To Prevent Over Crowded Please Do Not Release Fish in the Pond - Day 28, 29 and 30: Biking South from Bangkok

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Day 28, 29 and 30: Georgetown, Penang

Georgetown was a blast so we stayed a few days. The social scene was awesome; it was great having the chance to talk to travelers from all over the world, who spoke English. And awesome having easy access to the internet, for the first time in a few weeks. Other perks were having an ice-cool room to escape the humid heat, excellent Chinese, Indian and Mexican food, and the comfortable familiarity of Buddhist temples.

Probably one of the best parts of Georgetown was the Mexican 'restaurant', really just a stall inside a Malay restaurant. I hadn't seen or heard from Mexican cuisine in about eight months and I was badly craving it. The Mexican restaurant here was two minutes from our hotel, the food was authentically cooked by a seriously scary Mexican man, and only open 6-11 each night. I think we ate there four times; one night, with careful timing, we managed to go twice, once at 6 and another time at 10:30. Oh it was heavenly.

Each night, we dined at the Mexican place with different people we had met, some interesting, some not. Dave, a crazy Swedish guy of only 23, had been in so many brushes with danger that he should not have been alive. He surely had a guardian angel watching over him. Living on Ko Pan Ngan, a beautiful island in the Gulf of Thailand, in a beautiful treehouse he had built in the jungle, he dealt drugs and rode a fast motorcycle. One day, his motorcycle had collided with a tractor-trailor near his home. There was no way he should have survived. But he did, and with nothing to show for it but a bad-ass scar on his forehead and knee. And that was just one of his accidents.

Another night we dined with Rama, a wonderful 40 year-old man from the Mauritius Islands, who has spent his life traveling. He was an inspiration. He created his dream job to allow himself to continue his passion of traveling, marketing businesses throughout Asia. He offered us terrific advice on Indonesia, having just returned from there.

Another night we dined with Jim and Marnie, two young, uptight lawyers from the US. They were the least fun and made us appreciate being away from America. We met them when they approached us on the street, saying “Everyone around here is a freak over 40. You guys look normal.” They seemed cool at first but quickly turned out to be very rule-oriented, freaked out by the unusual and set in their ways. About the fascinating Georgetown, they said, “This place is terrible. We are going to take the first plane out of here tomorrow. What a waste of time” They were the kind of travelers that thought they wanted to travel but really didn’t want to encounter anything that would challenge their way of seeing the world.

We biked to a fabulous Chinese temple, Kek Lok Si, situated atop a steep, steep hill. For the first time, I actually had to walk my bike up a hill, as the 60% angle going up seemed to quell my leg power. Construction was in progress on a massive statue of a saintly-looking woman. To assist in funding, tourists could buy tiles, write a message on them, and then look forward to the day when those tiles would become part of the statue. The temple boasted a series of exotic buildings, decorated with a colorful mix of patterns, and stunningly landscaped grounds. Elegant carvings, numerous intriguing statues I hadn't known to be a part of Buddhism. The Nazi swastika, in use for centuries by the Chinese as a good luck symbol before the Nazis misappropriated it, was carved in many places. It was intriguing to see just how different Buddhism is practiced in Malaysia than in Thailand or Laos. It seems as a country gets richer, the temples become more garish and decadent; strange since Buddhism espouses a simple, spiritual life.

It was also here where I saw my favorite sign of all time. “To prevent over crowded do not release fish in the pond,” read the sign by the lovely outdoor koi fish pond. Good thing! I had definitely planned to release fish in to the pond.

A main room in one part of the temple boasted a 9 foot tall, solid gold Buddha, who both scared and fascinated me. I was shocked to see goods, like jewelry and trinkets, for sale inside the temple. In Laos, the interior of the temple is a sacred place. Another sign, by a random sink, said, “Keep the place clean at all times.” Precious bonsai trees dotted the parking area, which also offered a beautiful view overlooking the town and surrounding countryside. It was a big island.

Biking away from Kek Lok Si, I wanted to dismount my bike and walk, it was so steep, but I think I was actually scared to do so. I was nervous even to brake too hard, for fear of flying over my handlebars due to the steep incline. So, my only choice was what J was doing anyways; free-wheeling down that hill with abandon, holding on as my bike rose to speeds of 25 mph. It was fun but scary.

There was quite a bit of traffic on the roads here but it was easy biking, as the vehicles were respectful, used to the many ancient men who ply the roads on equally ancient bicycles. Some of these men even drive antique pedicabs for a living, pedaling the poorer locals around for small sums of money.

Indonesia would be our next stop after Malaysia and we had learned that the only visa on arrival in the country was a thirty-day visa. But we knew we’d need more than thirty-days to bike across the country. As there was an Indonesian embassy on Penang, we planned a visit there to attempt to acquire a 60-day visa. It took about 2 hours to find this embassy, as we kept getting lost and J had to turn back thirty-minutes before arrival, due to an exploding bum. (The risks of eating everything in foreign countries. Ah well.) I traveled on, arriving at the embassy as it opened, already awash with a sea of Indonesians set in for what looked to be a long wait. Fortunately, they must have been waiting for something else, and I was able to see a desk clerk almost immediately, a hundred sets of eyes upon me from the waiting room.

The clerk informed that I must have a plane ticket to exit Indonesia in order to get a visa for Indonesia. This was a real problem, seeing as 1. I didn’t have a ticket. 2. Why would I buy a ticket before I knew if I could get the longer visa? And 3. As we would be biking, it would be silly to buy an exit ticket in advance, not knowing how long our bike trip would take. I told the clerk my concerns, however, my concerns were not his concerns and he told me I needed an exit ticket to get the visa. Yes, I understood that. Bummer. We would have to enter Indonesia with a thirty-day visa and hope we could extend it as we traveled. Or, perhaps we could just buy a ticket, and then just not use the exit part, buying a new one if necessary.

We met loads of American and European tourists visiting Georgetown, as well as tons of friendly locals. It was a great place to learn about the world and about the people in it. The locals would actually smile and look you right in the eye when you passed on the street. Piles of offerings burned in the streets everyday, for the Hungry Ghosts. By the water you could watch cars and trucks line up to take the 15 minute ferry to Butterworth, on the mainland. There was also a bridge but apparently traffic was quite bad so the ferry was preferred. Despite being in a city, with traffic and crowds of people, at the boardwalk, along the water’s edge, it was quiet. The sea was a beautiful blue, the clouds were pink, and there was a pleasant wind.

In intriguing Little India, every woman wore a gorgeous silk outfit, every man a thick, black mustache, every person a red dot between their eyes. Loud Bangla music blasted out of the shops, and money-changers yelled to us, “Excuse me, sir? Would you like to come change some money?” The smell of incense hung heavy in the air, a different yet equally sweet smell when you passed from Little India to Chinatown. Many people spoke English, most fairly well and many Malay words were quite similar to English words. For example the word for bicycle is “basykl”. I’m pretty sure the Malays just borrowed some English words and re-wrote them in their own language.

Walking home from getting a late-night snack one night, an Indian man on a motorbike stopped to say hello to me. He then offered to pay me to come eat with him. I declined because 1. I am not a hooker and 2. Is this how hookers work in Penang? They get paid to eat? 3. If he was asking me out on a date I already had a boyfriend. 4. I am not accustomed to being paid to go on dates. I was confused but he was polite, and I did not feel threatened.

Also while in Georgetown I finally learned how to snap, after trying and failing my whole life. And that, folks, is why you never quit attempting to attain anything you really want.

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Photos

J was actually walking down the steps
I didn't realize til much later, scrutinizing this photo