Malaysia in a Moustache

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