The Islamicity of our City, of our Ciiiiiityyy...

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Blog starts with 'via' again. Via Marang and Kuala Terengganu, we make our way to Kota Bharu in the extreme Northeast of peninsular Malaysia. A short look at the map confirms my suspicion that we're almost in Thailand already. KB is the capital of Kelantan, the most conservative and staunchly Muslim of Malaysia's states (more, so much more on that later). The city is also famous for its diverse cuisine, which for us was the main reason to go there. After the disappointing, pricey fare on Kapas, we wanted to indulge in great food once again. And that's what we did the next five or so days. Eat, eat, eat.

For breakfast, we go to an Indian restaurant where I finally, finally get my beloved masala dosai, which turns out to be the best I've ever eaten. We also have some lentil and chickpea vadai, greasy vegetable fritters that go very well with the dhal that accompanies roti canai. Later we go to Oriental Kopitiam (Chinese) on the riverfront for a light lunch of roti bakar siam, slices of fat toast accompanied by kaya (coconut jam) mixed with coconut milk and stacked toast with butter and kaya spread in between. I wash it down with white coffee, my first one since my Southeast Asian trip in 2009, while J. has a pink guava juice. There's a sad-looking iguana with his foot tied on a leash at the back of the kopitiam. He tries to walk off and gets his legs all tangled up, then just proceeds to go back to his little niche. When I take a picture of him, he looks at me with intelligent, smart eyes, almost as if pleading to release him. I wonder what the point of tying up an iguana is. Attract customers? We feel rather appalled and depressed by this practice, so we won't grace the place with out presence again.

For dessert, we head to a small but fashionable Chinese eatery that specializes on the sweet and the sticky. J. orders a cincau and black glutinous rice with ice cream, while I have a divine Oreo milk shake and a mixed fruit shaved ice.

Later, we make our way to the famed Kota Bharu Night Market, which turns out to be not all that special. It's a rather dirty, dilapidated affair set on a filthy backstreet parking lot. Usually, we wouldn't mind all that much, but what makes it go sour for us is the rudeness and unfriendliness of the stall owners. Not sure if they just had a bad day or if they're overly protective of their ramadan feasting, and don't want any infidels infiltrating their turf. It takes us a while to find something without meat, some sort of vegetable pancake, but of course when we place our order they've just run out of veggies. At another stall, they still have some, but while preparing the dish the lady makes a face as though she just discovered a turd in her coffee. When we want go to the sit-down area a lady cleaning the tables sort of shakes her head and her hand, indicating us that she doesn't want us to sit there, for some reason. If that's due to the fact that they're selling food and don't want us eating the food we bought somewhere else there or if she just hates us for a different reason, we'll never know. We just go and sit down a bit further away and order two teh tarik from someone else.




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The following morning, we get similar bad vibes at the produce market. We just walk around, checking out what's on offer, while the people there seem to be busy not taking kindly to our presence. Some old bloke even appears to be shouting something at us and has to be calmed down by his son. Yes, I do take a few discreet photos, but only of the fruits, it's not like I shove my camera in anybody's face. So again, what it is they get so worked up about, no idea. We buy some mangosteen and rambutan and get out of this unpleasant place. We vow to not frequent any Malay establishments in Kota Bharu anymore. That's when the irritation stops.

We go to our usual Indian eatery for breakfast. The place is fantastic, they have so many different rotis, dosais and any other type of pancake you could imagine. The list of drinks is equally long, and everything that can be 'pulled' will be pulled, so there's teh tarik, kopi tarik, Horlick's tarik, Ovaltine tarik alongside different Indian herbal teas, lassis and other, more mysterious concoctions. What's more important: we don't feel judged or made uncomfortable there. The guy who cooks the roti and other pancakes in front of the restaurant happily poses for a few pictures, and is always keen to exchange a few words with us. The place is teeming with Chinese Malaysians, who all mind their own business, as per usual, as well as a few specimen of that type of skinny, mustachioed young Indian Malaysian man with a slight overbite that you swear you've seen somewhere before.

We head to another Indian restaurant for dinner, which turns out to be a big disappointment, as they claim to be out of the vegetables needed for vegetable bryani, or maybe they're too lazy to cook it fresh. We take refuge in a nearby Chinese vegetarian restaurant, which has a buffet, but also some daily specials cooked to order. The taoist waiter explains us the dishes on the Chinese-Malay board with the patience of a scientist ("And-a dis, what-a is dis?"). J. orders a vegetarian mee bak kut teh, a dish which usually contains pork and pork innards, but in this version has three types of delicious fake meat. I order a mee wantan soup, which arrives without wantans for some reason, but the subtle, delicious taste and the abundance of noodles makes more than up for it.

Afterwards, we pass by the Chinese night market, which turns out to be a few scattered stalls in the Chinatown part of the city. We manage to stumble into an excellent, atmospheric food court, brimming with rowdy Chinese Malaysians, who all look at us in a rather bemused sort of manner. Alas, they're not staring in a disapproving manner like the Malays the night before at the big KB night market. They're more curious and amused at our wide-eyed observance of the various food stalls. A middle-aged lady with an apron advertising Tiger Beer comes up to take our order, so I do her the favour of ordering a Tiger Beer, albeit a small bottle only. She starts speaking in Mandarin to J., who has to go on explaining her background for the 374th time. There's a tiny vegetarian food stall, where a grumpy old man is busy preparing food while his wife chops veggies. I order mee kari, even though I'm quite full, but I can't skip the chance to eat in these enjoyable surroundings. After a few minutes, the man comes limping to our table with the bowl of mee kari containing a few different tofus and tofu skin thrown in for good measure. He puts it down, nods and turns to go back to his stall, but when I say 'Xie xie', he turns around, gives me a surprised look and starts smiling, exposing two teeth on the top and two on the bottom row. One word only made all the difference. After I finish, he collects the bowl, and chats to us for a bit.

On the way home, we find a little Chinese roadside stall serving kuih apong, a thin pancake filled with creamed corn and ground peanuts. The last time I ate this fabulous sweet dessert was at the Melaka Night Market in 2009, and I still remember that it was really tasty with a crunchy texture. This particular stall is a very popular one, there are quite a few local Malaysian Chinese waiting patiently until the stall owner finishes the pancakes, cooked simultanenously with swift hand movements on three hot griddles.

When we walk past our Indian restaurant, the guy who is in charge of the roti and dosai is busy scrubbing his big cast-iron hot plate. The restaurant has already shut for the night, but here he is still cleaning away at 10:45pm. We saw him in the morning when we had our breakfast; he was just stretching the dough to make some of the day's first rotis. That was at around 8am, so chances are good his working day lasts somewhere between 13 and 16 hours. Still, he always cracks a big smile when he sees us, waving and saying hello.



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To sum it all up, Kota Bharu is a bit of a strange place. We try to adapt to local sensitivities as good as we can. We don't hold hands or exchange affections in public. As a social experiment, when we cross the road, always on the verge of a suicide mission through the crazy local traffic, I grab J. by the wrist and pretend to drag her after me, putting on my best angry and pissed off face, so they realize that my touching her is not out of affection, but out of sociopathic impending violence. That appears to be a lot more tolerated by the locals. They watch on in an approving manner. But even though J. walks around in t-shirt and pants that cover her knees, she still gets the evil eye very frequently from local men and women alike. So no matter if you try your best to respect the local customs, if as a woman you're not completely covered up, you'll be treated like a piece of shit. And apparently for local men it is completely ok to intensely stare at a woman who walks around with another man, looking her up and down in a very obtrusive, rude manner. In many other cultures that would be considered an insult and/or a challenge. Goes to show that there's no point in trying to please religious bigots, especially those who base their whole worldview on some twisted misinterpretation of ancient writings. Lucky we don't understand what they always mumble when we walk past.

Maybe this is a moot point, but I would feel like a complete scumbag talking in my mother tongue about a tourist in a very obvious and rude way in my home country, when it's evident they can't understand what I'm saying. Fortunately, there are not only religious freaks around, so we also get quite a few big smiles, waves and hellos. Strange that the local Indian Malaysians, who are mostly Muslim, were very welcoming to us and didn't have that judgmental attitude that the Malays were demonstrating towards us. I can only surmise it must be that this particular ethnic group has a rather racist, narrow-minded kampung mentality. Alas, there's no point arguing with people who've had their minds poisoned by religious propaganda their whole lives. They're not gonna listen to reason.

Yes, I am indeed saying that Islam as a whole is a backward, mysoginistic religion. It's an obvious fact to me, and no, I don't think I'm being racist making that statement. I am also aware that this opinion is right up the alley of right-wing Islamophobes, but their hating Islam is usually due to being racists, Christian fundamentalists or just plain dumb, or most commonly a combination of the three, so they can go fuck off, for all I care. I for my part reject anything that's anti-reason and anti-woman. Islam is only a superfluous religion, and women are more important and worthy of protecting than the wretched feelings of any obscure ancient superstition's adherents. That includes all of the three Abrahamic religions, by the way. They mostly cater to the needs of men, anyway, and reduce the ladies to mindless birth machines, and that's only if they're lucky and well-behaved ladies. It's never been as crystal clear to me as in these days that RELIGION POISONS EVERYTHING and that I need to stop being lenient on religious zealots who want to belittle me, waste my time and corrupt my mind with their uninhibited, nefarious ignorance.

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