Malaysia Boleh!

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

Penang:
Skeletons of Imperialism & Makan Madness

If there were one place in the world where I would happily relocate purely for the food, it would be Malaysia. From the jumbled mess of cultures that officially call this country home, the cuisine of the land is the true melting pot that America could never be. The glorious cultural threeway of the Malay, Chinese and Indian locals has given birth to one of the most distinctive food scenes in the world, one which I am surprised isn't more well-known or globally recognized. All the better: best to keep this little secret to ourselves, shall we?

From morning to night, it's all about eating. The Italians, Japanese and Chinese, though superior cuisines they may claim, have nothing on Malaysian street food. The Thai and Taiwanese nightmarket scenes come close, but fail to even catch a whiff of the Malaysian hawker's sandaled-foot as he runs off into the insanity of the nightly hawker market chaos. The sheer variety is staggering, whether you're in the mood for heavy and spicy Indian curries and rice, that familiar Chinese noodle goodness or a little Muslim-safe halal Malaysian.

The hawker centers are the places to be. A sprawling open-air market that focuses solely on food, no frills and no pretense. Singapore is full of them; they've even gone as far as creating a sterile and centralized version - the Makansutra Glutton's Bay at the Esplanade - which is just another example of Singapore's Disney-fication of the real stuff up on the northern mainland.

Here in Malaysia, hawker centers are grimier, packed with voracious eaters, buzzing with multilingual yelling, enthusiastic slurping and open-mouthed chomping, and an anxious level of intensity seeping from the pores of these laksa-craving zombies on their nightly hunt. Gangs of young folk, families out for dinner, lovers trying their hardest to walk hand-in-hand through the thick crowd: the hawker center is the great equalizer.

If you love your food done right, this is where you come.

Walking into the walkway rows at the hawker centers, which are flanked on both sides by wheel-able pushcart stalls serving up anything your gluttonous heart desires, you'll need to engage in improvised dance to avoid being scalded by open bowls of steaming noodles, attacked by plates of hot fried fritters, or molested by an overly touchy auntie (or uncle) who is out on the prowl for some young meat. And don't forget the endless piles of plastic tables and chairs, covered in splatters and drippings from night after night of satisfaction. It would be best to leave that new pair of white shoes or trousers at home.

Nowhere is this crazy awesomeness better illustrated than on the sleepy island of Penang.

In Penang, the premier hawker spot is on Gurney Drive, a prime seafront boulevard that overlooks the ocean along the northern coast of the island (about a 15 RM cab ride from central Georgetown or the ferry jetty). Stretching out as far as the eye can see, and conspicuously bisected into halal and non-halal sections, the Gurney Drive hawker center is paradise. I almost started weeping with joy when we stepped foot onto the sticky concrete and began our walk of reconnaissance up and down the aisles, trying our best to choose just which stall was going to have the privelage of serving me my very first assam laksa. To say that it is overwhelming is a slight understatement. If you've ever been to a Chinese nightmarket, you know how crowded it can get. Now multiply that by a couple digits and you have an idea of what it's like here.

On our first visit, we were wise enough to come before the evening crowds descended like crows to a delicious, spicy carcass. It was before 6pm and the final gasp of the day's sunlight provided natural lighting for our meal. We effortlessly found a full plastic table all for ourselves, giving us enough space to spread out all the spoils. Commence makan madness.

Gurney Before Sunset

First, the laksa. A noodle soup with spicy broth base, laksa is typically made with a creamy coconut milk-based soup - popular in most of Malaysia and Singapore - but Penang has it's own version, called assam laksa. My tongue felt that this variant was closer to Thai flavoring, since it uses a thinner, less creamy soup that is quite sour from the lime and basil and ginger. And spicy. Very spicy. Topped with assorted bits of pork and fish and green veggies and sprouts and love, it was a very good start, though my heart still belongs to the creamier versions found in Singapore and Sarawak.

Assam Laksa

Next, we enjoyed one of my personal favorites: char kuey teow. In the local Hokkien dialect, "char" is the same as Mandarin's "chao", which means "fried." Basically fried rice noodles or ho fun. In the Malay-Chinese style, they toss in egg, cockles and more spice, giving it a sweeter and spicier tang (whereas the typical Cantonese version most Americans are familiar with would have bean sprouts, sliced meat and green scallions, with a salty soy-based gravy). This is not to be confused with plain kuey teow, which is not fried, but rather swimming in a clear soup broth with some corpulent fish balls and blanched veggies (scroll down a few paragraphs). In either state, kuey teow is amazing.

Char Kuey Teow

Now we come to a little source of controversy. The carrot cake. Carrot cake, you say? How did one of the most delicious of Western desserts become a Malaysian favorite? Because of the misnomer. Or rather, the cultural misunderstanding that may make it seem like a misnomer.

I have always called this stuff luo-bo gao (Cantonese "lo but go") or radish cake, one of my favorite foods ever and made expertly by my old man every Chinese New Year. Much to the chagrin of my Malaysian pals, I refuse to acknowledge this holy dish as "carrot cake." However, their argument is as follows: in Chinese, white radish are called white carrots ("bai luo bo") and those long orange things that rabbits eat are called red carrots ("hong luo bo"). So technically, "luo bo gao" could be translated as carrot cake. I still grumble at the inconsistency between Chinese communities, but who am I to be picky. Whatever it is called, the stuff is almost the same, incorporating the shredded flesh of a hefty white radish into some flour and assorted salty food bits, which creates a soft cake perfect for steaming or frying in slices. Here, they use the same cake, but chop it up into bits and fry it with egg, resulting in a pile of fried chunks. Results are neither "carrot" nor cake. Silly Malaysians.

Similar in chunky appearance to the aforementioned carrot-confused dish, we have the Taiwanese staple: oh-ah-jian, the fried (jian) oyster (oh-ah) pancake. Almost as simple as the carrot cake, this dish takes a heaping crapload of juicy, briney oysters, fried with fluffy egg and green chives into a glorious glutinous mass topped with tangy sweet pink sauce. Over in Formosa, you'd be a fool to pass this up at the night markets. Here, you'd be the same fool if you missed the oh-ah-jian.

Oh! Ah!

My least favorite of the sitting was the otak-otak. Nothing personal against this sticky log of steamed egg and fish bits in a banana leaf. It had a strange consistency, kind of like soft custard, but with a strange texture that unfortunately reminded me of the cooked coagulated blood that clings to a nice steak or burger fresh from the grill. If that description doesn't get your food libido boiling, I don't know what could. In any case, I find no need to try this dish ever again. I'll go out on a limb and say I'd much rather tackle another durian, purely for the masochistic experience. To each his own.

Oh-no, otak~!

Iced Water chestnut Juice = YUM

Once the eating finished, we topped ourselves off with banana fritters and some retail therapy at the nearby Gurney Plaza mall and entertainment complex. Oh how lovely it was to shop in an environment without Chinese clerks crowding around you, smelly people fighting over sale racks or queuing for hours just to use a fitting room with spit and other assorted mystery fluid on the floor. In British India, a sort of Banana Republic meets safari outpost, I experienced service that I daresay have never even had in the US. It was like having my own personal shopping assistant; I didn't have to leave the dressing room! And lest you think it was due to the fairness of my skin, you'll note that my Malaysian friend also got the same top treatment. Malaysian hospitality at its finest.

It had only been a few hours since last stuffing my face with a tasty morsel, but digestive logic be damned, I was hungry again. Luckily for my American heart, there was a McDonalds on the ground floor of the mall. To balance out all the Malaysian food I had been consuming, mind you. Here, in order to protect the Muslim populace from any potentially disaster via consumption of pork products (see: Allah's wrath), hamburgers go one step more specific and are labeled as "beefburgers." The breakfast sausage patties are also noticeably made of chicken or beef. There's no bacon burger here, for which I quietly weep. Value meals also include ayam goreng (fried chicken) and McCongee (bubur ayam, or rice porridge), the latter of which surprisingly has enough calories to rival a pile of french fries. Go figure. After getting down with my Filet O' Fish and french fries covered in sweet chili sauce, it was time to call it a night. Mere hours in Penang and I had barely cracked the surface of the makan fantasy land.

Abandoned Building in Penang

The next day at a nearby Mr. Pot, our food tour (disguised as proper sightseeing) began with a classic breakfast staple: kaya toast and kopi. While the Brits and Australians have such nonsense as marmite and vegemite, the Malaysians were sensible enough to create an actual ENJOYABLE breakfast spread to be culturally associated with.

Kaya is made of egg, coconut and pandan. The egginess depends on whether you're eating Malaysian or Singaporean kaya. Creamy, grainy and fragrant, like a thick applesauce without the tartness, kaya is spread over thick, wheaty toast and garnished with a huge square of butter. Paired with kopi ("coffee"), it is bliss.

In Malaysia, they like their coffee white. And I like my white coffee cold, taking the thick black coffee and mixing with generous amount of milk and sugar, shaken vigorously with a handful of ice cubes. On a humid disgusting day where even the morning air is thick with moisture, there is nothing like it. If Dunkin Donuts learned how to make this kind of iced coffee, I can guarantee American obesity rates would triple within months.

Kaya Toast and Kopi

To pass the time in between meals, we resigned ourselves to some sightseeing. Luckily Penang is not only one of the best places for food in the country, but it is also a prime locale for anyone looking to immerse themselves in rich and eye-popping heritage sites.

Knock, Knock

The central hub of the action is Georgetown, the northeastern quadrant of the island. This is the place the British set up shop along their imperialist trade routes, injecting the grandeur of English architecture and landscaping into a previously rural tribe land.

Nearly everything in the area holds some kind of historical value, so a leisurely stroll under the intense and blinding sun will afford you a pretty good idea of why this entire town is a protected UNESCO heritage site. From the grandiose electric-blue Cheong Fatt Tze mansion to the pair of marble-white churches (St. George's and the Cathedral of the Assumption), the stately Supreme Court complex and Convent Light Street girl's school, we got a quick taste of the layered history of the island within a half hour.

Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion

Church of the Assumption

Olde British Tombs

Protestant Cemetery

Wandering down a quiet side street, we ended up on the waterfront, just in time to catch some local Chinese Malays doing their morning fishing. It was peaceful and heartwarming to see some non-tourists engaging in real life activities, but the day beckoned.

Catch Me A Winner

Past the imposing Town and City Halls and sweating to death under the brutal late morning sun, we arrived at the centerpiece of the Colonial District and the big must on any visitor's itinerary: Fort Cornwallis.

Penang Town Hall

Penang City Hall

The fort (also known as Kota Cornwallis) was the first outpost and settlement established by the British in 1786 by Captain Francis Light and his merry band of colonizing men, women, children, chickens and horses. They renamed Penang (properly spelled Pinang, the Bahasa word for the bloody betelnut) as Prince of Wales Island, a name that stuck until Malaysian independence was attained in the mid-twentieth century.

Within the protective red brick walls of the old fort - built on the blood and sweat of convict labor! - the expanse of the interior stretches considerably into the distance. There's a spooky and very ascetic chapel on the grounds (the first built on the island), a stock house, even a prison room to lock up the naughty men caught buggering the goats in the dead of night.

She Swore She Was 18!

The brick and stone are overrun with grass and weeds, lending a pleasant ruined flair to the site. I was surprised to see a pair of old horses still grazing along the upper turrets, sadly abandoned by their masters, who must have kicked the bucket over a hundred years ago.

Off To The Glue Factory

Along the sea-facing wall of the fort, a series of cannons wait patiently for the day when they can be used against any potential invaders. The queen mother cannon, Seri Rambai, found her way to the fort after being passed around like a cheap hooker, first from the Dutch to the sultan of Johor (southern Malaysia), and then the Acehnese, then the sultan of Selangor and finally relocated by pirates. Such a complicated journey for such an unimpressive weapon that time and technology have rendered useless. From island protector to tourist snapshot.

JUMP! Kota Cornwallis

Local Muslim Women, Not To Be Confused With The Middle Eastern Tourists
(You can tell by the head scarf that allows their faces to show)

These days, if anyone ever wanted to invade Penang, they'd just have to dock at the jetty and have one of the taxi uncles drop them off at the nearest hotel. However, a note of advice to potential colonizers: make sure to bargain hard for the taxi fee or check with your hotel beforehand, because they don't use meters in Penang.

We learned the hard way, after getting swindled out of 10 RM by a lovely taxi uncle named Ah-Fook, who even had the balls to offer us a ride to the airport on departure day. Wouldn't you know, the first and only time we got tricked in Malaysia was by a Chinese. We would luck out on subsequent rides, most comfortingly with Uncle Yeoh (the local pronunciation of my last name, Yang/Yeung), an ex-school teacher turned cabbie who played us Rod Stewart and Barry Manilow joints. He even told dirty jokes and called me "young boy," thinking I was just 18 years old. Gross flattery and toilet humor: the keys to my heart.

Penang has the best license plates EVER: most of them start with "PEE"!

You'll note it has been a few paragraphs since my last mention of food. Apologies to the fatties and foodies in the audience for my egregious transgression. Like you, at this point, we were right famished. Our original plan was to have afternoon tea at the grand Eastern and Oriental Hotel, but Lonely Planet failed to correctly note their times of operation (note: starts at 2pm, not noon, and there is no strict dress code). Quickly rearranging our schedule, we wasted no time. Ride forth, young soldiers, to Chinatown and Little India.

Strolling Down The Back Streets

A few blocks south of the colonial heritage district, the big British buildings fade away and the rows of streetside shops dazzle your eyes in the midday sun with their colorful rainbow facades. Peach pink, seafoam green, canary yellow. It looks a box of Crayola blew its happy load on the entire neighborhood. Total sensory overload.

On one block, the rich smells of food float from doorways, the fragrance of incense wafts from the Chinese temples. A few paces down, dense crowds of chocolate brown men with black mustaches scuttle from shop to shop, the tunes of Bollywood jams blasting from crackling speakers. Then, the air is pierced by the cry of the imam beckoning devout Muslims to salat (prayer) five times a day.

Kapitan Keling Mosque

This is more like it.

For lunch, we conveniently happened upon the best kuey teow shop in town (corner of Lebuh Pitt and Lebuh Armenian). Sitting at our ancient plastic fold table under the warm blast of the wall-mounted fans, staring at the jumble of framed critic reviews and celebrity photos hanging from the dirty walls, we tucked into a steaming hot bowl of these divine noodles.

The white rice noodles were covered with a generous portion of buoyant fish balls, a leafy green or two, and some crunchy mystery bits. Dunked into soy sauce with local fiery chili peppers, the fish balls were chewy mouthfuls of goodness. Washed down with a tart spiced nutmeg ice drink, it made me completely forget about that uppity British tea. Once we finished the noodles, we were still hungry, so we ordered some fresh deep-fried spring rolls, wrapped the minute we ordered them. For just a few bucks, it was a perfect lunch experience.

Kuey Teow Soup with Fish Balls

Springrolls

Nutmeg Ais

"Moved to Here":
Great, glad we found you!

Carrying on with the sightseeing, we meandered down a few blocks to the famous Khoo Kongsi (Khoo Family Clan House/Temple, located at Lebuh Pitt and Jln Masjid Kapitan Keling).

Beforehand, I was cautious about this visit, having been templed-out from my travels through the Chinese mainland. But surprise, surprise, this one was a stunner. Much like the Taiwanese folk temples, the explosion of color and detail at the Khoo temple was astounding. Schizophrenic even. Pictures cannot bring justice to this site; there aren't enough megapixels to capture all the minute detail covering every millimeter of the building.

Khoo Kongsi

Inner Doorway

Nice Lantern

Buddha Is A Sabbath Fan

At this point in the day, it was hot enough to melt sneaker soles into the pavement and so humid my thighs were trying to break out of my pants for a breath of fresh air. The heat was so intense that my dripping sweat was actually washing my sunscreen off my body, which resulted in pretty white skin lines ribboning through patches of red sunburn. Like a patchwork kilt on my chest.

Nowhere To Hide From The Sun!

After a few blocks of trudging past dilapidated old shops and stores closed for the holiday weekend, we found solace at the amazing Pinang Peranakan Mansion. The Peranakan people of Malaysia, also known as Baba- (man) Nyonya (woman), were the original Chinese inhabitants of the area, even more ancient than the waves of Chinese immigrants that followed over the centuries. They were the first to step foot on this land. As such, they were some rich sons of bitches.

Peranakan Museum

Stepping foot inside the lime green villa on Lebuh Gereja, you can taste the luxury and grandeur in the air. Though, for some reason, it didn't feel nouveau-riche tacky like a wealthy Chinese mainlander or American ghetto superstar. Most easily described as decadent Victorian charm mixed with the most dynastic of Chinese tastes, the interior decor clashes two very different cultural aesthetic sensibilities into one gloriously ornate, over-the-top mess.

Stairwell

Dining Room

Sitting Room and Dining Room

Time for another food check. It has been three paragraphs, so now's as good a time as any for another foray into food.

Are You The Delivery Guy!?

The Eastern and Oriental Hotel (10 Lebuh Farquhar) was established in 1884 as the swanky hotspot for all the hottest Brits in town to mingle and swap tales of malaria and secret miscegenation with the locals. Rudyard Kipling, Noel Coward and Charlie Chaplin are but three famous faces that have passed through the doors of this colonial landmark. I would be yet another, enjoying a spot of tea in the lazy haze of the late day sun.

E&O

E&O's afternoon tea runs from 2 to 5 pm daily. For about 40 RM (80 RMB or a little over $10 US), you get a choice of fragrant tea in a bottomless pot with all the milk and sugar fixings, a pile of sweet and savory goodies, like chicken pie and pasty, scones with jam and cream, cheesecake, chocolate tarts, cookies, and finger sandwiches filled with roast beef, salmon or cucumber. Seriously filling and a hoity-toity change of pace from all the streetside hawker gorging. I've had better (see: Ritz Carlton in HK or Sally Lunn's in Bath) and I've had worse (see: Peninsula Hotel in HK). Overall, very good value for money and a moment's solace from the heat and hustle waiting outside the huge French doors.

So. Good.

Luxury

After tea, we went for a short stroll along the hotel's seaside walkway. Peaceful waves lapped against the rocky shore, the bright blue afternoon sky creating shimmering diamonds on the surface of the water, the ivory hotel gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

Peace and Tranquility

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a crow barreled from the sky and nailed a little bird in mid-air, grabbing its pitifully small head in its dagger-like beak. This all transpired about 5 feet from my face, the faint "pufft" from the feathery impact making me cringe away like a naughty child about to get smacked by a parent. The unfortunate prey, which looked like a chickadee, was squeaking and futilly flailing about as the crow landed along the cobblestone pathway and just tore it apart. There were two fat local kids playing on the hotel lawn nearby who stopped dead in their tracks and just started screaming. It was hilarious. Nothing like the cruel ferocity of nature unfolding in front of you while you digest your cucumber sandwich.

They Will Be Scared Of Crows For The Rest Of Their Lives

That night, having completed our itinerary in a shockingly efficient amount of time (Seven hours, 9:30AM to 4:30PM, about 20 sights total), we were free to do whatever we wanted. Which was to go straight back to Gurney Drive. Since we had just topped up on pastries and tea, it wasn't yet time for Gurney hawker makan. So we did what any deprived, long-term China resident in a considerably-less-totalitarian foreign land would do with a few hours to kill. We went to the movies.

Without getting too tangential, I will state the following: X-Men 1 was good. X2 is a classic. X3 is worthy of the drippings of sick that cling to my ass after a real bad diarreah explosion. X-Men Origins: Wolverine occupies the dangerous crevice between X1 and X3. While I enjoyed it - primarily for Deadpool and Gambit, my two favorite childhood favorites - it lacked that depth and meat that made X2 a classic of the genre. And now I've gone a put half of you into a nerd-averse coma. Apologies, let us continue...

After getting berserk with Hugh Jackman - during which time I just couldn't help myself and had a bucket of sweet caramel popcorn and big cup of Coke, whaaaat?!? - we ran to the hawker center.

The night before, we visited before sunset, before the crowds. On this night, Gurney was in full swing. It was like a Chinese train station during holiday season. Like making your way through a mosh pit. Everyone was out tonight. Traffic gridlocked, crowds packed into any empty space available. The noise level had increased tenfold, entire families staking claim to free tables that were now as scarce as a pube on a pornstar. Luckily the people were relatively civil, unlike in China where I'd have already flipped my durian and gone ballistic. Under the glow of hundreds of exposed lightbulbs illuminating the haze, I found one small table and held down the fort while the night's food was retrieved by my ever-so-patient buddy.

Hi Ivy!

As I sat in wait, the tables around me were buzzing. One group of ostentatious queer boys were hamming on about something in high-pitched Manglish (Malaysian mixed with English), while a family of chunky locals hunkered down beside them for a full dinner spread. Behind me, a group of older aunties staked claim to a table and waited for their friends to bring the food, just like me. The uncle from the beverage stall stopped by their table and asked if they wanted anything to drink. They politely refused and he moved on. I ordered some water chestnut ice drink and continued to wait.

When he came back, he passed me my drink and immediately shot a mean glare at the table of ladies behind me. After they had refused beverage uncle mere minutes beforehand, one had gone off to get drinks from another beverage stall in a different section. This is a big hawker makan no-no, kids. Very poor etiquette, like crossing gang territory and wearing the wrong colors or dillying your best friend's sister in a pub bathroom. He wasn't having any of it, so he stormed over and asked them why they went off and gave their business to someone else, when they were clearly sitting on his turf. He told them they had to move. The harsh penalty for their grievous faux pas. After words were exchanged and much whining ensued from the gaggle of ladies, I suppose some deal was cut in the form of hastily purchased drinks. They remained seated and he went away. A quick lesson in the dos and don'ts of the hawker universe: don't fuck with beverage uncle.

My attention returned to the agenda at hand when the food train returned. First up: fried pig intestine noodles (zhu chang mian). But not really pork innards. Just noodles that LOOK like pig intestines. Duh, such obvious naming conventions. These thick glutinous rolls of white rice noodle were doused in sweet hoisin sauce, red chili and soy, making for an overwhelming carb-overload that nearly filled me up. A quick bowl of tangy assam laksa was also wolfed down, followed by the Malaysian version of wonton noodles, i.e. dry, no soup, tossed with thin egg noodles, barbecued pork (char siu) and leafy greens.

Makan Happy Times

The crowd was building and our stress level was noticeably increasing. Once the last wonton was deposited into my belly bank, we had to escape. It was relatively early for a weekend night, but the crowds were reaching China levels. We caught a taxi and returned to the hotel to digest, hibernating like boa constrictors after a really sweet kill. We would leave bright and early the next day for the final leg of the journey, Kuala Lumpur. After partaking in all of the local ambrosia, I did not want to leave Penang.

Next episode: Off to the big city, Kuala Lumpur!

Malaysia Boleh!

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



If for some unimaginable reason I was only allowed to return to the Southeast Asian subcontinent just one final time in my entire life, I would go to Malaysia.

Over a mere six days of traveling, I had the opportunity to take in three wildly diverse locales that gave me a nice sense of what Malaysia is all about. And I want more. Starting from the beach paradise of Langkawi island, I time-traveled back to the colonial days in Penang - the gastro-heaven I want to go when I die - with the trip ultimately culminating in the capital city, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia's modern cosmopolitan statement to the world. This country has it all. And with the freedom to speak in both Mandarin and English (or Chinglish), it really feels like home away from home.

Each place offered something new and exciting, be it the nature in Langkawi, the food in Penang or the exciting urban sprawl in KL. Weaving through it all, Malaysia's diverse racial mixology - a simplified hierarchy (from top-to-bottom) of Malay, Chinese, Indians - has created one of the coolest cultures in Asia. And these people love to eat. It's like Singapore, but not as artificial, with all the interesting crusty edges left intact.

Though almost everybody speaks English ("Ingerris"), it may be handy to learn a few choice terms before planning your own jaunt. Let's start here before the trip begins.

Important terminology:

makan - THE most important word you need to learn for the following pages of Neil dribble. This means "eat" in Bahasa Melayu (and Bahasa Indonesia). Like "mangia" for the Italian set. If you engage in just one activity in Malaysia, it is makan.

uncle/auntie - the polite and respectful term when referring to men or women older than you, whether directly addressing them or talking nastily behind their gross wrinkled backs.

KL - short for Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia and home to the famous Petronas Twin Towers.

lebuh/jalan - Bahasa words for street/road, the latter abbreviated as "Jln" on maps and street signs.

"-la" - tack this on to any word, any phrase, anything in general (hell, you can even exclaim "la" on its own) to be super local. A staple of Manglish (Malaysian-English) and Singlish (Singaporean English). Examples: "Hey uncle, why you so like that la?" (Translation: "Excuse me sir, why must you behave in such a manner?") or "I order cheeseburger la" (Trans: "I would like to order the cheeseburger.") or even "No la" (Trans: "No...la"). Bonus points if you can get the hang of the Chinese spin on "la," pronounced as "lao" or "liao." (Also popular in Hong Kong and Taiwan)

Now that you're fluent in Bahasa, let's begin.

After a five-hour flight from Shanghai, I caught a glimpse of land during our descent from the unpolluted skies above Kuala Lumpur. Wide swaths of palm plants covered the bumpy hills surrounding KL International Airport and I could already feel the humidity of the tropics. On our itinerary, the first stop would be Langkawi Island, an hour away by domestic jet. All we had to do was take a 20-minute shuttle (5 RM) from the KLIA terminal to the neighboring Low Cost Carrier Terminal (LCCT) and we'd be that much closer to the beach.

As the Indian bus driver uncle pulled up to the LCCT, I spied a Coffee Bean And Tea Leaf. My addict cravings were giving me a slight tick, and the faster we checked in, the faster I could get my soothing ice coffee. Inside the terminal, our flight to Langkawi was conspicuously absent from the departure listing. With over four years of China travel under my belt, I just chuckled at our luck. I knew this wouldn't be pretty.

Luckily we didn't catch this...

Flying on discount airlines like AirAsia are extremely convenient and cost-efficient (think EasyJet). However, being a cheapo carrier, you also put yourself at some minimal risk due to shady horseplay aimed at increased revenue. As I guessed, our flight had been canceled - probably because it wasn't full - and the next one out of KL would be at 9:30 PM, a good four hours later. With nothing to do but grumble and wait, we sought solace at the Coffee Bean, our home for the next few hours.

Sitting at the table with an icy coffee in my hand, condensed humidity running down my arm from the plastic cup, I was in hell. Not only were we forced to wait in the ghetto terminal, the comparative luxury of the indoor, air-conditioned Starbucks, McDonald's and Duty Free shops laughing at us from KLIA, but we had to wage battle against the swarm of flies buzzing all over the place. Funny, though I had only been in the country less than an hour, I didn't notice any rank odors, any open sewage, or any otherwise obvious signs that would warrant the number of flies at this place, but I guess the open doors and abundance of eateries had something to do with it. The real icky danger of a fly flying into my mouth as I took bites from my sandwich did nothing to calm me. The dude sitting near me in a banana yellow shirt must have had his flight delayed long enough to get used to the unwanted company: he was covered in about 20 flies. I counted.

Almost as annoying as my little winged friends were the abundance of grungy misfit white dudes who were probably making pit stops in between surf jaunts in Bali and ladyboy sightseeing in Thailand. A good rule of Life: white people should never have dreadlocks. Ever. Especially one creature I saw, who had shaved the top of his head in a weirdly Manchu queue fashion, leaving the back of his noggin to shower a nappy waterfall of grungy dreads down to his ass. Where do these people work? What do they do for a living? How do you function in society looking like an overgrown mop? I was missing the relative conformist civility of Singapore, but I kept the faith, knowing it could only get better.

Looking at my watch, barely any time had passed and we still had a few hours to go. I continued to people watch, alternating between frantic hand waving and sputtered expletives every time a fly landed near any of the choice orifices on my face. I pity those starving children in Ethiopia not for their lack of food, but for all the goddamned flies. Poor, bloated souls.

White folk aside, I realized there were a lot of Muslims around. Girls in head scarves, women fully covered in black, dudes in skull caps. In my t-shirt and jeans, I was sweating like a pig (apologies for that filthy reference to all the Muslims in the audience), so I couldn't imagine being wrapped in mummy noir in that heat. Why is it that the major Muslim strongholds in the world are all in super hot places? I'm sure covering yourself in a thick black cape that only exposes your eyes would be extremely helpful in a harsh, windswept ice box such as Siberia, Canada or Portland, Oregon, but in the 100-degree heat of the desert in Dubai? Good Lord, I'll take the flies over that torture any day.

At a certain point between food coma and heat stroke, my buttcheeks fell asleep and it was time to change scenery. We took a stroll around, past the tiny duty free shop, bookstore and KFC. McDonalds looked attractive, but when I realized it was also non-AC'ed and open to the elements, I decided to save myself the trouble of swatting greedy flies away from my delicious burger. We ducked into Body Shop, empty but for a pair of giggling clerks who wouldn't have noticed if we stole all their Body Butter, and quickly left after seeing about ten dead flies on the otherwise clean white floor. At the end of our rope (why don't I ever get stranded in the COOL airports!?), we decided to stock up on some snacks and beverages before going through customs.

Inside the convenience store, I browsed through the aisles, rolling my eyes at novelty Malaysia t-shirts and overpriced counterfeit purses made in China. In the food section, I was perusing the biscuits when a shady looking Chinese guy with bleach-blond hair and grimy clothes slid up beside me like a lecherous snake, tapping the top of his wrist with an urgent, bony finger. Mere hours out of Shanghai, I guess I was still in China-mode; I thought he was trying to sell me a watch. I scowled and shook my head, politely waving him away with a "No, no!" like the flies I had fought with at the Coffee Bean minutes before.

He shot me a look of disgust and said, "Aiya, NO," shaking his head in frustration, "time, man, TIME!"

He just wanted to know what time it was. Embarrassed and confused that I had not, in fact, just been accosted by a watch peddler, I extended my arm to let him view for himself, which I suppose was even ruder, as I couldn't even be bothered to tell him the time. What has China done to me?

Lest I bore you into a similar state of catatosis that we experienced that endless evening, I'll fast forward a few hours to when we actually boarded our plane. It was almost 10PM, the only solace provided in the preceeding hours coming as the result of hearing Muse's "Starlight" on the Duty Free shop speakers (I am easily pleased) and snagging a pack of sour cherry candy strips. After a quick flight, we finally landed in Langkawi after 11PM and, by a stroke of planning genius, had to walk only 5 minutes from the airport to our temporary hotel lodging for the evening. After a full day of travel that was supposed to have ended many hours earlier, I passed out as soon as my bags hit the hotel room floor.

The next morning, breakfast arrived via room service. Nasi lemak (coconut rice and various fixings) and roti canai (toasted Indian naan bread with curry) with some teh tarik (pulled milk tea). These were nectar and ambrosia compared to the grub that we had to share with the flies the night before and a "taste" of things to come.

Recharged and ready, it was finally time to get this trip going.

Langkawi: Eco-Paradise On Eagle Island

I am not a beach holiday guy. This may surprise some of you, as my amazingly bronzed skin is famous the world over. I just find lounging about on a strip of sand for extended periods of time to be a colossal waste of money spent for the purpose of actually learning about a new place, as well as a phenomenally inefficient use of otherwise valuable sightseeing time. What a buzzkill, I know. Therefore you'll be shocked to learn that, not only did I make it to the beach, I actually got some color. As the icicles begin to crystallize on Satan's goatee, let me introduce you to Langkawi, not-so-hidden gem of the Andaman Sea.

Unbeknownst to me, Langkawi is a pretty popular destination. Just because I hadn't heard of it before, doesn't mean it doesn't attract hordes of people during the high season. Luckily we arrived in the golden lull between the rainy season and the summer tourist bonanza. For during our very short stay, it was pleasantly quiet and relaxing.

Langkawi ("lang" = eagle, "kawi" = strong), named in honor of my favorite Hindu bird-god, Garuda, who supposedly used the island as a resting place in between his Vishnu chauffeur duties, rests snugly off the northwestern coast of Malaysia, near the border of Thailand. As such, visitors can expect the same white sandy beaches and crystal blue water, but without the high-pitched *manick-phrik-phaaang* click-clack chatter of the Thai. For those such as myself who crave a little more to their vacation than lethargy and skin cancer, the island is packed with adventure options, like mangrove forest riverboat treks, rainforest hiking and nature-appreciation guided tours, the latter of which was the highlight of my time on the island.

Berjaya Resorts

We stayed in a quaint bungalow deep in the rainforest near Pantai Kok (Kok Beach, minds out of the gutter!) at the Berjaya Resorts. Honeymooners, take note: this place is fucking awesome. In the spirit of foresight, I already left a down-payment for that momentous day in the distant and unknown future, when I will duly get my freak on to the sound of lapping waves and screaming macaques. Assuming that's OK with the little lady, of course.


Though a little inconvenient (the resort is massive and requires tram pick-up just to get from your room to the lobby), it is a little piece of tropical paradise. The resort's beach, along the western fringe of the island, had some of the softest sand my toes have ever touched, so refined by the swarms of itty-bitty crabs that burrow deep into the earth every morning and night, in line with the flow of the tides.

Paradisio

Once we had checked-in and settled our things, it was time for a little beaching. I'm ashamed to admit that this was the first time I had ever seen such a classic Southeast Asian beach in its prime. Scanning the pristine sky and clear warm water, I could understand how one might forget about the real world and just stay here forever. However, this is still me we're talking about, so after enjoying a quick dip, it was time to get down to business.

Zipping speedily through the island's vast paddy fields in the shadow of the lush green mountains, we made a quick trip to Langkawi's "downtown" area: Kuah.

Jump quota for the morning

Kuah, the Bahasa word for "gravy" (I shit you not), is the busy hub of the island, the entry point for daily ferries that can ship visitors north to Thailand or south to Penang, the place to get all your duty-free shopping done in a flash (the island was granted special duty-free designation in 1986, making it very popular for alcoholics and those folk who stubbornly resist quitting their disgusting smoking habits). Here you'll find your Starbucks, your 7-11, your Baskin Robbins, your KFC, and most importantly, your Kenny Roger's Roasters (how that man created a profitable empire of roast chicken restaurants in Asia is beyond me).

At the Kuah jetty, we bought ferry tickets for our trip to Penang the next day, an affordable 60 RM for a 3 hour cruise. Then it was time to eat.

Our first official Malaysian meal consisted of Indian cuisine. Given the choice of chicken microwaved in the name of a country legend or thick mutton curry, it was a no brainer. Walking into the restaurant, which was set up more like a cafeteria, the dude who I can only assume was manager immediately latched on to us.

"What you want, eh? Got meee gorrrrreng, got mut-tuuuhn, ayum. What you like, hunh?"

I wanted everything.

We started with a plate of biryani rice and rich mutton stew. The white rice grains were tossed with colorful bits of veg, fragrant and full of aroma. The tender mutton strands fell apart with the fork stroke, the spicy red sauce soaking into the biryani. I could eat this - and the toasty naan bread with chicken kuruma that followed - everyday.

Nasi Biryani

Next, the mee goreng, or Indian fried noodles. This concoction - a result of the local Chinese influence - consists of dried ramen stir-fried with a crapload of Indian spices. Our mee was tossed with tandoori chicken for extra bite. Though yummy, I found my spoon wandering back to the rice that was so wonderfully sopping up all the mutton curry.

Mee Goreng

Washing it all down was teh tarik halia, a traditional pulled milk tea infused with the spicy heat of fresh ginger. It was my first time having this ginger variety, and I was wowed. The hot ginger mixing with the hot milk tea on a hot Malaysian day was surprisingly cooling, even helping to dull a little of the burning sensation on my tongue brought upon by the food.

While digesting, we took a stroll along the jetty to Dataran Lang, or Eagle Square. This frightening tribute to the island's namesake centers on a giant eagle statue, seemingly in the midst of take-off. The talons are the size of small horses, making it look like a prehistoric nightmare. Or the monstrous Eagles from Lord of the Rings. A Garuda statue of this size would be epic, but I'm guessing it would terrify small children and the elderly. After helping some Indian chaps snap pictures of their crew in front of said eaglezilla, I made my own pitiful attempt at flight with a few jumps, just as the daily afternoon shower began to pelt us with raindrops.

Amazing Wing Span

Seeking solace in Starbucks, I enjoyed a satisfying chai (why don't they serve these in China!?!?! gah!) in a big fluffy armchair, reading about my fabulous new idol, the glorious homo Chef Wan, in the local expat mag. It was interesting to see that expat life in Malaysia is quite similar to that in Shanghai, i.e. lots of complaining and a sense of superiority to the locals, but with vague attempts to hide this contempt by showing weak examples that make it seem like the expats happily enjoy learning about local culture and interacting with the local populace. Look at the picture of our expensive expat school, we included a brown kid and a girl in a veil (children of the lunch lady and cleaner, respectively)!

When the rain ceased, it was time to return to our rainforest sanctuary for the next item on the day's list: the cable car and sky walk. Barreling back to Berjaya in a demon minibus with a pair of Germans, we were dropped off at the neighboring Oriental Garden tourist area, which was like a Malaysian Epcot Center. The big draw here is the Langkawi cable car, which carries visitors up a vertigo-inducing climb to the top of Gunung (Mount) Machinchang, over 700 meters above sea level, the highest point on the island.

Going Up!

Thank God We Weren't Riding With Her

As anyone who has ever traveled with me knows, I am deathly afraid of heights. Not to the point of fainting or anything silly like that. More like a feeling of deep and visceral dread, where my testes simultaneously burrow UP into my body and feel like imploding from fear-induced pressure. Like a pelvic black hole. I break into a cold sweat, get pale, start to shake, and require the nearest pal (usually, to my shame and embarrassment, a female) possessing more fortitude than yours truly to guide me back to safety before my nuts pop out my butthole. That kind of fear. So, I was surprised to find that the ride up to the viewing station 600+ meters above sea level was not that bad. Until I got to the viewing platform.

Almost to 700!

Trying VERY Hard Not To Cry

Suggestions? Provide Diapers.

From atop the mountain, the wind picked up speed and the clarity unveiled the entire island. An occasional gust of fog would mist past us, but overall, it was so clear we could see our bungalow in the rainforest below. At this point, my nuts were halfway to my kidneys, but they were in for an even bigger surprise. Hopping back on the cable car, we continued across a cavernous ravine created between the two summits, and up to the highest peak, home to the fabled sky walk.

This bit was terrifying

The Sky Walk!

The Langkawi sky walk is a semicircular walkway suspended between two mountaintops, supported precariously with a couple flimsy beams flirting with the sides of the mountains below. Barely four feet wide and less than two minutes across with eyes closed at a brisk speed-walking pace, it is a very cool engineering marvel. See for yourself (link here):




My first go across was terrifying, especially at the halfway point, which is the least stable and succeptible to the high wind gusts that happily blow through this natural wind tunnel, shaking and swaying the bridge. The creepy mist didn't help my nerves either. Before losing control of my bladder and sphincter muscles, the whole ordeal was over. Happy to have experienced it, overjoyed to be back on stable land.

Whoa! Ankle Shot! Scandalous!

JUMP! Langkawi Sky Walk

On the way down, we caught sight of the Telaga Tujuh, or Seven Wells, a waterfall hidden in the rainforest below. We had originally planned to take a trek to this natural wonder, but time constraints and common sense got the best of us. Since there is no real pathway to get there, most tourists stumble through the trees to reach the falls. Guidebooks, hotels and local guides all recommend that this trip is made before nightfall, as the lack of lighting, potential disorientation and dangerous terrain make it very unwise. Getting eated by a python isn't too fun either. In Berjaya's guest handbook, they even mention that hotel guests have gone missing in the past. Lovely prospect, but we had better plans.

Poor Mr. Stick Man

Back at the resort, we arrived just in time for the evening's free nature walk, hosted by Dev of Dev's Adventure Tours. Waiting in the lobby, I saw a tall, dark man the color of coffee beans stride forward in hiking boots and rolled socks. His coarse, graying hair was shorn close to his scalp, barely hiding the receding hairline, and his fierce eyes hid behind wire-framed glasses.

Say hello to Dev, the Malaysian version of Steve Irwin. But far less annoying.

Dev is the head of the aforementioned eco-friendly tourism company, a conservationist, nature-lover, scientist, library of factoids and multilingual whiz (6 languages, including Mandarin and German). Each night, he offers free walking tours at Berjaya, spreading awareness and appreciation of the resort environs and the exquisite ecosystem of the Langkawi rainforest. It's all part of the cause.

The best part of his tour is the infectious passion that he exudes. This man loves nature and cares about it as a loved one. While nowhere as fervent in my convictions, I was overjoyed to meet someone else as unabashedly curious and interested in the natural world. If I were any younger, this guy would be my hero. Aw, who am I kidding, this guy was one of the coolest humans I have ever met in my life. But enough fawning for now, it's tour time.

From the hotel lobby, we began our walk through the resort grounds, which were filled with amazing creatures hidden right before our eyes. While avoiding getting run over by the hotel's tram cars - which Dev angrily pointed out were polluting gas-guzzlers he was trying to have converted to electric Smart trams - we made our first stop.

Dev plucked a firm leaf from a nearby tree and snapped it in half. Running his finger along the rip, he showed us the white powdery film left on the fingertip. The chemical substance in the leaf, he explained, was currently be researched by pharmaceutical scientists because it could potentially serve as a way to combat something big like AIDS or MS (sorry, I forgot what). Because of this, he lamented that the ongoing destruction of Malaysian rainforests for timber was a tragedy, as we could potentially be losing entire flora species that might one day cure some of our scariest diseases.

This little guy, in order to attract insects to pollinate it's relatively boring orange flower and hidden placement within the brush, developed huge white leaves in order to attract insects from farther away. Mother Nature is genius.

As the mood got a little grim, Dev's eyes lit up like spotlights and he wheeled around toward a tree nearby. Near the top, clinging to the trunk and camouflaged perfectly, was a flying lemur. My mouth dropped open and, dumbfounded, I craned my neck back to stare at this creature the size of a small infant.

Now, we've all been to zoos. We've all seen various forest critters ambling about our backyards, destroying mom's rose garden or plucking up the carrots, more of a nuisance than anything. But for some reason - perhaps the novelty of it all - seeing my first wild lemur was monumental. This one, a female, had a tiny baby clinging to her stomach. They just hung there, peacefully, almost as unaware of us as we had been of them just minutes before.

Sorry it's so blurry. It's that lump on the right side of the trunk.

This was almost too much for me to process, so I whipped out my trusty notebook. As I asked Dev a bevy of questions that were my lame attempt to seem eco-educated (thanks, Discovery Channel!), he cocked an eyebrow and suspiciously asked me, "Are you a reporter?"

Embarrassed, I chuckled and told him that I had just been an avid nature lover from childhood and only wanted to record everything he was explaining, like a good student taking notes from a professor. This registered with him and I'd like to think we were buddies for the remainder of the tour. Later, I could follow him home for more fun and - why is the front door padlocked? - tell his wife and kids all about our intense spiritual bond and everlasting friendship. Oh it would be wonderful - why are the girls crying? I'm Daddy's best friend! - best friends forever! Are those police sirens I hear?

The lemur, which had climbed up the trunk of the tree during my brief, delusional stalker fantasy, is biologically more akin to a monkey, making it also closer to us on an evolutionary scale. The "flying" bit of its name is the result of the giant skin flaps that connect its limbs, allowing it to actually glide like its cousin, the flying squirrel, not fly, like a bat. Its giant bugged-out eyes serve as mini calculators, registering depth and distance for its trajectory in "snapshots" that it must consider before gliding from tree to tree in the dead of night.

Twilight

As the sky grew progressively darker, the air was punctuated with distant cries. The macaques, those dastardly monkeys that wreak havoc throughout Asia like gangs of horny teenaged hooligans with a taste for garbage and gang bangs (see here, no shame!). In 2007, I was nearly stripped of my shorts in Bali when one of these little fuckers snatched a water bottle from my cargo pocket, almost tearing the fabric in the process, so I already had a high level of prejudice and distaste against their kind. Damn filthy shits. Worse than gypsies.

As I scowled in the direction of the macaques, Dev enlightened us on the freak habits of these lovely creatures, who copulate up to thirty times per day. Yes, you read that correctly. THIRTY. TIMES. PER. DAY. I don't know about you, but my weiner would be worn down to the proverbial bone and snap off if I had to pump the love hose every 48 minutes for the duration of my adult life. Because of this frequent fornication, these heavily touristed areas are overrun with the things, like a rat infestation in a crowded tenement.

Dev told us that, in the coming days, he would be leading a scheduled cull of the horniest males (i.e. the ones with the biggest balls, as he said so eloquently in his British accent) in an attempt to control the population. As he noted, this was necessary every once in a while, lest the Berjaya tourists experience more attacks on the resort grounds, more destruction of other indiginous species by these voracious omnivores (they even cannibalize, yum!), or more bungalow break-ins by hungry monkeys, who are quite literally a thieving menace. Atop the roof of a nearby bungalow, a group of these macaques loitered lazily in the cool dusk air, unaware that their alpha male friends were in for a little surprise very, very soon. Blam, blam.

Another nuisance to the area is the population of feral cats that prowl the forests. Mangy distant descendants of stray domesticated pussies, these are a big killer of indigenous bird species and, in general, a completely unwanted presence. As Dev spoke of this problem, a nasty little black cat with nappy fur, sticky eyeballs, and an infected asshole came creeping out of the ferns, emaciated and bloated with a litter of soon-to-be-born pests. I was disgusted at the sight of the thing, my contempt increased as Dev explained the trouble they cause for the native Malaysian fauna. I was half tempted to kick it into the path of an oncoming tram, but that would have been cruel. Let a hungry macaque have at it.

Suddenly, there was a big *whoosh* past our heads, as a giant brown disc swooped down and up into a tree in front of us, like a monstrous skin frisbee. The lemurs were out for their evening exercise!

Dev directed our attention to a tree that had snapped at the top, leaving the hollow trunk exposed to the sky. He told us that huge pythons lurked in those dark holes, waiting for unsuspecting lemurs to swoop nearby, at which point they extend their bodies, shooting out into the air to capture their prey. Once the lemur is clamped in their jaws and the life is constricted from their frail little bodies, the snakes devour them and hibernate in the hole for a month while they digest. Bonus points if they snag a mother with child. He said that on a recent tour, the guests were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of one attack, which terrified a 7 year old in the audience so badly that he had to be taken back to the bungalow, a screaming, crying mess. Lightweight little pussy, I'd have traded all my GI Joes to get a chance to see such carnage when I was a boy. Kids these days...

With that, we continued forth into the denser areas of the resort, out for our next target: the flying squirrels.

In our particular area, there were two types of flying squirrels: giant reds and pygmies. Lucky for us, we caught a glimpse of a giant red, which swooped down in similar fashion to the flying lemur.

The pygmies, on the other hand, were just that: fucking tiny. Thankfully Dev is an expert, so he could point them out with his giant handheld spotlight. About the size of an infant's closed fist, these little guys climb as high as possible and glide-hop from tree to tree like little puffy ping-pong balls being thwacked between branches. They were so tiny, I mistook them for falling leaves at first.

The forest was also inhabited by an assortment of hairless non-mammals too. Cicadas, tree frogs, giant geckoes, and huge spiders. Just hanging out along our trail without a care in the world as we passed them by. Other resort guests out for their nightly strolls must have thought we were insane, this motley crew of eight, craning their necks up to the canopy like their spines were made of jelly. For all they knew, the forest was devoid of life. But with our new knowledge, we could see it was almost as lively as the dance party going on in the lobby that evening.

Near the end of the trek, Dev bounded up a hillside with his flashlight, as if he just caught sight of the Loch Ness Monster or a Yeti. He came to a halt below a high branch and ordered us to be silent with a long finger against his lips.

Hoo, hoo...hoo, hoo.

I think I saw tears in his eyes as he informed us that we were witnessing something extremely special: a collared Scops owl.

Apparently on these tours, catching an owl in the feathered flesh is pretty rare, so we all made our best attempt to enjoy it. It was actually my first time seeing an owl in its natural habitat with my own eyes; we usually hear these things in our backyard, but that's about it. The small ball of feathers just sat there giving us a hoot-show. I couldn't have been more entertained.

As the trek ended, we caught a few more glimpses of flying lemurs, the females with babies attached to their chests and a few males marking tree-territory with dangerously powerful streams of piss. I kept my mouth closed for the remainder of the canopy gazing, lest I get treated to an impromptu golden shower.

I chatted with Dev for a bit, trying to squeeze as much Nature Channel info from him as I possibly could. In my younger days, this type of job was a dream for me. It was either this or paleontology. If I wasn't watching MTV or cartoons, I'd be watching nature shows. Actually, my TV consumption habits haven't changed much in 28 years. Meeting someone like Dev, a first for me, was the high point of my time on Langkawi. I would return to the island just to chat with him again. After all, the mangrove kayak tour and bird watching treks did look pretty fun.

Still high on eco-fumes, it was time for dinner. Of the choices at the resort, we settled on the ala carte restaurant, which thankfully served up a healthy dose of local cuisine. On the menu: samosas, randang, nasi goreng and some ice cold pints of Carlsberg.

The samosas were delicious, the little pastry puffs covered in thick mango chutney going down smooth with big gulps of the draught beer. The beef randang - hearty chunks of meat covered in spicy randang sauce - was competent, but nothing special. I've had better homecooked versions, which were also a lot cheaper. The nasi goreng (nasi = rice, goreng = fried) was also enjoyable, but reminded me of how much I love Malaysia's other nasi dish, my personal all-time Malaysian food favorite, nasi lemak.

Although nasi lemak is traditionally a breakfast dish in the area, I prefer to have it for lunch or dinner, as it is savory and spicy. Served on a big green banana leaf, nasi lemak consists of coconut-flavored white rice (not as fragrant here as in Singapore), maybe a piece of fried chicken or fish, some crunchy roasted peanuts, crispy fried mini anchovies and a dallop of spicy sambal sauce, which is hot and sweet. There is usually a side of fresh cucumbers to dull the heat, but the fire is all part of the joy. I love this stuff to death.

That night, I crashed fast and hard, sweet visions of flying lemurs and squirrels the size of Mary Poppins' umbrella floating through my head.

The next morning, we squeezed in some last minute swimming and sunbathing before our ferry to Penang. As I skipped down to the beach, I was just in time to catch the end of the morning dance of the crabs.

Hey Ladies~

Scuttling about in swarms nearly a hundred deep, these tiny translucent crabs tip-toed at light speed with the ebb and flow of the tide. As the water receded, they'd bury down into the soil, twisting in circles and scooping sand around them, like corkscrews with shells. As I hobbled over like a sunburned Igor, some would pause, their pathetically fragile claws extended upward in defense, as if they could really protect themselves from my big, stomping feet. I tried not to bother them (or crush any accidentally), so I kept a safe distance.

Hello Mr. Crab

From where I stood, a sweeping range of miniature sand mountains popped up on the beach like a million mosquito bites on brown sandy flesh. By the time I got my camera from the poolside, it was too late. The swarm had disappeared and only a few of the slowpokes remained, digging as fast as they could into the wet sand before the tide went out and the midday sun roasted them into delicious crustacean crisps.

There's A Crab Beneath Each Little Mound

Hightailing it to the jetty, we boarded our ferry for the long haul to Penang, culinary mecca and gastro paradise, where we would gorge for two days on the best food the country had to offer.

Bye bye Langkawi!

Before that could happen, we still had about 3 hours on a high speed cruise boat. The on-ferry entertainment was an endless loop of videos from 80s German audio-abortion Modern Talking, deft performers of such hits as "Atlantis Is Calling (SOS For Love)", "Lonely Tears in Chinatown", "Cheri Cheri Lady" and the club smashing monster jam, "Geronimo's Cadillac." I was dumbfounded to learn that they are the biggest-selling German music act in history and, at one time, were huge in Iran, which might explain their appearance on this ferry to Penang, which was packed with Middle Eastern tourists.

Luckily for my sanity, it was a perfect day, so I spent the majority of the trip on the open-air top deck, where I could enjoy the breeze and sun. I would later pay dearly with some candy-apple red sunburns on my thighs and knees. The resulting burn looked like I was wearing pink leggings. The high price to escape the musical bonanza in the cabin below.

As Malaysia is a Muslim country, there are a buttload of Middle Eastern tourists, since it is an understandably Islam-friendly place with halal options everywhere, convenient prayer rooms in every establishment, toilet-side water hoses to wash off dirty bungs and poo-covered left hands, even cool arrows pasted onto ceilings in hotel rooms to show guests the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca. There are even a few mosques here and there. Without the potential discrimination that they might face in other countries not accustomed to seeing traditional Muslim folk, Malaysia is thus a no-brainer getaway.

Prayer Room

Western Toilet, Local Hose (left, on wall)

I used this to wash off my lower half after the beach. Ha!

Qibla (or, Kiblah/Kiblat), points to Mecca

That being said, there were many fully-shrouded women, head to toe in black, nothing but their gorgeous eyes showing. On the ferry, the wind gusts blew their garments up a few times and I caught some covert peeks. Naughty infidel! One girl sitting next to me with her boyfriend was actually quite pretty, as evidenced by the accidental face glimpse that I stole when the wind carried her scarf up like a kite. To watch them interact was another voyeuristic pleasure. Since public displays of affection are forbidden here, every now and then I'd catch a quick love pat, a brief holding of hands, even a delicate nuzzle against the back of the neck. Knowing that they could potentially be arrested for this, I was very touched to see these fleeting connections.

Cute couple

Since this was all very new to me, I now find myself fascinated with how modern Muslim females balance their culture and religion with the modern world. I mean, this one girl had on red hightop Converse, faded grey skinny jeans and a t-shirt, with a bunch of bracelets. Basically she dressed like any other stylish modern, urban woman, but just covered with a giant black bedsheet. How do they incorporate contemporary life with a seemingly outdated rulebook? Since talking to these ladies would result in my death and their inevitable execution by stoning, I need to get my hands on some enlightening literature. Suggestions, please.

As the sun began to set over the sea, we finally made port at the considerably more developed and bustling island of Penang. Time to feast.

Next Episode: Penang makan madness!