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.

Singapore to Butterworth

I left quietly, and with my friends and the day still asleep, I made my way toward the train station. This little colonial style building, and the stretch of railway that runs from it, strictly speaking actually belongs to Malaysia. So prior to boarding the train passengers must clear Malaysian immigration, and just before crossing the Johor Straits, all passengers must disembark to clear Singaporean immigration. It’s a bizarre state of affairs, but a remnant of history still lingering from the divorce between the two countries over four decades ago. Though, just days before, the two sides reached an agreement which will give Singapore the rights to the railway and the station found on its territory, and effectively simplify the immigration process.

Already at the station the heavy influence of Malaysia was felt, not only in the numerous flags of the Federation that drapped from the walls, but also in the signage and foods that hawkers sell. I picked up a sandwich and some mee goreng, and made my way to my assigned seat. For some reason, despite having specified online that I wanted a window seat, I got an aisle seat, which was the source of much moving around the train carriage as I really wanted to enjoy the scenery of the Malaysian Peninsular.

I sat down, and immediately smelt the odd, and at times sickening, smell old and damp of the seat. For the next 13 hours, that smell would become my companion and accompany me throughout the day till nightfall. The curtains were heavy and gray with dust, and all around me were families, some speaking mixtures of English and Hokkien, and others speaking Tamil or Malay. The diesel engine puffed a dark cloud of fumes, and we ground to a start, slowly winding our way past canals, bridges, HDBs, and eventually rolled away from the overly regulated and sterile cleanliness that so characterises Singapore.

The train chugged along slowly, for it was a narrow gauge railway, similar to the ones in Taiwan that were laid down by the Japanese. And because of the narrowness of the tracks, the carriage shook and shuddered as if it would derail whenever the train sped quickly around the many bends. The scenery is varied, with scenes of shadowy mountain ranges in the distance to big cities and crowded forests of rubber plantations. The train sped past little kampongs, with their traditional with colourful walls and tiled roofs and scurrying cocks that run wild and free. Sometimes, children would run alongside the train, smiling, waving, shouting something excitedly, perhaps wishing these chance passer-bys a safe and great journey. Lush green plants and shrubs align the tracks, and dug up reddish earth that is iconic of this part of the world reveal evidence of ongoing construction and developments.

This very route, from the tip of the Malaysian Peninsula, going along the eastern coast, passing through Kuala Lumpur and Butterworth, is actually part of the same route of the Oriental Express which travels from Singapore all the way to Bangkok. I remember a few years ago I saw information about this train ride on the internet and promised myself I would one day make this epic journey. A few weeks ago, I also learnt that my dad had made part of this journey, making it even more meaningful. Despite cutting my journey short at Butterworth, due to the volatile situation in Bangkok, as the train pulled into the final station amid the heavy clinking of the tracks, as if applauding, I felt like I had achieved something.

In SIN City

Been in Singapore for a number of days already, and the paper and presentation I've been working on for the past few months is over and done with. Not my best performance, I felt, but still the topic attracted some attention and a number of people were genuinely interested in knowing more. So since yesterday, after I finished what I came here to do, I've just been taking things slow and easy, even skipping a number of the panels of the conference to play a little tennis.

To be honest, it's not been an eventful few days here, and the most exciting is seeing old friends and being abroad with people I study and work with back in Canada. You really get to know people better when you travel and live with them, in ways good and bad. I'm staying at a lodge nearby the airport at Changi. It's quite comfortable, and the best thing is it's right under the flight path of planes landing, so I can just sit at the window and watch all these planes and airlines go by and try to identify them. Other than that, there's only the nearby village with a few shops and a food court, a dirty beach (where once thousands of people were beheaded by the Japanese during the world war...), but nothing much else. And the food isn't all that great either, lots of grease and not a lot of greens, so nothing really special compared to things back in Taiwan...

Maybe it's because I've been to Singapore too many times that I find things kind of dull. The organisers took us on a "city tour" in the afternoon, basically bus-ing an hour away to ride the Singapore Flyer, and then taking us to a big food court before taking us all back to our accommodations again. That's as much as the tour of Singapore was. Sure, there are impressive skyscrappers and stunning architecture, dazzling lights and lots of glitzy restaurants, shopping malls and casinos... beyond all that, is there much else?

I'm looking forward to my trip in two days, to riding my way away and out of this little island....