Malaysia Boleh!

(Or, A Short History of Malaysia in Three Parts, Part TIGA)

Kuala Lumpur:
The Authentic Singapore

As the AirAsia jet ascended into the blue Penang sky, I waved goodbye to my beloved food wonderland. Already missing the kuey teow, I hoped our final destination, Kuala Lumpur, would hold similar culinary treasures. In less than an hour, we touched down at our old haunt, the LCCT, and caught a city shuttle bus (8 RM, one way) to the heart of town.

After four days in relatively sleepy and chillaxed environs, the hustle of KL was jarring. The urban sprawl stretched forever into the distance, streets crowded with hordes of people, all beneath a cruel sun intent on sweating us out like pigs on a spit. Nix that, lambs on a spit. No pork here, got to keep it halal. When I stepped out of the comfortable air-conned bus into the humidity of midday KL, I involuntarily shuddered in disgust. It was gross. This was going to be a very long weekend in the city.

Mr. Kitty Is Hot Too

Once we checked into the hotel, we made quick use of the remaining daylight hours and rushed to the Golden Triangle, home of the iconic Petronas Twin Towers.

Though the actual distance from our hotel near Chinatown to the Petronas complex was not that far, the connections and transfers required between the subway lines was a pain in the ass. Like in Japan, the metro system in KL is a confusing mess of tracks that are owned by different entities, requiring different ticket purchases, and a whole lot of escalator riding. In the heat of the day, it is frustrating and exhausting.

From our above-ground light rail, we transferred to the subway at Masjid Jamek, the namesake of the gorgeous mosque that nests in central KL. At about 2 RMB per ride, we ended up paying 4 RM each way, to-and-from the hotel. That's about 16 RMB, more than 2 USD. Hardly crushing to the finances, but if you think a ride in a more convenient and time-efficient Shanghai subway car is only about 4 RMB each way, it feels like a rip-off.

Who Needs The Monorail?

Our destination stop connected to the basement level of the Petronas mall, one of the best shopping spots around. We hadn't eaten a full meal since the morning in Penang, which was still giving me residual orgasmic chills just thinking about the kaya toast and kopi. As we were back in civilization, we decided to be naughty and skip the hawker stuff for some nice corporate chain food: Nando's.

Nando's, a fabulous Portuguese-inspired chicken joint from South Africa, serves up meal plates similar to those found in Boston Market or by our old pal, Kenny Rogers. Except with a more suburban-strip-mall, fast-food-but-trying-not-to-be, Chili's vibe. It's a popular eatery in Malaysia, not least because it is halal, quite affordable, and really damn good. I tucked into a plate of their famous roast chicken covered in peri-peri spices (medium heat) and a side of sweet coleslaw and crunchy corn on the cob. Dashing on a daring blast of the mega-hot peri-peri sauce, I was actually pleased to be eating in a clean, indoor place with actual silverware. Mouth-fire extinguished with an icy homemade apple soda, it was time to brave the muggy twilight for a glimpse of the towers.

Peri-Peri Deliciousness

Outside, we had to walk approximately 5 miles just to obtain a suitable angle for taking a picture of these beasts. Launching into the sky like two upturned javelins, the Petronas Twin Towers are gorgeous peers to my personal favorite megascraper, the JinMao Tower in Shanghai, and far more graceful than the out-of-place eyesore, the Taipei 101. Once the tallest building(s) in the world, it no longer holds the crown, as it was out-scraped by the aforementioned 101 in 2004.

Behold Petronas!

One of many creative ways to get a shot of the entire building from top to toe.

Petronas - which is short for PETROliam NASional, the government-owned Malaysian oil and gas company - boasts 88 floors of office and entertainment space and is designed keeping Islamic motifs and aesthetics in mind. The skywalk that connects the two shafts also serves as a tourist draw, the tickets supposedly selling out every morning. I just wanted to get a good look at them from the ground up. Maybe do a little jumping.

JUMP! Petronas Towers

Once my memory card could no longer fit any more shots of the towers (there are only so many angles one can shoot from), we returned to the cool bosom of the air-conditioned mall. Exhausted from a day of transit, we surrendered early, biding to conserve our energy for our final day of endurance on this heretofore amazing adventure.

Masjid Jemak

At last, the ultimate day of the trip had arrived. My mixture of burned skin and competent shading had blended together to form a nice tan, I was getting used to the icky and sticky air, and my speech was already being butchered by an abundance of "la"s and lax Mandarin inflections. Before flying back to the polluted place I call home, it was time for another day of hard pavement pounding.

Which Way Do We Go?

From the Chinatown area, we returned to our old friend, Masjid Jamek Mosque and began our walking tour. Heading west (?) beneath the light rail overpass, the cramped downtown suddenly opened up to Dataran Merdeka, or Independence Square.

Familiar?

At midnight on August 31, 1957, British rule came to an end and the curiously Stars-And-Stripes-looking Malaysian flag was hoisted for the very first time on the square's towering flagpole, allegedly the tallest in the world. To the frenzied cries of "Merdeka! Merdeka!" the country had gained its freedom from colonial rule.

In the morning sun, the vast square left us naked and vulnerable to the UV death rays. Tour buses filled with Hong Kong and mainland tourists were pouring their loud, umbrella-wielding varmints onto the green grass, blocking the previously pristine photo-ops. Nearby, St. Anne's church bells were ringing for morning mass, one of the many reminders left behind by the Brits.

JUMP! Merdeka Square

Merdeka!

Ladies Love Merdeka

Details, Details, Details!

After some circuitous confusion, we headed south towards Jalan Raja, the old school market area. On Leboh Pasar Besar, the colorful shop houses and store fronts exploded in every tint and hue imaginable. Blasts of graffiti covered the concrete walls down gritty alleyways, the minarets of Masjid Jamek clearly visible in the distance beyond the canal. The pedestrians grew increasingly local, head scarves, turbans and batik gowns abounded.

Teal

Abolish ISA

Green and Gold

Crossing

At the famous Central Market, a Chinese lion dance created a massive racket with the thudding drums and exploding firecrackers, threatening to steal our good hearing. We quickly ran through the doors to escape the din. Inside, natural light flooded the gallery, the shop stalls abuzz with tourists bargaining for cheap souvenirs and other goodies to take back home. I decided to save my ringgit for better spoils, so I didn't buy anything. We were half tempted to get the fish spa treatment, but good sense got the better of us. There's no way I would enjoy hundreds of sausage-sized fish nibbling away the dead skin on my feet and legs, so we opted for lunch instead.

1888, Luckiest Year Since 888

Who's A Good Little Lion Dancer?

Fish Exfoliation = Bleagh!

At Old Town White Coffee, the purveyors of the best kopi putih klasik in the land since 1958, we took our first break of the morning. It was the perfect time to rest my bloody feet in the nicely cooled market. Despite a disappointing meal (overly sweet nasi lemak and some nauseating Balinese noodles), their iced white coffee was bliss. As I harped on many, many paragraphs before, this stuff is amazing. We bought a few boxes of the instant packets for future Shanghai consumption and then returned to our hotel for check-out.

Hotel Winsin

Fuck ISA

Old Town

My Favorite Facade In KL

With a good half-day to kill, we were at a loss. There were many things we could have done, but we must have been either too burned out or just confused with how to structure our time. There were a few things remaining on the list, of course involving food, so we decided to stay focused on our gastro-journey and nail the big one. The queen mother of the land: the humble durian.

Though I've seen durian before, this would be my first time actually consuming the revered fruit. In the past, the closest a durian ever came to my mouth was about 5 inches away, at which point the sensors in my nose and tongue told me to toss that fucking thing across the room, lest I suffer dearly for my foolish experiment. However, if I didn't try durian in Malaysia, it'd be a shame. It would be like going to the US and not having apple pie or a carb-loaded, deep-fried pile of something. I admit the butterflies in my stomach and tense anticipatory sweating might have caused an exaggerated response, but I was equal parts excited and terrified. Such a mythical fruit, so pungent and revolting that hotels in the area have "No Durian" signs outside their doors, so desired and delicious to some that it is also known as the King of Fruits and inspires fanatic worship by durian connoisseurs the world over.

Not Today, Pal

Even Mother Nature is in on the joke, trying her best to keep the luscious fruit protected from greedy mouths: the thick husk, covered in rock-hard spikes that could literally crush someone's skull into a pulp, is designed to keep you from getting to the goods within. I had to see what the fuss was about.

Luckily, our taxi driver just so happened to be a durian fiend and he knew just where to get some. As we pulled up to a streetside stall in the middle of a shaded square, we could see the bulbous death balls hanging from wooden sticks, their heady aroma drifting over to the parked cab. We chose one particular strain, the Mao Shan Wang (Cat Mountain King) variety, supposedly one of the best on Earth. Not cheap either: each of the soft wedges housed in the spiky stronghold was 9 RM each, about 20 RMB a slice. Our entire fruit was almost $10 US.

Taunting You

Like the longyan, lychee, mango or any of the other "heat" fruits, you can't eat too much durian in one sitting, unless you want explosive nosebleeds. Diabetics, like our taxi driver, need to be careful too. With so many factors against the fruit, why would anyone want to eat these things?

Gloves on, I picked up the soft wedge and examined it. It had a milky yellow hue, like a cooked egg yolk made of silk, soft to the touch like an infant's pudgy forearm. The bouquet wasn't too overpowering, at least not as nasty as other varieties I had smelled before. With no other choice but to take a bite, I placed the fruit in my mouth and took a hefty bite.

Stinky Gold

First reaction: felt like I was biting into a stick of butter. It was that squishy soft. The "skin" of the wedge gave way to a creamy center, which covered my tongue in a sticky mush that hit all of the taste buds. To be honest, it wasn't that bad. I didn't want to violently spew my day's food all over the farmer, I didn't pass out in disgust, and knew that my stomach wouldn't cave in on itself in protest to this fetid fruit.

Yet for some reason, my body and brain weren't connected. I knew there was nothing wrong with the durian, but my overall feeling was not pleasant. I understand how people can be hopelessly devoted to the stuff, but I had to expend a lot of mental energy to overcome the averse gut reaction my body was slowly building.

I finished my piece and appreciated its worth, but my gut was giving me a very clear warning that any more durian and I'd pay the price tenfold. Something about the faint hints of meat and cream and fruit blended together with the consistency of solidified baby food. It'll be a while before I yummy down on any more durians.

Doing The Deed

Salt Rinse For Luck

Washing our mouths out with salt water, our satisfied taxi uncle drove us to our actual desination, the Berjaya Times Square shopping complex. The final goal of the trip: Krispy Kreme donuts.

In a glorious twist of cultural exchange, I would have a chance to expose my Malaysian pal to a distinctly American treat that I daresay completely obliterates the durian in terms of enjoyability and pleasure. Krispy Kreme is part of the American culinary fabric and, apologies to hometown Dunkin Donuts, the best donut on the planet. God bless those deep-fried rings of heavenly dough, which I hadn't been blessed with since my trip to North Carolina in 2008. I was quite excited.

This shop, the first in Malaysia, had its grand opening the day before, as if they knew I'd be in town. As such, it was packed. The line was out the door, a massive team of workers trying their best to take orders from people buying 3 to 4 dozens at a time.

Waiting For A Ring Of Heaven

Patiently waiting, I glimpsed through the kitchen window to see the assembly line creation of their signature glazed donuts. Watching the tiny rings climb the metal gear ladders, they plop into the deep fryer for a quick bath, then get dragged along the cylindrical rack where they get doused in a constantly flowing ooze of delicious, delicious sugar glazing. I began to feel some excitement in my pants, and before any of my own sugar glazing could ruin the precious moment, I ordered my pile of donuts and iced latte. One step closer to bliss.

Seriously, Best Thing EVER.

Needless to say, approximately 1 minute after that first bite, my plate of scrumptious donuts had disappeared. I collapsed into the brand new arm chairs and almost dozed off like a lion that just gorged on a soft, sugary wildebeest. To go the full, decadent mile, we got one of the best massages ever at the ReBorn Massage on the 3rd floor of the mall, stall 03-38, by one beefy Dalian woman and a strong little Thai guy. My involuntary shivers were ample evidence of having experienced maximum pleasure at the sticky hands of Mr. Kreme and the skilled fingers of the ReBorn crew.

Unfortunately, the time had come to part ways and begin the penultimate portion of the Malaysian excursion. Left alone in the wilds of KL, I was exposed and vulnerable, like a lone piece of chocolate cake thrust into the midst of an obesity support group. The only pressing issue would be making my way from downtown back to my old pal, KL International Airport. Rather than go the ghetto route and take the cheaper express bus (8RM), I decided to try the KLIA Ekspres from KL Sentral Stesen [Editor's note: you'll please forgive the lack of "sic" designation for those mangled English words, which should read, in order, as "express", "central" and "station." But I'm sure you were smart enough to figure out the Manglish already.]

Olde Station

JUMP! Old Station

The "ekspres" train was cheap nonetheless, costing only 35RM for a ride that took less than an hour and was enjoyed in relative peace and quiet. Arriving at KLIA, I looked at my watch. I still had about 7 hours to go before departure, so this was primed to be a very, very long evening.

Should you find yourself in a similar monotonous circumstance, refer to the following:

Neil's KLIA Survival Field Diary

Hour 1 - Airport pretty nice. Clean, spacious. Doesn't smell. Sure beats China. After checking in, rushed to the bathroom to clean off the day's filth. Used the trusty ass-blast hose to clean the dirt off my flip-flopped feet. Contacts out, glasses on. Ready for the long haul. Went to the viewing platform. Not very interesting and too far from the main terminal. Expected to see planes taking off and landing, but instead saw a bunch of people equally as bored out of their minds, waiting for their own flights that were hours away. Hungry. Wonder if there's anything good after customs?

Hour 2 - God bless McDonalds. My last beefburger in Malaysia. Customs and immigration were a breeze. Luckily I don't have swine flu. I see the quarantine areas, but nobody seems to be detained. Sigh of relief. What to do now? Terminal A is a fucking ghost town.

Hour 3 - Took tram to Terminal B and C where all the action is. Felt good to take that giant dump in peace. Five pounds lighter, I gather. Checked email quickly on the free terminals. Facebook was blocked. Apparently "dating" sites aren't allowed here. I didn't know Facebook counted as a dating site... Now how am I going to find my future Muslim wife?!

Hour 4 to 6 - KLIA wins the award for best waiting area. The seats here are extended with foot rests and in reclining positions for weary travelers stuck here with nothing to do. Grab a water and hunker down with a book I bought yesterday. Chuck Palahniuk's Snuff. He's one of my faves, met him a few years back. This one is about a porn star who is going to break the gang bang world record. Classic literature, if you ask me.

Hour 7 - That was a good book. Quick chai latte at Starbucks and tram back to Terminal A. All I need to do is find the large group of loud and obnoxious people. There it is, flight back to Shanghai. God, I don't want to leave this wonderful land...

On the plane, I strapped on my air pillow and pulled my hooded sweatshirt over my face. It was almost 2AM and I had to be in the office in a mere 6 hours. I'd have murdered someone if I didn't get in a good dose of sleep. Luckily, I was exhausted enough to pass out almost immediately.

Five hours later, we landed in Pudong. Back on Chinese soil.

When I reached home and hurled my bags into my room, I stumbled into the bathroom to clean up quickly before work. Staring into the mirror, I was happily surprised. Nice, even tan. Refreshed look of contentment and happiness on my face. Hair stylishly disheveled. I was a walking zombie, but strangely enough, a sexy walking zombie. Vacations really do work.