On the Road: Malaysia

Writing

Keeping up with my blog has become harder by the month. I do so many different things that putting my observations into words is a time consuming process. Still I carry on because I want to reflect on my travels, record the little details I'd soon forget, and also share my experiences with others. So where do I start this time? Well, at the moment I'm writing this latest entry at the kitchen table of a small house in a quiet, rural village in Perak state. Chickens march outside snapping up roots and insects. A river flows to the west. Beyond it are tall palms, and on the horizon, evergreen mountains loom tall. This is peninsular Malaysia. This is where I am at.

My laptop

Another Island

I've talked before about the islands I've visited. Generally speaking, the best of them are found in the tropics, and with Southeast Asia wedged into the right latitudes there are plenty to choose from. Malaysia for example has a long coastline with islands on both sides. After a bit of research it came down to either the Perhentians or Tioman. I went with the latter because it's a duty free zone. In Muslim dominant Malaysia they have an annoying sin tax that applies to alcohol and tobacco, but not in Tioman. So with my mind made up I took a bus out of Kuala Lumpur and later arrived at the jetty of Air Batang on the northwest side of the island.

Tioman was nothing like I'd expected. I knew ahead of time that it had been on the tourist track for decades, but seeing it in person, the towns still retained a very laid back atmosphere. The bungalow resorts, guest houses, restaurants and dive shops occupied only a small slice of the otherwise jungly land area. Air Batang where I stayed was the most lively place on Tioman. After dark a few beachside bars remained open until 2AM. Three nights in a row I relaxed with a beer and listened to a local guy sing Western hits backed by an acoustic band. It was like listening to a smooth jazz radio channel spiced up by a good measure of 80s and 90s rock. Anyhow, the singer possessed one of the sexiest voices I've ever heard and after each performance he had little trouble pulling drunk tourist chicks.

I didn't have much of a plan ahead of my arrival but once on Tioman I soon discovered the island had several hiking trails, and since it was the thing to do, I joined up with some other backpackers. One was a German I'd come over with on the ferry, and we met an American, a French dude and a British bloke. Together we cut across the backbone of the island, stopping at a waterfall before reaching the opposite side. The seaside town we walked into had a long, white beach with some waves--a rarity in SE Asia. So we swam, drank some Carlsberg beers at a bar, and then found a local who drove us back to Air Batang. He was nice to stop off at the Duty Free shop on our way where we bought cheap bottles of hard liquor. This led to more drinking, and by the end of it, we could all agree--the day was a great one. For sure, most days are good while traveling, but great days are those that stand out as something special.

If there is anything else to write about it's the night dive I did. This following a second day of jungle trekking and at a time when I was utterly exhausted. But it was my one chance to go. So I suited up, threw on my weight belt, and waddled down to the shore and into the water. My underwater flashlight sent a beam of light through the dark depths. At first there was little to see beside mud and sporadic fish. Then the guide lead us onward to a reef where things became interesting. Zeroing in with my light, I spotted stingrays, bamboo sharks, puffer fish and several other creatures trying to avoid us. The corals were also healthy and varied, so overall I was very pleased with the experience. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've had one bad dive since I first started 5 years ago in Australia. Maybe I'm just lucky in that regard. 

Along the water

Local girls

Secluded waterfall

Forgotten boats

Malasiany flag

Waiting at the jetty

Cameron Highlands

In the past when I'd visited Malaysia other travelers had told me to go to the Cameron Highlands. "Why? What's there?" I'd ask to which they replied,"Green tea plantations." Well, for someone who was living in Japan I'd already seen plenty tea plants and the thought of going out of my way to see more had zero appeal. My attitude would have remained as such had I not met a German who'd recently been there. He made it sound like a mountain paradise, and backed up his talk with fotos and stories that piqued my interest. "Fine," I said. "I'll check it out." To make the journey I had to leave Tioman sooner than expected. The decision proved to be the right one.

What I enjoyed most about the highlands was the hiking. On my first full day I went up Mt. Brinchang to the Mossy Forest. The steep trail was covered with thick roots and decaying leaves, and at one point I hit my head against a fallen tree trunk. It was a small price to pay to reach the top where I discovered another trail, one that lead to a small sanctuary of yellow-green moss laden trees. This hidden wonder was the real Mossy Forest, because the place that went by the actual name turned out to be a boardwalk lined by trees with mostly dry, brown clumps on the trunks. A shame it was like that because if the moss had been healthy the place would've looked amazing.

From the top of Mt. Brinchang there was a paved road leading down to the nearby towns. I took it back, walking through fog and drizzle. Off to the side the tall twisted trees became increasingly jungly as I went lower in elevation. In time the thick vegetation gave way to farmland and after that came the tea plantations. The vibrant hills extended into the distance, neatly carved into a patchwork of green tea plants. I had not expected to see them in the area, and what's more, they differed considerably from the pipe-like rows I'd seen in Japanese plantations. I stopped every few minutes to take pictures. Lamenting that it was not a sunny day, I just as often looked up at the sky. This is one of the problems with photography. It's not possible to control the weather. But regardless of the elements, one must always take the best pictures they can. That's the photographer's code--or so I'd like to think.

The following day I hiked through hills and tea plantations in a different area, and along the way, visited a factory where they processed the leaves. Machines turned the green leaves into dried flecks of red and black. The piles of finished product soon filled cans ready to be shipped out the door. Another American I'd first met in Tioman had come with me for the day. As we headed back into town there were no buses. A taxi would have been perfect in this situation, but none passed either. We were forced to try our luck at hitchhiking. Then it began to rain and we got drenched waiting for a car. Eventually, a group of Pakistani tourists stopped and we wedged four into the back seat making for an interesting ride. They explained that they had come from Kuala Lumpur for the afternoon and would soon return to the big city. That was all the time they had to spare. It was a pity. I stayed three nights and even then was reluctant to leave.

New friend

Mossy trees

Baby goat

Tea plantation

Foggy foliage

Tea in a can

Inside tea factory

Hitching a ride

Backpacking

People travel for different reasons. Some want to relax at a nice resort for a week, lying by the pool with a cold cocktail in hand followed by a candle lit dinner on the beach. Others are more inclined to rough it, hitchhiking between cities and sleeping in a tent on the side of the road. I know how it is. I've done both. And while they're good in their respective ways, I prefer to strike a balance between the two. This middle ground has more or less turned into backpacking. It's quite simple really. You arrive in a new town with a large pack on your shoulders, find a bed at a cheap hostel, then explore from there.

The majority of backpackers tend to be in their twenties. But there's also a small percentage in their late teens and a few others that fall into an older age bracket. At one hostel in the south I met a sixty-something pot smoking Japanese backpacker and also a 19 year old Dutch guy. They couldn't have been any different in appearance and background, yet the two got on very well, and there was a reason why. They were both travelers on the same route. It's pretty easy to identify with one another in this situation because backpackers want to meet different people and swap stories and info about the places they've been. This basic set up then leads to planning and sometimes striking out together to see the next spot. So travel buddies are made, possibly becoming lasting friendships, or even turning into romance and love.

Some may argue that backpacking is the roughing it approach I mentioned earlier, and in truth, it began with the adventurist hippie trails of the 60s and 70s. Well, the times have changed. With the advent of mass tourism backpacking has gone mainstream. It is now dominated by everyday people and they are often unwilling to forgo the comforts they've grown accustomed to in their home countries. This includes the frequent use of portable devices, high end cameras, laptop computers--things that most backpackers wouldn't have spent money on in the past. And that's the least of it. Accommodations have improved as well. No longer are backpackers stuck in bungalows, spending their nights on a dingy mat shrouded in a mosquito net. The typical modern hostel provides a mattress with clean sheets, running water, wi-fi Internet and English speaking staff. The convenience makes the experience more accessible to the average traveler. Then, the fact that transportation costs have come down thanks to low cost airline carriers and frequent bus service running on improved roadways, it's easier than ever to venture out to see places.

This all seems like a good thing for travelers, and based on my own experiences I agree-- backpacking is golden. But it's not without a downside. The problem is backpackers often group up and become closed off from the world around them. As a result they get a watered down look at things because to really know a place you have to spend time with the locals. This is easier said than done. It means overcoming cultural differences and often a language barrier, but more importantly, it requires making that first step to engage a stranger in an unfamiliar setting. Many travelers feel awkward or shy going about this and instead fall in with their own kind, which in turn makes them completely unapproachable to the average local. You might still get a smile or nod of acknowledgement, and it's nice, but there's s so much more worth experiencing than a simple exchange. But again, it takes an effort to get there.

Typical hostel room

Sign post

Pool at fancy resort

Dining with other backpackers

Kuala Kangsar

Not content to be only a casual backpacker I decided to go couchsurfing in Perak State, an area seldom visited by tourists. When I contacted several hosts, one guy from the town of Kuala Kangsar responded. He had recently registered on the site and had no references, but he seemed kind in his correspondence. It was actually my only option, so I took a bus from Cameron Highlands to Kuala Kangsar's central station. There Nazri waited with his younger brother and father. As I got into their car Nazri informed me that he was the only one in his family who spoke English. I nodded solemnly and fastened my seatbelt for the ride ahead.

As it turned out, Nazir was an exceptional host. He had relocated to Kuala Lumpur the year before but came to his parents' house just to look after me. The next day we rode his motorbike to the town center and visited the Ubudiah Mosque and then the Shah's Museum. I learned that Perak is one of many sultanates in Malaysia. There are in fact 9 of them, each with a sultan. In modern times these royal figures do not have political power. They also fail to command the respect and admiration they once had. The sultan of Perak, however, is one of the few who is regarded highly, or so said Nazri. He did not go into much detail though, saying said it was still not entirely safe to speak politics in Malaysia. I thought this curious because the country seemed quite developed and progressive compared to other Southeast Asian countries. Moreover, while I was in Malaysia the government amended its Sedition Act to address issues regarding social media and reduce punishment for some offenses.

For my third day couchsurfing we went fishing. Nazri and his brother took me out on a river that flowed beside the family house. We stopped at a calm spot and baited the rod with a shiny metal fish and hook. I cast the line into the water. Once, twice--over a dozen times. A fish often broke the river's surface and I'd direct my next throw in that direction. But in spite of my best efforts, the only thing I pulled up were dead lotus stalks. So we returned to the house without any fish. The mother shrugged, smiled and made chicken for dinner instead. It was same the other days too, and I was happy to have the chance to eat local Malay food. Once fed we'd usually sit around watching TV. During my stay I got to see Asia's Got Talent, a show that brought together the winners from previous talent contests held throughout Asia. These amazing contestants appeared on stage in what was billed as the world's largest talent show. A Filipino guy who did beat box impressed me most. With the aid of the mic, he made his voice sound like the instrumental part of a club song. It goes without saying that he progressed to the next round of the show.

Staying with Nazri and his family was a eye-opening experience. I could observe how the locals lived and what they were interested in. Nazri's nephews and nieces were into Bo Bo Boi, an animated show about a boy with superpowers. The brothers liked to play guitar and sing, and the father enjoyed smoking and drinking tea. As for Nazri, his obsession was travel. I could relate. From what he told me, he had several trips lined up through the end of the year. After having a chance to know the family, I realized they were not so different from others I've met around the world. And this is why I love to travel. In spite of how much we think we are separated by religion, culture and creed, we are still the same underneath. You just have to give the other person a little scratch to see it. Couchsurfing is good in that regard. It brings together hosts and guests and encourages intercultural communication.

Home cooking

Boats and river

Prayer time

Ubudiah Mosque

Street art and Nazri

Old buildings

Arched walkway

On the swings

Yellow House

This is where it all came together. I needed a change of pace, or rather, a place I could stay for several weeks to recharge. The solution was to volunteer through workaway.info. I'd used the site before when I'd taught English in Indonesia and Cambodia, so to mix things up I thought I'd try working at a hostel. There were many choices in Malaysia, and I applied to a few hosts, getting a response from two. After some consideration I went with a hostel in Kuala Lumpur called Yellow House. The host, a woman named Shyam, agreed to have me, but on the condition I'd help implement an English program with local kids. "Sure," I said during our Skype interview, "I'd love to," and like that it was decided.

A pity we never got the program off the ground. I tried my best. I created a flyer on Photoshop and took it to the nearest elementary school where I met with the principal. Since Yellow House had a steady stream of foreign volunteers coming in, Shyam and I thought it would be good for them to help the school kids practice English on a weekly basis. The principal saw the value in such a program but said it would only be possible if we obtained a letter of permission from the Ministry of Education, and there it ended. According to Shyam, the ministry was terribly run, and getting anything from them would be a slow and tedious process. So we decided to do it on our own. We could put up flyers on lampposts, hand out ones at shopping centers. Stuff like that. But it never happened. Not while I was there at least.

All this is not to say I wasn't busy. Shyam had loads of work for her volunteers to do. After arriving, she set me and the German, Michael, to fixing the doors to the outside showers. They'd come off the hinges and we had to reattach them to the plastic door, but with a wooden siding that would reinforce the contact point. Then we helped construct a moon chair she'd picked off the street. Shyam had a habit of doing this, finding things on the side of the road and then bringing them home for DIY projects. The moon was an indoor ornament, and she wanted to use it as a kind of bench in the backyard. So we had to strip it of its plastic tiles and reset them with a weather resistant cement. For another project she wanted us to build a brick wall. This was an enormous pain because we made it by mixing clay, sand and cement for the individual bricks. Michael and I even created the wooden frame to mold them. Shyam joked that we were doing what our ancestors had done thousands of years ago. It in no way made me feel better. Poor ancestors, I thought, taking pity on the countless generations of people who had lived without the modern advances we have today.

By doing random jobs of this nature I was on my way towards developing some real skills. For example, for woodwork projects, I used a power drill, jigsaw, sander, files--tools I hadn't handled since high school shop class. And that wasn't even the best of it. Shyam happened to be a damned fine cook.Though born in Malaysia she was a fifth generation Tamil, and her culinary knowledge reflected her Indian heritage. She made meals twice a day. Standing by her side, I took mental notes while she created curries adding in ingredients such as turmeric, mustard seed, cumin, tamarind, bay leaf and so on. Shyam also doubled as a stir-fry wizard. She threw all manner of vegetables together to make simple dishes. And perhaps most impressive was the salad dressing recipe she taught me--garlic cloves, vinegar, salt, tapioca powder, mustard see oil and some water all blended to a smooth consistency. Man was it amazing. Between her curries and salads and stir-fry, Shyam had us eating like royalty. Little wonder I put on weight while staying there for three weeks.

English class flyer

Backyard

Wall art

Shyam cooks

Dinner time

Working on moon seat

From the front

I ♥ KL

For a big city in Southeast Asia, the capital of Malaysia has several things going for it. Kuala Lumpur is home to an excellent system of roadways, modern train lines and bus service throughout, plus it's relatively clean. There are also plenty of cheap places to eat that wont make you sick afterwards. You can have your pick of Malay, Indian or Chinese cuisine. Those are the three major ethnic groups in the country. The difference between them extends well beyond food. Take religion as an example. The Malays are mostly Muslim, the Indians Hindi, and the Chinese Buddhist, Taoist or Confucian. The variety gives Kuala Lumpur a very unique feel, making it a crossroads between different cultures. In spite of this, many foreigners think little of the city. They simply spend a night or two and then move on to another spot. It's a shame because it warrants a longer visit.

I think the problem with Kuala Lumpur is that it does not have many impressive sites to see. A place though is more than just its big attractions. It's also about the layout, the atmosphere, the overall vibe, and in this respect the Malaysian capital is teeming with life. You have so many vibrant groups striking a dynamic balance in an urbanized valley. And right beyond the suburbs are densely overgrown hills carved up by muddy rivers. Beady eyed monkeys and colorful birds which make strange mating calls round out the setting. This jungle was unlike any other place I'd been. Everywhere in Malaysia it looked the same, and the fact that the surroundings of Kuala Lumpur were too mountainous to serve as farmland or developed expanse, well, it added a certain charm to the city. To illustrate this point, I went to a recreational area outside the city to collected trash. The trees were massive with leaves bigger than my head, and a shallow river twisted through the thick growth. Along the water and between the trees we didn't collect as much trash as expected. Just a lot of plastic wrappers and cigarette butts really--not much in the way of challenging Mother Nature's claim on the area.

Anyhow, most the time I had in Kuala Lumpur I spent in Ampang, a large suburb east of the city center. That's where Yellow House was located. I went around to the local malls, got a vaccination at a hospital, had dental work done, and visited the homes of people in the area. And no matter where I ventured the locals spoke English. Considering some of the things I needed taken care of, it was a great relief. For example--as stupid as it sounds--I went to the dentist because I'd chipped a tooth eating grilled chicken. The woman had a look at the damage and explained in English that she would need to drill and put in a filling. An hour later, after finishing the job (and leaving my nerves shot from all the poking and noise), she asked me general teeth care questions, then chided me when I told her I didn't floss. No different than an American dentist, I thought. The point here is that it's easier to manage in a place where they speak your language, and in Southeast Asia--Malaysia, Singapore and the Philippines are the only places where English is widely spoken. You get to know the locals better as well because a language barrier prevents people from sharing their ideas and feelings in spite of the best intentions. At any rate I do speak some Malaysian, and I used a bit here and there, but I'll get to that later.

City after dark

Suburban mall and park

Damn right

Night market

Petronas Towers

Playing in the station

Entering Downtown

Yellow House II

Back to our work at Yellow House. Like the rain water that flooded up from the clogged gutters outside the hostel, our duties extended into the local community. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we swam with a group of handicapped people from a nearby school. The nature of their disabilities varied. Some had down syndrome, others autism, and a few could not speak though they seemed to understand what we said to them. The pool was at a golf club, 25m in length with locker rooms and hot showers. We volunteers helped everyone to swim and the whole randomness of the situation made it interesting. One young guy who never said a word to anyone would on occasion break out into a song. So one time he just stood in the shallow end and started belting out I Don't Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith. Noticing this, we started to sing along, but Shyam's poor vocals seemed to offend him and he fell silent.

Another regular project Shyam had going was a homeless hair wash. Every Thursday night a group from a local mosque gave food to homeless people in the downtown Kuala Lumpur area. We joined them, setting up chairs outside to wash and cut hair for those who wanted it. Since I knew how to use hair clippers I'd spend two hours cutting one head after the next. It was mostly men-- shy, quiet types who said little. A few asked for a shave as well. This I found quite strange, getting so close to another dude's sweaty face while working the machine around the mouth and neck. But it was my job and I was happy to be of help. Then, once I finished the cutting part, the other volunteers washed the person's hair and rinsed it before drying everything with a towel. Another time we gave out used clothes that the homeless gladly received, everything down to the baby socks. These evenings were a means for us to do something good, and we had a lot of fun thanks to Shyam.

Though we were kept busy during the week, the weekends we spent drinking and relaxing. On one Saturday Shyam had us join a birthday party for the instructor of her sign language class. We agreed to put up the decorations at a nearby Kenny Rogers Roaster's (they still exist!). Then came the class members. For the first time in my life I saw people sing happy birthday with their hands. I even picked up a few signs myself including the one for bullshit. To do it you must bend the forearm upward and make a bull's head with a closed fist but the pinky and index finger sticking out like horns. After that the other hand does a pulling motion from the elbow as if there's turds dropping out. Well, as fun as that birthday party was, we later attended another for Shyam's friend Babak. He was from Turkey and many of his friends also came to celebrate. They were mostly Muslims but it did not stop them from drinking. Once we ran out of alcohol we took taxis to the local bar street. We drank and danced until closing time, after which we ate roti at a 24 hour restaurant. One of Babak's Iraqi friends took it personal when we joked that he was gay. For 10 minutes he explained the reasons why we were mistaken. I could not help but laugh at the absurdity of his seriousness and that made him want to explain more. Overall an excellent night.

Art in the shower

Homeless hair wash

Happy Birthdays

Jungle leaves

Final marker

Over the course of my stay I came to know the other volunteers well. One couple had come south from Thailand. The woman was Argentinian and the guy Italian. They'd met two years before in New Zealand while traveling and intended to keep at it indefinitely, volunteering mostly, but also working when possible--this to get by on only 300 dollars a month. The German Michael was on a six month holiday, traveling with his girlfriend. Before he'd arrived at Yellow House, they'd decided to travel alone for two months, her in Australia and him in Malaysia and the Philippines. Another volunteer hailed from England and was moving his way around Southeast Asia. He had done IT work in the past and helped Shyam to update her website (yellowhousekl.com).  Then there was Eduardo, the Spaniard. He started his travels in Korea. Then he found a good flight deal to the Philippines. In this manner we went around Asia without a clear plan, simply moving to the next random place that had a cheap ticket going there. As for the guests paying to stay at the hostel, they too were varied, but never spent more than a few nights in the city before moving on. The exception was a young Filipino couple that had come to look for work. They were very kind and enjoyed cooking with Malay ingredients to make Filipino cuisine. One common dish of theirs was corned beef.

When we didn't go out or have work, we volunteers often lazed about the hostel using the Internet and playing with Shyam's pets. She kept three dogs and a cat. One of the dogs, Chocolate, was friendly and craved attention. The second dog Amber was distant and behaved much like a cat, while the third dog Fazer had been abused as a puppy and lived with an unhealthy fear of new people. Over time Fazer warmed up to me and I'd give her a good tummy rub, saying things like, "You're such a good girl." Then there was the cat Tuna. She was a small kitten and we had to keep her in a cage because the dogs might bite her. But slowly they became used to her presence. She often meowed for food, and as we let her out more and more Tuna became bolder often climbing the dinner table in an attempt to take something from our plates. The dogs would beg too, but less directly. They looked up with eyes wide, their mouth moving with a bit of drool to the side. Shyam only fed them once at night, so the they were always waiting, always wanting.

In the end I was ready to leave Yellow House. I had met other volunteers, worked on many projects and seen the suburban neighborhood of Ampang. With these experiences behind me the road again beckoned. I needed to continue onward.

Tuna

Yellow House gang

Dog Life

It just had to be another island. This time it was not of my choosing. Rather my friend made the decision for me. We were having a reunion of sorts in Malaysia--ten others included--so why not do it in beautiful Langkawi, he asked? I went along with the idea, and since I was already in the country, I arrived early from KL on the cheapest flight I could find. The hostel I checked into I'd reserved on-line. Booking ahead though is not my style. I prefer to scope out the area first. Yet in this case, it was a good thing because by the time my taxi pulled in front of the hostel, it was dead quiet. The street too. None of it surprised me. The hour was late and few tourists flocked to Langkawi in April. The receptionist saw to my room and I rested on the bed. This state of laziness persisted throughout the following day until hunger finally got me out of the hostel. That and I wanted to see the beach at sunset. I didn't care to watch alone though, so I found two beers to keep me company. And I couldn't stop there. Once it got dark, I hit up the local bars for more. I downed draft Carlsberg and Tiger beer, met a few locals, then a few tourists, and finally, I staggered home around three. Lucky for me it wasn't too costly a night. Langkawi is the cheapest place to drink alcohol in Malaysia. Not only is the island free of the sin tax, but there's no consumer goods tax, or gasoline tax, or anything. At a proper bar in KL, a beer goes for 9 bucks. In Langkawi it will cost no more than 2.

Well, for better or worse, there's more to life than drinking alcohol. So that next day with a bit of a hangover that marred an otherwise nice, pleasant morning, I relocated to the home of a couchsurfing host in the town of Kuah. The man Jeffery had been very clear in his profile. He was an openly gay Chinese Malaysian who took care of rescued animals, and at his house he had ten dogs, twenty cats, four ducks, one chicken and a hamster. If anyone wasn't cool with that, tough luck. They could go find another host. Because I like animals I went ahead and requested to stay. Jeffery later replied that I would have to share his bed. No problem, I thought. I'm not a homophobe. And what's more, many people spoke well of Jeffery in his references. Once I'd arrived I understood why. It was all on him--the animal care taking, the cost of the food, the effort needed to find new owners. Only a man with an incredibly loving heart could look after so may animals the way he did. But that was his passion, and years before in America, he had studied animal behavior with a focus on dog psychology. One of his teachers was none other than a pre-fame Cesar Milan--TV's The Dog Whisperer. When he told me, a numbing sensation overtook my head--pssst-psst-psst--like the air leaking from a balloon. To my further amazement, Cesar had visited Langkawi a few years prior to see the local shelter where Jeffery had once volunteered. The two still kept in contact via e-mail and Jeffery was  trying to arrange for Cesar to come again during his next Asia tour.

Sadly, for Jeffery, his work was an uphill battle. It's hard trying to rescue dogs anywhere let alone in a country where the dominant religion is Islam. Muslims don't give a damn about the animals. In the Quran there's nothing stating that dogs are bad per say, but in the hadith--the collection of stories and lessons from Muhammad's life--there are several lines saying not to touch the animals, and in certain circumstances to kill them. Because the hadith has played a large role in the establishment of modern Islamic values, people abide by these beliefs, the consequences of which are felt throughout the country. Muslims, for one, don't keep dogs. They have an attitude of avoidance and indifference. And at worst they despise the animals. A small minority even goes as far as to actively bait and poison strays with tainted meat. Because of this, while I was in KL, Shyam did not want the volunteers to walk her dogs on the street. But not all Malaysians are Muslims. The Chinese and Indians have few qualms with the animals. Many in fact adore them. Jeffery was a prime example. Heck, I'd go as far to say he was obsessed. Before Langkawi he'd lived in KL and during that time he challenged a committee of imans--Islam's appointed holy men--with questions about dogs. He wanted the men to justify the religion's negative disposition toward the animals. They of course gave no answer. But it took balls to call out the committee, to question the word of Muhammad, and to do it at a televised meeting no less. The more I got to know Jeffery the more I could see that he didn't hold back. He spoke his mind freely. As the man himself had best put it--he'd never been straight but he was always straight-forward.

Jeffery and his dogs

Coffee time in the garden

Neighbor's dog Snoopy

I must admit, it's strange how I've been so involved with dogs in Malaysia. In KL we had the three in Shyam's hostel. We'd also gone to a local animal shelter to play with the ones they'd taken in. I think a few were scheduled to be euthanized, and for me, looking into their eyes, I had difficulty hiding my sadness. Still I did what I could to bring a bit joy to their lives. Now I was at it again in Langkawi. Jeffery saw on Facebook that a wounded stray had been found in an abandoned house. He agreed to go get the dog and move it to a nearby shelter. I went with him. Not of much help, I simply watched while he used a towel as a harness to take the dog into the car. Its front leg had a deep cut and a back leg seemed broken. Once at the shelter, Jeffery gave the dog a shot of antibiotics and left the animal in the care of the staff. If the dog survived, they'd neuter its balls then re-release him. That was because the shelter was not taking in more dogs long-term, and those they did have, the staff would need to euthanize if a home couldn't be found. As difficult as the dog situation had become in Langkawi, I was happy people like Jeffery were out there trying to help.

Jeffery to the rescue

Cats at the shelter

Dogs for adoption

Guinea pigs need love too

Bahasa Revisited

I often ask people if they could choose any superpower what would it be. The answers I get range from invisibility to flight to regeneration, but nobody ever says the superpower I'd like most--that of limitless communication. In other words, I want to be able to understand and speak any language of the world. I think it would be perfect, an ability that's very useful without being obvious or burdensome. Think about it. Language is incredibly important. It's how we communicate and convey thoughts. If this ability disappeared overnight, we'd wake to find society reduced to a mass of grunting ape-men! So we should all be very thankful of its continued existence. And while none of us are anything close to becoming a linguistic superhero, there are those who have a greater capacity for language than others, and I admire anyone capable of speaking 5, 6, sometimes 7 languages. The actual word to describe such a person is polyglot. I wrote it here, but I won't be caught dead saying the it, the same way I'll never say polymath (in all honesty the true polymaths of the world are already dead and gone. Humanity has uncovered too much damned knowledge for them to ever live again). As for my own language ability, I'm grateful I can speak a few, though I struggled to learn the last (Japanese), and now doubt myself capable of putting in the effort to acquire another. Well, in spite of this attitude, I still took a stab at it recently.

It began in Indonesia. Somehow I'd learned enough Bahasa Indonesia to hold simple conversations. Then I left the country. It saddened me to no longer be in a place where I had an understanding of the local language. First I was in the Philippines, then on to Cambodia. But after that I arrived in Malaysia. I quickly realized the national language was very much the same as that spoken in Indonesia. Sure it had a different way of pronouncing things, and some words were used in the place of others, but when it came down to it, anyone from either of the two countries could communicate with little to no trouble at all. What luck! I now had an opportunity to improve on what I 'd already picked up in Indonesia. Or so I had thought. To my great disappointment, I didn't speak much Malaysian in the six weeks I visited the country. I place the blame on myself. I mean, how hard is it to speak to people in their own language? It only required some persistence on my part. Or better yet, with my face I could've pretended to be an Arab or Indian or anyone from the non-Western, non-English speaking parts of the world. But I didn't go that route because it would've been dishonest. Besides, with most the people being perfectly competent conversationalists, speaking in English was too strong an inevitability to avoid, and those parts where people didn't know the language, I didn't go there. That too was my fault.

Oh, but there was one exception. When I was in Kuala Kangsar I spoke with Nazri's family in Malaysian. The best of it came when Nazri stepped out for an evening and I was at the kitchen table with his old man and two nephews. My pocket dictionary at hand, I had a full two hour conversation with them, discussing several topics. The father told me he wanted to retire soon and do his hajj to Mecca. And the nephews too shared their ambitions, one wanting to become a professional soccer player and the other a pilot. It was wonderful to be able to communicate with them in their own language and get to know them on a different level. Then it was over, and the rest of my stay I used English. Occasionally I'd listen in on the conversations of locals in the street and try to make sense of their words. But for the most part I had to take satisfaction in the fact that I could read road signs and the random advertisements in front of buildings. That was about as useful as my Malaysian ability had become.

English-Malay Pocket Dictionary

Friendship

I got a Japanese friend. His name is Takuro. He plans trips, tells people, and they show up. While in Japan I'd probably gone on five, maybe six of them. Then he planned an overseas one to Malaysia. I'd by then left Japan but decided to go anyways, which brings us back to the island of Langkawi. Our other friend Shige had once lived in Osaka. Now he works in Kuala Lumpur and it was him who chose the specific destination and booked the accommodations. He went with an expensive resort and the cost per night exceeded my travel budget. I went along with it anyway. For one, it would be a nice change from staying in hostels. Second, I'd be with my good friends--and that's saying something. I've learned that while traveling alone you might meet people for a few days, maybe even weeks, but it's not the same as hanging out with a person you have a history with. In Malaysia I'd again be able to enjoy the company of those I could truly call friends.

The funny thing about Japanese people is they don't take long vacations. It's not their fault as much as a sad circumstance of the country's work culture. I mean, we're talking about a place that has a high standard of living and millions of people with disposable income. So the money to go overseas is there, it's just that their work doesn't really allow them the time off. At most they are looking at five maybe six days to travel at any one time. The package tours offered by the local tourist agencies reflect this. An example would be the Tokyo--Las Vegas--Grand Canyon--Niagra Falls--NYC--Tokyo five night tour. It's absurd. Adding in flight time, that's roughly three days to see all those places. And the Japanese still do it. For many of them, if they want to visit America, it's the best option. That said, my friends were coming all the way to Malaysia for a short four day stay. 

It was during their second day we met at the airport in Langkawi. Since we were going straight to the resort I suggested we first get cheap alcohol at the airport shop. They agreed and we bought three cases or 500ml canned beer, three bottles of wine and one Martini champagne bottle. Then a shuttle bus took us to a jetty, followed by a boat which ferried us to our island resort. It was already around 11am by then and after a quick lunch we went on an island hopping tour on the north side of Langkawi. Because we arranged the tour through the resort the price was high. But we got what we paid for--a finely upholstered speed boat with large engines and a booming sound system. Onboard, with warm beer cans in our hands, we went around the coast, cutting between islands to see eagles, bats and monkeys. Next, we made a final stop at a secluded beach. I was rather enjoying myself until I stepped on a sea urchin. The damned thing stung the hell out of my right foot.

After our long day in the sun fatigue quickly set in. A buffet dinner delivered the coup de grace and we were out before making much of a dent in our alcohol. The next day we didn't have time to drink either. Everyone's return flight to KL was at 4:15pm. So we just fooled around in the pool. Then right before checking out, I squeezed in a small photo shoot for Takuro and his girlfriend Ayaka. They'd planned to get married in July and wanted some pictures for their wedding album. Ayaka even brought her wedding dress for the occasion. In the end I managed to get a few decent shots, but I realize now I should have given the shoot more thought beforehand. That's the thing about photography. It takes vision to produce exceptional work. But what can I say? I'd been in point and click vacation mode. Portrait photography is a whole other beast.

Boat beers

Wild monkeys

Yacht row

At the resort

Flame tree 

Picture perfect

I didn't bother with a flight from Langkawi. Instead I went with the cheaper option of a ferry and overnight bus, and since I was not boarding a plane it fell upon me to transport the remaining case of beer to Shige's apartment in KL. Boy was that a pain in the ass. I had to slug around an extra 12kg in my pack, but by the following morning I'd gotten the job done. At that point relaxing was the only thing on my mind, and I would have totally done it, except my friends had made plans to tour the city. They were leaving the same night and it was their one chance to see things. We took a taxi to the Batu Caves, hit up the Central Market for shopping, ate lunch in Chinatown, then rounded out the day at the Petronas Towers. Again the heat sapped us of our energy. Not even a brief afternoon shower could take the edge off. Anyhow, we managed to buy food and prepare it right as Shige returned from work. He brought his new Malaysian girlfriend for the occasion, a young, pretty cabin attendant he'd first met while flying. The Japanese style meal we'd cooked was for her benefit, and I did most the work, fixing up some curry with a side of cabbage salad. That's very typical Japanese cuisine mind you. No joke. Most westerners like to think that the Japanese gobble up sushi day and night, perhaps with a bit of ramen and tempura, but curry is just as common. You won't find it outside of Japan though. A shame really, because even if it can't compare to its Indian or Thai siblings, the Japanese variety has a pleasing taste all its own.

As dinner drew to a close, my friends had to say goodbye to go to the airport. We shook hands and hugged, and in the case of Shan Shan (with whom I have a bit of a bromance) I added a farewell slap to the ass. How sad it was to see them off. Once outside, the taxi pulled away and I wondered if we'd ever meet each other again. After all, I'd already left Japan for good. Our lives were now headed in separate directions. Who knows though. The way I get around I'll probably see them soon enough. 

Batu Caves

On the way out

Metro station

Market street

Curry blocks

Peace Out Southeast Asia

It was long, it was sultry, and it was fun--kind of like exceptionally good sex. But now my time is finally up. I can't complain. Over the past 5 months I was able to visit most the places I had left to see in the region. The only two countries remaining are Brunei and Papua New Guinea. Another time perhaps. For now I have my eyes set elsewhere--Bangladesh. That's  the next stop on my itinerary. I leave tonight by plane and from this point forward my travels will take on a decidedly different flavor. There'll be a lot more people with a lot less tourism, a greater Muslim influence (no beer!), dodgy food stands, diarrhea inducing diseases, fewer English speakers and more. Well, whatever awaits me, I'm definitely excited to push on ahead. Goodbye SE Asia and hello South Asia!

The sun sets on Malaysia