The best thing I’ve done since I’ve been back I did a few minutes ago: got a tall glass and filled it with ice, Duty Free rum, and Coke. I’m invariably better company when I’m drinking, even if the company I’m keeping is my own. I should do it more often.
So on my last day in KL, I spent a few hours writing on this blog. You know what takes the longest? Uploading the photos. Each one takes quite a while, and you just have to sit there. Then it depends how good the computer is. Sometimes I have to save a draft and then reopen it by clicking Edit – have to do that every time I upload a photo. Each post took at least three hours to write and upload. On Lipe that made it rather expensive – around $20.
But I’ve thoroughly enjoyed doing it. For one thing I now have a handy journal of a trip I loved. But also I got to entertain some people. Thank you all those who emailed to say you were enjoying it.
My last night in KL, I felt like Indian again. Food in Malaysia is three main types: Malay, Chinese, and Indian. I had each equally. What was wonderful to see was that it the customers didn’t accord with the ethnicity of the establishment. I went to some little hole-in-the-wall Indian places for breakfast, and there’d just as likely be a bunch of Malay-Chinese there. In New Zealand we tout our multiculturalism, but in Malaysia it really is their lifestyle.
That Indian place at dinner didn’t turn out so well. I had made it clear that I wanted to start with my starter – before the rest came. “Yes, starter, sir,” the waiter had said. The starter never showed, and out came my main. I pointed this out, and several staff seemed to launch an investigation – half the staff seemed to be management. They still hadn’t figured it out, so I helped them. I asked them to take my main away while I waited for the starter. I was having tandoor paneer (a kind of compressed curd cheese, grilled), and it just didn’t go with what I’d ordered for the main. Finally the paneer showed up (it was great, though not as nice as yours, Tina). Then they brought the mains back, which by this time were cold, of course. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t cooked fresh ones (or at least tried to keep them warm and pretend they were fresh ones). I found a manager who seemed a little surprised himself that they hadn’t been done anew and took them away immediately. A while later they came back. One of the dishes I had was the one I had at the start of my trip – sliced okra coated in rice flour and chilli powder and deep-dried. It was undoubtedly one the revelations of my trip, along with cendol and assam laksa (the tamarind-flavoured one).
The food was good, but needless to say, after that kind of service, I thought no tip for you. At least that took care of that problem.
Well I might use this last post to include things I’ve forgotten along the way. One of the highlights of my trip happened before I left. When I gave Cush my itinerary, she said, “You know if you go missing, I’ll come looking for you.” If anyone ever asks me for a definition of friendship, I’ll give that.
I remember I was going to mention dairy products at some point – probably some rant. I’m sceptical of them for two reasons: one, it’s too easy to make food likeable with them (I first said more than twenty years ago that you could dip a dog turd in sour cream and the average person – at least in the West – would say, yum, that’s nice. The other is that dairy supposedly has a narcotic effect on the brain. I don’t like MSG for the same reason: it’s cheating.
One of my favourite Adam Gopnik articles in the New Yorker had a good discussion on plain food (the article’s called “Two Cooks,” but sadly it’s a subscription-required one). I like this passage:
Alan Passard is a man in love with vegetables. For most of his career, he was famous for his roasts of veal and lamb. Passard has said that a single gesture on a plate was the right direction for the future of cooking, that one properly sliced tomato was a higher accomplishment than a tomato confit.
One reason I’m semi-vegetarian is because every piece of meat I ate would restrict the amount of vegetables I could eat. I never really liked beef anyway – it struck me as both limited in flavour and midly addictive – and to eat it when I could be having, say, grilled eggplant would be a waste of life to me. Morever, I know that not eating red meat makes me seek out strange vegetables. Despite my love of food in general, I know that I simply wouldn’t explore the vegetable world as much (I’ve tried a lot of exotic ones) if I ate meat – a meat-eater’s world revolves round meat, even if they have it disguised in stir-fries. I guess it’s one reason my best friend is Hindu (or from Hindu origins) – a way of life that encompasses vegetables strikes me as good judgement. (Even if it was population pressure that helped forge the choice.)
Having said that, I still eat seafood and bird life (one of my two supervisors at university, a scientist, always thought of birds and fish as the same – feathers are just scales, he said).
Which reminds me, at the market in Penang I tried chicken jerky (dried chicken, grilled). I liked it.
This is a sign outside the KL Sentral station. Look at the web address:
This is the beach where Survivor Thailand was made. As I've mentioned previously, there's a lot of rubbish on the beaches in South East Asia (not Surin, thankfully). Resorts or National Park staff often clean them. Often the beaches are actually raked, though I'm glad to say I've never stayed at one that was.
This is from my time with Pat and Mat – sums it up for me. Two of the funniest people I know (and Pat, you should write humorous articles in English).
This is the three of us in a bar. I asked a waiter to take the photo for me. WTF? Could he have moved any further away?
This next one is taken on the longtail when the three of us went snorkelling. We wondered why the driver suddenly stopped; then we saw him reeling in his fishing line. Might as well try and catch a little something for supper, I guess.
You see a fair amount of animal cruelty in Asia. This is a bar on Lipe called Monkey Bar – a little monkey spent all day and night chained to a post there (we didn't drink there).
Oh, I'm going to fess up, when there's nothing else to eat, I'll have some junk food. This is Hat Yai.
I liked this sign at a Middle East restaurant. It was aimed at the hookah (tobacco) smokers, but I dare say some alternative lifestylers in NZ would like it too.
Every hotel room you stay at in Malaysia will have a little arrow on the ceiling pointing the way to Mecca.
This is the noticeboard at the orangutan sanctuary that keeps track of the animals' ages and the like. I like the description of Delma (in red).
This is a Finn I met in Borneo (almost seemed albino – Fins need to cover up in the tropics). I noticed that I seemed to like taking photos of people taking photos as much as I did of the things themselves. I guess I like the deconstructive nature of it.
In Malaysia the airport puts your bag through an x-ray and covers the zip with a flimsy sticker. You can then walk outside the airport and peel the sticker and fumble about with your bag and put the sticker back. I know because I did it. Pointless security.
This is a Coke can in Thailand. I remember reading in a book that Coke will come and inspect its logo on every single truck in the world to ensure conformity and exactness. So I'm sure they have vetted this, the Thai version of the logo.
Some more pictures of my beloved Surin.
Thanks for taking that last photo, Betty. Meeting you was a highlight of my trip, and I hope we stay in touch.
On my last day in Kuala Lumpur I went and had a poori masala for breakfast. Most everyone I've ever befriended I've asked what they would have for their last meal (I've even scoured a website and read a book devoted to prisoners' last meals). Well I'd have a few dishes, but this is usually the first one I'd name – poori and potato, anyway. It seemed appropriate somehow – although you're more likely to have an accident in a car, you can't help but wonder what if, when you're taking a flight.
Notice in the background is a lassi. I remember the first time I tried lassi. I was in my twenties and was going to stay with Rohan at his folks' place in Auckland. You have to try a lassi, he said. What is it, I asked. He was pretty vague but I gathered it was a yoghurt drink. I remember watching him make it. Basically it's yoghurt with spoonful after spoonful of sugar added. And damn it was nice. I mean really, if you got some dogshit and mixed it up with that much sugar and told someone it was a new sweet called sugarshit, damned if they wouldn't say, mmm, that's nice. I usually have a lassi when I get the chance.
For my last meal in Malaysia, out at the airport, I had satay chicken. I somehow hadn't got round to having some on the whole trip – better late than never.
I never did get round to having frog porridge. Or a bunch of other things I'd wanted to. But that's a good reason to go back.
The flight from KL to Melbourne was okay. The woman at the counter laughed when I suggested an upgrade. As a matter of fact I couldn't even get a bulkhead or exit row seat. There were ten babies on the plane. I played peekaboo with one of them for a while.
Melbourne is the crappiest airport I know. A bunch of us went down the corridor with the sign International Transfer, and the door was locked, so we headed for Customs. I actually got through Customs, finally found an airport official, who said oh no, you shouldn't have come through Customs.
So back I go (I think they wrote a note above the stamp in my passport), and back down the passage, which they've finally opened. Only the x-ray machine has broken down, so I stand there waiting for a good while. The guy tips out my water but says don't worry, you can refill it in the terminal. As it happened, no you can't – the fountain is only a trickle. I bought a sandwich and it was actually inedible; I threw it away. I went on the Internet and the bank of computers shut down and rebooted. Really it's a hellish place.
At some point I think I spoke with an idiot. There's nothing worse than that realisation, Oh God, I'm dealing with an idiot.
By this time I'm phasing in and out of consciousness, I'm so tired. Luckily I got an exit row seat for the flight to Aukland, so I could stretch out and doze.
Customs in NZ was a breeze, which surprised me because I had declared duck rillettes, dried anchovies, coconut paste, and a bunch of other stuff. They looked tired and fed up to me. I imagine that's how I'll feel back at work tomorrow.
Well that's about it. Thanks for reading. Tune in for the next trip.
Malc
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