The Melting Pot that is Malaysia

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With sweat dripping from my every pore and seeping into the scarf I'd draped around my shoulders in an attempt to cover up I lurched towards the bus stop outside Penang airport and waited for a bus to take me to George Town. Three elderly women in headscarves also came to wait at the bus stop and smiled at me, before talking between themselves and then looking at me with concern. I kept smiling and one of the women approached me and asked 'bus?'. 'Yes, I'm trying to get to George Town' and showed her the piece of paper with the bus number on, the woman smiled and nodded and spoke to the other women who started nodding too. I was at the right bus stop at least. Within a few minutes a younger woman also joined us and she spoke some English so asked me where I was going and confirmed again I was at the right place and we were all waiting for the same bus. The sweat flow was increasing steadily and the bus finally arrived. Before I could even take one step the younger woman grabbed my backpack and took it onto the bus making sure I got a seat. She grinned at me and I sat down thinking I would like Malaysia.

I arrived in George Town, which is the main town in Penang and on the West Coast. I was to stay in China Town; a collection of run down colonial buildings, chinese temples, mosques, street stalls, motorbike shops and accommodation. Immediately you are greeted with a hybrid of cultures and people of chinese, indian, malay, Indonesian origin walking around. I found a place to stay and decided to head out for the afternoon. After consulting the bible I decided on Penang Hill and headed towards the bus station. On the walk everyone smiled and said hello. One man, wearing a Manchester United T shirt, stopped to talk to me whilst I bought some fruit: 'You from Manchester then yes?', 'Nah, Nottingham. But my friends live in Manchester!', 'Ah Nottingham Forest...not so good anymore eh!'. Obviously I could only laugh in agreement. Walking along I couldn't see any bus stops or any signs so I asked two Indian men sat in their shop. The man and his elderly father spoke to each other briefly, then the man stood up and said 'Don't worry, I will take you' and promptly escorted me over a flyover and through a shopping mall, pointing out various points of interest along the way. At first I was slightly worried; was he merely taking me to another shop or was he crazy? But my worries diminished as we talked and he asked me why I travelled alone, especially being a girl and I realised he was being genuinely friendly and helpful. At the bus station he asked which bus I would need to catch and I stood to wait. Realising it would take an hour to get there and it was now almost three I started to change my mind about Penang Hill and wondered what to do next. At that moment a European-looking man wearing the ultimate in traveller garb approached me, I'd seen him earlier in the street and we'd exchanged fellow traveller hellos. We decided we'd head to the Snake Temple together as it was fairly close and looked interesting. One fanless public bus ride later we arrived at a standard Chinese temple that contained a few snakes in the entrance and a man who literally shoved two small snakes in your direction asking if you want a photo. Somewhat of a disappointment. The bus back to George Town for Indian food was plan B. We went to a bustling Indian Hawker Restaurant and due to severe hunger devoured dosas with curry. The Italian (I forget his name now) suggested we walk along the waterfront and so we sat overlooking the sea, the breeze cool and refreshing. We talked about his travelling and mine. Once conversation began to filter out I suddenly felt his arms envelope my waist and he began to nibble my ear. Being in a muslim country with women walking along in headscarves and the Italian's obvious disregard for wardrobe etiquette (i.e. not wearing pyjamas in public) I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I asked him if he knew what we called the Italians? Of course he knew the term 'Italian Stallion', he didn't really know how to take rejection however and kept persisting in asking me if I'd like to sleep in his bed that night. You know, just for the 'company'. I politely declined saying I was far too tired and it wasn't my thing: 'You don't like adventure then?'. I don't class adventure as a seedy liason with a man who has probably slept with half of Phuket whilst living there.

We wandered along to Fort Canning and found there was a 'Christmas Open Day'. A huge stage had been erected and marquees with tables and chairs for the free buffet were dotted around. Children singing Christmas Carols were on stage. I was immersed in the kind of Christmas crap I had wanted to get away from. The views from the top of the Fort were pleasant, but the company was not. The Stalion kept persisting. We watched a performance by a group of kids wearing Michael Jacksonqesue white gloves whilst doing a demented hand dance to a rap song about Jesus. Hilarious. I had to pass off my blatant laughter as admiration of the kids and their 'special' dance. We walked back to the road and I could finally escape the clutches of the Italian and back to the safety of my guesthouse. I ended up stuck at the guesthouse cafe as a huge thunderstorm ensued and flooded the roads, but with the company of an Irish guy also stuck at the cafe. A few beers and good conversation later the rain had subsided and allowed us to venture up the road to somewhere still serving alcohol.

The next day I decided to visit Penang Hill and found the bus station successfully, waving to the elderly Indian man in the shop as I walked past. The bus was packed with families and I braced myself for a day full of Malaysian families on their christmas holiday outings. As predicted Penang Hill was swarming and it seemed the tickets for the funicular tram rides up the hill were all sold out till 2.30. I wasn't even yet midday. The man at the ticket counter, however, decided as there was only 'just me' he could squeeze me onto the 12.30 train. The train ride is practically a vertical journey that plods along slowly. The views from the top were beautiful and I began my walk around the hill. Reminders of England in the form of Colonial houses and red postboxes are dotted along the hill. I did a canopy walk high above the trees with Malaysian teenagers squealing with every step. Clouds descended upon the hill and the visibility started to diminish as the need for my poncho increased. Time to go. Back in George Town I had a lot of Indian food and found an amazing place selling the most delicious (and probably calorie-laden) Indian sweets made from almonds. My love affair with Malay food had begun. Such an affair is also the most efficient way to become fat in a very short space of time I have since learnt.

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