What's in a name - part 2

On the Saturday before our Malaysian wedding reception, all of Malcolm's aunts and uncles poured into the house to greet us, to eat, and to start the celebrations early.  With Malcolm's mom being the eldest of eight siblings, and with many children and grandchildren running around already, there were a LOT of new faces to meet.

As they all arrived in a steady stream of bodies, I passed some helpful advice to Brodder that I'd learned myself the previous two times this had happened to me.  It was a great survival tip and he appreciated it.  Later, Like-a-boss-Lee asked Brodder if the evening had been overwhelming with all of that new family.  He gave away the secret tip:

   "Actually, once melody told me not to worry about the names and just to call everyone 'Auntie' or 'Uncle,' it was okay."

Herding cats

On the way to the Batu caves, we managed to arrive just 5 minutes before the next train to our destination was about to depart.  Buying our tickets, we scurried over to the KTM entrance; Brodder took the lead while I brought up the rear to make sure we didn't lose mom or dad.  We flew through the turnstiles (kind of - the ticking system was new to mom and dad) and Brodder led the way down to our platform.

   "Platform 3!" he yelled over his shoulder.
   "Platform 3!" I confirmed from the giant destination marquees set at the head of the station stairs.  Taking the stairs at a run, blindly trusting us, mom called back up to us,
   "Platform 3, how do you know?"

Giant marquees.

When we reached the platform, we were asked again,

   "Are you sure this is the right platform?"

Signs everywhere: "to Batu Caves."

Sigh.
...

Later that day, mom wanted to scoot up some steps to follow signs to the nearby hotel in hopes to score a tourist map.  She'd originally asked Brodder, me and dad to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs, but after a moment, Ken and I considered the bustle of the busy train station and decided otherwise.

   "Dad, change of plans: follow mom up the stairs."

Dad obviously didn't hear me, so I repeated myself.

   "Dad! Follow mom up the stairs."

He still didn't respond, so Brodder tried.

   "Dad! Go up the stairs - follow mom!"

Still nothing.

   "Dad!  Go up the stairs!"

Finally, dad turned around to face us.

   "Hey guys, I think we should follow mom up the stairs."

Yes.

Back to the food

We've been back to Malaysia for just about 24 hours, and I've already been fed 5 meals excluding snacks.  I can't handle this!  I swear I managed to lose weight while travelling (which is supposed to be the usual case) but at this rate, I'll have it all back by tomorrow.  :(  

But, it's good to be home (-ish).  

To the Batu Caves!

Having the only laptop around, I've had to share and haven't had enough alone-time to blog.  Shitty excuse, but I'm sticking to it.  The lack of alone time with or without the laptop has resulted in me having kept up with the writing, online, offline, or on paper.  I have to say that's pretty shitty too.  I shall strive to rectify this, but crankiness may prevail.  Perhaps when I get my ring back, that will help to cure some of that.

Remember a while ago I was in Malaysia?  In Kuala Lumpur?  I didn't write much about it because for the first bit, we didn't do very much.  Then when we DID do something I was too busy (or sucky) to write about it.  I'm playing catch-up now.

The Batu Caves were a place that Malcolm had been too, but so long ago that it was I who informed him (and his friends) that there was now a city train line that had been extended out to the caves and they were now accessible without needing a chauffeur.  Perfect.  So one morning after breakfast (of course) with friends, we were dropped off at the LRT station and left to our own devices via Malcolm's memory and my navigation.  Not long later, we had found our way and exited the train.

I wasn't quite sure what we were getting into having done minimal research on the site and just going along with Malcolm's memory.  I knew at some point there were going to be caves, there were going to be 272 steps, and I was to beware of the monkeys.  The first thing to catch my eye as we crossed through the gates and onto the grounds of the Batu Caves was not in a cave, was not quite a monkey, but was super tall.

Now I had an idea of what I was getting into.  Without having reached the main entrance of the grounds, I was already struck by what I'd seen.  The cliffs were breathtaking and the temples already grand.  I'd never been to a Hindu temple before (at least, not to my recollection) and was impressed by the grandeur I found at the bottom of the steps.  Somehow, though I had read that the statue would be big, I didn't realize it would be THAT big.

Before heading up to the main temple, we came across a smaller one at the bottom of the steps which visitors were allowed to enter so we took a peek inside.  Statues, shrines, frescoes, sculptures, incense and more greeted us as we entered with our shoes off.  Priests seeking to give us blessings (and receive donations, which we gave) called us over to rub ashes on our foreheads and put flowers in my hair.

Already, I was liking this.

Blessed (hopefully with phenomenal stair-climbing abilities), we decided it was time to make the climb.

Since I am fully aware of how much I hate to climb stairs and especially how much I suck at it, I steeled myself to the task at hand, knowing there was no other way up.  No elevators, escalators, or secret lifts here.  Besides, after a quarter of the way up, we saw this guy and I could no longer feel sorry for myself.

Halfway there!

The sights to greet us were well worth the climb, though at the moment there were no priests or anything sacred going on at the top--only monkeys running amok.

Two tried to tag-team me and attack, but I soon found the secret to warding them off (as I didn't have any food or drinks on me that they could possibly want) was simply to remember that I was bigger than them and to reassert that fact to them.

Overall, the trip was the most touristy that I was to make in KL (since the Petronas Towers were closed) and it was quite the memorable one.

On the topic of TP

A while ago, I made a comment about the Travellerspoint icon shortening their name to just "TP" and it referring to toilet paper instead of their site name (I was in another rather goofy mood that night).  If I could access the website, I'd post the following there as a warning, but alas, I can't.  Be forewarned, it's VERY TMI.

So.  For the most part, I've been living quite the sheltered bathroom life here in Malaysia.  I knew since touchdown at KLIA that squat toilets existed here in the city, but was either fortunate enough to find a seated toilet or was able to hold it until I could use the facilities at home (if it meant not having to squat, I could definitely put up with wet feet in the potty).  Even in Japan I employed this same tactic and survived the entire trip without giving my quads a workout.

But then...

Taking TP for granted
One of the first nights we were in KL, we met up with some of Malcolm's friends for mamak (coffee) while I was still embarrassingly jetlagged.  So much so that I forgot to pee before going out for drinks and munchies.  For the first hour, it was fine.  We ate, drank and chatted (well, the boys chatted, I stared blankly as I valiantly fought off the Lag) the time away.  Then the Lag was put off a bit as my senses told me I had to wake to action.  I had to pee.

At first, I tried to hold it.  We were at a semi-decent establishment, but half of it was still open-air and that wasn't promising.  Finally, I couldn't wait any longer and got up to find the bathroom.  Malcolm offered me change and tissues, but I optimistically waved them off.  Following the signed directions, I found my way and opened the door.

Ugh.

For some reason, even without a shower in there, EVERYTHING was wet.  Toilet seat, floor, hose, sink, everything.  "That's okay," I thought, "I have shoes on, and I can hover over the seat."  But then I noticed: no TP.  Dammit.

Usually by then, I'd just give up and go back on my merry way to find the next or to wait it out, but there was no more room to wait.  I found my way back to the counter and asked, "tissue?"  A man disinterestedly pointed at the wall where I found a tissue dispenser there.  I pulled as many tissue tickets as I could without being distracting and headed back to the task.  It was after I finished and high-tailed it out of there that I grumbled to myself and wondered why there isn't any toilet paper in the restrooms to begin with?  What did they expect one to do?  Use their hands or something?

Then it dawned on me.  That's what the hoses were for..omg...  This whole time I'd ignored the hoses in the bathrooms, thinking they were in case anyone needed any emergency washing and in this case, they pretty much were.  Ew.

Note to self: bring TP with you always.


Pees are not always free
Breakfast, lunch, and a trip to KL Central Market and it was finally time for a pee break.  Being indoors in a fairly touristy location, I figured the toilets would be a little safer and more up to snuff for foreigners like me.  However, before I could even enter to discover their condition I was blocked by a turnstile.  50 sens, please.

My experiences with paid toilets were much the same with squat toilets - I avoided them as best I could.  But this time we were en masse so it would have been selfish to insist we move on so we had our bills broken into correct change, fed the turnstile, and headed on in.  While this time there was TP available (though you had to ask for it on your way in) and the floors were not wet, there were no seats on the toilet bowls.  Squatting ensued, but at least this time I wasn't afraid to touch anything.

Second note to self:  carrying loose change may facilitate use of facilities.


You can't always get what you want
Our most touristy excursion was one out to the Batu Caves to climb the steps and see the shrines and temples.  Having hydrated in anticipation for the hot day ahead, you can guess that it wasn't long before I had to go.  And it wasn't.  TP in one pocket, change in the other, I was ready to conquer the toilets...until I actually got inside.

Oh no.

They were ALL squats.  There was no escaping this time.  There were no other options and I'd already paid my 20 sens to enter.  It had to be done.  Saving most other details, I will just tell you that I set 2 goals for myself in those moments: don't fall over and don't pee on yourself.

Mission accomplished.

My quads burned but my dignity remained.  I'd never been prouder of myself for going potty since I'd been 3-years old.

Final note to self:  just suck it up, buttercup.  


Since then, I feel like I've graduated to a new class of world traveller; from prissy sitter to seasoned squatter.  However, I'd definitely take dry floors and clean seat ANY DAY.

The extended-extended family

I've met them and I'm in love.

Ginger, the older female of the two, catching some sun.

Pepper, guard dog and alpha male of the three pups.  Loud bark, but not a vicious bone in his little body. 

 Belle, daughter of Pepper and Ginger, who loves Malcolm almost as much as I do.  She faithfully follows him wherever he may be in the house, and if she can't get to him, she'll wait outside the door until she can.

 Baby Mei-Mei who knows no other expression other than smiling.  A beautiful, bouncing baby girl that everyone adores.

Big sister to Mei Mei - she's super shy...for the first little while, and then she'll never get enough of you.

Having made the move to Penang this week, I miss them so much already.

On the market

I love going into stores and buying crap.  I can't describe it any other way.  I love looking at trinkets and souvenirs and stuff like that.  Cheap deals and awesome steals.  Truth be told, I don't BUY that much of it, but I love to see what's out there, food, books, toys, and otherwise.  SO, when Malcolm's brother suggested he take us to the Thursday night market one neighbourhood over, I was ecstatic!

When we first pulled up, we parked at the side of the road a little ways away and walked in.  What appeared over the crest as we neared our destination was titillating.  I was greeted by a bustling block of tents and kiosks and cooking smoke and mouth-watering smells and blinking lights and colourful stalls and piles of fruit and crowds of people and shouts and smiles and...it was an assault on the senses.  A welcome assault.

Having experienced the markets themselves many times, Malcolm et al let me lead the way.  Food dominated the market by far.  We arrived "late" by eager beaver standards and could already see that some hawker stalls were closed, having sold all that they had to offer.  But that didn't mean there was any less to see.

The danger of this night market visit was curbed by the fact that we'd just had a mid-afternoon snack at home (though not necessarily by our choice), but that didn't stop us from getting selections of the best or most curious.

We picked up snacks and food for our after-dinner supper and headed home.  But not without me taking a few choice shots (you might have to click on the panoramics to get a better view).

I love the fact that these markets happen once a week as opposed to at home where they happen once in never.  It's such a captivating hustle and bustle that I know I could never tire of.  Especially not while in good company.

Get used to it

Lightswitches: down is on, up is off.  Cars drive on the left hand side of the road.  Spicy things are actually spicy.  Motorcycles get to weave through the lanes at will.  TP is not a guaranteed luxury...neither is a seated toilets or a bathroom without an admission fee.  If you're doing laundry, the neighbours WILL see your undies hanging outside to dry.  Malls are triple the size of the typical North American mall but don't play music in the stores...or if they do, there is zero censorship on the gansta rap selections.  Manicures by Asian shops suck.  There are stray cats and dogs everywhere.  Monkeys are not cute and friendly.  The streets are rife with thieves and pickpockets.  Honking the car horn is for FYIs, not anger.

It's taken me a little over a week, but I think I'm finally getting the hang of this country.

Rain, rain, go away

The rain was taking its time to roll in today.  The sky had been dark since noon and there had been grumbles of thunder for hours...but no rain.  Occasional flashes of lightning were glimpsed from time to time, reminding of the impending storm, but it continued to hold off, just taunting its authority.

The weather was just being a bully.

It was forcing the golfers on the courses to speed up their games; it was keeping the curious explorers indoors--trapped without bars.  If I were at home, it'd be boots and a raincoat and no cares in this world.  Boo.

The sounding of dawn

Having only just recovered from jetlag and waking up unnaturally early every morning, my groggy consciousness struggled to figure out why it was waking to the theme music of Angry Birds.  My eyes finally fluttered open to find the sky outside still dark and Malcolm's uncoordinately sleepy figure silhouetted against it as he stumbled towards his phone to turn off the animated alarm.  As he flopped back into bed for another 9 minutes of undisturbed rest, I remembered - we were going fishing today.

The damage done, but my body still reluctant, I lay awake in bed.  If the sun was coming up, it was doing so incrementally.  It probably didn't help that I could see it was starting off to be an overcast morning.  I savoured the moment.  In a house of 10 that was next to another house under construction, both being in a neighbourhood full of dogs and stray cats, and all in a country in the beginning of its rainy season, it was a rare moment of serenity.

An uncertain amount of time passed before I was brought out of my own meditation by someone else's.  The voice, low at first, came rising out of the early morning and in through the open windows.  His voice was joined by a second one, so faint that it could have been there the entire time.  The two climbed and fell together, both filled with devotion and dedication that felt as old as time.

Multicultural as Canada is, I had never had the chance to hear this before.  This being my first time in a Muslim country, I had strained my ears for days, hoping to snatch a note of a prayer at any time of the day, and now I had it all to myself.  The muezzin's amplified voice did not sound tinny as I had feared, but rather faint but full at the same time.  The prayers ended a few moments later, but my sense of awe and wonderment lasted the entire morning.

People to see

Waaaayyyyy back in elementary school, I remember an activity where we had to form groups and "invent" a new machine. One group "invented" a machine akin to a PVR for your brain so you could play back things you'd said and seen moments ago. One of those would have been spectacularly useful to me over the last few days--there are somethings...some people I've caught glimpses of that I wish I could have captured on film to share with you.

The Sleeping Salesman
Malcolm wanted to pick up an extra travel adapter so we ventured downtown and to Low Yat plaza--the electronic store centre of the city. Just imagine taking all of the electronic stores you can think of, shoving them all into one building, making the use of neon and LED lighting mandatory, and the putting the whole experience on steroids. Wait, let me show you:

Anyway, amid the unavoidable hustle and bustle to this place, we made our way to the store we needed to get to. I let myself be pushed and pulled along at the breakneck speed of the crowd until I was snapped out of my mindless following. I can see him clearly now in my mind's eye: tall-ish, bowl-cut hair, purple t-shirt (with the company ad on the front), pear-shaped Chinese guy with glasses standing in front of the counter at his store...asleep.

Yes. Standing up, not sitting or leaning, but standing up and sleeping. His head was ever so slightly tilted back and to the side and his mouth was ever so slightly hanging open and he was definitely asleep. I know because I checked. To stop would have been to have lost Malcolm and to have caused pedestrian traffic chaos, so I turned around to walk backwards and confirm with Malcolm's brother (who was following a few steps behind) if I'd seen what I'd just seen. A backwards glance and a doubled-over laugh reaffirmed my sighting.

Excellent.


The Bloated Belly
It was six o'clock in the morning and Malcolm, his brother, and I were already having breakfast at the corner restaurant before our day of fishing. The boys were facing me for the better view of the TV and the football game while I was content to face into the heart of the mainly empty restaurant. As any normal person would do, I was letting my gaze sweep my surroundings as I listened to the brothers excitedly talk about the snakeheads we were hoping to catch.

And then, I saw it.

A couple of tables over and a few rows back, there were Indian gentlemen who had finished their meal and were sitting, enjoy each other's company and the football game as well. Nothing wrong with that. Except that the ONE guy sitting, facing me had decided that he had enjoyed his breakfast so much that instead of undoing the top button of his pants, he was just going to lift his shirt up over his stomach and let his (hairy) belly breathe for a while.

Seriously.

I quickly diverted my eyes and complained aloud to the boys about what I'd just seen. When asked why I was looking there in the first place, I pled the "field of vision" plea but neither of them would turn around to peek and share in my pain, refusing to acknowledge its grossness. But then we had to get up to pay the bill and leave, forcing the two to turn around and share in my misery. We all high-tailed it out of the belly's field of vision in order to do the double-over laugh together.


The Motorcycle Mishap
Though not quite as serious as it sounds, this story is quite straight forward. We were waiting at the intersection to cross. As a crowd amassed around us, the motorcycles amassed at the front of the line of traffic as was customary to see since motorcyclists need not wait in line and can weave their way to the front. We had time to look at them, and they had time to look at us. Or so I thought.

The light changed and we were free to cross in front of their paths. Except for one guy. He crossed...and walked straight into the front tire of the motorcycle (and cyclist) waiting closest to the curb. He was caught so unawares by this collision that he was sent into a full body roll before landing on the crosswalk on the other side of the bike. The cyclist (after he regained his senses from what just happened) moved to help the man to his feet, but ended up staying on his bike as the guy got up and bewilderedly walked away.

"Who put that bike there?"

Too bad the other guy hadn't been wearing a helmet.

During the storm

The rain in the tropics is amazing.  I’ve just experienced my first Malaysian rainstorm.  As the clouds rolled in, the family went about getting ready for the storm.  Windows were closed, electrical outlets were turned off, drying laundry was brought in.  And then came the rain.

At first it was the same as any rainstorm I’d experienced at home in Toronto.  The rain came down steadily and very slowly began to cut through the humidity of the last 2 days.  And then it came down a little harder in a steady downpour of sheets like I’d witnessed in the hardest rains back home.  And then the sky opened up and let down everything it had. 

Bucketfuls fell and drenched the world outside.  Running to and from the cars parked close to awnings was futile as the runners were soaked through anyway.  I know my wipers on high wouldn’t have done a thing to clear my windshield if I was driving my Corolla here.

Then the lightning and thunder rolled in—with intensity.  It was so intense that after the first few lightning strikes I found I was bracing myself for the explosions of thunder that followed…I’ve never done that before.   

The rain fell, the lightning flashed, and the thunder rumbled on and on.  Lightning struck nearby more than once and the thunder crashed loud enough to set off car alarms throughout the neighbourhood.  I planted myself on the couch by the open front doors and windows to watch the show.  While I was in awe, everyone else just took it in stride. 

After more than half an hour, the rain began to subside.  Just as it had crawled in, it crawled away and left a sopping landscape and cool breeze as a reminder it had been there in the first place.  I missed it already.

Eating my words

...and they weren't even that good.

My last (poorly written under the influence of jetlag and 32 degree heat) post made fun of Malcolm and of how much food he ate while in his home element. Of course, who is it the VERY next day that crawls up next to a noon-napping Malcolm to whine the phrase "honey, I'm hungry"?

Yeah, that would be me.

I may not have evolved to the point of acquiring the same voracious ability to polish off 5 (small) meals a day, but I'm starting to get hungry when I never was before. To save me the shame of another raggedly etched out post, I'm going to just treat you to all the yummy goodness I've been treated to over the past few days (that I've bothered to take a picture of, that is). MIA are all of the home cooked meals that we've been fed by Malcolm's mom and aunt; I should be able to fix that soon...

Our first meal upon touchdown in KL. Soup, drinks, and a bowl of rice for each of the three of us, a plate of BBQ pork and duck, half a Hainanese chicken, dumplings in soup, and bean sprouts. Devoured in about 20 minutes, this meal for 4 - 5 (though finished between only 3 of us) cost a whopping $20 CAD equivalent. That one was an expensive one. 

After traversing the Monorail to the city centre, we treated ourselves with some HK style desserts. Mine (foreground) was a mango shaved ice with milk and crystal pearls. I think Malcolm had watermelon shaved ice with black grass jelly, milk, and tapioca. MMMMmmmmMMMMMMmMmMmMMMmmm. 7.90 RM each. Do the math. Yup, less than 3 bucks each. Math makes it that much tastier, doesn't it?

To work up an appetite (or not), Malcolm and I have been getting up early every morning and going on walks around the neighbourhood. (Okay, it's probably more due to jetlag and lack of things to do first thing in the morning, but hey, we're out and about, right?) The end of each of our walks has brought us to a restaurant or another for breakfast. Restaurants here are not your typical North American gig. Here, someone owns the property and sells the drinks from a main counter in the back. The rest of the area is taken up by seating and stalls where different cooks make different dishes--your job is to peruse the selections and tell your choice of cook what you would like.

Both mornings so far (and I can't wait for this third one either) we've both ordered drinks, and then 2 dishes to share. Yesterday's meal looked like this:

That spread was 14 RM. OOOOooooOOooOOoh yeah!

After a 2 hour foot massage yesterday, we apparently worked up an appetite for afternoon tea (because Uncle Yi had got us traditional Char Kwei Tao noodles for lunch at home) and promptly sated it at a nearby Indian restaurant with deliciousness that I can't remember the names of--but could pick it off a menu if given the choice... 

The good thing? YUM. The bad thing? They were OUT of Mango Lassi! I can't tell you how disappointed I was. 

I was going to close this entry with the tantalizing tastes of the Pasar Malam market we went to last night, but it's currently 8:45 in the morning and I'm late for breakfast! Be back soon!