Snapshots

I get what I call sympathetic awkwardness. I can't watch someone in a situation I would find awkward without feeling as if I was them. (I had to leave the theater while watching the movie Bridesmaids.) I have no clue why a story from NPR still haunts me, but it does. The story was about the reporter's most embarrassing moment. He had just had his 5 minutes of fame when a woman came up and asked to take a picture with him. He was thrilled he had been recognized, posed for the picture with her only to have her sheepishly then ask for him to take a picture of her and her husband. To me this sounds horrible and yet I keep having the opposite happen. I've taken a lot of pictures of other people for them, but, I've taken even more with random strangers. It started at Batu Caves, we kept getting people stopping us to take photos, normally of their loved ones and us-- people with whom they didn't even have a conversation. If someone could could explain why this keeps happening I'd love to know.

This is a new one.

The iconic towers of KL.

I've now been in Taiwan a week and have gotten a bit behind in blogging. I'll catch up soon I promise!

Hope you are all well!

 

The Land of Lah

Malaysia, while beautiful and full of culture, will be forever remembered by me for the plethora of Lahs, straws and bags. Lah is sort of a Malaysian catchphrase-- added after many sentences with little meaning. Or, in the case of one man who spent his days standing on the same corner, Lah was what he screamed endlessly all day. While I have always been a fan of a good straw, Malaysians take straw use to a whole new level. Buy a drink in a restaurant? Straw. On the street? Straw. Hot? Cold? Straw. Impossible to drink using a straw? Straw. Clearly this is because of santation purposes, but it still thought it was funny. However, what I still don't really understand are the use of bags. When I bought a soy milk drink in singapore I was given my cup in a plastic bag carrier, but Malaysians skip the cup altogether. Drinks are all put in a small plastic drinking bag, if there isn't a handle a rubber band is attached.

Source: Paper Planes

After my latest experiences with buses I was very pleased for the metro in Kuala Lumpur. I was even more pleased to find something that I lacked in Singapore-- friends. I spent my first day alone exploring and getting a bit lost. That night I invited my australian roommate to dinner. We went down the street to Petaling Market. We decided to share and I ordered shrimp and she got frog. Now that I have tried it twice, I can say it's not my favorite.

The next day with friends in tow we went back to Batu Caves. (If you ever go take the train-- it's cheap at about 60 cents and fast!) The pictures can speak for themselves--

but so can I.

There were three caves-- one filled with statues, the main one, and the dark cave. The first one didn't make all that much sense to us as we didn't know any of the stories.

 

With the second cave came the stairs.

 

On my way up, I of course made friends with an older man. He explained to me the significance of the caves and why so many people were dressed up. His village had come to honor the god and pay homage to the monkeys. The monkeys were a bit like wildly misbehaving toddlers on steroids. Cute in theory but rather scary. I thought they were cute until one lept on a young girl and tore the flowers from her hair for a snack.

Finally, we went to the dark cave with a guided tour. We got to see cave creatures and explore. The Austrialian and I both thought our guide was hilarious, and he appreciated someone laughing at his jokes.

(For obvious reasons there are no pictures.)

Before we left we got some lunch and some coconut milk. But it was not from a bag, it was straight out of the fruit. Delicious.

 

Planes, Trains, & Automobiles (but please no buses)

After my first two days of looking at flowers and going to arts festivals all day I decided to shake things up and just look at orchids all day. I ended up going to an impromptu meeting of "single foreign woman." That describes 90% of the people I saw at the botanical gardens. They were gorgeous and huge. Unfortunately it started to get very hot and I started to get a migraine while I was in the "healing garden" of all places. After lying down for a bit I realized I wasn't going to make it to the other two gardens I wanted to see, and needed to back to the hostel.

The hostel was about a 20-30 minute walk from the station and during that time I began to pour. It was raining so hard I quickly lost a contact. So with a hurting head, sight only in one eye and soaking wet I walked though the hospital complex to my hostel. The hilarious thing was that everytime I passed a doorway, and therefore a group or people, I would get all these friendly greetings. I felt a bit like a marathon runner on my journey with the crowd cheering me on... Not that I would know what that feels like. Since I was already half way through a shower and laundry by the time I got back, I decided to complete both of those activities and have a good sleep before my bus the next day.

 

The next day I finally found the desk only to have the guy look at me and say, "3." (My bus was suppose to be at noon.) "Bus broke down, come here at three." I had all of my stuff with me during the hottest part of the day, so during those 3.5 hours I wasn't going to get much done in the way of sightseeing. Luckily I channeled my inner Elli and tried the approach of "the worst they can say is no" asking if I could leave my stuff with him behind the desk. With a bit of convincing he was took my stuff from me and I got to sit outside a knockoff jewelry shop that had the door cracked open and read "Clan of the Cave Bear" while trying to drink the fresh squeezed sugarcane juice I bought. Sounds delicious, tastes revolting.

 

My main fear was the border crossing, but unsurprisingly it was a breeze going the other way. There weren't even stairs. Unfortunately, 20 minutes later the bus stopped and we had to wait an hour for another bus to come get us. For the second time in a few days I was concerned I wouldn't be able to get into my hostel as check in might be closed for the night. Malasian buses and I aren't on the best of terms... But hey, at least the new bus had psychedelic panda seats. (Sadly it was too dark for a picture!)

I had taken that bus because it was the only one that dropped me off really close to the hostel where I was staying. Unfortunately my bus driver decided not to go into the city. (Could you imagine that happening at home?) We dropped the first round of people off on the outskirts and went on this back street. The bus driver stopped, got out and talked to a man just sitting there on the median. The companion of this man came on the bus and got into an argument with another guy of the bus. After about 10 minutes of this the driver came back and started driving in the opposite direction of the city. He had a conversation in another language with some guys on the bus, gave them some cash and then had those guys tell us to get off the bus and get our stuff. The bus driver then drove away. It was bizarre.

Confused, the remaining 7 of us followed the two other guys into a train station and then were given a token to get on. The men said that the driver didn't want to take the time to go into the city, so instead he was just buying train tokens for all of us. Considering I paid about $20 for the bus (singapore prices) and he paid about 60 cents for my train ride (malaysian price) it made sense for him... Unfortunately it meant my carefully typed up directions from the bus station were no longer relevant. It was also almost 11 pm by this point.

I made it to Chinatown alright, but from there I got lost, KL might as well not name their street as they don't bother with street signs. I decided to take a taxi. I flagged one down and told him where I was going. Instead of having me get in he gave me walking directions. Begrudgingly, I started following those. I took a right and from beind me I heard a, "no go straight!" Before the taxi driver, who had been following me, drove away. After another 15 minutes I flagged another taxi, who once again gave me walking directions. Once again he followed behind me all the way to my destination. Rather strange, but nice all the same. I was not in the nicest part of KL, to put it lightly... something tells me the taxi drivers agreed with my assertion.

 

This Girl Just Wants To Have Fun

...and for me fun consisted of 2 things in Singapore-- flowers and festivals. It was Mid-autum festival in Singapore. The celebration incorporated various forms of art from chinese culture, the dominant culture in Singapore (I know what you're thinking, "an arts festival? I'm surprised.") I spent my first two days identically-- walking around downtown, eating, going to gardens and then going to the festival.
At the festival I walked around and talked to people who had booths there. All of them were incredibly enthusiastic and I learned a lot. I spent a particularly long time at the painting and tea appreciation booths. After that I would watch the first show, see the light show and then watched the second show. As I've said before-- my life is tough.
Singapore is a bit too orderly to have any great stories, but here are some pictures.

The Merlion Statue

The Singapore Flyer

The Light Show

One of the many gorgeous lanterns on display.

At night.

Up close during the day.

Skyline

Chinese Painting.

One of the acts.

Don't worry though, I've since come back to Malaysia, where things are not exactly orderly and thus I'll have many more stories.

Admiration and Mob Bosses

I'll start this post with a cliche statement-- one of the best parts of this trip are the people I meet... for better or worse. An example of the good would be the daughters of my host in Malaka. I got to go see the older daughter, Yasmin's (I'm totally guessing at that spelling) university. She's studying biotech at one of the best universities in Malaysia. During the trip I was able to talk to her for a nice long time and getting some perspective. At Hamilton, yes, the academics can be hard, some of the dorms are a bit small, but really I studied in the lap of luxury. I had a beautiful campus on which to learn and a clean bed in which to sleep. I greatly admire Yasmin (and her little sister who is at boarding school) for succeeding in their academics despite barriers and conditions that I think would make most American students (including myself) give up. She's not planning on stopping there. When our conversation turned to boys (as conversations go between girls of our age) she told me she wanted to wait a long time to get married. She said she had things to do; she wants to travel, and also wants to get her phd in biology in the UK or Australia. With her drive, I think she just might.

On the day I went from Malaka to Singapore, Yasmin's mother dropped me off and gave me a blessing to have safe travels and to find a good husband (those being mutually exclusive.) My bus ride went very smoothly until we reached the border. I remember thinking half way through that I wouldn't have anything to write about on my blog, and then singapore customs happened. We got off the bus and got all of our stuff to take up the stairs to the boarder control. (As a side note-- planning a RTW trip? I have two words for you-- rolling backpack.) We were given 20 minutes to make it through, otherwise the bus would leave without us. I looked at the stairs (which had a large sign that said no suitcases) and looked at the long line for the elevator. Without stopping I undid the straps and put it on... I thought I looked awesome, but I highly doubt anyone noticed.

Luckily from then on out I was safe. I joined a line of people with European passports and we flew through. I was back in 16 minutes (oh, yes I was counting.) The bus driver waited for another five and then left half of the people on my bus. Half! I couldn't believe it. A British couple and I gave each other "oh my gosh" looks as we saw people sprinting down the stairs.

Once being dropped off I realized Singapore might be the place for me...if I could just move it off the equator. The streets are clean, there's a beautiful subway system, cheap good food, tons of flowers, and everyone seems to be so polite. Still, there are nice little reminders everywhere such as "the punishment for drug trafficking is death" on your entrance form and "the punishment for molest is jail and caining" on the subway.

The bus had run into some problems on the way down so I was late for my check in. After getting a bit lost I finally made it and luckily they were still there. I happily sat down while chatting with the woman that "yes, I am a woman, yes I booked a female room, and no Mackenzie can be a girl's name." I got cleaned up, went and got something to eat. The place I had chosen sold porriage, but it was unlike any porriage I had ever eaten. The name said porriage, the texture said oatmeal, and the flavor said egg drop soup. My choices were chicken, raw fish, frog & preserved egg, brain, fish innards or various pork intestines. I opted for the chicken, but they were out. To couldn't see anywhere else open so I ate frog and preserved egg. Honestly the egg got me way more than the frog. The frog was a bit slimy but the egg was black and had the texture of a mushroom. Still, I'd probably eat both again.

Century Egg

Full of frog and months old egg (the things I write) I settled down with a book back at the hostel when an Irish man in his late 50s sat down next to me. Douglas would be an example of the "for worse" or at least the "weird" people I meet. Now I'm used to having random people sit down next to me and tell me their life stories. It happens to me all the time, and it's basically a requirement for the one middle aged man at a hostel where everyone else is in their 20s to be a bit weird. But Douglas decided to really take it a step further.

He made normal conversation for about 2 minutes and then out of nowhere just said, "You know this reminds me of my nephew. He died in Afghanistan." Despite the abrupt turn in conversation, for no reason, I do what any person would do and tell him I'm sorry. He pulls out a laptop and I proceed to watch a sideshow of his nephew, and his grave... But I notice the name of the solider isn't the same as the name he told me, and this guy died in Iraq. Suddenly his phone rings, he answers and says, "yes, I'm willing to talk... If you're not with me you're against me...as of tomorrow I'm taking the law into my own hands. You know you follow the rules but then sometimes you need to make your own law... That's what going to happen unfortunately... I'm sorry I need the money, my mother is dying." (That's verbatim, as I typed it while it was happening.) After this phone call the suspected mob boss next to me told me that for the last 9 months he's been chasing a woman who cheated him out of a lot of money, so he's here because he's "run out of options so (he) needs to go see her and smash her face in." Needless to say I left the conversation after that thinking, "well at least I now have something to write about."

 

"The Historic State"

Even when I'm staying with a host I generally spend my days by myself. You know you've been traveling alone for a bit too long when you talk (to yourself) and you're surprised when someone answers. (Like a normal conversation!) It's especially surprising if that voice has an accent, and is a different gender. Luckily for me, the person who owned this voice was also very nice, funny and had great taste in tv.

My host had informed me the day before that Giovanni, an Italian (that name I didn't think that clarification was nessesary) was coming to stay. I was told, "if he's nice boy, you take him into the city." That type of statement was frequent during my five days. I had to just roll with the fact that almost all decisions regarding me were generally already decided. The next morning I was updated that he was indeed a "nice, serious, smart boy." Honestly, it was really nice just to have some company. Perhaps it was just because I'm coming from Australia, where a bottle of water might as well be liquid gold, but I fell in love Malaysian prices. Most places I have to pick and choose what to do, because it's just too expensive. I also never eat out if I can help it. I made up for lost time in Malaka.

We started the day at the Baba Nyonya Heritage Museum. Babas (the boys) and nyonyas (the girls) were a new Chinese-Malay hybrid culture. The museum was housed in an old gorgeous house. I'd recommend it if just to see the furniture. The middle aged woman inside of me was contented.

At lunch we had rice and I had sour plum juice. 10 year old me would have fallen in love, but I found it a bit too strong and too sweet. Still, I was in no position to judge liquids. We spent the afternoon walking around the town, and going up the hill. Up there we saw a malaysian wedding. It's a shame my siblings are both married, because I think my brother and brother in law would have looked quite dashing in a malaysian themed wedding. Don't you think K and Elli? (Those sequins would have suited both of you as well-- maybe you can wear it as maternity wear.)

Afterwards we went up an oberservation tower and then went to the maritime museum, which was housed on a ship. The strangest part of it was having to take off my shoes to go in. I couldn't imagine walking barefooted in museums in other places in the world.

The night market had started by then so we wandered over there. It was packed, but do quiet. At one point I even closed my eyes and except for the light patter of shoes on stone I would have never of guessed hundreds of people were around me. I splurged on a 33 cent popcicle and we had a late dinner. Only at the end did I realize that the bus might stop running on Sunday nights... sure enough, it does. Luckily, we could pay the son of our host to pick us up.

For all this I spent less than $30 usd.

Just as an aside, Giovanni runs two businesses one of which is pretty nifty. It's a website that offers homestays, but instead of sleeping and staying there you go only for a meal (clearly the best part.) If that sounds interesting you can go here: http://www.bonappetour.com. And while you're there you can think about the fact that he's 23 and then feel unaccomplished (I need company in feeling that way.)

"That Story I Tell My Kids One Day" #1

Where are all the people that live in this large city?

"Angel on a Motorbike"
My father has one story that is clearly his best. (That's more a comment on how good this story is rather than how his other stories are.) It happened during his time when he was traveling solo, and accidentally got on a train that was headed to Poland. He was taken home by a Good Samaritan, a man on the train in East Germany, where he spent the night. Unless I accidentally take a train in China and almost go to North Korea, it's very unlikely I'll have a story that compares-- however I'm starting to think I'll have a set of stories that might altogether come close. Luckily I have a year to accumulate them all. This is one of those stories.

When I booked my homestay I didn't realize how far outside the city it was. "Oh well," I though, "I'll be able to find my way, I'll do my research and go in." So I set off. The journey took almost two hours and I had to transfer, but I was incredibly pleased with myself. I got off at a stop I knew was near to the information center so I could get a map. That's when I met an older Indian man I'll call Jaz (for reasons that will soon become apparent.) I've been having quite the numerous conversations like this so I wasn't particularly unnerved or surprised when Jaz sat next to me and started talking to me. He asked me the usual questions (where I was from, what I was doing there etc.) but then he asked me some other questions (if I was alone, where I was going, ect.) When he told me that he was, "a good man, not a creepy man, but a respectful one" I tried to excuse myself saying I wanted to get walking, but Jaz invited himself along. Soon out of nowhere he turned to me and said, "you like to walk? I like to jazzercise. It's like exercise, but jazzy." I now know all about Jaz's life long love of jazzercise. Unfortunately soon he started talking about other things, and feeling increasingly uncomfortable I managed to say goodbye to Jaz.

Notice how there's literally no one else on the street--just me and Jaz.

               
After parting ways I managed to find the visitors center which has just close for prayer hour. I came back an hour later only to find it closed for lunch. This gave me a few solid hours of going around and seeing the sites. While thrilling to me, the real excitement happen on my way home. I got to the central bus station just fine but when I checked to see where my transfer would stop there wasn't a platform number. I started to walk down the rows of buses individually to see if I could find mine. After an hour and a bus or two missed I found it hanging out in an unmarked platform. It was pulling away when I jumped on. The bus driver looked at me disapprovingly, when I told him where I was going. He then gave me both my ticket and my money back and told me to sit down.
On my way there I had written down a landmark for each stop (so I would know when my stop was coming up.) However, about 2 minutes in I realized that this bus was going on a totally different route back. Nervous, I rather anxiously, over the course of an hour I watched as every single person got off the bus. Finally it was just me and him. He stopped at the next stop and motioned me to get off. I walked up there and told him that I thought it went further. Speaking zero English, he just kept motioning me to get off. A man who was standing on his porch decided to come over and join in the conversation. He did some rough translating for me and basically I was told that I needed to get off. So I got off not knowing where I was. It hasn't been the easiest of days with Mr. Jaz following me, so to be honest, I was a bit panicked.
I walked a bit until I saw the airport, and called my host. Between the accent, the traffic, the language barrier, and the signal failing, all I got from it was "pick up" "airport" "call from there." It was then I realized I was on the completely wrong side of the airport. It would take me over an hour to walk. I was incredibly hot, in a lot of clothing for it being that temperature and once again I would be walking on the shoulder of a busy highway to get to an airport. That's when my guardian angels came. I never envisioned my guardian angel to be about 17, Malay and riding a motorbike, but there she was. The man who had translated for me walked up with his three children on two motorbikes and said, "here, my daughter, take you." So I hopped on and they drove me around to the terminal. They dropped me off, waved and with that they were gone. It's one of the most thoughtful things every done for me.

To demonstrate that I was outside the city: this is in the neighborhood.

Absolutely gorgeous though.

And here's a similar model of the bike.

There were a surprising number of people there for it being a non operational airport, but every single one asked me if I needed help... come to think of it, that was probably because I was at a non operational airport. Luckily, however, I got a ride from my host and with that one of the hardest days I've ever had was done.
Good story though.