In Penang

I jumped off the tree trunk, landing hard, almost tripping over twisted branches that look like, and could very well have been, sleeping snakes. I strode quickly, leaping and ducking as I made my way through the dense forest of Penang National Park toward one of the beach enclaves. The brochure said 3.5km, or approximately 1.5hr. I was confident that I could make it in much less time, but little did I know the forest, with its bizarre sounds and random movements is like a great obstacle course. But I do enjoy little unexpected adventures like this.

And there before me sat two monkeys on a tree. They stared back, stopped chewing on whatever it was they had in their furry little hands. One gaped, opening its mouth wide to reveal sharp teeth, while the other gawked at me with an uneasy look. The one that mouthed me made a quick movement as if to dash at me, making me leap back. I had heard that monkeys attack people, and are known to bite too, so I could not be too careful. But the monkey just lept onto a higher branch, curiously eyeing me and my little black camera, thinking perhaps it was food I was trying to entice it with, and not knowing it is the subject of numerous close up shots.

There were more movements, and I realised I had reached the reputed Monkey Beach. No surprise where the name came from, and indeed all around me were monkeys sitting atop of trees, scratching, munching, meditating and keeping away from the blaze of the noon sun. around a crescent shaped bay the beach stretched. White sand, scorching from the heat you could see it in the air, and the waves, gentle and shy washing on the shore with a silent sucking sound. Save for the discarded bottles and plastic bags, and the loud chatter and laughter of a group of t(w)eens, I felt relieved to have fund a little spot of peace.

I approached a local vending drinks, and he asked if I wanted a boat ride back. “50 ringgint”, he said, which was a bit steep for a 10 minute ride back to the fishing village of Teluk Bahang, so I tried to haggle. “50 riggint for one person or 5 people. It’s the local price”. So I walked around and tried to gather up people to share the fare, and managed to muster 8 people, one of whom happened to be originally from Toronto (and asked me about the Stanley Cup, which I admitted that I shamefully knew nothing about…). But boatman was reluctant, and wanting to charge me 50 ringgit because I was “a group” and other people were “different groups”. So I repeated what he had just said to me… one person, five people, same price.

I came all the way here from the other side of the world. If he wants to gauge me because I’m supposed to be some loaded walking wallet, then another hour or so hiking back on foot would not make a difference. It’s not the amount of money that matters, and I know 50 ringgint is a lot for a local (…well, even for me). It’s the idea that because I come from somewhere else, I should be paying more that’s outrageous. In the end he relented, and caved in because we wanted to go to take a different boat.

A few hours later, I was on a bike, getting (willingly) lost between the smoggy cars, buses and crowded alleyways of Georgetown on a rented bike. Not exactly a name one would expect in this exotic part of the world, but a name given by the British when they landed here close to two centuries ago. The old town, an UNESCO heritage site, is adorn with colonial-style architecture and monuments. Little houses with Chinese billboards revealed the heavy influence of ethnic Chinese in the region. Smoky Buddhist and Toaist temples can be found next to mosques, where people were making their way for Friday prayers. Hindi temples with their ornately carved roofs are dotted around the little port city. Amid the chaos and dirty streets, between open sewers with gray and mosquito-infested water and countless street stalls selling anything from roti to laksa to kwee tiaw soup (with pork), is a rich blend of cultures and peoples that live and exist together in harmony.