Malaysia

We flew to Kuala Lumpur, where we picked up a Proton Saga - Malaysia's counterpart to something generic like a Vectra minus the charisma. Plainly my quest is to see the world from behind the wheel of the world's shit cars.  Malaysia levies a tariff up to 100% of the car's value on imported cars, with the highest rate applied to cars from Europe. This is not a driver of domestic automotive quality, but the A/C worked so I'll quit griping.

Mere words can't convey my excitement

The drivers in Malaysia enjoy a positive reputation among their southeast Asian neighbour, not that the bar was set too high for them.  But, by and large, they were pretty good: letting people merge, stopping to let people out at T-junctions etc. but they are a bit idiosyncratically demented too.  For example, they would think nothing of driving to the other side of the road into oncoming traffic while straddling the opposite hard-shoulder/gutter so as to jump three places in a queue.  They have an intuitive sense for the constant buzz of mopeds threading through every possible pore in traffic, which I initially lacked - which was unnerving, especially when you encounter said mopeds coming the opposite way on the hard shoulder of the highway.

Coming out of KL, we drove south to Malacca.  Historically significant as the seat of the Malaccan Sultanate, a vital port and home to various foreign colonial prodnoses, these days it's heavily focused on tourism and so is one of the places one can easily find a drink in this broadly Islamic country.

The mode of transport particular to this area is the trishaw - a pedal-powered tricycle with the passengers sat out front as a human shield.  They are apparently decorated by 7 year-olds on meth and traditionally sport ridiculously over-taxed sound systems so that they can boom out shit music as they trundle by. What? Get off my lawn.

We ambled over to Jonker Walk - the Chinatown district of Malacca.  It was still wearing the monkey ornamentation of new year while we were there and it bustled with all manner of enterprise, tourist-based or no.   Some of its buildings date back to the 17th century, showing signs of both Portuguese and British colonial influence.  

This street offers the very best of China; we found jewels like these brazen copies of Lego:

How many trademarks can you infringe in one go? All of them, that's how many.

I've not mentioned the durian fruit on our travels.  The durian is both revered and lamented all over southeast Asia.  It's the smell, some think it mellow and pleasant; some think it reminiscent of sewage - which is quite a spectrum of opinion.  Either way, we have seen signs like this everywhere in SE Asia on public transport and in hotels:

There is no fine for durians; only immediate execution.

"I mock thee and thy weak gods"

I only mention them as we found these durian pastry delicacies:

The lady in the shop very strictly ordered us: "You eat in one go; no biting!". So we were told.  This proved tricky for Chan as she does not have my gargantuan head and Anaconda ability to dislocate my jaw to devour larger prey.  Here are the reaction shots:

She says she was burping durian burps for ages

If I were to describe it as anything, it would be a sweet onion and custard taste.  So not devastatingly weird, but weird enough for me to not want another while the taste were still a memory.  

We took tours of both a preserved Baba Nyonya (more on them in a bit) Chinese townhouse and a 17th century Portuguese shop building, which was nice. Although in the case of the latter, I was more impressed by the standard of the wiring that the renovators had put in.  It brought a tear to the eye.

Fun features were spy holes in the floors from upstairs so the mistress of the house could spy om her husband

That's art, that is.

And then, because it was there, we took a boat up the river and back.

The monorail shown below was working intermittently for all the two months after it opened in 2010. After that they apparently binned it as too much effort when it kept breaking down. You'd think it'd be better to fix it rather than have it sit there as a monument to institutional failure. But that's me. Apparently there are rumours of it moving around at night, so either they are surreptitiously trying to get it started again or they have engineer vampires.  Holy shit, I should pitch that to HBO.

The Pirate Park is a fairground on the riverside which reminded me of nothing so much as the Scooby Doo villain hideout aesthetic of Barry Island.

Next stop was a hotel in the tea-growing Cameron Highlands, but we went there by way of the Batu Caves, which has the second largest standing Hindu statue in the world and -more specifically- the largest statue of Lord Murugan, a Hindu Deity.

Well, it's a change of scenery from all the Buddhas.

Outside it were nowt but monkeys, who were obviously used to being fed by tourists, and there were plenty of vendors standing by to sell peanuts for them.  We must've been traveling for a while because this doesn't feel odd anymore.

After leaving there, we made our way to the Cameron Highlands, which offer a slightly more civilised, elevated climate which tops out at about 23°C. It also lacks large mammals and so also lacks mosquitoes and leeches - which is no small selling point.

It's the heart of Malaysia's tea industry and so -having done the coffee plantation thing- Chan obliged me to take us to a couple of the local tea plantations owned by "BOH" tea.  The company was started by a Brit, whose family still runs it to this day, but why he called it BOH remains to be explained. We took a tour of their factory while we were there, because I likes me some plant.

The plantations themselves are quite scenic, although working on them makes for another job I don't want.   They also grow ridiculous amounts of strawberries around here, as the climate is more suited, but they are a bit naff and tasteless.  

Otherwise there was tea drinking with varying levels of enthusiasm as tea is bollocks:

The hotel organised a local trek around the area, which was pretty.  When I asked whether the occupants of the many cobwebs highlighted by the early morning dew were venomous, our guide chuckled: "Oh yes.".  Super.

"Hi there!"

Back at the hotel we had an obligatory Afternoon Tea. I am still indifferent to small cakes and sandwiches, but I guess I'm still just a savage. And tea is still rubbish.

The boss like it though

On the drive to Penang we stopped in Ipoh for some of the local speciality white coffee (as I was jonesing hard by this point).  A local landmark is the Birch Memorial Tower, named for the first First Resident (a kind of governor in this colony's varied past) who was murdered by locals for his "disregard of local custom" - which in this case was slavery.  Yeah, what a prick.  The British authorities hanged the most directly involved miscreants and buggered the local sultan off into exile, installing a compliant rival in his stead.  The Malays ended up naming the street this clock lives on after his assassin, as he is considered a nationalist hero and Birch is considered arrogant and insensitive to local sensibility.  

The clock tower features paintings of 48 historically important people, which, in a sterling example of cultural sensitivity, features Mohammed on the side that faces the neighbouring mosque.  So that was painted over eventually.

Pictured: diplomacy 

The next stop was Georgetown on Penang Island.  Penang was the first foothold in the area of the British Empire by way of Captain Francis Light of the East India Company.  It is a jungle of old and disparate architecture from a myriad of colonial and cultural influences.

We went into the County Museum, so I could marvel at just how subjective a museum can be.  It has exhibits detailing the cultures, clothes and accoutrements of the three main ethnic groups: Malay, Chinese and Indian.  There are also the Baba Nyonya people: the result of Chinese men intermarrying with Malay women resulting in a distinct and proud heritage.

Yeah, exactly the same, guys.

A very well made opium bed.  Apparently the bottom dropped out of that market.

There is also a lack of non-Caucasian mannequins, apparently.

Outside there is the Rolls Royce in which the High Commissioner Sir Henry Gurney was shot to death in 1951 by terrorists, during one of the country's various periods of upset.  The car was used until after independence, when it was replaced by a Cadillac.  Tsk.

There was a mummy cat and her kittens living under it.  Those guys know quality when they see it.

We made sure to catch the tour of the Blue Mansion, which was commissioned by Cheong Fatt Tze, a Hakka merchant-trader who left China as a penniless teenager and eventually established a vast financial empire throughout east Asia.  They called him "The Rockefeller of the East" as he established the first trade routes from China to the young U.S.A and was instrumental in economic policy during the last Chinese emperor''s reign (hence his other common title: "The Last Mandarin")
and also in the short-lived Chinese republic.

The house is an impressive mixture of traditional Chinese architecture mixed in with whatever the hell he felt like.  While the guttering and drainage system retains rainwater for the maximum amount of time under the house before it is drained away (from Feng Shui - Water symbolising money and rainwater symbolising "money from heaven"), the ironwork is Scotland's finest.

The family weren't allowed to sell the house until Cheong Fatt Tze's eldest son died, and while the stripend allowed them in his will -$350 per month- was comfortable money in pre-independence Straights Dollars, when it was changed to 350 Malaysian ringgit after independence it was worth next to bugger-all.  Not being able to sell the place,  they rented it out illegally to 38 (!) concurrent families who made a bit of a mess.  The present owners are conservation architects who bought the place when the eldest son finally died.  They fixed it up to as close to authentic as possible and opened it as a boutique hotel.  It's quite something.

For an animal interlude: here's a crow eating a mango and a cat responding dramatically to heat and humidity.

The street art is famous, if tricky to photograph because every Chinese tourist in creation thinks each photo op desperately needs the addition of their gurning fucking mug.  I haven't kicked anyone over yet, but the day is coming.

We also drove up to the Tropical Spice Garden - an opportunity to see the plants from which many of the spices we use come from, as well as gleaning some dubious insight into their application in "traditional" medicine.  Short version: apparently everything is good for dysentery and fever.  Oh, and the local mosquitoes are really friendly too.

When we were done there, we were determined to get up the Penang Hill funicular railway, which involved Google Maps navigating us through as many spooky Chinese graveyards as physically possible before we realised it was sending us to the top of the hill - which kind of defeated the point.

So we drove back down, used ChanNav instead and caught one of the last trains up.  We stayed up there until sunset, so we could both enjoy the view and wait for the impenetrable wall of home-time traffic to dissipate.

We flew down to Kuala Lumpur for a couple of days in the capital. These isn't a fantastic amount to do there beyond the shopping, but what shopping there is is ridiculous.

We made sure to visit Hutong @ Lot 10, a subterranean food court created by a local entrepreneur by inviting street hawkers of a certain renown and quality to open franchises at his place.  It's all the bounty and none of the botulism.  I didn't fancy the pig's intestine porridge, however:

For some reason, a load of Lamborghinis rocked up outside a neighbouring mall.  Whether this was planned or just a flamboyant bit of showboating is beyond me.

The thing to do, other than shop, is to catch a glimpse of the Petronas Twin Towers from the Trader's hotel Skybar.  They were doing 10 ringgit margaritas. Hurrah.

Here's the tarted-up Instagram version:

Just before we left Malaysia, we visited the national museum.  I found it a bit infuriating as the exhibits read as though they had been curated by politicians.  I was quite looking forward to reading the Malaysian perspective on the split with Singapore, since we'd only heard that from the other side. They only briefly mention some guff about the government of the time 'grudgingly' resorting to Singapore's expulsion from the federation in order to prevent further loss of life during the ongoing race-riots of the time.

The actual bone of contention was Article 153 of the Malaysian constitution, which essentially marks the Malays as the superior race, with quotas given for civil service jobs, special scholarships and bursaries for education, mandated lower property prices, and generally a rather pathetic opinion of themselves.  It is actually against the law to debate the article, even in parliament - where parliamentary privilege would normally allow discussion of anything.   The Singaporeans pointed out how blatantly unfair it was and were kicked out for their sins.

The Malayans' problem, as they see it, was that although they make up 51% of the population, they accounted for only 8% of the national wealth.  The Indians and Chinese are resented for being brought in by the British for their skills -both practical and artisanal- with the mines and plantations. The Malays were almost entirely unskilled by comparisons and remained the peasant class, while foreigners (despite some being there centuries) became the middle, mercantile class.  One thing the museum did point out was that while the Indians and Chinese were building and attending schools, the Malays had to be enticed into class by spending half the day reading scripture.

They do do a good Kris knife, though.

Even though they have increased the proportion of the country's wealth in Malay hands, there is no provision for which Malays received it, with the predictable result is now there is a substantial divide between the rich and poor within Malays, and especially in and around KL.  So while there are Lambos paraded up and down the high street, the corners of that street are marked by heavily-armed security.  Singapore by comparison boasts vanishingly low crime and 90% home ownership, regardless of race.  Just saying.

I'll get back off this soapbox now.  Take a look at this model of a tin dredger.

i.e it dredged tin from the river bed; not a dredger made from tin. 

And seriously, they need to address this Asian mannequin shortage; these look like extras from a 70's sitcom of dubious political correctness:

The one on the right looks like Spike Milligan

Food Focussed Final Flit Through Thailand

Though it was no great pleasure to swap the clear air of Paro for the smog of Bangkok, we were craving something different to eat after eight days of identical inoffensive buffets and confusing breakfasts.
A good job then that we were staying in the Metropolitan hotel which houses the Nahm restaurant (number 8 in Asia, number 22 in the world), which was rather good.

Grilled pork cheek with smoky tomato sauce, and Tamarind Prawns, in case you're asking. 

Rice Custard with banana fritters.  The custard has sweetcorn bobbing about in it. 

At the other end of the spectrum, we were in a large mall down the road to watch Deadpool (in 4D -which means you're in a chair which rocks hard enough to detach your retinas every time someone gets shot) where I found a Costa. For the Americans in the audience: Costa is a British coffee shop chain and the main competitor to Starbucks in the UK.  Anyhoo, I thought I needed some home-cooked mediocrity so I bought a ham and cheese panini.  It was every bit as disappointing as at home. I miss you, UK. 

Isn't it glorious?

Ramping things up a notch, we also went to Gaggan (Number 1 in Asia, Number 10 in the world), which offers a tasting menu with an Indian bent, but on the molecular gastronomy side of things. It was a 23-course journey through delicious weirdness.

Dewdrop - Chan's description : "It was a little bubble filled with a liquid that exploded on your tongue. It tasted fruity/bubblegummy."

Chocolate Chilli bomb, Yogurt Explosion, Edible Plastic Spiced nuts

Salli Boti

Uncooked Curry Cookie

Idly Sanbhar

Papadum Uni and Indian Tamago

Foie Gras Sundae

This next one was pretty cool: it's just called 'Charcoal', and it's a mystery meat, coated in bamboo charcoal.  You have to guess what it is, as they don't tell you beforehand.  The waiter had me convinced it was cat for far too long.  He told me eventually but I'll not spoil it for Googlers. 

Probably not cat

Magic Mushroom -  Chan's Description: "The log dish is called magic mushroom and it's made out of forest truffles and stuffed with a spicy mushroom cream. Around it is edible dirt which was crunchy spicy stuff"

This part below is called Red Matcha: a tea ceremony of tomatoes.  We were given a bowl with starfruit and tomatoes, with an oil-based dressing.  While we ate those, the chef made up a tomato-based consomme in the Japanese tea-making fashion, which was added to the oils left in the bottom of our bowls.

This next part was called 'A Story of fish called Kin-Medali', which has four "acts".  I didn't say it wasn't ridiculously pretentious.

Act 1 : Oil Poached fish with gunpowder

Act 2 : Fish head with Rice Kedigree

Act 3 - Eggplant smoked with Fish Smoke

Act 4 - Fish Bone Jelly with Orange

Rangoli - Tandoori Lamb with two types of potato formed into those thin patterns

This is called "I Want My Curry!" - which was an excellent no-fucking-around Chicken Tikka Masala. 

Mithai Ki Maki - you can't eat the twigs but you can eat the flowers. 

#Gohgan - Sake ice Cream, Miso Caramel Maple Leaf with snow made from grapes.

Roots of love - essentially a rose-candied coriander root.  Don't eat the rock.

So that was an experience.  It's not everyone's thing, but it entertained and fed us for an evening in new and demented ways.

One last tuk tuk journey

We flew from Bangkok to Krabi, a seaside town just over the bay from Phuket. There we stayed at the Tubkaak Resort to celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary.  Nine years.  She'd have gotten less for aggravated burglary.  To take the edge off we had a room with a private pool and outside bath. Any illusion we are backpacking with the gap yah crowd might now have been dispelled.   The spa there was really nice too; we had a couple of oily relaxing massages to make up for those assaults on our persons in Chiang Rai.

It was hellish

We had our anniversary meal down on the beach.  I'm not sure about the Thai sitting-on-a-cushion thing, but I made do with the degradation.  I did choose the cushion option while booking it -for authenticity- but I am more accustomed to character-building discomfort with cold gruel eaten in a damp room, as is the tradition of my people.

On a different day there, we had lessons in Thai cooking from the resort's executive chef. Specifically, we learned how to make: Duck Red Curry with Pineapple and Lychee;  Beef Panaeng Curry; and the obligatory Phad Thai.  He gave me the recipes for the pastes and sauces too, so that'll be me when I get home, scurrying around the "exotic ingredients" aisle in Waitrose so that I can pay twenty quid for some kafir lime leaves.

Just like home

The colour differences were down to spiciness - the dark one was mine, after the chef  gave me extra-big spoonfuls of curry paste while cackling maniacally. 

It turned out pretty well.  What I'm supposed to do with the palm frond garnish is anyone's guess, however. 

Breaking our number one rule, we went on a group tour to see James Bond Island - Scaramanga's hideout in the 70's Bond film "The Man with the Golden Gun".  It's got its own name, but not even the locals care what it is.   The tour was a godawful experience and the island itself was a crowded tacky mess. Here's a couple of photos so you don't have to get them yourself:

Countless American girls in bikinis were getting their friends to take pictures of them walking out of the water like Ursula Andress, even though that's the wrong fucking film.  I am getting better at haggling though, as I talked one of the tat vendors down on a small gaudy tuk-tuk ornament to a price just below armed mugging. I'm so street.

And then we were done in Thailand. I preferred the frontier north to the bustling of Bangkok, but everywhere we went we found smiling people and something else to astonish or bemuse. It's been an adventure.

Now, off to Malaysia.