Enormous Kuala Lumpur Episode Six (Final Episode Finally)

EPISODE SIX: MENARA

On Sunday, I woke up obscenely early again determined to make the most of my 6 remaining hours in KL. I took my time eating breakfast, however, because nothing was open yet. I wanted to visit the Kuala Lumpur Tower (Menara KL) and I wanted to walk there, maybe check out Little India, then walk back to the hostel in time for my 1:00 bus.

I shared my obscenely early morning with Francisco, a Chilean business traveler who had arrived in the wee hours straight off his day-long flight and who was determined to see everything in KL in a day. And to walk the entire thing. Because Chot was still asleep, I helped him find a map, circle the cool destinations, and recommend a walking route. (Me = pro.) He left immediately, a steely glint in his eye that I recognized as a manic brand of wanderlust also found in Alice.

I left around 8:30, figuring it would take me 30 minutes to amble my way up to the tower so I would arrive right at opening time. If I’m going to pay money to ascend a tower and  look at a city, it’s going to be a shiny, morning-bright city. The other two days had been typical rainy season: overcast + sporadic torrential showers; but today was looking gorgeous. I love the tropical blue skies we get in this part of the world.

To the Menara!

I found my way to the park, Bukit Nanas, that surrounds the Menara, and with the help of friendly cops on motorcycles, found the entrance to the little hiking trails. Chot had told me that although most of the forests surrounding KL are secondary (meaning that they are replanted forests, mostly of one tree species,) Bukit Nanas is still a primary growth forest. Interesting sidenote: bukit nanas means “Pineapple Hill”, (which sounds like a Beatles song title. Right?)

The trail I took which was right behind the Forestry Information building (empty except for an adorable, tiny cleaning woman who I accidentally scared when I appeared silently behind her and asked her where the trail started.) The first part was paved with little stairs, and later it was just a wide, easy dirt path. Nothing too jungle-y. After about 5 minutes, I emerged below the Menara. BEHOLD:

Menara!

Groovy-Man Crossing? I encountered this CLASSIC sign in the shadow of the Menara.

The base of the Menara is surrounded by a little fortress of attractions including pony rides, a small petting zoo (home to a small two-headed turtle,) and a little garden. When I arrived at the ticket desk, there were only 2 other people in line. One happened to be Francisco! We decided to join forces for the morning and I was happy to have someone to chat with while looking at KL from above.

View from above. Even in the daytime those Petronas Towers are shiny. Arrestingly so.

KL certainly was morning-bright that day, and we enjoyed looking at all the differently shaped buildings: mosques (I could see the National Mosque and Masjid Jamek), the shiny, shiny Petronas towers, the multitude of modern skyscrapers (some had swimming pools on top where we could just make out a swimmer or two enjoying the mild morning sun,) and older low colonial buildings. From the Menara you can also see various parks, Lake Titwangsa (yup), and even the Batu Caves! I could really appreciate the low mountains around KL: nothing at all like out West in Canada, or like Seoul, but a lot taller than anything in Singapore. Breath. Of. Fresh. Air.

Our tickets came with a complimentary: a) pony ride (although the poor horses didn’t look as if they could take a hefty Western frame  b) entrance into the petting zoo  or c) a discount off of some picture you can take with the Petronas Towers in the background. Fortunately, Francisco didn’t have any interest in any of these options either, and we climbed back down Bukit Nanas to make our way to Masjid Jamek.

I had warned Francisco that we wouldn’t be able to enter the mosque, but when we arrived, a friendly man proved me wrong by waving us in and dressing us up in mosque-wear. It wasn’t the institutionalized purple and purple of the National Mosque, but some white and off-white robes and a colourful assortment of headscarves for me. We weren’t allowed to enter the actual buildings, but were free to stroll the grounds and snap photos of the lovely architecture to our hearts content. There was more of the elaborate arches and reflective marble surfaces. If anything, the low ceilings made the old mosque seem even airier

The airy interior of the Old Mosque.

More gorgeous arches. Islamic architecture: A+.

From Masjid Jamek, I led Francisco to the National Flagpole but we agreed that it was missable and continued on to Little India, which he really wanted to see. Things we did:

1. Shopped for bangles
2. Looked at more fake designer goods (many cheaper than Chinatown)
3. Drank coconut water after convincing the seller not to fill half the cup with syrup
4. We ate. DID we eat! We found a likely-looking street food stall and had a good time just pointing at different dishes for the man to spoon onto some rice. I got sunflower seed – chili pate (so good!), awesome mushy eggplant/brinjal (so so good!), a boiled egg (always so good!), and a piece of fried fish (just barely good!) Malay food in Little India: feast your eyes on THAT!

Street food with brinjaaaaaaaaaaal!

Finally it was time for me to catch my bus, so after walking with Francisco to Central Market and setting his course to the Natoinal Mosque (I gushed about it,) peaced and tried to walk back to the hostel. I got lost and was running out of time (FAIL), so I took a taxi with a very friendly Taxi Uncle who took lots of alleyway shortcuts. I popped back into Equator Hostel, thanked awesome Hady, grabbed some snacks for the bus, and settled back into a comfortable DELUXE MASSAGE BUS seat with the added bonus of my seat being the back seat on the 2nd floor of the bus. Double decker FTW!

The trip home was uneventful except for buying some putu mayam at a gas station:

Putu mayam, which I was surprised to discover is not "puto maya" which is not "puto" which is what I was actually expecting.

Puto maya: a gingery, not-really-sweet, glutinous rice desert from the Philippines.

Puto: Filipino steamed sweet rice cakes usually with a weird cheese on top.

It was still pretty good. Seems that “putu”/”puto” is always a good bet dessert name-wise. I crammed a lot into that long weekend. Another is coming up this weekend (also Rebecca the Roomie’s birthday) and we have our beady eyes fixed on Malaysia … OR BANGKOK. (Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat??!)

Enormous Kuala Lumpur Post Episode Five

EPISODE FIVE: I AM A BOYSCOUT AND THE BATU CAVES

OR: MONKEYS ARE SUPER TERRIBLE

I slept hard and woke early on day 2 of my Kuala Lumpur Adventure, showered, ate food, and was raring to go at 7:00. Unfortunately, everyone else was still fast asleep, including the night hostel man, Chot.  I sat outside with a dirty kitten and a KL guide, unsure if I should wait or head out alone. Soon though, Chot woke up and told me he was going to pick up a bigger car in the late morning and we’d leave at around noon so to kill time, I went for a walk in the area. I was searching for a market I heard was good for breakfast (because, like Singapore, most places aren’t open until 10,) but instead I found residential neighbourhoods and Chinese tourists in Chinese restaurants and decaying houses nestled between enormous office complexes. I wandered to Jalan Alor, known for its food (although … meh. I liked the markets better,) and bought myself a thick coffee and another breakfast – nasi lemak this time.  It was only 10 by the time I had finished all this, so I strolled aimlessly, following whatever caught my fancy and ended up  in the “Arab Street” area in some park decorated with coffeepot sculptures and more Arabic calligraphy, just totally loving Kuala Lumpur.

I love this city.

I returned to the hostel at lunchtime, and the four of us set off on our little roadtrip. Turns out Chot is a nature guide. Out of the goodness of his heart he wanted to show us around. Nice people: find them everywhere.

Only about 15 minutes out of KL, he pulled over and showed us this little hotspring where locals were bathing and picnicking. I stuck my hand in the water, and retracted it immediately with a yell of surprise: the water is around 70 degrees Celsius! A tubby uncle yelled across to Chot in Malay, and then actually dove into the water in order to amuse us. We started laughing and snapping pictures. The very gratified uncle emerged on our side of the pool, and then pretended to pick us up and throw us in. Now the locals started laughing and snapping pictures.

HOT springs

Crazy old uncle. You know how when you get into a hot tub and it's so hot that you need to ease your way in real slow all muttering and blowing and puffing? Yeah, this stuff was hotter.

We drove another 20 minutes to the waterfall park, and gave our ticket money to a man at the gates. His friend had a baby gibbon wearing a diaper wrapped around his torso. My jaw dropped, “Is that a gibbon!?” I love gibbons. I think they’re the best of the primates, for sure. And let me take this opportunity emphasize that gibbons are not monkeys. I wouldn’t say I hate monkeys, but if hate is a 10/10 on the dislike scale, monkeys and I weigh in on a firm mutual 9.5. They’re maliciously mischievous and dirty with feces. They steal things, throw their excrement, fight with their nasty monkey teeth and nasty monkey claws. Monkeys are just all around terrible; gibbons, on the other hand, mostly just swing around the tops of trees with their awesome biaxial wrists, and their awesome super-long arms, puffing out their throat sacs, eating fruit and making AWESOME GIBBON SOUNDS!

Gaaaaaaaaaaaah! Muuuuuffffffiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!

I leapt out of the car and went to meet him. He was so adorable with his enormous, shiny, black eyes and his shy, little old-man-face. I asked if I could touch him, and the man answered by coming close to me so the little gibbon could look at me and decide for himself. Then, in one fluid dream-come-true movement, Little Gibbon reached out one long, feathery arm, clutched my shoulder, and swung himself onto me. Then he HUGGED ME! (read: used my body to keep himself upright.) I’m pretty sure if anyone had taken a photo of that moment, in place of my eyes would be rainbow sparkles.

Turns out his owner has a permit from the Malaysian government to care for him while he’s still a baby. He’s only a year old, and although curious, was shy and when his owner came back went to him and hid up his shirt. Awesome. Gibbons! Right?

WE ARE BEST FRIENDS!

Bonus shot: his adorable old-man face, his diaper, ... and my boob.

I realized just while writing this post that Little Adorable here is probably a baby siamang gibbon. I didn’t realize siamangs were gibbons, but they are my favourite animal at the Singapore zoo. I think they must be my second-favourite animal period (right after the noble cuttlefish.) Adorable and I said our sorrowful farewells and our little group made our way up the mountain.

There are seven levels of the waterfall and at each level were people with food, swimming, laughing and generally chilling in the good weather. It was nice to see and there were smiles all around. We almost immediately came across a troupe of monkeys spying on a group of Malaysians making merry by the waterfalls but thankfully my gibbon-glow protected me from monkey-induced gloom. Effing monkeys. Seriously.

Damn monkeys biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to ruin these peoples' days. Monkeys are terrible!

"Oh, you know, we just be chillin' by a seven-level waterfall a 40 minute drive from KL. Yeah, yeah that's right. KL and I are on initial-name basis now." "Oh, haaaiii, GH." "Yo, KL. What up?" "Just going to chill by the seven-level waterfall, you know." "I know."

When we reached the 6th level, Chot stopped and said we’d only go this far because soon it would rain and we didn’t want the paths to get too slippery. We all took off our shoes, the others changed into their bathing suits (I didn’t pack mine!!) and we spent a perfect hour in the water.  Max and Leia ended up perched on a rock emerging from the waterfall, just completely blissed out. Chot built a little dam. Things I did:

1. Successfully stalked and caught an enormous water strider half the length of my palm. It was the first time I’d ever touched one, and wasn’t prepared for its spider-like qualities. I yelped and dropped it. Chot laughed at me and told me that they were spiders. I really doubted it, but my mild (read: rampant) arachnophobia was exactly equal to my  natural urge to re-catch it and look at it and hold it and be in direct physical contact with it and force it to be friends with me. Also, my dad pretty much educated me on every insect and which ones had mouthparts that can actually pierce human skin, and I couldn’t remember whether enormous tropical water striders made the list or not. (Mistake: they are neither spiders, nor able to bite.) I watched them skim along with great frustration.
2. Found a cute, yellow tree frog. I touched it with a stick, afraid of poisonous skin, and it leapt into the water and swam adorably to a dead log and pretended to be a leaf. Poor frog. I described it to Chot later and he said I did well not to touch it. YES! GRACE IN THE JUNGLE (this was not really a jungle. It was secondary forest but I cannot WAIT until I do a jungle trek. I’m thinking 3 days of hard trekking. yuuuuusssssssss.)
3. Found little blue crayfish with enormous claws and made a lame squeak when it pinched me.
4. Got completely soaking wet despite my best efforts not to.

Lesson learned: never, EVER go anywhere without a bathing suit.

After an hour, the thunder that had been grumbling on for about three hours became a little more serious about itself and Chot told us we should go back down. As we were putting our shoes back on, Max and Leia said to me, “You’re like a boyscout! You go around poking things with sticks and touching insects. You are always yelling, “Look guys! Look!” and it’s something alive,” which I consider one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received and I was very proud.

Before I could thank them, I noticed a very big ant scuttling under a leaf and yelled, “Look! Look at that huuuuge ant!” Max and Leia laughed heartily at me while lifted the leaf off the shiny, mahogany-coloured beauty with a flourish. Then they saw the ant, went “WOW!” and dropped to the forest floor to take macro shots of it.

Boyscout skills: ENGAGE!

Bonus lifesaving ant fact: if you are ever in the Amazon and find yourself bleeding heavily, giant ants like these can be used to pinch the wound close, thus saving your life. Ants, right?

On the way down we encountered more monkeys, and in the parking lot witnessed five on a car, ripping the rubber strip out from between the car body and the door. They are such jerks. We also saw a 5-foot long snake cross the path (I have a video upon request.) We made it to the car just as it started to rain big, fat raindrops.

Chot said he’d take us to the Batu Caves, which are a major tourist destination as well as a Hindu religious site. They have an interesting history and I encourage you to read up on them, but what is essential for you to understand about them is that they’re really big, and really beautiful. The stalactites are very strangely-shaped, and because in the very top of the highest cavern there are nostril-shaped hopes in the ceiling, I can’t help but describe them in my head as “mucus-y”. But, you know, beautiful and awe-inspiring mucus. You know.

Also, you should know that Hindu iconography is colourful and cluttered. When I look at the roofs of temples or at shrines, the statues almost seem like they’re moving, because there is so much going on. Obviously, I love them.

Say "kimchi"!

To get into the Caves, you have to climb 272 steps past a looming golden statue of Murugan. I was posing for a picture with him when a group of Korean ajusshis walked past and called out, “Say kimchi!” (which explains the strange expression on my face in the picture above.) I hollered back at them in Korean, “<Are you Korean?>”
“Omo! <Why do you speak Korean?>”
“<I – Korea … Seoul …> oh damn <2 years … forget…> gaah! why can’t I? …<There was an English teacher in Seoul.>”
“Ah. <You speak Korean well.>”
“<You lie but thank you.>”
“Pangapsumnida.”
“<Have a good trip.>”

Max and Leia looked at me in awe, “Well, that was pretty damn awesome.” I thought of Alice and our self-congratulatory ways as we scaled the steps with our already-shaking legs.

I'm sorry for befouling your retinas again with vile images of monkeys, but the key focal point here is the rooster behind them. How ...?

I had bought a few Indian sweets to replenish my energy and was accosted no fewer than 5 times by effing monkeys.

1. Circa step 15: vile, dirty monkey launches itself off a railing, making a wild grab for my bag of sweets. I yank them out of reach instantly, yelling obscenities and baring my teeth at it while…
2. Another vile, dirty monkey reached out from the railing behind me to try to pull my arm carrying the sweets towards it. Eugh! I actually snarled at it and hastily started climbing again. I effing HATE (9.5/10) monkeys.
3. Circa step 100: A great dirty monkey with enormous testicles lounging on the stairs makes half-hearted swipe at my ankles. One can only assume he was trying to trip me in order to make me fall to my death so that he could feast upon my Indian sweets and then defecate on my still-warm body. Because monkeys are like that.
4. Circa step 156: An even bigger, dirtier monkey charges me from 10 steps above and tries to climb me. I kick at it furiously, and yell at it, “BAD MONKEY! THESE ARE MY SWEETS! I WILL NEVER SHARE WITH YOU, YOU DIRTY LITTLE THIEF.” Leia laughs again.
5. Circa step 260: Almost home free. My guard is down. A small monkey leaps off a railing near me while I’m turned to glare at one of its larger brethren which was cleaning its nasty monkey teeth suggestively and leering at my bag of sweets. The small monkey actually managed to grab a disgusting monkey handful of sweets. It landed, stuffed the handful immediately into its filthy monkey mouth and looked at me with its terrible blank monkey eyes. I admit I may have waved the bag of sweets just out of its reach, wafting the smell towards it before climbing the last 12 steps and in full view of its repulsive monkey eyes, disposed of them in the monkey-proof trash bins.

Appalling. I know.

The entrance caves are spectacular enough to have driven all thoughts of monkeys from my mind within seconds. I really wasn’t expecting such a huge cave system. It’s palatial. And there are colourful shrines and effigies tucked into all sorts of nooks. They glimmer and shine in the damp dark.

A very very cool sacred place, but not one I would necessarily want to hang out in regularly mainly because of the monkeys.

At the mouth of the cave is a shop selling souvenirs and things to leave by the shrines with your prayers. There were some really trippy flashing-light pictures of gods. They were playing really rocking ragas and we took videos of the display, imagining to make a video mashup later. Who knows, maybe I will.

There weren’t many tourists, maybe because the weather was pretty poopy. Not only was it raining, but there was a strong haze from the Indonesian slash-and-burn farmers + strong Northern wind.

The vastness of the cave vs. tiny holy woman sitting perfectly still holding her one huge dreadlock in her lap.

The cave opens up to a little cave-courtyard like the one I saw in Kep, Cambodia. There were more steps *pant* but it was so gorgeous that I didn't mind too much.

In the courtyard is another shrine. Instead of monkeys, it was lined with very clean-looking pigeons. The big shiny male pigeons were doing their awesome dance for the female pigeons, just like nasty stump-legged Toronto pigeons. Ah pigeons.

(Sidenote: if you haven’t seen City Face by Tom Siddell, today is your lucky day. I think City Face talks exactly the way a pigeon would talk.)

After we climbed back down to the protest of our quadriceps, we devoured a mediocre lunch at a restaurant in the shadow of Lord Murugan and then drove back into KL. Max and Leia took a nap in preparation for a night out, but having only a few days to enjoy KL, I forayed into the dusk with aims to get some Malay food in the Malay quarter and then maybe wander around some more.

I found my way to Kampung Baru via the monorail and followed Hady’s directions to a street crammed with Malay restaurants of all kind. I felt kind of shy passing and staring, and I really wanted to try to eat at one enormous and packed place near the end of the street, but it was so packed and I was so shy-feeling (where did that come from?) that I opted for a different delicious-smelling place. It specialized in nasi lemak and I ordered this mouth-watering combination:

Nasi lemak: pandan-coconut rice with chili, boiled egg, some cucumbers, and then I added spicy mussels and dried, fried anchovies. And lemon tea.

On my way back to the train, verrrrrrrrrry full, I saw the Petronas Towers all lit up. I wasn’t going to visit because the sky bridge is closed for renovations, but they were so shiny, I actually started walking towards them without even really noticing.

The only halfway decent photo I took of the Petronas Towers. Trust me: they are impressively shiny. Def a must-see if you are either into buildings or shiny things (Alice.)

I made it to the super-posh mall beneath them before I got bored and cold inside and walked all the way back to my hostel. It took about 40 minutes. Max and Leia were in the common room looking refreshed and drinking beers. They tried to convince me to go out with them but I could hardly keep my eyes open. T-ired. I crawled up to my bunk (I always choose the top bunk, even in an empty dorm) and accidentally woke my new Swedish roommate who sat up suddenly and asked me if she knew me, then whether the door was locked, then if I had fed the cat, then fully woke up and apologized for being sleep-addled. I was gone the moment my head touched pillow. What a day!

Enormous Kuala Lumpur Post Episode Four

EPISODE FOUR: I MEET A MAN I DO NOT LIKE

Next stop: Central Market. On the way there, I passed a man with an open map blocking the walkway and looking totally lost. I stopped and offered, “I have a map too. Maybe I can help. Where are you going?” He told me he wanted to go to Chinatown, so I told him I was going halfway to Chinatown and we could go together.  Let’s call him “Man”.  Man is a businessman who was on his last day of a week-long business trip to KL from Dubai and who wanted to pick up some fake brand name stuff from the Chinatown markets.  It is important to note that at this point I wasn’t picking up any creep- or jerk-vibes off this guy.

We eventually came to Central Market with its big Kite-shaped cover. Central Market is just a big tourist trap, really, selling the sorts of Asian souvenirs you can find … well, anywhere: tropical fruit magnets, bad black velvet wall hangings of vaguely Asian-looking bamboo groves, poorly-made wooden “ethnic” instruments. We’re talking Toronto Chinatown in a cleaner, nicer-looking setting.

Central Market (read: where to buy your bad souvenirs for exorbitant prices.)

Still, I found a stall selling rojak, which is my favourite, favourite Malay food so far. I eat rojak whenever I can because it makes me 50% happier than before I eat it because it just tastes so damn good. Who would have guessed that the recipe for happiness was a mixture of chili, palm sugar, tamarind juice, and various dried and fermented shellfish slathered over fresh fruit and sprinkled in ground peanuts? Malay people: thank you.

Heaven, I'm in heaven ...

5 RM (1.60CAD) and an incredulous, “You know rojak?!” later, I stood in the damp street with a heavy styrofoam container of the BEST rojak I’d ever tasted, mouth full, eyes closed, totally delighting the rojak-seller with my unabashed appreciation of her wares. I just totally blissed out, right there.  (Hell, even writing this is buoying my spirits!)

After a minute of reverent silence, I turned my mind to business: I wanted to stroll in the market while eating my rojak. It was the right thing to do. Man hovered awkwardly, peering suspiciously at the jambu in the rojak. I gave him directions to Chinatown and sent him on his way. I entered the fray clutching my rojak, happy to be free.

Somehow, Man managed to find me again saying the rain scared him off, and insisted on following me around on my wanderings. I mentally shrugged: he wasn’t doing any harm, he just seemed really (read: REALLY) lonely. I know what it’s like to feel lonely while solo traveling, so I decided to tolerate his presence and to continue doing whatever I felt like doing. He followed me around telling me about annoying Arab women he knew.

After I got sick of Central Market, I set off for Chinatown, Man in my wake talking animatedly having now moved on to Arab Women Complaint #4: they like designer goods too much. I diplomatically chose not to point out that he was currently on a mission to buy fake designer stuff in order to “make good first impressions”. His words, not mine.  Alice must be rubbing off on me, because my usually aggressively sensitive Creep Radar didn’t go off until we reached Chinatown. (See Dandelion Story.)

Things were going well until Man found a Starbucks t-shirt he wanted. He asked for the price, and then asked for a discount on 2 shirts. “A large for me,” here he turned to me, looked me up and down and said to the stall owner, “And another tshirt, in … small.”

Whoa, whoa, WHOA!  Whoa.

Ok Mr. Man. Inappropriate. (Also, not a size small in any universe.) Still, I gave him the benefit of cultural differences and tried to politely but firmly decline, but he was having none of it:

Grace: “No thank you.”
Man: “Why? It’s like 10 dollars!” (Seriously? You should be paying $2.)
Grace: “No. Thank you. I worked at Starbucks. I have t-shirts.”
Man: “Do you have this one?”
Grace: “Thank you for offering, but you’re not buying me that t-shirt.”
Man: “Why not?!”
Grace: “I don’t want one.”
Man: *pained, patronizing expression* “Come on! It’s nothing. I have money.” (Ooooh! Is this a male wealth posturing thing?)
Grace: “No. I have no room in my luggage. I’m going to look at other stalls.”

On I moved, Man continuing to follow and tell me about how even though he ate at the Hard Rock Cafe three times this week he wasn’t able to make any friends in KL and hadn’t talked to anyone for more than 30 minutes in 8 days. Yah? Well, Man, after 30 minutes of conversation with you had moved from “barely visible blip on the Creep Radar” to “WHOA!” and were slowly creeping (*groan*) up the list of “Creepiest Dudes I Have Ever Had the Displeasure of Speaking With”.

We passed a sunglasses stall and I remembered that my 50cent sunglasses bought in Vietnam last year had snapped in half on my way back from Sipadan, and I stopped to buy a new pair. Man also bought a pair, then somehow ended up paying the stall owner for both pairs. Upon discovery of this I made a fuss (“You’re not paying for me!” “*wealth posturing expression* Come on! It’s like … 20 Ringgit!”) and forced 20 Ringgit into his hand. I can’t think of a single place in which it is considered appropriate to try to buy things for total strangers. I’ve JUST met you! You can’t buy me things!

I decided to leave Man’s company as soon as possible.

Chinatown (read: another place to get ripped off if you don't speak Chinese or a place to have fake brand name goods bought for you by pushy Arab men despite your every effort to avoid it.)

“Man, it’s been great, but I need to get some coffee or something. Enjoy your shopping!” I tried to flounce away.
“Wait! I’ll get some too! I saw a McDonald’s up the street.” And despite myself, I couldn’t help turning around in shock and hissing at him,
“McDonalds!???! You’re in Malayasia!  You’re going to buy coffee at McDonald’s!??!” And even more despite myself, I found myself leading the way to a street-side noodle stall and ordering a kopi-C and lecturing Man on all the awesome street food he was missing while he was eating at the Hard Rock Cafe and McDonald’s.

I realized my mistake when he started telling me about how hard it was to find a wife in Dubai. I gulped down my coffee, entreating the coffee god to send me a caffeine high strong enough to cancel out the creeps I was getting from Man. Then I paid for my coffee, thanked Man for the company (I can’t help it! My parents brought me up well!) and started walking towards the monorail station.

He followed me. Seriously, take a hint.

And this really takes the cake: despite being fully on the sidewalk, he felt it was necessary to physically protect (*caustic sneer of disgust*) me from the cars on the street and move me to the “safe” side of the sidewalk by touching my arm and assuming a smug expression of … I don’t know … male protectiveness? I knew that he would never have touched an Arab woman on her arm, imaginary danger or not.I surprised myself by becoming immediately, intensely enraged.  I wanted to, I don’t know, tear into his puny mind with an ear-melting tirade of “how dare you feel you have the right to touch my arm, you stupid, oblivious, pig, etc.” and then have a war axe materialize in my hands and hack up the nearest (empty) car into shiny, jagged pieces and arrange them to spell out, “YOU DISGUST ME” using only the kinetic power of my scorn all the while maintaining menacing, unblinking eye contact.

Instead, I stopped. I turned to him and pointedly said with great restraint,

“Goodbye.” I speed walked off.
“Where are you going now?” He actually jogged after me, wheezing and sweating.
“I’m going back to my hostel.” My pace did not slacken.
“Where is your hostel?”
“…I’m taking the monorail.”
“Do you want to come to my hotel area? It’s near the towers and you can go see the…”
“Whoa. No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m going back to my hostel.” Please note, that I felt strongly that he was harmless, but I wanted to get out of his creep range and start enjoying myself again. If I felt that he was actually dangerous, I would have taken other precautions.
“Do you want me to come with you? I can …
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I just want to go back to my hostel.”
“What are you going to do?”
“*flash of brilliance*…I’m going to sleep.”
“It’s 5:30.”
“Yup. Goodbye.”
“I’ll come with you.”

I stopped again, turned to him. I focused on radiating hostility out of every pore. And like Cyclops taking off his visor, I revealed the full glory of my Teacher Face, the one that actually makes my primary students tremble. He stopped too and stepped away from me.

“No. You are NOT coming with me. I’m going to my hostel to SLEEP. I do not know you.” He began to open his mouth in protest, but I ploughed on, speaking in my clearest, quietest, scariest Teacher Voice tempered with a new Warrior Princess Voice that I didn’t know I had.

“I’m going to SLEEP. I do not know you.” I watched the lightbulb turn on above his head and he had the good grace to look extremely embarrassed. He muttered an apology, handed me a slip of paper he had written his email on, and slunk back the way we had come with a whimpered, “Have a nice trip.”

I stalked down the rest of the street, actually shaking my arms to get rid of the angry, creepy feeling. I found a 20 RM note in the slip of paper. I tore the email up into tiny, tiny shreds, and placed the 20 RM in the donation box of a Temple that I passed, shaking my arms again.

My wanderlust cheered me up pretty quickly as I stared around myself on the monorail, watching people be people, and watching the city be a city. I went back to the Berjaya area to smell all the different foods in the night markets. Happiness restored, I really did go back to the hostel, where I met an adorable teenaged couple from Northern Germany, Max and Leia, who invited me along on a trip to a waterfall with the night hostel man the next morning. I told them about Man over beers, and after jamming with them on the hostel’s guitars (and uke!) the afternoon’s unsavoury meeting became just another funny anecdote.

Enormous Kuala Lumpur Post Episode Two and Three

EPISODE TWO: EN ROUTE

I decided very last-minute to take advantage of my day off and head for the hills. I booked bus tickets Thursday night, ran, packed, slept badly for a couple of hours, woke at 5:00 AM, finished packing, downloaded Feist’s new album, and made my early morning way to Golden Mile Complex where a lot of bus companies have headquarters. To celebrate another episode of “Grace travels alone to new places” , I wandered to a hawker centre and ordered thick, milky coffee and drank it out of a bag.

My bus left at 8:00 with me cozily curled, toes tucked under legs, in the front seat of a “DELUXE MASSAGE BUS”, bumping Feist’s Metals (as a friend would say.) $30 each way will buy you loads of air conditioned leg room, and apparently, a vibrating chair. Even better, my seat was on the single seat side of the bus, so no drooling seat buddies this time! MASSAGE BUS FTW!

Along the way, I was entertained unwillingly by “Miss Congeniality” and “Evan Almighty”.  (And, oh lord, there were English subtitles that were awesomely bad. At one point, a character says, “Gesundheit!” and the subtitles offered, “I’m a dog.”) At 1:30PM, we pulled up to Berjaya Times Square.

Berjaya Times Square is this HULKING obesity of a mall. It also happens to be the FIFTH LARGEST BUILDING IN THE WORLD.

Disturbingly, it’s not even close to being the largest mall in the world, or even in Asia. Fellow humans, I think we have a shopping problem. Seriously, it’s time for an intervention.

I wandered for the better part of an hour, trying hard not to look like a tourist, asking for directions here and there, and fully enjoying the feeling of being in a place I’d never been before with little to no idea of where I was going. I found myself in a dirty alley complete with rotting garbage floating down a narrow canal along one side and populated by stray dogs loping around hopefully. Ah, I thought, here is Asia. And I felt happy.

Equator Hostel: officially recommended.

Soon enough, I found the Equator Hostel just behind Berjaya Times Square and met the friendly and knowledgable Hady who just as soon had me settled in a dorm room and out the door with a city map with lots of circles and directions written on it.

EPISODE THREE: ISLAMIC KL 

First stop: the Old Mosque, a.k.a. Masjid Jamek. It’s really beautiful, but the pictures are in a later episode, as I wasn’t allowed in when I arrived because it was prayer time.

It was just pissing down rain but still I pressed on, walking to the National … Flagpole. I’m only half kidding. Back in the British Colonial days, a large portion of the Brit governing body worked out of the Sultan Abdul Samad Building. Obviously, the Brits decided to build a cricket pitch across from the building, and when Malaysia became an independent state on August 31, 1957, that’s where their (rather fetching) flag was first raised.  Since then, they’ve installed a very tall flagpole on one end of the pitch (now called Independence Square/Dataran Merdeka). 

BEHOLD: The National Flagpole!

On a park on the other side of the Square, is a fountain of metal pitcher plants. There’s got to be some sort of symbolic symmetry here that I’m missing.

The Sultan Abdul Samad Building is actually quite beautiful. It’s a lovely pink-yellow colour with domes and gorgeous staircase windows and open corridors. I looked it up, and the architect tried to incorporate Moorish themes into his building, inspired by his time in Muslim Africa. I don’t know anything about Moorish art so I can’t say how successful he was, but I was really impressed by the arched windows and I’m rarely impressed by buildings.

The Sultan Abdul Samad Building

Very possibly the only staircase that has stopped me in my tracks. The windows! They're so pretty the way they follow the staircase's shape. A.C. Norman: A+. Excellent work.

From Dataran Merdeka, I walked to the National Mosque (Masjid Negara). When I mentioned to Alice that I was going to KL, she gushed, “OMG, you HAVE to see the National Mosque. I’ve read that it’s really beautiful.” And how! Instead of the usual mosque dome, they designed the prayer area to look like an open umbrella  – a particularly Malay symbol, because Malay leaders have been shaded by sun parasols for hundreds of years — and the minaret is designed to look like a closed umbrella! I love it! Meaning!

Thanks Arabic calligraphy, for giving all other writing systems inferiority complexes by being impossibly, illegibly, beautiful.

Behind the closed-umbrella minaret was a gorgeous lapiz-blue-tiled reflecting pool.

The nice auntie at the entrance gave me a purple robe and hijab (tudung in this part of the world), and sent me in saying I could stay during prayer time if I wanted.

I am now decent.

The interior of the mosque is so beautiful. Really. It’s all open-walled, and breezy with smooth, reflective marble floors (that you actually get to enjoy in your bare feet). People were just sitting around after the last prayer time. A few men had fallen asleep on the floors, totally sprawled and trusting.  A couple of other purple-clad tourists wandered with their enormous touristy cameras, while volunteers told them about the building and Islam in general. It was so lovely just to hang out there, even alone.

As far as sacred buildings go, this mosque rates high on my "would like to chill here regularly" scale.

The other contender for the coveted title of “Sacred Building Where Grace Would Most Like to Chill Regularly” is Hwaeomsa (화엄사) the Buddhist temple nestled in a valley in Jirisan, South Korea. Definitely my favourite temple in Korea (so far.) There’s also a secret temple just south of Seoul that people can only visit on Buddha’s birthday.

The prayer area is vast and open like other mosques, but it has chandeliers and intricately-carved marble walls.

The praying area.

You really should click this picture for a more detailed look at this work. People gasp out loud when they see this stuff. Doooooo it.

From the Mosque, I walked up a hill to find the strongly recommended Islamic Arts Museum in which I found the most beautiful Islamic art I’d ever seen in my life by far. Seriously: I was floored. We’re talking four full stories of opulence and intricacy here. My favourite when I was younger definitely would have been the jewelry exhibit: bridal headdresses from Central Asia that weigh more than 15 lbs, Mughal turban decorations that look 95% gem and 5% delicate golden chain, rings royalty wore 600 years ago, just a lot more shiny objects than a person can take in at once. But my favourite actually turned out to be the manuscripts, and the exhibit of the tiny, tiny tools the scribes used. There must have been some sort of mad law: empty space on parchment any larger than 2 square mm must be embellished with tiny golden flowers. And I just find Arabic calligarphy in general really confusingly beautiful.

Persian lady and examples of the jewelry she might have worn while rocking a PLUNGING neckline. DAMN, Persian lady! Bringing all the boys to the courtyard.

Ignore the breath-fog where I pressed my face against the glass. Instead, zoom in on this baby and check out the gold detailing EVERYWHERE: tiny, tiny 1mm long gold paisleys and whirls and flowers.

Ceci n'est pas un shockingly blinged-out pipe. Before the goblet was the pipe. Sultans knew how to party.

Enormous Kuala Lumpur Post Episode One

EPISODE ONE: RAMBLING PREAMBLE

The first Friday in October is Children’s Day in Singapore. I told my students that Canada doesn’t celebrate a Children’s Day and they were so appalled that they did research and found out that Canada does have a Children’s Day. Just, you know, no one pays any attention to it. I vaguely remember a springtime Children’s Day in Korea: parents have a day to take their kids to the zoo or something. Nice, right?

Singapore’s Children’s Day tradition is to buy little gifts for the special children in your life and say things like, “Happy Children’s Day. Study hard.” It’s only fair for teachers to play a part in this day because a month before Children’s Day is Teacher’s Day (also present in the ROK) which is celebrated by students presenting little gifts or tokens of their appreciation to their teachers past and present. (Man, I cleaned! out! on Teacher’s Day, the reason for which will be explained later in this post.)

Most teachers buy pretty school supplies or cute jewelry from various travels for their classes. A couple of my coworkers bought adorable little boxes and filled them with candy. They started ordering for Children’s Day in September. When the mass emails started going out, all “Let’s buy for our students!” I had a little panic attack because I teach 800 students. (Actually I teach 784. I counted.) Even if I spent 50 cents per kid — and what can you get for 50 cents that isn’t completely meaningless? — I’d be spending $400! Yeah, no.

When I asked them, my coworkers were all, “Um … yeah, you probably don’t have to buy anything. I guess.” And I was all, “Oh, now I feel all crappy and cheapskatey.” And my students were all, “Ms Hutton did you like the gorgeous card I handmade for you when I found out it was your birthday?”

They used their favourite sticker and then sang to me in an adorably embarrassed cluster of 9-year-old girls.

This was the best part of the card. SOMEONE has an unmarried cousin and pushy aunties.

And I’m all remembering the time I used to bake and decorate cupcakes for each and every one of my Yamaha music students.

MASTERPIECE ca. 2006

I love this sort of thing — homemade gifting — because I can put all the time and feeling into a gift. Granted back in 2006 I only taught about 30 students. As with most of my favourite gestures or lesson plans, in Singapore I just have too many freaking students for it to be viable. Poor Ms Hutton’s 784 students. But I refused to go down without a fight.

Brainstorming began immediately: something that I could handcraft that was inexpensive and wouldn’t take too much time to give. A real present would be to learn all their names, but that wasn’t going to happen. Then, I remembered that the Thursday before Children’s Day was a big ceremony at school. I remembered that all my students will be sitting there. I remembered the email I received from the organizer calling for performance acts from the teachers. I remembered that I’M A MUSIC TEACHER (weird!) I decided to write a song for my students and perform it for them on Children’s Day.

As soon as I get the footage, I’ll post it. I was famous, though, for 4 minutes and I’m glad I could show my students that I can do more than just play recorder and teach clapping games. Music skills can be useful — I saved hundreds of dollars with mine.

Anyway, that was me putting ‘ramble’ in ‘preamble’ just to explain:

I went to Kuala Lumpur on October 7 because it was a holiday

…for me, but not for my roomies because they teach at secondary schools. No children there, no sirree. Any grade 7 or grade 8 teacher can confirm that children do not reside in those sacred halls. Oh man.