Malaysia, Part II: The Dance

After several days on the beach, in the water, and through the jungle, civilization beckoned me. After a long bus ride through the middle of the country, I found myself in the port city of Georgetown, situated on Penang island on the northwest edge of Malaysia. Georgetown was a major commercial center for British and Dutch traders as early as the 17th century. Although its commercial relevance (and aesthetic presence) has been far surpassed by Singapore as the primary business destination in the region, it still remains an important trading port for Malaysia. That being said, if you put a gun to my head and asked me to come up with a "must-see" list for Georgetown, you'd probably end up pulling the trigger. Somehow I got the impression from my guidebook and from other travelers that I talked to that this was the place to be on the west coast of peninsular Malaysia. Well, screw the guidebook and screw those travelers. They were wrong. In fact, my most memorable experience in Georgetown happened when I first arrived in town. It was completely spontaneous, so I give no credit to anyone or anything but the randomness of life. It happened around dusk when the cityfolk were done with work and filled into the main park by the harbor. I was wandering by, aimlessly, just searching the city for a place to eat, when I heard in the distance some guy shouting. I assumed it was the local schizophrenic. When I got closer I saw that there was a sizeable gathering of people listening to this guy. It was then that I realized that this was Malaysia's counterpart to Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park, London. About 75 people had encircled this guy who was bitching about something. He was switching between English and Malaysian so I only understood part of it, but listening to semi-crazy people rant is fun in any language. And on and on he went, gesticulating wildly. He was screaming for about 30 minutes, entertaining everyone, and then, well, I'll just give you my inner monologue: "This guy's pretty funny. I like the fact that... Oh crap, did he just make eye contact with me? No, no. False alarm. Only a coincidence; I'm just the tallest person in this general direction. He wasn't specifically looking at me. Just be cool. See, everything's alright... Oh shit, now he's pointing in my direction. Well, maybe he's pointing to someone behind me. [Slowly turning my head around]. Crap, no one's behind me. Ok, he was probably just motioning to some government building as the source of his general frustration and I happen to be standing in line with that building. [Surveying the area.] Damn it, nothing but trees within eyesight. F--k me, he's back to pointing at me and now people are looking directly at me. Why do I have to be the only white guy within 300 yards? Wait, is he walking this way? Not good, Newman, not good. Time to bail." The moment he turned away to point at someone else, I took off running like I was Seattle Slew. Then I grabbed some great Indian food with a cold beer. All better.

Anyway, back to the city itself. There were a lot of little sights that were moderately impressive but nothing that made me really pause and linger. Most of the non-religious buildings are 18th and 19th century British-styled structures that are good examples of the design and architecture of the time (City Hall, the seaside fort, etc.). But, they're also good examples of what happens when you don't maintain centuries-old buildings. The external decay is quite evident: crumbling corners, water stains, shattered windows, and rusted metal. If you give it a few minutes, you can almost imagine a bustling and vibrant town 200 years ago where the buildings stand tall and proud and where horse-drawn carriages and stiff Brits roam the streets. Those days are long gone. And perhaps for the better. What has taken over Georgetown is the most amazing mix of people I've ever seen in such tight quarters. Current Georgetown - an area no bigger than a few square miles - hosts thriving Hindu, Buddhist, and Muslim communities, with a lingering Christian population. Little India, Chinatown, and Muslimtown (just made that up) are literally right on top of one another. One minute I was walking down a street with nothing but dumplings and noodles on the menu, then I'd take a left onto another street and it would be chicken tikka masala and naan. There was one stretch (176 steps, I counted) where there were two Buddhist temples, one Hindu temple, one mosque, and one church. (The pictures, clockwise from upper left, are a mosque, Buddhist temple, Hindu Temple, and another Buddhist temple). All of these buildings are in great shape (because they're actually used) and are open to the general public. Some of them are fairly mundane while others are exceptionally ornate. I particularly liked the main Buddhist temple (pictured upper right) and I was fortunate enough that one of the temple elders happened to be present to give me a quick tour. What impressed me most were the pillars in front of the entrance that are built from stone. The stone was imported from China as were twelve skilled artisans who worked on the pillars for four years. The result: some of the most intricate stone carving I've ever seen. This is more than just bas relief - these carvings extend, in some circumstances, eight inches off the main pillar surface. Truly remarkable when you're up close and personal.

It's really a treat to walk around and see such racial, religious, and ethnic diversity and, more importantly, not get any sense of hostility from any single group of people. Granted, I'm a stranger in a strange land, so maybe there is lingering and tacit hostility, and I just can't perceive it. But to the extent I'm right and these diverse communities have learned to live with one another, it's inspiring and yet, quite frustrating. It's inspiring in that it can be done. These people, who have been forced to live with each other in ridiculously cramped quarters, have obviously been exposed to everyone else's craziness, but maintain a level of civility and decency. Maybe over the years the Muslim said something like, "Those Hindus are nuts with their 300 million gods. Just crazy. But then again, we believe that Mohammed lept to heaven on a horse. So maybe we're a little crazy, too. Let's eat." (And repeat for all the other religions). Ok, so it was probably more nuanced than that. But somehow it worked. With so many religions bumping elbows with one another, everyone was bound to realize that acceptance had to happen; otherwise, every day would bring a new holy war. Life's just too short for that when there's such good food to eat. Kudos to them for setting an example. But, as I said, it's frustrating to see this harmony because if living in cramped quarters on a tiny island is the only way to achieve it, then the world is screwed. And I'm not even talking about "harmony" like I'm some lefty tree-hugger (which I've never been accused of being). I'm just talking about general civility and decency, as in "I'll eat your food and ride in your taxi and not deface or destroy your property and not try to kill you even though I think you're going to hell." Even that would be ok with me.

After just one day in the city, I decided I wanted more beach time. I'll admit, I can't say no to a beach. I guess that makes me a beach slut. So I took a two and a half hour catamaran ride to the islands of Langkawi. Langkawi actually refers to a chain of 90-plus islands on the west coast of Malaysia. Unlike the previous beach island I stayed at (the Perhentian island, which is tiny, secluded, and consisting of just a few bungalows here and there), the main island of Langkawi is large and developed and well-populated by natives and tourists alike. The popular beach is nice but nothing special - just another long stretch of sand set against palm trees and jungle, just like you'd find in Jamaica, Cancun, Hawaii, and probably hundreds of other locales. There's a city behind the beach, so there's lots of background noise. The water isn't remarkably clear on the beach and the sand can get dirty at high tide. Laying out on the beach and looking toward the ocean, you're as likely to see crabs walking along the sand as you are a three year old empty bottle of Clorox bleach that washed up from... somewhere. So if you're looking for a beach with 'things to do' a la parasailing, jetskiing, etc., and with real dining options and bars to visit, then this is the place to be. If you're looking for a quite beach without boats and cars constantly breaking the silence and without planes flying overhead every hour to the local airport, it's a must miss.

The one thing that Langkawi has over many other beaches in Malaysia is that it faces west without any other land or islands between it and the horizon. This makes for a great sunset, and on my second day there, the sun and sky cooperated. The day ended with a painted sky of red and orange and gold. It made for a scene so beautiful it brought just about everyone out on the beach for about an hour. It was so powerful, in fact, that it did just about the impossible - it silenced the city. People stood still and gazed west without saying a word, as if we had all tacitly agreed that everyone could have that time of tranquility to appreciate the beauty for which we had traveled. Which brings me to another 'touchy-feely' experience I had that I would be remiss if I didn't mention, if only because of what it has made me think about. As I was standing on the beach, a middle-aged man walked to about 10 yards of where I stood and, like me, stood alone and motionless while watching another day's chapter close on life. There I was, halfway around the world, a young, white, American Jew; and there he was, an old, dark-skinned, Malaysian Muslim (I assume). Two different men, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the same moment, the same sight, the same experience. Just as the sun was being erased by the ocean, we caught each others' glance, and in that way that men do, we communicated by saying nothing; we smiled slightly, we tipped our heads, and we looked away. It got me thinking, and I've been thinking about it for days. How often do I think of the differences instead of the commonalities? Too often. How many times in the last two months have I seen grandparents beam as they watch their grandchildren play; how often have I seen couples walk hand in hand on the beach; how often have I seen teenagers sit around and enjoy ice cream at the end of a hot day? Just as often as I'd see in L.A. or any other American town. Perhaps we all want to live good and decent lives; to enjoy the big and little things; to be able to say, when our last breath is gone, that we gave it our all and have no regrets? A bit corny, maybe, but I'd like that to be true...

The other islands in the area are almost all uninhabited because they don't have beaches. I hired a guy to take me to a few of the other islands just to see what they were about. The first thing that you realize as soon as you get away from the main island is how different the color of the water is. Around the beach the water is standard "water color", but just a few hundreds yards away and the water is pure green, in a good way. As this little boat was motoring away from the harbor, it felt like we were riding on waves of supple jade. The first island he took me too is nothing but unaltered forest and home to lots of little monkeys. And they're not afraid to just come up to you and walk around like it's no big deal. I couldn't resist taking this photo - no explanation necessary. The next island I visited has a wide u-shaped bay where sea eagles gather every afternoon to catch fish that swim just below the surface. Hundreds of eagles circle overhead and then dive down to try to pry their dinner out of the water. We just sat in this bay for a while watching these eagles do their thing. The eagles ignored us, undoubtedly accustomed to having people watch them from boats. They often dove down to the ocean a few feet from the boat. They swoop down towards the water at ridiculously high speeds and then at the last minute extend their claws out to try to grab something. And these are no small birds. My guide told me that some of the eagles have been measured with wingspans over six feet. Most of the time they come up empty-handed, but every now and then they grab a fish... and that's when the real fun begins. The bigger eagles, which have been sitting quietly in the nearby mangrove trees, come out and try to steal the fish from the eagle that caught it. So there are occasional mid-air fights between birds, and if the fish drops, then there's a mad rush by other eagles in the air to try and catch the dead fish before it hits the water.

After a few days at the beach, I reached the end of my time on peninsular Malaysia. From those relatively small beach islands, I flew to Borneo, the third largest island in the world and home to Malaysia and Indonesia. The welcome mat for most travelers is laid out at the city of Kota Kinabula, located in the northeast corner of the island. It's a big city with about 500,000 people, but it doesn't have a big city feel. Most tourists, like me, only use it as a stopping point for further travel inward. I happened to arrive here at night and for some reason I was pretty wired. So instead of going to bed, I wandered around town looking for an open bar at midnight (which is no easy feat in a Muslim nation). I came upon a karaoke bar populated by the three types of people in the town who were drinking that night: Hindus, Buddhists, and me. People were butchering the lyrics to Britney Spears, Journey, and the crowd favorite, Guns 'n' Roses. Go figure.

Due to a scheduling snafu on my part, I was stuck in the Kota Kinabalu for an extra day before the adventure into the interior part of the island - the jungle - actually began. It was then that I discovered why this city is nothing more than a stop-over for tourists: this place is boring. I imagine that my feelings about Kota Kinabalu would be the similar to those of someone traveling to America to see New York or Yellowstone, but then being stuck in Kansas City or Cleveland or Des Moines for an extra day. When I asked the clerk at the motel what I could do in the city to pass the time, she said, "There's a hill at the edge of the city that gives a nice view of the harbor." Wow!! A hill?! Yippee!! What a great slogan that would make: "Kota Kinabalu - We Have A Hill!" After 30 minutes of walking the city (seriously, 30 minutes) I was out of things to do. So I did something I never thought would occur on this trip: I went to a movie. A bag of popcorn, a soda, a fairly recent Hollywood comedy, and the feeling of being back home for two hours: all for just $4.50. It's not all boring here, though. The city has an excellent night market. These are common throughout Southeast Asia, but this one seemed to have a better variety of food choices, and since the city is on the water, the seafood was fresher than fresh. There's something bizarrely fascinating about watching guys chop up live fish right in front of your eyes.

And now, the jungles of Borneo await...