausted. And it was only 8:30pm. Such is life in the provinces - it begins as soon as the sun is up and ends shortly after it goes down. Sarath's wedding was incredibly enjoyable, but in an entirely different way than Vuth and Cina's. It was certainly a unique experience that I will not soon forget.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
A Phnom Penh Wedding
Shanti’s parents arrived in Phnom Penh at the beginning of November just in time for a flurry of activity. With the end of the rainy season comes two things: weddings and the Water Festival. Over a period of four days, we had two weddings to attend, including most of the traditional ceremonies for one of them. The first wedding was for Vuth, a friend of mine and one of Shanti’s former co-workers, and Cina, who has been an extremely helpful and reliable travel agent since shortly after we arrived in Phnom Penh.
While I don't want to overplay it, I'd like to think that Shanti and I had a little something in establishing Vuth and Cina's relationship. They knew each other before we arrived and there seemed to be some attraction, but a dinner at our house was one of the first times they had truly spent time together. Shanti and I also enthusiastically coached Vuth on courting Cina. Regardless of the importance of our role, we were excited for the first wedding in which we were friends with both the groom and bride.
The wedding was a typical, if not slightly lavish, Phnom Penh wedding. A large tent was set up in the street in front of Cina’s house on Friday and a few traditional ceremonies (which I was unable to attend, but Shanti and her parents were) were held for family and very close friends. I got off work in time to catch the end of dinner and offer my congratulations to both Vuth and Cina.
Early on Saturday morning the festivities continued with a procession of food and other gifts to Cina’s house; it was definitely the longest wedding procession I had ever seen. Throughout the morning were a number ceremonies in which we had the honor to participate as much of Vuth’s family, from Battambang, was unable to attend the wedding. There was the ribbon-tying ceremony, the hair cutting ceremony, a blessing for ancestors, a blessing from parents, all facilitated by a pushy emcee.
Following an afternoon of relaxation, we reconvened – men in dress pants and a shirt and women in slightly ridiculous silk wedding outfits – at Lucky Star restaurant. The restaurant is in fact a series of banquet halls used primarily for enormous Cambodian weddings. Vuth and Cina’s accommodated approximately 500 people, a relatively common size for urban weddings. After a greeting from Vuth, his groomsmen, and the bridesmaids at the entrance to Building A, we were seated for a typical meal of several courses: first, cashews, spring rolls, fried fish cakes, and other appetizers; second, a kind of crab soup; third, a salad of noodles, seafood, and pomelo (similar to but sweeter than grapefruit); fourth, fish; fifth, rice with chicken; and sixth, a small dessert and fruit.
Throughout the meal a live band played and Vuth and Cina’s friends rose to the stage and sang their favorite songs. There was a lot of fairly raucous dancing, at which Shanti’s mom excelled. I certainly hadn’t ever seen her mom boogie like she did and I think Shanti was equally impressed and amused. This was, in fact, the only thing a bit unusual about the wedding: how lighthearted the evening seemed to be and how happy the guests were. Most weddings are fairly formal affairs in which strict protocols are followed. The singing and dancing and general joyousness at Vuth and Cina’s certainly broke from the norm in this sense. It was, at least for the moment, the most fun I had ever had at a wedding.
While I don't want to overplay it, I'd like to think that Shanti and I had a little something in establishing Vuth and Cina's relationship. They knew each other before we arrived and there seemed to be some attraction, but a dinner at our house was one of the first times they had truly spent time together. Shanti and I also enthusiastically coached Vuth on courting Cina. Regardless of the importance of our role, we were excited for the first wedding in which we were friends with both the groom and bride.
The wedding was a typical, if not slightly lavish, Phnom Penh wedding. A large tent was set up in the street in front of Cina’s house on Friday and a few traditional ceremonies (which I was unable to attend, but Shanti and her parents were) were held for family and very close friends. I got off work in time to catch the end of dinner and offer my congratulations to both Vuth and Cina.
Early on Saturday morning the festivities continued with a procession of food and other gifts to Cina’s house; it was definitely the longest wedding procession I had ever seen. Throughout the morning were a number ceremonies in which we had the honor to participate as much of Vuth’s family, from Battambang, was unable to attend the wedding. There was the ribbon-tying ceremony, the hair cutting ceremony, a blessing for ancestors, a blessing from parents, all facilitated by a pushy emcee.
Following an afternoon of relaxation, we reconvened – men in dress pants and a shirt and women in slightly ridiculous silk wedding outfits – at Lucky Star restaurant. The restaurant is in fact a series of banquet halls used primarily for enormous Cambodian weddings. Vuth and Cina’s accommodated approximately 500 people, a relatively common size for urban weddings. After a greeting from Vuth, his groomsmen, and the bridesmaids at the entrance to Building A, we were seated for a typical meal of several courses: first, cashews, spring rolls, fried fish cakes, and other appetizers; second, a kind of crab soup; third, a salad of noodles, seafood, and pomelo (similar to but sweeter than grapefruit); fourth, fish; fifth, rice with chicken; and sixth, a small dessert and fruit.
Throughout the meal a live band played and Vuth and Cina’s friends rose to the stage and sang their favorite songs. There was a lot of fairly raucous dancing, at which Shanti’s mom excelled. I certainly hadn’t ever seen her mom boogie like she did and I think Shanti was equally impressed and amused. This was, in fact, the only thing a bit unusual about the wedding: how lighthearted the evening seemed to be and how happy the guests were. Most weddings are fairly formal affairs in which strict protocols are followed. The singing and dancing and general joyousness at Vuth and Cina’s certainly broke from the norm in this sense. It was, at least for the moment, the most fun I had ever had at a wedding.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Back to Kep
With Shanti returning from Nepal on Friday and her parents arriving next weekend, we decided to skip town for a relaxing weekend in Kep. I took Friday afternoon off and we caught the afternoon Hua Lien bus that goes to Kampot via Kep. The road that we took, I think it was National Road 3, was in absolutely terrible shape, most likely because it was the end of the rainy season and from poor maintenance. Bumpiness aside, it was a smooth ride and we arrived in a cloudy Kep late in the afternoon.
A tuk-tuk met us where the bus dropped us off to take us to Veranda, where we stayed the last time we were in Kep about a year ago. It was a relatively amusing tuk-tuk ride; we started up the hill to Veranda, but the tuk-tuk couldn't make it carrying both me and Shanti, so I hopped out to walk. Shanti was eventually forced out as well, as the hill was just too step and the tuk-tuk just too weak. We checked in and were led through the Swiss Family Robinson-style walkways to the same bungalow we had last year.
We dropped our stuff off and walked down to Kep's locally well-known crab market. In the mornings, vendors wade out into the water to their traps and bring the freshest crabs imaginable to their patrons. Beyond the market is a row of perhaps twenty shacks with metal folding tables and plastic chairs serving the best seafood in Cambodia and some of the best in the region. Shanti and I made our way to Kimly, a popular spot with foreigners because of their English menus. We got a table literally over the Gulf of Thailand, with the waves gently lapping at the wooden pillars holding up the restaurant. In the distance the sun was setting over Bokor Mountain and Phu Quoc. It was an idyllic setting for dinner.
Though the menu was full of interesting options, from very traditional Cambodian fare to shark and stingray, we ordered one of the house specialties, whole Kep crab fried with fresh Kampot green pepper and, I think, honey. It was so delicious that, as we were leaving town on Sunday we bought a kilo of fresh crab to take back to Phnom Penh with us.
On Saturday we woke to a downpour of rain, a downpour which continued practically ceaselessly until we left. If we had not been to Kep before and were planning to go to Rabbit Island or the caves at Kampong Trach, we would've been quite disappointed. However, since we were just after a relaxing weekend, it was actually really nice as it forced us to simply unwind, read and play cards.
The rain stopped long enough on Saturday afternoon for us to go for a walk, looping from Veranda to the crab market and around the coast to Kep Beach. As the sun started to set, though, we headed back to Veranda to enjoy the view from the fantastic terrace restaurant. The sunset was magnificent, with the whole sky glowing a golden color and the sun creating a shimmering reflection upon the water. By the time we finished dinner it was pouring again.
We woke to more rain on Sunday and after some relaxing and a few more games of cards, we tuk-tuked to Kep Beach to catch the bus back to Phnom Penh. As we waited for the bus to make its way from Kampot, it really dumped; and the resulting flooding was very impressive. A lake, at least ankle deep, covered the entire road (a problem that could easily be fixed if any effort was put into it) as children frolicked in it, dogs hopped across it, crab vendors trudged through it, cars splashed across it, and motos stalled. The most amusing thing about the rain, however, was that despite (or because of?) the downpour the water was packed with Cambodians, all fully dressed in pants (some jeans) and t-shirts. (Because of the combination of modesty and the desire for light skin, you will find few Cambodians that strip down into what Westerners would consider traditional swimming attire). Not only was it an entertaining sight, but it was interesting to think how different the beach would look on a rainy day in the US.
A tuk-tuk met us where the bus dropped us off to take us to Veranda, where we stayed the last time we were in Kep about a year ago. It was a relatively amusing tuk-tuk ride; we started up the hill to Veranda, but the tuk-tuk couldn't make it carrying both me and Shanti, so I hopped out to walk. Shanti was eventually forced out as well, as the hill was just too step and the tuk-tuk just too weak. We checked in and were led through the Swiss Family Robinson-style walkways to the same bungalow we had last year.
We dropped our stuff off and walked down to Kep's locally well-known crab market. In the mornings, vendors wade out into the water to their traps and bring the freshest crabs imaginable to their patrons. Beyond the market is a row of perhaps twenty shacks with metal folding tables and plastic chairs serving the best seafood in Cambodia and some of the best in the region. Shanti and I made our way to Kimly, a popular spot with foreigners because of their English menus. We got a table literally over the Gulf of Thailand, with the waves gently lapping at the wooden pillars holding up the restaurant. In the distance the sun was setting over Bokor Mountain and Phu Quoc. It was an idyllic setting for dinner.
Though the menu was full of interesting options, from very traditional Cambodian fare to shark and stingray, we ordered one of the house specialties, whole Kep crab fried with fresh Kampot green pepper and, I think, honey. It was so delicious that, as we were leaving town on Sunday we bought a kilo of fresh crab to take back to Phnom Penh with us.
On Saturday we woke to a downpour of rain, a downpour which continued practically ceaselessly until we left. If we had not been to Kep before and were planning to go to Rabbit Island or the caves at Kampong Trach, we would've been quite disappointed. However, since we were just after a relaxing weekend, it was actually really nice as it forced us to simply unwind, read and play cards.
The rain stopped long enough on Saturday afternoon for us to go for a walk, looping from Veranda to the crab market and around the coast to Kep Beach. As the sun started to set, though, we headed back to Veranda to enjoy the view from the fantastic terrace restaurant. The sunset was magnificent, with the whole sky glowing a golden color and the sun creating a shimmering reflection upon the water. By the time we finished dinner it was pouring again.
We woke to more rain on Sunday and after some relaxing and a few more games of cards, we tuk-tuked to Kep Beach to catch the bus back to Phnom Penh. As we waited for the bus to make its way from Kampot, it really dumped; and the resulting flooding was very impressive. A lake, at least ankle deep, covered the entire road (a problem that could easily be fixed if any effort was put into it) as children frolicked in it, dogs hopped across it, crab vendors trudged through it, cars splashed across it, and motos stalled. The most amusing thing about the rain, however, was that despite (or because of?) the downpour the water was packed with Cambodians, all fully dressed in pants (some jeans) and t-shirts. (Because of the combination of modesty and the desire for light skin, you will find few Cambodians that strip down into what Westerners would consider traditional swimming attire). Not only was it an entertaining sight, but it was interesting to think how different the beach would look on a rainy day in the US.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Malaysia Part VI: Melaka
Kuala Lumpur's Puduraya bus station was absolute chaos. There were dozens of ticket windows for dozens of different bus companies. For buses that were about to leave men stormed up and down the aisles shouting the names of his company's about-to-depart destination. There did not seem to be any order to how the ticket windows were organized; each bus company posted its routes on the window and patrons were either expected to know which company to use or to brave the crowds and peruse each window individually. I finally stumbled upon a guy yelling Melaka, gave him some money and headed to the correct platform. It turned out the bus wasn't leaving yet. In fact, it didn't ever show up. We got stuffed onto a beat up school bus of sorts that was already mostly full.
A slow and fairly uncomfortable three hours later, we were at the bus station outside of Melaka (for some reason most of Malaysia's municipal transport hubs are inconveniently located outside of the city necessitating many taxi rides). I ended up at a charming guesthouse across from a mosque a block off of Chinatown's main shopping street. I dropped my stuff off and walked over to the historic colonial part of town, where the Dutch, Portuguese, and British had set up shop over the last 500 years. The Studhuys town square, St. Paul's Church (with a view out to the Straits of Melaka), and the other buildings were charming, but the area was a bit too overrun with tourists for my taste. I did, however, enjoy the brightly-decorated trishaws which blasted 80s pop music, like "Don't Stop Believing" and the "Final Countdown."
Starving, I headed back across to Chinatown looking for lunch. I stopped at a small restaurant packed with old, contemplative Chinese men drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and ordered the house specialty, chicken satay. It was the freshest and most delicious satay I've ever had, with just enough bite to keep me honest and cucumbers to cool me down.
Refreshed, I wandered down Jalan Hang Jebat, Chinatown's main street. It was a bustling mix of modern shops selling knick-knacks, dusty antique shops selling highly overpriced trinkets - I saw a Guinness pint glass on sale for $50 - and art galleries. Regardless of the product being sold, every house's windows were beautifully painted in bright colors and intricate designs. It was the perfect place to do a photographic study on windows and doors.
Continuing my wandering, I passed by beautiful Chinese temples and stumbled upon a batik gallery. Batik is a technique of painting on silk using what looks like a quill to outline a design with hot wax; once cool, the wax acts a barrier to paint spreading beyond the desired region and I had the pleasure of seeing an artist at work. Rounding a corner in a quieter part of town, I noticed a parade coming my direction. The police were closing streets one by one and it was clear that hundreds of people, some in elaborate silk costumes, were involved in the parade, including many floats. As the parade passed, I stopped a boy that looked like a boy scout and asked him what the parade was for. He looked at me blankly and, in the most matter of fact statement I've ever heard, replied "The birth of God." I was too stunned by his nonchalance to ask him which God. Hot and tuckered out, I went back to the guesthouse for a shower and a rest.
Since it was my last night of vacation, I intended to make myself presentable - at least more presentable than I had been for much of the past week - and treat myself to a nice dinner. As I was wandering to the fancy Malay-Portuguese restaurant I had in mind, however, I noticed that Chinatown's main street was closed to cars and motorbikes. Intrigued, I went over to discover that a huge night market was being set up. I walked through to get a sneak preview and then decided to get a few beers at the beautifully colonial and perfectly located Geographer Cafe. I got the absolute best table possible and sipped deliciously cold beer as the market took shape. These were probably some of my most content moments on a trip of much contentment.
Ogling the street food vendors with a few drinks in my belly and hunger lurking, I opted out of the fancy sit-down dinner and set off to enjoy the wonders of street food. I'm not sure exactly what I ended up with - something like a spring roll, some sort of fried prawn puff, some spicy vegetarian Indian food, sweet barbecued pork, sweet dough rolled in crushed peanuts, and the Melakan specialty pineapple tarts. And all of it was not even $5. Good choice. Moreover, the open market was incredibly fun to walk around and was bustling with (mostly local) activity.
There were a number of particularly entertaining sites that are worth a brief mention: Chinese temples were turned into karaoke joints and aerobic dance classes. There was a huge stage for karaoke at one end of the street, complete with tables and chairs for onlookers. I couldn't help but admiring the dance moves of an older Malay man (sorry, I only got a video). Then, just as I was about to call it a night, I stumbled upon a street show. Nothing like juggling fire or magic or any of that nonsense. I mean a real street show: a guy trying to hawk some ridiculous product. In this case it was a stocky, middle-aged Chinese Malay guy, speaking a mix of English, Malay, and Chinese. He had gathered a crowd of several hundred and he was selling some sort of pain-killing ointment. I will give him credit for being able to hold the crowd and for his great sense of humor (even if I couldn't understand everything he was saying). But the true selling point of his show was how he demonstrated that the ointment worked. The man took a fresh green coconut - hard as a rock - stood on two clay pots and managed to punch through the flesh of the coconut using only his hand in four jabs. In a great show of theatrics, he then had his assistants pour the ointment all over his hand and after a few minutes, he paraded his hand, not at all swollen or bloodied, around the crowd. And people absolutely ate it up, buying up to ten bottles of the ointment at about $7 a bottle. It was like being in an infomercial and surrounded by a whole group of people who actually believed that the product being sold to them wasn't a total farce. This in and of itself was almost as amusing as round two, where our entertainer elbowed through another coconut in a series of three blows. Knowing that this would be hard to top, I called it a night.
On Sunday, my final morning in Malaysia, I relaxed before catching a taxi back to the bus station. At the bus station, I caught a bus to Seramban, where I transferred to a bus to the airport. Arriving about an hour and a half before my departure, I asked where to check in, forgetting that Air Asia is in a different terminal than the other airlines. So I had to take another taxi the fifteen kilometers around the back of Kuala Lumpur International Airport to the Air Asia terminal. A somewhat stressful end to an absolutely wonderful trip. I certainly hope that I will have the opportunity to return to Malaysia and explore in more detail.
A slow and fairly uncomfortable three hours later, we were at the bus station outside of Melaka (for some reason most of Malaysia's municipal transport hubs are inconveniently located outside of the city necessitating many taxi rides). I ended up at a charming guesthouse across from a mosque a block off of Chinatown's main shopping street. I dropped my stuff off and walked over to the historic colonial part of town, where the Dutch, Portuguese, and British had set up shop over the last 500 years. The Studhuys town square, St. Paul's Church (with a view out to the Straits of Melaka), and the other buildings were charming, but the area was a bit too overrun with tourists for my taste. I did, however, enjoy the brightly-decorated trishaws which blasted 80s pop music, like "Don't Stop Believing" and the "Final Countdown."
Starving, I headed back across to Chinatown looking for lunch. I stopped at a small restaurant packed with old, contemplative Chinese men drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and ordered the house specialty, chicken satay. It was the freshest and most delicious satay I've ever had, with just enough bite to keep me honest and cucumbers to cool me down.
Refreshed, I wandered down Jalan Hang Jebat, Chinatown's main street. It was a bustling mix of modern shops selling knick-knacks, dusty antique shops selling highly overpriced trinkets - I saw a Guinness pint glass on sale for $50 - and art galleries. Regardless of the product being sold, every house's windows were beautifully painted in bright colors and intricate designs. It was the perfect place to do a photographic study on windows and doors.
Continuing my wandering, I passed by beautiful Chinese temples and stumbled upon a batik gallery. Batik is a technique of painting on silk using what looks like a quill to outline a design with hot wax; once cool, the wax acts a barrier to paint spreading beyond the desired region and I had the pleasure of seeing an artist at work. Rounding a corner in a quieter part of town, I noticed a parade coming my direction. The police were closing streets one by one and it was clear that hundreds of people, some in elaborate silk costumes, were involved in the parade, including many floats. As the parade passed, I stopped a boy that looked like a boy scout and asked him what the parade was for. He looked at me blankly and, in the most matter of fact statement I've ever heard, replied "The birth of God." I was too stunned by his nonchalance to ask him which God. Hot and tuckered out, I went back to the guesthouse for a shower and a rest.
Since it was my last night of vacation, I intended to make myself presentable - at least more presentable than I had been for much of the past week - and treat myself to a nice dinner. As I was wandering to the fancy Malay-Portuguese restaurant I had in mind, however, I noticed that Chinatown's main street was closed to cars and motorbikes. Intrigued, I went over to discover that a huge night market was being set up. I walked through to get a sneak preview and then decided to get a few beers at the beautifully colonial and perfectly located Geographer Cafe. I got the absolute best table possible and sipped deliciously cold beer as the market took shape. These were probably some of my most content moments on a trip of much contentment.
Ogling the street food vendors with a few drinks in my belly and hunger lurking, I opted out of the fancy sit-down dinner and set off to enjoy the wonders of street food. I'm not sure exactly what I ended up with - something like a spring roll, some sort of fried prawn puff, some spicy vegetarian Indian food, sweet barbecued pork, sweet dough rolled in crushed peanuts, and the Melakan specialty pineapple tarts. And all of it was not even $5. Good choice. Moreover, the open market was incredibly fun to walk around and was bustling with (mostly local) activity.
There were a number of particularly entertaining sites that are worth a brief mention: Chinese temples were turned into karaoke joints and aerobic dance classes. There was a huge stage for karaoke at one end of the street, complete with tables and chairs for onlookers. I couldn't help but admiring the dance moves of an older Malay man (sorry, I only got a video). Then, just as I was about to call it a night, I stumbled upon a street show. Nothing like juggling fire or magic or any of that nonsense. I mean a real street show: a guy trying to hawk some ridiculous product. In this case it was a stocky, middle-aged Chinese Malay guy, speaking a mix of English, Malay, and Chinese. He had gathered a crowd of several hundred and he was selling some sort of pain-killing ointment. I will give him credit for being able to hold the crowd and for his great sense of humor (even if I couldn't understand everything he was saying). But the true selling point of his show was how he demonstrated that the ointment worked. The man took a fresh green coconut - hard as a rock - stood on two clay pots and managed to punch through the flesh of the coconut using only his hand in four jabs. In a great show of theatrics, he then had his assistants pour the ointment all over his hand and after a few minutes, he paraded his hand, not at all swollen or bloodied, around the crowd. And people absolutely ate it up, buying up to ten bottles of the ointment at about $7 a bottle. It was like being in an infomercial and surrounded by a whole group of people who actually believed that the product being sold to them wasn't a total farce. This in and of itself was almost as amusing as round two, where our entertainer elbowed through another coconut in a series of three blows. Knowing that this would be hard to top, I called it a night.
On Sunday, my final morning in Malaysia, I relaxed before catching a taxi back to the bus station. At the bus station, I caught a bus to Seramban, where I transferred to a bus to the airport. Arriving about an hour and a half before my departure, I asked where to check in, forgetting that Air Asia is in a different terminal than the other airlines. So I had to take another taxi the fifteen kilometers around the back of Kuala Lumpur International Airport to the Air Asia terminal. A somewhat stressful end to an absolutely wonderful trip. I certainly hope that I will have the opportunity to return to Malaysia and explore in more detail.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Malaysia Part V: Kuala Lumpur
I arrived in Kuala Lumpur (KL for short) late on Thursday night. Not wanting to repeat my late night search for a guesthouse, I borrowed my taxi driver's phone to call a few places to see if rooms were still available. On the drive into town I had a very interesting conversation with the cab driver who, like almost everyone else I met, spoke very good English. We talked a lot about corruption and how it manifests itself in Malaysia, the typical tourist and tourist season, and the Hari Raya holiday. He was an incredibly nice guy and very sharp; part of me wondered why he was a cab driver. The guesthouse I stayed at, Le Village, wasn't nice, exactly, but it was cheap, well-located, and had a lot of character.
I woke up and set out early on Friday, heading for Masjid Jamek, a beautiful nearby mosque. It didn't open until 9:30, however, so I wandered somewhat aimlessly for the next hour. I went up through Little India - which really did feel like being in India - and popped into a bustling restaurant for breakfast. I had no idea what to get, so I just told the waiter to bring me whatever he recommended - some delicious dahl wrapped in naan and with four different sauces. As I ate, women in brightly colored saris gossiped and men smoked cigarettes and talked politics (not too long ago there were serious protests by the Malaysian Indian community who felt shortchanged by the government at the expense of ethnic Malays).
After breakfast, I continued my wandering around, passing beautiful Chinese temples and an intricately decorated Sri Maha Mariamman Hindu temple. Continuing on my tour of religious establishments, I made my way back to Masjid Jamek. The Moghul-influenced architecture was beautiful and the setting, at the confluence of two rivers dotted with palm trees, was equally impressive. Though unable to actually enter the mosque, I wandered around the premises and enjoyed this oasis of peaceful quiet within KL. The friendly Filipino imam even chatted with me for a few minutes.
From Masjid Jamek I walked over to Dataran Merdeka (Independence Square), where Malaysia declared independence just over fifty years ago. The huge area of green was flanked by a beautiful mix of colonial and contemporary buildings, some housing government offices and others museums. Unfortunately, because of Raya, most of the museums were closed. Instead of learning about history, I opted for current events, grabbing a copy of The Straits Times, Malaysia's English-language newspaper and just sat in the park relaxing.
Back on the tourist trail, I made my way to the old train station, an absolutely gorgeous amalgamation of European and Malay architecture. Across the street was the almost as impressive offices of KTM, the Malaysian railway authority. From there, I walked over to the Masjid Negara (National Mosque), a modern mosque with a two-hundred foot minaret and a really interesting classically Islamic eight-sided star design covering the entire complex, from the marble walkways to the grass surrounding the palm trees. I made a quick, but worthwhile stop in the Lake Gardens, a huge park area, and the butterfly park contained there within.
Touristed out for the day, I took the impressively efficient and cheap commuter rail to the Petronas Towers, at over 1500 feet, recently the tallest building(s) in the world. Before admiring them, however, I went to enjoy an English-language movie, a comfort Phnom Penh does not have on offer. Though the movie I saw was terrible, it was really nice to plop down in an air conditioned and munch on popcorn and sip on a Coke. After the movie, I wandered around the mall, in sheer awe of the consumerism around me, a consumerism Cambodians can only dream of. While I didn't have any desire to shop, I did take advantage of the culinary delights on offer, like Dunkin' Donuts and Auntie Anne's Pretzels.
I left the mall to enjoy the view of the Petronas Towers, which were indeed quite beautiful, as well as the people watching, which was fantastic. There were stylishly dressed teenagers (I did find it a bit ironic that it was acceptable for teenage girls to wear tight jeans and a tight shirt along with their headscarf), lots of cute kids, and I think a pretty good taste of every day life for people living in KL. I sat and enjoyed for a couple of hours, waiting for the sun to set and the towers to be lit up. Now exhausted, I headed back to Le Village and called it a night.
I was up early on Saturday and walked over to Chinatown for breakfast - a couple of donuts and a curry puff. After a bit more wandering, I got my stuff and headed for the bus station to catch a bus to Melaka.
While I don't typically like big cities when I'm traveling, Kuala Lumpur (or KL) really grew on me. I was intrigued by KL's ethnic diversity and history and its effects on the current city - a thriving Chinatown and Little India, fantastic cuisine, and beautiful architecture. If I had a choice of where to spend my time in Malaysia, KL wouldn't be anywhere near the top, but it turned out to be a wonderful place to spend a day and a half.
I woke up and set out early on Friday, heading for Masjid Jamek, a beautiful nearby mosque. It didn't open until 9:30, however, so I wandered somewhat aimlessly for the next hour. I went up through Little India - which really did feel like being in India - and popped into a bustling restaurant for breakfast. I had no idea what to get, so I just told the waiter to bring me whatever he recommended - some delicious dahl wrapped in naan and with four different sauces. As I ate, women in brightly colored saris gossiped and men smoked cigarettes and talked politics (not too long ago there were serious protests by the Malaysian Indian community who felt shortchanged by the government at the expense of ethnic Malays).
After breakfast, I continued my wandering around, passing beautiful Chinese temples and an intricately decorated Sri Maha Mariamman Hindu temple. Continuing on my tour of religious establishments, I made my way back to Masjid Jamek. The Moghul-influenced architecture was beautiful and the setting, at the confluence of two rivers dotted with palm trees, was equally impressive. Though unable to actually enter the mosque, I wandered around the premises and enjoyed this oasis of peaceful quiet within KL. The friendly Filipino imam even chatted with me for a few minutes.
From Masjid Jamek I walked over to Dataran Merdeka (Independence Square), where Malaysia declared independence just over fifty years ago. The huge area of green was flanked by a beautiful mix of colonial and contemporary buildings, some housing government offices and others museums. Unfortunately, because of Raya, most of the museums were closed. Instead of learning about history, I opted for current events, grabbing a copy of The Straits Times, Malaysia's English-language newspaper and just sat in the park relaxing.
Back on the tourist trail, I made my way to the old train station, an absolutely gorgeous amalgamation of European and Malay architecture. Across the street was the almost as impressive offices of KTM, the Malaysian railway authority. From there, I walked over to the Masjid Negara (National Mosque), a modern mosque with a two-hundred foot minaret and a really interesting classically Islamic eight-sided star design covering the entire complex, from the marble walkways to the grass surrounding the palm trees. I made a quick, but worthwhile stop in the Lake Gardens, a huge park area, and the butterfly park contained there within.
Touristed out for the day, I took the impressively efficient and cheap commuter rail to the Petronas Towers, at over 1500 feet, recently the tallest building(s) in the world. Before admiring them, however, I went to enjoy an English-language movie, a comfort Phnom Penh does not have on offer. Though the movie I saw was terrible, it was really nice to plop down in an air conditioned and munch on popcorn and sip on a Coke. After the movie, I wandered around the mall, in sheer awe of the consumerism around me, a consumerism Cambodians can only dream of. While I didn't have any desire to shop, I did take advantage of the culinary delights on offer, like Dunkin' Donuts and Auntie Anne's Pretzels.
I left the mall to enjoy the view of the Petronas Towers, which were indeed quite beautiful, as well as the people watching, which was fantastic. There were stylishly dressed teenagers (I did find it a bit ironic that it was acceptable for teenage girls to wear tight jeans and a tight shirt along with their headscarf), lots of cute kids, and I think a pretty good taste of every day life for people living in KL. I sat and enjoyed for a couple of hours, waiting for the sun to set and the towers to be lit up. Now exhausted, I headed back to Le Village and called it a night.
I was up early on Saturday and walked over to Chinatown for breakfast - a couple of donuts and a curry puff. After a bit more wandering, I got my stuff and headed for the bus station to catch a bus to Melaka.
While I don't typically like big cities when I'm traveling, Kuala Lumpur (or KL) really grew on me. I was intrigued by KL's ethnic diversity and history and its effects on the current city - a thriving Chinatown and Little India, fantastic cuisine, and beautiful architecture. If I had a choice of where to spend my time in Malaysia, KL wouldn't be anywhere near the top, but it turned out to be a wonderful place to spend a day and a half.
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