Malaysia in a Moustache

Malaysia in a Moustache – How Far Will RM 5 Get Me?

I like to get out of the city. Don't get me wrong, the Man in the Moustache loves everything about our planet's urban centres: the food and festivals, sights and strangers, and of course…the opportunity for mischief. However, there is something to be said about a little getaway. Malaysia's affordable transport options, smooth highways and access to beaches, mountains and jungles makes leaving the city all the more inviting. But sometimes, I just don't have the time to escape to Borneo or the desire to ride the 9 RM bus to the LCCT. So I wonder, how far will RM 5 get me?

My plan was as follows; fill up the tank to my Honda 'Dream'. Drive over the hills of Ampang into the neighbouring valleys until my tank reads half empty. Turn around. Drive home. I even picked a destination. Sort of. Apparently there is a waterfall that can be found within 30 minutes outside of Metro KL. I have no idea where it is, but that doesn't necessarily mean I can't find it. After all, isn’t it supposed to be about the journey?

Within five minutes of leaving my apartment I was immediately surrounded by rural Malaysia's beautiful countryside and interesting Kampong landscapes. The 'Dream' and I cruised along the winding roads that took us over the mountains that surround the Klang Valley. Why was I staying in the city? The air was instantly sweeter as the needle on my gas tank barely moved in the first 30 minutes of my ride.

I passed rivers with clothed Malaysians splashing about in the mild rapids. Being the first sunny day in a while, I pictured myself doing a cannonball into the water as soon as I found a spot deeper than two feet.

Scattered along the riverside were numerous wooden sheds that housed beat-up, leatherette couches. How they got there was anybody’s guess but they were being put to good use my locals who enjoyed the company of their scenery.

When on a road trip, one tends to get hungry and stopping for some makan is an important item on the itinerary. About 90 minutes into my journey, I stopped at a small stall just off the road. It was nestled close to a tree lined, yet murky body of water. I strolled to the edge of the pond where I could see schools of fish playing just below the surface. If my knowledge of sea life was better than a ten year old watching Finding Nemo I would be able to tell you what kind of fish they were. It isn't so I can't.

The stall was typically and delightfully Malay. A table lay covered by a checkered, torn tablecloth weighed down by a purple plastic utensil holder housing 6 different forks and folded tissue. Beside it was a mix-matched set of bowls and a hot plate of steamed rice. A perfect place for lunch.

I assumed the place to be closed as no one was around. As I turned to leave, an older woman (no offence intended) emerged from the tightly-caged-in kitchen. She waltzed in effortlessly and gracefully found her way next to me.

I expected the conversation to be a struggle in the kampong as forgetful me forgot my trusty Malay phrase book (living in KL doesn't necessarily equip an Expat with a functional use of Bahasa Malay). However, ordering food is relatively easy for this linguistically challenged adventurer. Surprisingly, once again, I was amazed as her English was as smooth as her stride.

Her name was Hafasa (there is a large chance that the spelling of her name is radically off. I mean no disrespect by this; I don't wish to interrupt the flow of conversation by asking her to spell it). She had a welcoming smile and asked if I was British.

"I'm from Canada".

No reaction.

"But I live over the hills in KL."

She kept her Poker face.

She then informed me that I could call her Hajjah. Upon asking why, she noted that was the name she earned for visiting Islam’s holiest of cities, Mecca. As she paused, I pictured her physical and spiritual journey for a moment.

"Cool".

I asked if the fully clothed people swimming in the lazy, roadside rivers were local villagers enjoying a bath or play.

"Not today". Her speech was never in a hurry and she still hadn't asked if I wanted anything to eat. "On the weekends, most of the people visiting the rivers and the waterfalls are from nearby KL or Shah Alam. It gets quite crowded." At this point I wonder if she has been to IKEA on a Saturday as the 6 people I noticed bathing in the rivers can hardly be classified as crowded.

I asked her age. She smiled but didn't answer.

I asked for directions to this unknown waterfall and she was only too happy to oblige. I guess that meant I was on the right track.

Although I have tasted better chicken rice, my thirst was quenched as the water was welcomingly cold. I generously thanked Hajjah for her time and continued on my ride.

The best thing about adventures like this is that there are no wrong turns and one never really gets lost. After all, a few left turns and unfamiliar signs were part of the package on this particular budget holiday. As such, there is no real need to provide you, the reader with satellite-precise locations as to where I was. To embark on this type of adventure is to lose your way.

Further down the road, I stopped to take a photo of a house that was strikingly similar to the Batak homes found on Pulau Samosir in Lake Toba, Sumatra. Trying to find a shot clear of telephone wires proved difficult as the two Jacks distracted me. To be honest, I am not 100% certain that their names were Jack. But that was what they responded with when asked, and having just met them, I had to take them for their word.

I would guess their ages to be between 12 and 15 years old. The Jacks were brothers and were pretty excited to have their photo taken. They were chilling out in one of those riverside wooden sheds. This one however, was free of a 'charming' leatherette couch.

The Jack's weren't overly interested in conversation most likely due to their lack of conversational English and my embarrassing lack of a deep Bahasa Malay vocab. However, they were interested in my 'Dream'.

They circled around my bike the way small-town fellers circle a Camaro. They commented on how clean it was and then asked if they could take it for a spin (not in so many words). Jack 1 took off down the street as Jack 2 screamed in laughter. I wondered if I should have given my motorcycle to a 15 year old. I then wondered if I should have insisted he take my helmet. It's nice to wonder. Keeps me young.

Jack 1 didn't venture far out of my site. He thanked me for the ride and together, the Jacks resumed their place watching the world go by next to the river.

I asked if they knew where the waterfall was. Their puzzled look led me to perform an interpretive dance as I tried to use non-verbal clues to explain 'Waterfall'. The Jacks laughed, pointed in the direction I was heading and waved goodbye.

An hour later, after an ice-cream cone, sunburned shoulders, and an ill-advised wicker basket purchase (he was a good salesman!) my needle teetered on the ½ empty mark. It was time to head back to the concrete jungle.

I never did find the waterfall and I wonder if I was really looking for it? At least I have another excuse to come out for some chicken rice.

Peace, love and travel.

MM

Malaysia in a Mustache

MALACCA

Living and working in Malaysia has afforded me a wonderful opportunity to venture to many incredible locales. South East Asia is rich in culture, food and untapped pieces of paradise. However, we often tend to forget about our own backyard. Therefore, I have decided to challenge Malaysia armed with nothing more than a camera, an appetite, a taste for good conversation and the ability to grow a unique form of facial hair in under a week.

Welcome to 'Malaysia in a Moustache', my new online travel series. This is my first adventure and I couldn't have chosen a richer destination.

Sporting my newest handlebar moustache, camera in tow, and an appetite for anything, I headed to Malacca…Melaka…whatever. Apparently there are different and acceptable ways to spell one of Malaysia's most charming, historic cities. For this, I am very appreciative. I just wished that my fifth grade geography teacher was a bit more lenient with Saskatchewan.

Leaving from Kuala Lumpur, I headed down the North/South Highway heading to this historic town of Portuguese, Dutch and Islamic heritage nestled on the South-West shore of Malaysia. At a rest stop along the highway, I noticed the same bus driver from a road trip a week earlier into Singapore. His name was Nash (how perfect is that for a Canadian travelling abroad). He was friendly, remembered us, and offered us some of his jackfruit for the trip down to Malacca. I was enjoying Nash's brief conversation and constant smile that I forgot to take his picture. Standard.

Back on the road. It is a 2 ½ hour drive from KL to Malacca. The highway was flanked on each side for most of the journey by rows and rows of Palm Oil Trees. Beautifully intricate rows of deep green palms cultivated for the chemical, cosmetic and pharmaceutical industries. It is said that 40% of Malaysia is covered in these beautiful trees. A picturesque journey. For those that have not visited Malaysia, the highway is probably much better than you would imagine. Probably even much better than what you would experience in North America; wide lanes, massive shoulders, and drivers that the Quebecois would consider lame. A truck passed us with the name National Oxygen. Mmmmmmmm…Malaysian Oxygen. Zesty, Tropical with only a hint of mildew.

The Catholic Church is very present in Malacca. A strong Portuguese history, St. Francis Xavier was actually buried here for 9 months before he was moved to Goa, India. A statue of St. Paul stands on the hill watching over Malacca. The architecture of Malacca is straight out of a Lichtenstein painting as vibrant Primary Colours dot the small downtown core; vibrant yellows, stabbing reds and calming blues cover the shutters, doors and walls of shop houses, art galleries and antique shops.

You can see most of Malacca's historic city centre in a day. A full day with a necessary beer stop to refuel. And that was my pure intent as the Jonker Street Rock Festival was another reason drawing me to this easily navigatable, charming town.

Most sightseeing begins at the town square. The great hub of most small towns, Malacca's city core is crammed with beautifully decorated tri-shaws outfitted with lo-fi radios and vibrant yellow fake flowers. For about $10 (Canadian) they will slowly, very slowly, pedal you around old Malacca and dish out some of the juicy history in broken English. I prefer to hear my broken English at my own pace. Off I set to explore and meet some of Malacca's colourful locals.

I headed up to St. Paul's Church. It offers a sublime view of the downtown, a statue of St. Paul, many old Chinese headstones with intricate carvings and on this particular day, the filming of a commercial starring a man with a moustache that puts mine to shame. He was dressed in what appeared to be a costume that blended Mongolian Warrior with the Japanese Samurai. The filming was shooting next to this Chinese feller with an old guitar and a cigarette-chewed voice. But his strumming was smooth even if his words were incomprehensible.

I turned to leave St. Paul's and it's beautiful headstones and there was Bern. Sitting on the dusty ground, his eyes were terrifyingly inviting, half closed by the sun and life. A deep black that shone as only black eyes can. Lightened only by my reflection that stared back at me. Bern spoke perfect English and could see into my head.

He had an old, sparse white beard in an almost trendy-looking Amish style. His teeth shone with evidence of years of neglect. He has been living on this hill for over 30 years. His wife left him. Took the kids.

In our first 10 minutes together, Bern quoted Zeppelin, the Gospel according to Luke and told me that he saw Deep Purple Live.

Bern's philosophies were mirrored by those of the 'Lenny Bruce' school of life; although I am sure he has never heard of him. "God put the mushrooms here. God grew the grass. They tell me I can't use God's gifts?"

Bern spent time in a Malaysia jail for drugs. Nobody wants to spend time in a Malaysian jail. Especially for drugs. It was about this time that his wife left.

"I liked speed the most," Bern mentioned. His face showed a man with years of abuse under his belt. "It's God's world. It's our world," Bern confessed. "Now I drink. I am on the liquor. It is killing me".

I enjoyed Bern's wisdom, stories, and stare. Even though he spoke of a tragic life, his face showed little regret and he only wished to share his stories. I couldn't stay for too long as there was more to see in Malacca. Before I left, Bern invited me back to watch the sunset over the Strait of Malacca with him. Bern used words like 'Crimson' and 'sky-splitting' in his imagery. Further proving that I was speaking to a man whose beauty and mind may never have been appreciated in his time or in his place. I'll bring a bottle of wine when I return.

My day of adventure continued, popping my head into antique shops in Malacca's quaint Chinatown. I admired the fact that the same old 'coke' bottles were as ridiculously over-priced here as they were in flea markets in Canada. Based upon other consumer's reactions, they were to remain antiques in these shops for years to come.

I spent too much money on a Chinese Trunk and Wine Rack and headed back to my hotel, The Baba House, to freshen up, buy a bottle of wine and head back to the hill to chill with Bern.

When I got back to the hill, Bern was no longer there. I guess he has his set of routines as we all do. He probably made dozens of invitations to curious travellers. Maybe he didn't. The bottle of wine did not go to waste. I shared it with Jasmine.

Jasmine is from Kota Kinabalu. She was Chinese, Dutch, striking and regrettably likes Antonio Banderas films. Over a bottle of wine and the Strait of Malacca , we talked of lost wishes, 'mistakes', judgement, why as adults we don't roll down hills anymore and which male celebrities I would sleep with.

Korean and Chinese Tour groups passed us on the grass as they travelled up the steps. Initially startled by my smile, they returned the gesture.

Jasmine and I spoke effortlessly for hours, not once mentioning what we do for work, a 'living' as many of us irresponsibly call it. I think at that moment we were both doing what we do for a 'living' and that made talking very easy.

Bottles of wine aren't endless and the Jonker Street Rock Fest was about to begin. Jasmine joined me as we headed down to meet the others that I had travelled with for the weekend.

Jonker (pronounced yon – ker ) Street, is a wonderfully decorated, typically South East Asian street; narrow, colourful shop houses abound, helmet-less motorcyclists, antique and 'new'tique shops, delicious food stalls, roasted nut vendors, artists, non-threatening graffiti, and of course, locals from all walks of life.

The Geographer Café was hosting their first annual JONKER STREET ROCK FESTIVAL. For all intents and purposes, the 'JSRF' was a hoe-down consisting of 4 bands of local and expat talent on an outdoor stage with Classic Rock and the Blues dominating the set list. Not so much the fare that the BENCHMARX (my band in KL) serve up but it was live, loud, and it kicked ass.

A Chinese, Indian, Sri Lankan, Indonesian, 4 Brits, a Malaysian, an American and I sat, sang, danced, laughed and drank under a clear sky offering a taste of stars. A forgotten about joy that we don't get too often in KL.

The drummer in my band from Kuala Lumpur, the BENCHMARX, sang in another outfit, KRUDE, who was playing at this inaugural show. The street was blocked off, flanked to the right with a bustling night market, to the left, curious passerbys stopped and leaned in to hear some great music.

Because the lead singer of Krude, Erik, is a band mate of mine, I got to join them as they closed their last set with Sweet Child O' Mine. A BENCHMARX show staple and one of a handful of songs known the world over. The crowd let us know how much they enjoyed the show. To the hundreds of Malaysians in attendance, we were Guns N Roses. To me? They were Wembley Stadium. A very fair trade.

The drinking continued as did the laughing and dancing. The open jam that finished the night filled the Malaccan sky with music as we headed back to Baba to say good night to a long wonderful day in one of Malaysia's most appealing towns.

As I fell asleep to SpongeBob Squarepants in Bahasa-Malay, I laughed in English.

Having a moustache, as Jerry and George say, allows us to take a little vacation from ourselves. I ate, drank, toured, talked and had an incredible time. I hope the rest of my Malaysian adventures work out the same.

Peace, Love and Travel

Steve

P.S If you ever get a chance to visit Malacca, make sure you check out the Orangutan House and Malaccan Artist, Charles Cham's great work