Short and Fat and Tall and Thin in Penang

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Short and Fat and Tall and Thin in Penang

Fri 14/03 - 16/03/08

We take our seats at the rear of the coach, like all naughty school children. Amy, Jenny and Toby are drinking vodka - I'm on the beer. Compared to the cramped buses I've been used to in Asia, this is a different world. The seats are soft, comfortable and spacious, and recline right back. In order to get to Penang from the mainland, you have to cross the Penang Bridge - at 13.5km, one of the longest bridges in Asia. We settle in and get going on the drinking - it's getting late, and we will need to find a place to stay before we head out, so we line the pockets and give ourselves a head start.

As we head across the bridge and onto the island, the city rears up in front of us - we could easily be back in KL, creeping amongst the steel redwoods, over a carpet of concrete. It's not the first impression you expect from a tropical island. By the time the coach pulls into the station, it's almost ten. We decide to head to Georgetown. The taxi drops us off centrally in Chinatown, where most of the backpacker hostels are located. The first couple we try are full. A guy on a motorbike follows us and hands us a card for a guesthouse, telling us we should head there. It's only around the corner, so we take a look, and then decide to check in. They only have one twin and a double, so we decide to let the girls les' it up, and I take the twin with Toby.

We make our way into town. Walking down a side street, we pass a Chinese temple. Outside, a group are practicing a dragon dance. We don't know where any of the hot spots are. I just wanna get drunk and point out a bar on our right. As we move in to take a look, the word "Karaoke" looms large. Yes, mother-fucker. Come on in. The venue is pretty small, and filled with Chinese, all huddled around tables packed with beers. We take a seat in a corner, next to the bar at the opposite side of the room to the stage. Drinks are fairly expensive. We get six bottles of beer in a bucket, and the waitresses standby, topping up our glasses almost after every sip, so soon we lose track of how much each of us has drunk.

At first, not all of the others seem keen for singing. I think Jenny and Toby are up for it, but Amy is a little reluctant. We watch as the Chinese show us how it's done. These guys (and the room is population mainly by men, with the odd couple dotted around) love their karaoke and take it quite seriously. Most of them can actually sing as well, which makes me wonder how they're going to take us when we jump on the mike.

Finally, the spotlight falls on table 6. We will get three songs, before passing on the baton to another table. We start with "Let it Be". I've lost count of how many times I sung this fucking song in Vietnam, but it seems like a good warm-up tune - everyone loves the Beatles in Asia, right? Maybe not. We get a lukewarm response. I don't know if it's the choice in tune, or our singing. Still, this is the first time we've all performed together, so things will improve, right?

I look around the room as the drinks go down and the music zig-zags through the air with all the charm and grace of a rapist. At a table just in front of us, a group of Chinese men are downing glasses of beer, rapidly getting pissed. The girls sing "Ooops I did it Again", and I, like everyone else in the room, am impressed. Brittney is evidently a lot more popular here that the fab four, and we're folded into the warm bosoms of our hosts. I duet with Toby on "Always" by Bon Jovi, and collectively or in various combinations with perform "2 Become 1", "Can't fight the Moonlight", "Zombie" and "Truly Madly Deeply".

Maybe everyone is just getting drunker, but we're becoming very popular. Several men come up to us to shake our hands and ask where we're from. Then, a fat Chinese guy from the table in front of us comes over. He puts down glasses of beer and tells us to "Down in one". Jenny isn't keen - she explains she is no good at drinking beer quickly, and will be sick. The Fat Man does not accept excuses. She gets a harsh reprimand, in the form of raspberry, complete with thumb on nose, fingers waggling and a "nan-nan nahn-naah". This is repeated several times. I don't want to get the same treatment, so I down every glass that gets put in front of me. And there are many. The Fat Man keeps the beer coming, and a few more raspberries get blown Jenny's way, pushing her close to tears. I love the Fat Man, but his scolding is harsh and brutal.

We prepare to move on. We say our goodbyes. The Fat Man is very drunk, and he and his friends keep getting involved in minor altercations, which usually end in manly hugging. I go to the toilet, and find them in there, arguing again. The Fat Man tells me to leave, indicating this is private moment between men. These guys fucking crack me up. The chances of a real fight breaking out are zero - they're just drunk and feisty, but far to cuddly to hurt one another.

Time to go. I wanted to sing "Hotel California", but the group ushers me on. We turn right and walk along the main strip, where most of the bars are. We walk into one establishment, a typically English-looking pub with a sparsely populated dance floor. We have a couple of drinks, and then go dancing. We're the only white people busting shapes. As always, my presence brings out the crowds of Asian men, and soon they're moving their bodies enthusiastically with Toby and I. Things come to a heady climax when "Sweet Child of Mine" is played. It's a visual feast of air guitar and power slides as we rock out. I end up on my knees as the solo kicks in; then, on my back. That's rock and roll, baby.

It's getting late now. We're kicked out of the pub and back onto the streets. We're hungry for more, so we try to find a new venue. Somehow, we end up talking to two Australians. One guy seems a bit of a meat head - his mate's outstanding feature is his height. The dude is 6 foot ten, a cloud-dwelling bean pole of a man. He dwarfs Toby, who is above average, and is without doubt the tallest person I have ever met. Fucking freak. The aussies tell us about some club that is still open, and we go off in search of it. We lose them along the way, but end up there anyway.

The girls don't seem to sold on the place, so Toby and I go in to do some reconnaissance. What we find doesn't impress us. The place is packed full of men, and the music is shit. We bump into meat-head aussie, and he shouts some macho shit at us. Toby calls him a cunt and we leave, and re-join Amy and Jenny.

No one seems to know exactly where we are, but my tracking instincts are still intact and I get us heading the right way. Toby is distracted along the way; first, by a curb-crawling prostitute, who, judging by her long legs and tall frame, is almost certainly a man; and second, by food. We get something from a road side curry stall, and walk back to the hostel. We sit outside and eat. Toby gets his curry everywhere - on the table, on the floor and all over his face. We wake up the receptionist, and finish eating inside. By the time we go to bed, it's gone 5am.

Saturday morning. My head hurts. We need to check out by 12pm, giving us about half an hour to get our shit together. I go for a shower down the end of the corridor. As I'm in there, luxuriating in soap bubbles, some old guy opens the door, which doesn't lock properly. He apologises, and I have no choice but to call him a gay. Out of the shower, I pack up all my things . We meet the girls in reception. They don't feel so hot. Amy goes to be sick. Soon, Jenny follows her. Toby and I are made of sterner stuff - we do not vomit. Amy takes a turn for the worse, and has to go and lie down in one of the empty rooms. The guy from last night who took us to the hostel is hanging about again. We want to go to Batu Ferringhi, one of the beach resorts. He again takes charge of the situation, telling where we should stay and how to get there.

We go fetch Amy. She isn't feeling great, but we need to move on. Moto Guy takes us to the bus stop and tells us he'll meet us outside a hotel near the beach. We get on the bus. We're in our seats when my hand goes to my neck. I cold wind blows across my heart. My necklace, which I bought in Sapa, Vietnam, is not there. I love this necklace a lot. I found it when I was wondering through the stalls in Sapa's market. I asked the boy at the stall "how much" - he told me $10. I laughed, and called him a fucking idiot. A bit extreme, maybe, but he was trying to rip me off, charging a ridiculous tourist price. I walked to the next stall, which had the same necklace. She asked for 40,000 dong, and I got it for 20,000 ($1 = 16,000d).

I came to love the necklace like I love my hat - my souvenirs from Vietnam and travelling in general are few and far between - there isn't the room in my bags to keep picking stuff up. I go through my rucksack frantically. I always take the necklace off at night - I remember putting it on the floor at the bottom of my bed. I'm hoping I dropped it into my bag as I got dressed this morning, but it's not there. Fuck. I'm really pissed now. I get a flashback to this morning - me, picking the chain up off the floor, and placing on top of my duvet. I know now that's where I've left it.

The bus journey to Batau Ferringhi is painfully slow. It takes over an hour. I'm full of anxiety, just wanting to meet up with Moto Guy and get him to ring the hotel, and maybe take me back. When we get to our bus stop, I rush off. I spot him up ahead and explain. He phones the hostel. They tell him they found nothing. I speak to the receptionist, and explain it must be somewhere in the room, and for them to check again. I explain the necklace is worth fuck-all, in case the maid wants to pocket it.

Again, they tell me they found nothing. Fucking bullshit. I ask Moto Guy if he'll take me back. I'm in selfish mode now, just focused on getting my shit back. I agree to pay him, and I leave the others to check in to our new hostel. Toby is being a prick and wants to take a picture of me on the back of Moto Guy's bike, but I'm no mood to pose.

I'm unsure what to make of Moto Guy. He seems okay, though he obviously makes his living from helping out tourists, getting commission from hotels and cash for favours. To his credit, though, he drives like a bat out of hell to get me back to the hostel. I lose count of how many red lights we jump, and how many junction corners he illegally manuvers around. We get back in around 30mins, and I go to reception. They keep telling me the room has been cleaned, and nothing found. I ask them to check the laundry, and they make a phone call, and tell me the same shit. I'm pretty angry now. I explain where the necklace was, and I'm told the maid shook out the sheets and would have found anything that was on them. I explain that the maid is therefore a fucking thief and a liar - that I know the necklace was there, and that they have stolen it from me. I keep repeating that it's worth fuck all, but I know I'm not going to get anywhere.

Fuckers. The necklace meant a lot, and now the maid, a grubby, simple-looking wretch, has got it. At best she lied about how thoroughly she checked. I give up, frustrated. Moto Guy takes me back. The sun is shining, and it's a beautiful day. I try to forget the pain, and stay positive. The necklace is gone. I tried my best to get it back. I'm a dumb, godless son of a bitch for not taking better care of it, but then I knew that already. If you hold onto every moment of barefaced fucking stupidity, you'll never get out of bed in the morning for fear of another. Get over it. Move on.

Moto Guy takes me on a detour, showing me the promenade, and an area of town where all the wealthy folk hang out. The flats here are expensive. We drive on, and arrive at the beach. I pay him 20 ringits for his trouble. The others are all out, so I walk onto the sand to look for them. They're sun bathing a few hundred yards away. Most of the day has been wasted, sitting around waiting for people to vomit and chasing after my lost possessions. I want to make the best of it, so go for a swim, while the sun is still out. The water is fairly warm. I swim out a bit. Then, my arm starts to sting. I assume it's just the salt water, reacting with one of my mosquito bites. Then, my other arm starts to sting, followed by both of my legs. The pain is quite intense, and I gimp-swim back to shore, tucking my legs in underneath me, trying to avoid whatever poison is afflicting my skin.

I get out and inspect myself. There are half a dozen or so red blotches on my arms and legs, each with raised white dots, like nettle stings, in threes, like points of a triangle. Fucking jellyfish. Toby tells me he felt something sting him when he went in, and I thank him for warning me. The stings hurt a lot, and I ask, half-kidding, if either of the girls is willing to urinate on me, to neutralise the stings. They are not, so I remain, throbbing and angry. What a shit day. Prized possession lost, that raped by a school of vindictive floating spunk bubbles.

We spend the rest of the afternoon chilling out in the hostel, and later go out for dinner. I half-heartedly want to get drunk again, but only Toby shows enthusiasm. We end up just going back to our room, and going to bed.


Sunday. Our last day on Penang. We go back down to the beach. The girls want to go for a massage, so we agree to meet them in around an hour. We have lunch and wait, but a couple of hours go by with no sign of the fuckers. We assume they're getting boom-boom in some seedy-backstreet dive. After three hours, we lose patience and go to find them. They're not in the original parlour, but one of the staff knows where they are, and we follow her there. After a few minutes, they both emerge, oily and stoned-looking. They confirm no boom-boom, though a guy took pictures of their feet for his personal collection, which is a bit sick.

We have little time left - about an hour before we need to head back to the mainland. We want to do something in our last hour. We stand on the beach and watch as a plane puts on a show, doing loop and loops and flying low over the water. I want to ride on a banana boat, and we ask how much, then all get on. We're dragged along by the speedboat, and at various points fall off, usually on purpose. When we get out of the water, the girl's three and a half hours of massage and manicure seems a little wasted, the sea salt undoing whatever miraculous mosturising techniques were applied.

We catch a bus, and then a ferry across to dry land. We negotiate a taxi fare, and arrive back at the house around 10pm. Tom has watched 6 DVDs over the course of the weekend, some of them two or three times. I take a moment to reflect. In the same amount of time, I had one great night out, Vietnam style. I met a short fat man, and a tall thin man. Once again, I was loved by the locals, and took part in a dance-floor takedown. I also had one shit, comedown day. Man, I still miss my necklace. If that hotel whore is wearing it now, I hope it fucking chokes her in her sleep, or at least gives her a serious chafing.

And jellyfish. The third animal to do me harm in Malaysia. Next time a wild beast attacks me in anger, I hope there'll be somebody around with the common decency to take a piss on me and ease the pain.

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Comments

[Tinny]

Pat....
Steve Irwin, you ain't! I hope you aren't going to hold all this animal hatred against Murphy when you return - he misses you!