The Land of Food

People tend to give countries labels. France, the land of cheese and wine, Germany the land of beer, mostly they go for edible labels it seems, or at least drinkable. I don't know what they label Malaysia, I have never really heard anyone talk about it. But it definitely is a food country. Food, as in not just one thing but a whole load of food. You got a huge variety here, what with all the different cultural heritages of the people. So, Malay food of course, with lots of chili and chicken, and that blue rice I still haven't tried. Very yummy, an explosion for the taste buds, particularly those that deal with hot spices... Similarly, Indian food around here is the spicy kind. Assortments of curries and various rice and breads... I find this one sort of bread particularly interesting, that my friends like so much in that place around the corner, called tissue bread or something like that. It's real thin, and formed like a traffic cone, and almost the same size too... very crispy, and with a little bit of sugar caramelized on the surface. I still prefer savoury, but when they bring this huge bread cone it just looks real impressive. 

And then there is plenty Chinese food around. So many different shops cater to different variants of that kind of food. You can order soups, veggie dishes, all those stir-fried noodle things, a lot of pork dishes, or those yummy sea food stuff, not just fish, but crabs and all sorts of scallops and what have you. So far they seem as yet to be behind the Japanese in their use of things the sea has to offer, at least when I look around the shops. In Japan you have all those different seaweeds, and things like sea cucumbers (which do NOT look appetising, I tell you), and sea urchin and things like that. Over here I haven't really noticed any of that. Which doesn't mean they don't have it anyway. 

They also have western food here. A couple of places in the area here do American style food, so burgers and steak and roasts. And are bad. Bland, weird use of spices, if at all, pasta is as a rule overcooked and the bread is soggy and sweet. If you have the choice, don't go there. Unless you don't know any better. If you've never had good pasta, you won't notice the difference, right? 

To get your food is fairly easy, with a few drawbacks that is. There is somewhere that sells food on every street corner, and in between. Where there are no actual shops you find these little stalls on bicycles or in trucks that sell anything from coconuts to rojak. I find those truck thingies impressive, where you have a few pots of boiling water, and then a big choice of things on sticks, which you dump into the water for a little while to cook, and then eat with sauces. I have no real clue what that stuff on sticks is, but it tastes good. 

Then there are the restaurants. Nothing special really, they look like the same variations as in Europe, you got the diner type, mostly with American style food, the Chinese restaurants with the pictures of horses and landscapes on the wall, the lounge style things that make everything out to be a little fancy, and some pseudo-European places, like the German beer house, which should be called Bavarian, not German (when will they finally learn that Bavaria is just that little bit down south, and everybody else in the country hates them with their lederhosen and dirndl?) and that Swiss Marche thing, where everything is set up like a market, and you pick and choose what you want, but they still don't get the taste right. 

I mostly like the sticky table places, as my friend calls them. Because, well, the tables are those cheap plastic kind, as are the chairs or stools, and even though they wipe them off when they clear them for the next person, well, they do remain a little sticky. Still, the best food I have had was in those places. Many are food courts, so someone comes to take your drink order, and else there are stalls around the edge of the area, and you order what you want to eat from them. As such easy, right?

 The problem starts, when everything is written in Chinese. And even if not, they have so many things here, and I can hardly remember the names of the food anyway, so unless I have a picture, or a neighbouring table, to point to I'm screwed. But there is always something good you can get. With or without knowing the name. 

Communication can also be quite funny. Some speak English, at least enough to make out what I want. Some don't. Then the gestures start. And the game of will-they-actually- bring-the-thing-I-wanted... Well, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Or rather, have the opportunity to try something else. One of my friends here is of Chinese origin, but doesn't speak any Malay. Well, more than he admits, that is. But it's funny to see the guy in that Indian place chat with him, asking him things, and getting a universal smile back in answer to whatever it was he had asked... I kinda thought by now the guy might have learned his lesson, but apparently not. When he sees my friend's face, which is probably familiar by now after those years of occasionally stopping by, he still seems to think chatting with him in high-speed Malay is the right choice. Ah well. As long as he brings some food...

When it comes to me, I like simple food around here. Nasi goreng, especially in that one place down the road that serves it with a piece of chicken that has real yummy spices all over it. Or char koay teow, or as I call them, Stephen fried noodles, because my friend hardly eats anything else, well, the occasional bak kut te (pork in soup) maybe... They are basically fried noodles with some shrimp and scallops in them, you can find it all over the place, but every stall has a different taste. One of the most interesting things I've had here was lui cha, cha as in tea, because the rice and nuts and chopped veggies in a bowl that you get are served with another bowl full of a green soup made from herbs which looks like tea, and which you pour over the rice. It has an incredibly fresh taste to it, if somewhat starchy in the finish. Which is probably why I never manage to finish the soup completely.

Oh, and talking of Chinese food, of course they have these famous 100 year old eggs. Which are not 100 years old, by the way. I don't particularly like them that much, but they are certainly pretty. The marinade in which they stewed that month and a bit made the whole egg dark and transparent, so that it is rather egg jelly than anything else. And it tastes like egg jelly too, probably why I'm not too fond of it; jelly and me, well, we've had a difficult relationship ever since childhood and those bowls of green jelly that still give me the shivers, and I suspect we will never really reconcile. But it is pretty, I grant you that.

Anyway, there is so much edible here to discover, and I've only just begun. All those fruits and veggies and the things you can do with them, not to mention those yummy drinks with sour plums and all sorts of little lemon-like thingies, or just juices of whatever fruit you can imagine... in colours that are difficult to imagine... as the bright purple dragonfruit juice, or the more than orange carrot juice... 

Ah, I'm getting hungry. So I guess I'll just stop this here and find myself some food out there...    

Bubbly Tea

A new fad is running around town... or the world rather. Pearl Tea. The first I ever encountered it was 7 years ago, which doesn't strike me as very new. Nonetheless, in KL it appears to be. They say that it's originally from Taiwan. I was introduced to the sweet drink in Japan, in Nagoya, right in the middle of Osu Kannon district, where a tiny colourful shop was crying out to me: Come and drink! And I did... I even got a stamp card, yes, stamp cards were already popular 7 years ago...

Pearl tea is tea, possibly in the broader sense since some of it is more watered down fruit juice, but you do get your black tea, green tea, red tea, what have you, mixed with milk and some sugar, and the pearls. Ah, pearls... 

Over here they also call it bubble tea, why I am not really sure. Those bubbles are not bubbles, pearls gets a bit closer already though. They are small balls, squishy, chewy, brownish, and with hardly any taste, if anything a little starchy maybe, but the tea and sweetener overlays it all. Why bubbles? Well, I guess ball tea would not have found many enthusiasts, not among the regular customers at least. 

I've seen the same kind of thing in various places. A Hong Kong style eatery near Leicester Square has them, also to pick up while walking past. Or an Asia supermarket in Shoreditch that replaced an architecture firm that, I hope, moved to better quarters, has one of those sealing machines apparently essential for preparing the drink. It's just not the same if you don't have it in a sealed cup, with an over-sized straw with which you can dig around the cup to hunt down the last of the ... well, balls. That it would be easier to get to them if you did not have to allow for the angle of the straw in addition to detecting the pearls among the ice cubes is of no consequence. 

Here in KL you have other choices as well, in case those little balls are not your cup of tea, no pun intended. Well, just a little maybe. Anyway, here you can also get grass-jelly, or sometimes something that particular shop called sky pearls, same thing just in tiny and white, and strangely tangy in the aftertaste. There are a few more choices, all some version or other of something squishy and jellylike. I stick to my pearls. The other jellies so far were just too, well, jellyish and soft. I want it chewy! 

As for variety, there are plenty. Aside from various kinds of tea you have a multitude of fruit flavours to choose from, some also do a more milkshake kinda thing, I tried one with yoghurt once, was quite alright. I still come back to the good and simple red or black milk tea with pearls. It's the simple things that mark the quality of a shop, don't you think? Been doing the same thing once with tomato soup, and am always on the hunt of the best plain coffee in whichever town I am in. And Starbucks is certainly not anywhere in the running... but I'm digressing. So, good old milk tea pearls, that's my way to go... and over here, don't forget to have them tone down the sugar level, they seem to love it sweet, but it kills the taste...

These kinds of shops are suddenly very popular here. I don't know why now, since the thing has been around for a while, if even Japan managed to sport it's own shops seven years ago already... But here they suddenly pop up everywhere. There's one cafe nearby the office that has turned into one of those shops, and now you have people queuing to get their drink. In another area not far from here, the same row of shops has four of them, all trying to do their own thing, but essentially ending up all the same. Just that one of them has cool green plastic chairs, the next one the name of the biggest chain of these around here, another is focussing more on deserts with those jelly things on ice rather than the drink, but you still get it of course, and the last one has cute little cubicle stools of some kind of brownish red in various shades... It's all the same to me, well, apart from the chairs of course. And people queue like mad, particularly at the bigger chain shop. I suppose, name is important after all. 

Now, I do like this kind of stuff, on occasion. It's like tea and desert in one, drink and chew, what more can you want? So, is it wrong that I crave some sourplum drink just now?

The Power of Smells

I don't know about you, but I have always been quite sensitive to smells, a lot of memories, of events or emotional states, are linked with smells in my mind. Having grown up near the sea, the salty smell of the ocean transports me right back to faint memories of the beach, sandcastles, warm summers in bathing suits, and my impressive jellyfish collection. Or take fresh coriander, in my case the smell is addictive to me, a bag of fresh coriander will last me a while, reminding me of cooking sessions with friends, and the lovely curries that were the results. Or coffee, especially freshly ground and brewed first thing in the morning...

In a country that has not quite gotten the hang of sewage treatment, or even street cleaning, smells are a daily part of your life. Which isn't meant to say that all smells here are bad. Yes, you do have the bad ones too, especially if you chose a seat close to the gutter running by the food court you are eating at. But also, since this is THE country of food, you are constantly haunted by wonderful smells of braised vegetables, cooked meat, fried rice, spices and herbs... it's mouthwatering. And then you are dragged back to earth by the scent wafting in from the garbage bag next to the sidewalk, which the dogs have ripped open in search of dinner.

Nonetheless, some smells are just heavenly. Imagine travelling around for a while, and staying in cheap places. Yes, you have found a cheap place, but it's clean. However, since they have to make do on the money they earn from the guests they save elsewhere, such as using less detergent when washing the sheets and covers. So these will have a fairly neutral odour, and with a bit of bad luck you may have a faint smell of sweat, possible from the pillow underneath the cover. My pillow did not really have much of a smell, which I only noticed by comparison when I moved on to the next place and booked into a place a little pricier, since it was right by the beach. A place that sends their laundry out to the professionals. The pillows smelled of fresh laundry soap and drier, this warm breezy fragrance that transports me back to times when I was supposed to help my mum put away the washing, fresh from the drier on a cold winter's day, but I never could resist throwing myself into the pile, swimming in the warmth and the cloud of fresh laundry smells, and only releasing the clothes when I had completely soaked up the heat. Is there anything that smells better? To me at least there isn't. But then I am also incapable of passing by a laundry without someone dragging me away bodily from the wonderful scent outside the ventilation, where you can sometimes even see, and feel, the warm steam from the machines inside.

Which reminds me, now back in KL, I should wash my pillow case, just so that I have something wonderful to sink into when I go to sleep tonight...       

One Twin Found

There is a temple in Kyoto, Sanjusangendo, where 1000 Buddha statues stand in the main hall to greet the visitors. It is said that anyone's face is represented in one of the statues, if only you look hard enough. I have always failed to find myself, since I find it difficult to look past the Asiatic faces with slanted eyes and low-bridged noses. But maybe you can't find yourself anyway, as your own image of your face is different to how other people see you. 

I did find this concept extremely interesting though when I stumbled across this Burmese temple in Penang the other day, which was filled with statues too, just that not all of them were Buddhas. Apart from the breathtaking woodwork and detailed patterns in the ceilings, there was a huge standing Buddha, and a little pagoda with a number of figurines, one for each Chinese zodiac sign, which amazed me in their beauty. 

The main event for me, however, was when I entered the main hall. As seems to be typical in Thai or Burmese temples, the main Buddha statue had circles of coloured blinking lights behind its head, indicating a halo that involuntarily reminds me of, rather annoying, Christmas decorations in German windows. Despite this distraction the face of the Buddha sprang to my attention. It had definitive female characteristics, fine-lined features, eye make-up, long lady-like fingers, and the coating on the face had been polished to a glowing bronze tone. It was beautiful. And it looked exactly like my roommate back in Osaka. 

Usually I gather that sniggering in a holy house is a little out of place, as most people would come to pray to their God, or reflect on a particular topic. But I couldn't help myself. Before me, in the... wood, was Tomo, and no mistaking it. Had she been modelling for the statue? Doubtful, since she had never been to Malaysia. Maybe the sculptor had somehow gotten hold of a photograph? That would be the logic, if far-fetched explanation.

Maybe this was just one of those coincidences, after all we are all said to have a twin somewhere on earth. Or was it the universe? I'm not entirely sure I want to meet mine, who knows, it might be a disappointment, plus I prefer the idea of being a unique being after all. But I am sure glad I've found Tomo's twin, even if inanimate. Just think, thousands of people pray to a statue of her every day, they bring her flowers and candles and other gifts, and she in return gives them hope and puts their minds at ease. What better twin could you wish for?

I can't wait to see her reaction when she hears this...       

Ladyboys

At night the street around the corner from my hostel turns quiet, the shops all close down, only a few restaurants and bars are still open for us tourists. There are a lot of cheap guesthouses and hotels along the road and in the neighbouring streets, this is tourist central in George Town. Another thing is centred around here: At night when it gets dark, out of nowhere, a battalion of ladyboys emerges, in neat short skirts and full make-up. They are not interested in me, their clientele is apparently male. I just wonder, since most people staying in these cheap hotels are young travellers, mostly couples, how do they make their money? Who are their clients? Do they come driving in from some distance away? That would probably be much better for their reputation, less of a chance that they might be spotted engaging an evening of entertainment. Then I remember, there are a uncommon large number of older western men around here, the ones that run around without their wives. And I begin to suspect that the reason for the convergence of these travellers might be a different sort of entertainment than just the beach and the temples. Or are those just my stereotypes kicking in? 

Whichever it is, I find these ladyboys extremely interesting. The way they play with gender roles, which since we mention it I think should be abolished and replaced by a multitude of personality traits if you must categorise... I mean these days, why is it so important to know whether the person you are attracted to is male of female? Attraction is attraction! 

I wonder what brought these girls here... most of them seem rather Indonesian or Thai than Malay, but then again, what do I know. They have a grace about them which I find just beautiful. Although rumour has it that they can be very persistent once they latch onto a target. How gracefully that is performed I do not know. I wonder how they lead their daily lives, this is a Muslim country after all, even if it does allow it's inhabitants a large amount of self-expression. Do they try and hide their way of life? I doubt it, as you can spot them, minus the make-up and dress, during the day anywhere, no problem. A friend told me that cross-dressing is fairly accepted here. People look, notice, and don't ask questions they don't want to hear the answer to. I like that attitude, there are certainly a large number of people back in Britain that can learn a thing or two about letting people make their own choices.

Even the police seems not to mind them being here, after all it is a well-known area for ladyboys, but they are still here, prominently, and the police just passes by. As corrupt as they are said to be there may be an arrangement behind the attitude. Or they genuinely just don't care, who knows. 

I wonder, how much of a choice in career do these girls have. Is there any other way of life that is acceptable in this society? I certainly hope there is, but I have yet to meet someone to confirm this. I do suspect however that our society, as modern as we conceive ourselves to be, is still way behind accepting breaches of the boundaries of gender, established centuries ago. We think of our society as a world where everything is possible, yet they are still pushed into the darkness of little alleyways and doorsteps. In that sense I guess these girls are just too modern for the world at this point in time.

Still Life... or the Nearest Thing to It

Is there anything better than sitting on a porch with a book, after a long and exhausting day of walking, while the rain spatters on the street just in front of you and cools the air? You sit in a wicker chair, the porch is lined with plants and bushes in pots, which still bear the decorations of Chinese New Year in red and gold. Behind you someone is playing the guitar, testing out his newly acquired book of sheet music; not overwhelming, but it doesn't disturb you in your reading.

Your skin still feels tight and sore from the sunburn you got yesterday, and even though you wore long sleeves today, and stayed in the shade as much as possible, you can only agree to the fact that your sunburn got a sunburn today. But you have had a cold soothing shower when you returned to the hostel, and put on lots of lotion, so the pain has almost gone by now.

The hotel just across the street has some dingy feel to it. You have watched several backpackers approach the door, but nobody ever crosses the threshold, one look and they turn away without even asking to see the rooms. A lot of young men come and go, they could be Thai or Indonesian, and appear to be working on construction sites or somewhere else that requires towels around their heads and sturdy trousers. A cat lives there too, just then she carried her kitten in by the neck and vanished behind the open door; you were at first trying to make sure it was a live kitten, and not a rat, and much to your relieve you confirmed the first.

On the porch of the hostel next-door sits one of these young hippie-types that seem to be attracted to this town. Not just the young ones, you have seen several of retirement age that have definitely been in the game since the original 60s flower power scene. The beards speak volumes. This young one next-door doesn't have a beard, but sports an enviable Afro, in blonde, which you would just love run your hands through. As does he, apparently. 

The middle-aged man returns that sits somewhere with you on this porch every evening, also equipped with a book. You nod, he nods, he takes a seat, you turn to your books. Yours is the one you bought in London when you were just there on a visit, and tells of a policeman/wizard apprentice who solves weird crimes around London, with detailed descriptions that make you feel melancholy. His you have no idea.

On occasion the stench from the gutter running along the street comes wafting in, but with the cool breeze, ensured by the fan up on the ceiling, it disperses again quickly. Still, it takes you a moment before you feel like another sip of your drink. You put on some extra mosquito repellent, you bought the one with citrus and cloves that smells so nice, to you, not the mosquitoes you hope, and strongly, in order to overpower the next wave from the gutter. 

You write this blog, in the second person, because you want to try the style of the last book you read, and somehow feel it's weird... so I suppose I will not stick to it. Well then, let me return to my book, and the peacefulness of sitting out on the porch, before turning in to a night of sleep.

The Religious Ones...

Why is it that religious people keep trying to convince me to join them? Maybe it's because I like listening to people when they are passionate about something, and I guess in order to fight the general carelessness you have to be pretty passionate about religion these days. It's just that I am not, and I find it difficult to get this whole devotion thing. What is wrong with just being a good person and doing your bit to make this a better world? Why do you constantly need to pray for guidance to your God of choice, I mean, most of the guidelines are pretty commonsense anyway, right? Why does it only count when you do something good in honour of your God? Mmh... 

So, I started talking to this Indian guy who was selling tau fu fa from his little bicycle stall, about where he came from, and why he was selling tau fu fa which I thought was more of a Chinese thing... He was obviously a Muslim, wearing that little cap, I am not sure what they call it in this country. It was real interesting, he talked about his daughter who went back to India, and his parents who had brought him here. He asked if I was Christian, and when I said no he apparently thought I needed a God, and gave me a book with little sayings about prayer and why you should do it. He was sure that once I thought about it for a while I would be back and ready to learn more... Well, so far no such urges have come up. 

He is not the only one. I've met several people, of several faiths, trying to convince me that theirs is the true way to paradise/enlightenment/whatever you want to call it. I am glad that they have found their way, and are apparently happy with it. But a common thread emerges: They all put so much pressure on themselves to follow the rules, whichever these are in their specific religion, and feel constantly guilty. They all feel they have to pray so and so many times a day, and if they don't their God will be cross with them. Why do they stress themselves out so much? To me any religion is a guideline to be a good person, help others in need, be kind, and let your mind grow. So if you are a good person, and I believe many of these people are, why does it only count what you have done if you do it for your God? Is it not enough to do something good just for the sake of it? If you do something good just because your God demands you to, isn't that selfish, and pretty much the opposite of what it was supposed to be? You are not good because you are a good person, you are good because you have an ulterior motive, for your own benefit. But this is the action that counts. I just don't get it.

Nonetheless, I like talking to people about their religion. As long as they actually talk about it and don't preach. Sad to say, but the tau fu fa guy started preaching, which may be due to his lack of English, but he could not explain to me why he thought you had to follow all these rules. You had to if you wanted to get to heaven. The concept that I didn't believe in heaven was unfortunately beyond him...