Wanton Wonton.

A new year and yes, it appears that I am still all of twelve-years-old. Or, at least my sense of ha ha is.

Granted, finding humour at the expense of people's and product's names (which appears to be a main preoccupation of this blog) must be one of the baser forms of amusement, but I wonder if this noodle and wonton manufacturer is in any way related to our Malaysian friend, Soon Fatt Hung? Okay, no I don't.

Still an all-time great in the names department, does anybody remember former Maryland basketball player, Exree Hipp? You can also add other basketball classics like Scientific Mapp from Florida A&M (and his brother, Majestic) and God Shammgod (I wonder if the given name helped him avoid a smiting for the 'sham' reference in his surname?) who earned a cup of coffee in the NBA (more like an espresso shot, it was so brief).

Can't Beat the Real Thing.

Another comical sign from SCS's travels to the Philippines -- nothing says "Keep out" like corporate sponsorship.

As an interesting aside, I read today that the distinctive, wavy shape of the Coca-Cola bottle came about as a result of a mistake (don't nearly all good ideas?) It turns out the intention was to design the bottle based on two of the product's ingredients: the coca plant and the kola nut (yes, hence the name), but the employee sent out to make sketches returned having drawn a cacao pod. No word on whether he was fired for his blunder, but I should certainly hope not as the bottle has evolved into arguably the most recognizable product package in the world. Even with the move to cans.

A couple of my all-time favourite Coke slogans: from 1906, "The great national temperance beverage". Just sort of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? From 1923 and 1938 respectively, "Enjoy thirst" and "The best friend thirst ever had". Isn't the point of beverages to rid of thirst? From 1927, "Pure as sunlight". Hunh?

More Products from Asia.

Regular visitors to this electronic repository of random thoughts will know I tend to appreciate signs or products which can be construed in an unintended manner, or which are simply not from the realm of the mundane in North America. Alternate meanings, non-sequiters and childish humour abound (past examples here). Oh, and I definitely have a a taste for the new and the unfamiliar -- the taste of experience.

Such examples often arise out of translational (linguistic and cultural) differences or misunderstandings and I certainly found a number of instances which were comical to me during my trip to Malaysia earlier this winter. Having just returned from the Philippines, SCS brought back a few items which are less funny than they are different and interesting. I'm eager to tear into them and see how the concept of 'treats' differs on the other side of the world.

Above, are a number of confectionery bars produced by Minco Industrial Confectionery Corp. in the Philippines. The Ube bar, is made from Ube (purple yam) milk cream, buttermilk, sugar and glucose. Because when that 3:30 hunger pang hits, the first think I think of is cramming my maw with a yam bar. I guess some people do.

The "Quality Trusted" tag on the second bar made me chuckle. It's made of mangosteen, commonly referred to in Asia as the "Queen of Fruits". Which led me to wonder what the King of Fruits is. A quick online check not only provides us with an answer, it also gives us a perfect segue for the last of the bars: durian. Stinky, stinky durian. Comically packaged with the line, "Source of highest vitamins for body nourishment", there's no mention of just how horrible durian tastes. Or smells. Really -- I'm not even kidding. Everywhere we went in Malaysia, public places were littered with signs banning durian and threatening steep fines, all because of the smell. But don't take it from me, take this funny description from travel and food writer Richard Sterling:

"... its odor is best described as pig-shit, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock. It can be smelled from yards away."

The bottom box, from Tokyo, is simply a beautiful piece of packaging, right down to the individually packaged sablé cookies in transparent wrap to best show off the bird-shaped confections inside. Japanese design: top-notch. And no yams in the cookies.

Inadvertent Porn.

Yesterday's post was all about words; today, I am compelled to tackle design. SCS returned from the Philippines last night and -- in her infinite wisdom and foresight -- she knew I would very much appreciate the humour inherent in this placemat, uncovered at a family restaurant during her travels. At the very least, she knew that it would make good blog fodder.

I could go on about how the design consists of a hodgepodge of assorted (not to mention incongruous) images, like the floating sandwiches. Why, pray-tell, aren't they the slightest bit soggy? Didn't Columbus sail the ocean blue on a Monte Cristo? I could also go on about the very-obviously Photoshopped-in flag flying, a couple of sizes too large, over the port.

But, no, the true essence of this design disaster lies not in the inadvertent port, but in the inadvertent porn. That's right, taking the metaphorical cake is the fondue fountain or iced pastry (I'm still not sure what it is), gushing out over the Philippines. Did I mention this is for a family restaurant?

Made in Malaysia.

Naive North American on a Street corner, Number One: "What, you actually mean to say not all products are manufactured in, or for, the United States? How can that be? Does Dubya know?"

Naive North American on a Street corner, Number Two: "And look at that ghastly design -- they didn't even spell-check against the Queen's English? Pity."

During our recent sojourn in Malaysia, we came across a number of products which had -- for us -- shall we say, creative spellings of words, interesting phrases and, um, creative design. Naturally, we understood we were in a foreign country where English isn't really the primary language (though it is extremely prevalent), but that didn't stop the corners of our mouths from creeping north in smile on a couple of occasions. Because we're just juvenile like that sometimes. It's not about being culturally insensitive, it's about finding humour in our everyday world. No, really. We were particularly fond of the Malaysian take on our Mary Brown's restaurant chain: Marry Brown Chicken (are we to wed Mary Brown? Or wed a brown chicken?). Here are a few others.

I can picture any number of petulant little children (or frankly, myself) pouting in a store, screaming "Want! Want!", but naming your snack company that? Not so sure. I still haven't quite decided which part of the packaging I like better, though -- that, or the bold statement, "I *heart* Milky and Chewy". Somehow, it just sounds so wrong. The way the child -- tongue wagging -- is eying the bovine at the top of the package, it looks like the quest to find Milky and Chewy might just lead him to take a tug on its udder. And that's not family friendly.


Cuttlefish, described as a "rounder, thicker and chewier relative of the squid" (chewy, but not milky), is available everywhere, but I think it was the line "'Chewing-Gum' of the Orientals" that got me on this one. I think I'll stick to my Juicy Fruit. Then again, seeing as 'Seafood' in French is 'Fruits de Mer', I suppose this could be JuiSea Fruit.

Yes, more cuttlefish, but this one makes "'Chewing Gum' of the Orientals" seem tame. Fine, I fully recognize that you have to deal with whatever Mother Nature gives you to work with. But could this design be any more phallic? Really? Cartoon porn to sell snacks? Did they really need to add two round eyes at the bottom of the -- ahem -- engorged, not to mention gushing, cuttlefish? I'm just saying. Something's fishy here.

There's nothing inherently funny about "Mecca Cola", apart from the blatant rip-off (down to the added 'Classic') of Coke. Oh, and perhaps the tying of religious pilgrimage to a sweet, sweet, fizzy soda beverage ("Wailing Wall" root beer, anyone?). And maybe the slogan on the can: "The Taste of Freedom"! (Which beats the slogan on the web site: "Shake your Conscience -- Drink with Commitment". If you shake it, won't it explode?) Best of all, it's designated Halal. It really goes without saying that I'd be alarmed if I found miscellaneous pork products in my pop as it is. Oh, and 20 per cent of proceeds are donated to charity. Politi-cola, from the corporate web site:

"One of the perversions of capitalism lies in the generation within oneself
of the most brutal and most inhumane part of oneself.

The spirit which governed the creation of Mecca-Cola was to create a profit-making business which would help to relieve human suffering where action is still possible. The most intolerable and the most immediate suffering is of the Palestinian people.

The Palestinian people are experiencing indifference and general complicity, these being the most wretched and the most contemptible acts of apartheid and Zionist fascism."

Let's see. Capitalism = bad. Next line. We are 'profit-making'. Which equals, 'We are capitalist'. Oh, and let's solve the world's woes with sugar and caffeine -- diabetes and obesity for all!

Frankly, the name "Kickapoo Joy Juice" cracked me up, thinking again that something must have been lost in translation. Alas, no, it turns out the name has nothing to do with a receiving a swift boot in the keyster. And enjoying it. No, a little research later, it turns out that Kickapoos are actually an Algonquin, North American First Nations Tribe. And the drink originates from the good ol' U.S. of Eh (thanks to Bob for carving this nugget out of the vast crevices contained within his cranium) . As an additional bit of useless information, Kickapoo Joy Juice is also the name of a former oil company, and Kickapoo is also the name of a Tenacious D song (shout out to Shawn for that introduction). Good stuff either way -- like Mountain Dew. Only better.


Missing letters and atypical words were pretty standard for packaging; this one: 'Dries Mango'. It likely doesn't, but rather, is dried. I also liked that there was a basic Yahoo email address at the bottom of the packaging: swallow_tan@yahoo.com. Way to splurge on a corporate email account. And couldn't you have maybe spent a bit more time choosing the address name? Really?

Contents: 'Chocolate kiddies'. Yum. This just reminded me of the email that periodically makes its rounds about marketing blunders and how a baby food company had troubles making inroads in China because it had pictures of babies on the bottle. In a country where they tend to put pictures of a bottle's contents on the label. Whoops. Malaysia: for whatever the reason, also not the first place I think of when I think of chocolate.

Nothing funny about the packaging. No mis-spelled words. But, one of the natural resources for which Malaysia has become known is Tongkat Ali. Nature's Viagra. Here, handily packaged in chocolate. And here I thought chocolate was just the fastest way to a woman's heart.

More Signs of Malaysia.

The hate-on for durian fruit is so strong in Malaysia that SCS and I joked that we could create a punk rock band called "Death to Durian" and likely be quite successful. It's a perfect match: we can't sing and the angst directed toward the fruit would be perfect for the genre. Everywhere we went -- trains, stores, hotels and restaurants -- signs exclaiming that you cannot bring your durian with you (as though it would be trotting behind you on a fine, feathered leash).

Alright, folks; the fruit smells really bad. Trust me, it does. And, depending on with whom you speak, it tastes just as disgusting. But, I think we're forgetting something: this is a country in which you can still openly smoke in restaurants. And stores. And offices. And nearly everywhere else. Tobacco smells just as bad and -- oh, wait -- it will actually kill you. Apart from the odd durian dropping incident (that didn't come out right), the only Durian killing people was the typhoon that hit the Philippines a couple of weeks ago.

But it did spawn a new term for us: "That guy drives like durian!"

Yes, on some people, thongs are indeed a sin. This, on the island of Langkawi, is another Eastern name which takes an unfortunate turn when looked at from a Western perspective. The fact that it's for a property and hotel developer makes me think they might make some fun resorts, though, non?. Does Sisquo know?

We also got a good chuckle out of all of the "Awas" signs littering the roads of Langkawi. In Malay, it means "Warning", which makes a lot of sense when they're situated next to construction areas. Only they didn't stop there. Small signs, large signs, different colour signs -- every couple of feet all the way around the island. They sort of had a numbing effect where there really were areas of concern. And the wolf greedily snacked on the little boy at roadside.

Back on Solid Ground. But Dizzy with Exhaustion.

Following another 44 hours in transit, we finally returned home to the land of the maple leaf last night. And we're feeling a bit weary from the whole affair (SCS has actually been quite ill for the past couple of days). This time, thankfully, there were no snafus with delayed and cancelled planes, nor any lost luggage (which we checked in Langkawi and it, mercifully, still successfully followed us through three flights to Toronto). But, with only a trio of half-hour naps over that stretch, I'm feeling a bit knackered in both body and mind today. Of course, the fact our first flight on the 13th didn't leave until 11 p.m. after a full day of exploring didn't help either. Yawn.

All in all, it was a rough life there for a while in Langkawi. Or not. The ocean, lapping at the back patio of our villa. The sky, endless and blue, draped over the green jungle that crawled down the mountainside to our front door. The beach, soft and white under our feet, proffering glittery shells as offerings to weary travellers. Not too shabby.

We stayed at the Berjaya Beach and Spa resort on the island of Langkawi, which is to the north of mainland Malaysia and about a forty minute plane trip from Penang. A little luxury after trekking through the concrete jungle for the earlier parts of the trip. From the first moment, service at the resort was top-notch and everyone from the bellhops to the shuttle drivers to the leaf blowers (every morning, cleaning off the walkways) to miscellaneous other staff members scooting around on motorbikes would smile and say hello.

The accommodations were also beyond nice, with private little villas designed in a fairly open concept fashion and nestled into the jungle, with banana, bamboo and palm fanning them. Our patio looked out toward the ocean, over which we would watch the sun set while we enjoyed dinner. Likely because of the heat (in the low- to mid-forties), the sky was ablaze with beautiful electric storms at night.

Langkawi also provide me with my first experience driving on the left side of the road. And the right side of the car. I wasn't sure how it would work out, but the freedom to go where we wished on the island was attractive and the adjustment actually ended up being fairly easy. Only once did I go, "Gee, I wonder why that guy is coming straight at me. Oh, crap."

Our first night, we were startled by a flying squirrel, which swooped down and latched onto a tree along the path we were taking. It looked like a Muppet, the way it trained its beady little eyes on us, quickly looking left, then right. Long, long arms and a crazy flap of a tail. It was really quite amazing.

We went into town to rustle up some dinner and found an Indian food hawker for some take-away. There had been some difficulties communicating and service ended up being a little slow. So, the look on SCS's face was priceless when -- after a long wait -- the cook started packaging up 34 Char Keow Teows. Turns out, they weren't for us. What we did get, though, was great and we returned the second night.

On our way back to our room, we also crossed paths with a lemur, but I was slow on the draw with the camera. And, from our balcony, we saw a monitor lizard snaking through the surf. Alas, no monkeys on day one. Funny though, when we got back to our room, it looked as though someone had been there in our absence. Monkeys, hiding in our suitcases? No. But there were orchids on the pillows and an empty box on dresser. A quick peek into the fridge revealed a cake. And it said, "Happy Honeymoon" on it. SCS and I both looked at each other and laughed, wondering if there was something the other had neglected to mention. Um, there was no wedding. And this isn't a honeymoon. But told you the service was good. And thanks for the cake.

Day two started with SCS being startled by a rather large (four inches wide?) spider peering back at her from inside her luggage. Turns out her socks make a cozy place to rest, free from the wrath of the bald eagles circling outside. Not that I'd have picked them. We hopped into the car and made our way to the Seven Wells waterfall, where we finally saw monkeys. Holy crap -- lots of monkeys! The first was sitting on the railing which guides you up the extremely steep steps to the top of the mountain (and did I mention that it was forty degrees out? No? Well, it was mighty warm). Up and down the mountain, we'd wind up seeing many more monkeys, including a tiny baby trying to venture beyond its mother's grasp and onto a branch. Like any good mother, she just sat there calmly, holding its tail like a child leash. Then, when another mom-key was around, she'd let it explore. The teen monkeys, like the one at right, all had funny little fuzzy mohawks. And this one was jonesing for what was in SCS's green plastic bag. Badly. Most of the ones we crossed paths with that day were relatively friendly (but no, you don't pet them); it wasn't until my third day that I was pursued with fangs bared. Wanting to take a picture of a couple of monkeys playing in a tree, I started to cross the road and two little devils on the ground came flying at me from different angles. I retreated. Quickly. Like I was French or something. They obviously weren't a part of the Malaysia 2007 tourism board. Except maybe in the brochures. Like furry models.

Later in the day, we went to a mangrove forest, but the water was low, leaving only a pile of mud and a tangle of roots. And crabs ducking in and out of daylight. More monkeys, too, looking all cute and stuff so that patrons of a restaurant in the middle of the forest would share their food. Then, an enormous monitor lizard skulked out from the mud, flicking its tongue. Rewarded with a chicken carcass, it made short work of its prize, grinding the bones into a paste. Yum. Raw chicken, with paste. An impressive sight nonetheless.

Most of the rest of our time on Langkawi was spent at the beach (you know you're carrying a little extra weight when you sunburn in stripes) and checking out other sights around the island. With an ever watchful eye for more wildlife. The only regret was that we didn't get to take the cable car up the mountain -- alas, it was closed for maintenance the day we wanted to go. Better that it be maintained.

Driving around, we took in scenery from every angle and visited some new beaches. It was astounding how many beer bottles -- likely from fishermen -- were frolicking in the waves, much like the drunken sailors who likely threw them overboard. Any sea glass enthusiasts should have quite the haul in a couple of years. We also marvelled at the small clear crabs which darted into holes in the nick of time before our treacherous toes could inadvertently track them down. "Scurry, scurry crab." At one of the beaches, I was looking between the rocks for shells and suddenly, a half dozen shells took off from me like a Dukes of Hazard chase scene. All willy nilly. Hermit crabs. As tended to be the way when we found something new for the other to come look at, I almost yelled to SCS, "I've got crabs!". But thought better of it. I also felt it would be unfriendly if I took their homes from them. Particularly with their claws spinning out, grasping for my fingers.

Langkawi: a beautiful island. Except maybe for the Lefarge cement plant, incongruously placed in between more beautiful plants. And Lim's Optometry and Nuts? Still haven't figured out what that's all about. No swimming monkeys, but a lemur, many bald eagles, a flying squirrel, several monitor lizards of a variety of sizes and monkeys, monkeys, monkeys. And yet more food in a bag.

Signs of Penang 2.

More signs from Penang. This one, written in Malay, replicates the style of the old Malboro Man ads, with an anti-smoking message from the Ministry of Health. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing funny about cancer, but the sign, which says, "Bob, I have cancer", had SCS and me in stitches. Bob? I'm not quite sure how many people named Bob live here. Muhammad, maybe. Ravi, perhaps. Hong, okay. But Bob? It's a good sign with a great message, but the choice of name, shall we say, caught us off-guard. First rule of advertising: know your audience.

The headline sheepishly exclaims: "Gender discrimination at medical practices across Malaysia!" Okay, maybe not, but then where to the rams go to get their ivories polished? Trying to find out has been like pulling teeth because everyone has wanted to pull the wool over my eyes. Baad, I know.

I can only presume evil wood is that which wasn't purchased at the gift shop of the Kek Lok Si Buddhist Temple in Penang. An anti-piracy message for prayer beads, perhaps?

And, if you happen to have been a trafficker of evil wood, perhaps you can redeem yourself at the Moral Uplifting Society?


I suppose the owner of this cafe doesn't plan for it to be around long -- perhaps it's costing him too much money and he's soon going to have to go into hock to pay for it?

Well, that seems mighty unfriendly. At Bukit Jambul Mall, near our hotel, the sign offers a stern warning. Perhaps, too stern? I'm all for offenders being prosecuted, but the sniper seems just a tad imposing.


Back home, this might read tidbits. Or perhaps, it's just where 50 Cent got his concept for the track Candy shop.

Which takes us back to this job posting. No word on whether or not it's for a dental office.

Penang: Day One.

Having left KL behind, we had a great day on the island of Penang, which is to the north-west of the nation's capital and on the Straits of Malacca. It was an earliesh start to the day, but we had to be sure to get one more Hilton breakfast under our belts. Literally.

By high speed train to the airport, we passed Putrajaya, a recently-planned city designed to ease the burden on Kuala Lumpur. Home to the new Multimedia Super Corridor (MSC), which is intended to replicate silicon valley and push Malaysia to so-called first-world status by 2020, Putrajaya also serves as the current base for the Federal government. And the Prime Minister's home, atop a tall hill, looms large above. Over the half hour trip, we also passed many of the palm plantations we saw upon landing earlier in the week. They really do stretch for as far as the eye can see, all in perfectly ordered rows.

One of SCS's friends picked us up from the airport and brought us to the Hotel Vistana, where we will spend a couple of nights prior to heading to Langkawi for a bit of R&R. And hopefully, some monkeys! We're staying just up the street from Universiti Sains Malaysia, a hike from downtown, but in the shadow of a tropically verdant mountain. Interestingly, outside downtown, nearly all homes are gated.

Wandering downtown was one of the neatest experiences thus far for someone interested in how people live. Gorgeous buildings, but most in need of some serious repair. Sidewalks that end abruptly, dropping off to the street. And into the gutter. Weaving in-and-out of archways hanging from which are Chinese lanterns, blankets and other wares. A little tougher to navigate for tall people. Small, one room homes you can peer into, almost all of which have a Chinese alter directly in front of the door, candle light flickering over the walls while children scurry about, helping make dinner or watching television. Or others, in which all of one's worldly belongings are stacked to the ceiling in a single room. In the face of very real poverty, people's faces are painted as brightly as the colours on the doors, shutters and archways that carry you into their worlds. Bamboo blinds, blinking. Motor scooters dueling with rickshaws on the road.

You cannot effectively get many places here without some form of transportation, so there are a lot of cars, but even more motorcycles or scooters, and bicycles. One man lugged a dozen or so bleach bottles of detergent, tied -- hanging like jewelery -- to his bike. Another, strapped his eggs to the back of a motorcycle. One accident in this heat and you'd have a giant, instantaneous omelet. And likely, a street party. People's livelihoods strapped to two wheels and their balance -- the way people drive here, that's a serious risk.

Everywhere, little shops filled with trinkets, antiques and artwork. Alleys which open into vast spaces filled with fabrics in a full array of colours. Chinese temples, Hindu temples and the occasional Buddhist temple tucked quaintly between people's homes. Apart from occasional, small alleys, jutting jagged like veins in random places, most buildings are attached to each other. And the roads: not designed according to a grid.

We wandered through Little India, which was also awash in colour: bright flower leis in oranges, reds and yellows. Saris in combinations of all colours. Small backpacker havens which could be had for the equivalent of $6 CAD a night. With a fan.

A little peckish, we stopped into one of the street side Indian restaurants to sample some local fare. Taunting the taste buds, some of it was spicy enough that I saw colours. And not from all of the flowers hanging outside. But it was also extremely tasty and the blackberry lassi certainly helped to cool things off. Completely full, all for a few dollars. It was a satisfying way to take in some of the local culture at what appeared to be a family-run establishment, the matriarch perched on a chair, silently directing the men about the restaurant as they gathered us food bathed in yellows, browns and reds.

After lunch, the rain began to fall (which helped polish off the last remains of spice the lassi couldn't handle) and we made it over to the Eastern & Oriental Hotel, a bastion of Britishness that remains from colonial times. Swanky, even. As the rain fell harder, we huddled inside the dining room over a coffee, then a glass of wine, overlooking the choppy water. As the storm lifted, we were gradually able to see across to mainland Malaysia and the whitecaps soothed themselves back into the ocean. Venturing outside to take a couple of pictures, I was greeted by my new, little friend to the right. Not the best of pictures because the lizard skittered along the wet pavement better than I. Trying to get closer, it took off, dancing up a covered drainage ditch, splashing happily away. As did I.

We enjoyed dinner with a number of people associated with SCS's conference and partook in some Malay food, including fried seafood balls coated in -- essentially -- croutons and chicken wrapped in banana leaves. What a good day.

Signs of Penang.

Signs often amuse me. Small things maybe, but I get a kick out of them nonetheless. Today's walk through Penang was particularly fruitful for the discovery of new things to make me chuckle.

I really don't know where to begin with this first one. Do I start on the fact that we don't usually find places that sell chicks -- presumably meaning young chickens -- and furniture in the same store? Perhaps they sell small Barca loungers for fledgling birds? Or am I to presume the proprietor was referring to the vernacular for 'chicks' -- meaning 'fine-looking ladies' -- in ye olde English? And that they were somehow a tad 'dirty'? Still, where does the furniture fit in? Oh, never mind.

New and modern? Oh, and fancy, too? Sign me up. Oh wait, what exactly do you sell that is so modern, fancy and new?

Welcome to Penang! This, in Penang's airport, is yet another odd juxtaposition: a sign advertising a store's booze and smokes with Mickey Mouse and Cinderella hanging underneath. Hunh? After some of those movies, I might feel I need a drink, too, but seriously folks. Don't start 'em young.

The new advertising slogan for Viagra.

KL: Day Two.

Another busy day in Kuala Lumpur, albeit a slower one starting as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and had to pack in order to switch hotels to the Hilton in KL Sentral. Whoa – feeling a bit like a rock star here. What an incredible looking hotel. The room is über- modern (isn’t anything with the word “über” in it?), with wood and tile floors, a deep marble tub and ceiling mounted shower head, sliding frosted glass doors throughout and a wall mounted flat screen television that is about four feet wide. Not that we’ve even had it on, but it seems larger than some of the cars outside.

Shirt striped diagonally under the strap from my bag, I’m pretty sure today was even
hotter than yesterday. Yes, another sweaty one. There was also a massive tropical thunderstorm when we got back this afternoon, which made everything instantly white outside, it was raining so hard. Shaking the windows, the thunder sounded like giant church bells. If your head was inside them. We sat and watched it from the little chaise lounge in the bay window. Pip pip, quite posh.

When we got out wandering, we took the train to Masjid Jamek (enjoying a watermelon juice smoothie on the way) and over to Merdeka Square, the National Mosque and the old train station. Merdeka Square, home to the world’s tallest flag pole – at 100 metres – is where independence is celebrated. Because of the time of day, we weren’t able to go into the mosque, which can hold up to 15,000 people at a time. It was also over this stretch I saw some of my favorite architecture of the trip, with several buildings built in the Moorish style. The old and new train stations – across the street from each other – were fun to walk through and take pictures of. The postal building, too, is very neat – tall and white with cut-outs all the way up.
We then made our way over to Central Market, which sells crafts and antiques. To this point, I had thought the prevalence of Santa Claus and Christmas carols in Malaysia was the most anomalous things of the trip. But, no – brace yourself. First, SCS and I chuckled when we came across a store in the market which sold moccasins and other traditionally North American First Nations’ wares. Then, coming into the centre area, we were greeted by a crowd surrounding a Malay man, resplendent in a full headdress. Playing a harpsichord. Playing Celine Dion on the harpsichord. No, really. So discordant. I would have found this disturbing enough back home, but in south-east Malaysia? Way too much to grasp. Heads still swimming, SCS and I got some practice haggling with one of the vendors and I’m sure both sides felt they came out alright.

In Chinatown, one of the shopkeepers made us samples of tea in thimble-sized cups and we stopped into another for a snack and a drink. We also stopped into one of the temples, where coils of incense were burning all around.

For dinner, we met up with one of SCS’s friends and he took us to a Japanese buffet in another of the suburbs. There were more options than I could have possibly imagined. Sushi: check. Sashimi: check. Noodles: check. Shark fin soup: check. Ostrich: check. Wait a second. Check? Because Japan is really known for its ostriches, terrorizing the residents of Tokyo. Ostrich? Really? With how sharks are harvested for their fins and then disposed of, I wasn’t pleased to see the soup, either.

But, we did enjoy copious amounts of sushi, carefully avoiding those with lime green-coloured roe on the top. The thermonuclear colours on some of the sushi was a little off-putting. Pinks and greens and yellows. Children stood by, mesmerized by them, though. No, not really. Still, piles of salmon, octopus, eel and a variety of other fish. And some quail, which – even covered in sauce – looked startlingly like pigeon. But the star of the dinner was the mashed potato machine. Frightening. Absolutely frightening. Press a button and – presto! – liquid pours out from a boy licking his lips. Eventually, it solidifies and you can press another button and – presto again! – gravy. Shudder. As a part of the experience, we actually tried it. And we will never speak of it again.

Oh, and the hotel? Coming back tonight, I went for a quick swim in the pool that weaves its way around the outside of the hotel complex and overlooks the city. A full moon and palm trees, twinkling with white Christmas lights – and the city below. You know, it’s really a rough life sometimes.

Juvenile, yes. Likely even culturally insensitive (much like Mr. Dong saying, "yeah, yeah, I've heard them all before; enough already"). But it was a picture that needed to be taken. I find random coffin shops odd as it is, but the proprietor made it even better. Best of all, though: when SCS read the sign to me, she didn't think anything of it, beyond what the store sold.

Day One. Oh, and Days Two and Three Thrown In.

44 hours door-to-door. And that’s not considering the difference in time zone, multiple curry dishes, nor the two hours spent hosing down in the shower to scrape off those parts of the trip that decided to leech into my skin. Curry was but a part of that equation. After the day we had yesterday, I felt dirtier than Rick Solomon after One Night in Paris. And just as unfulfilled.

We arrived at the Hotel Istana in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia tonight around 20:30 local time (13 hours ahead of the time back home – and after having left on Saturday at 12:30 EST), on the heels of a circuitous route through Toronto, Paris and London, the last of which was an unexpected stop. 35 straight hours my eyelids kept running, clicking like shutters, until I was finally able to sleep on the twelve hour flight from London to KL.

Our flights were significantly delayed in Toronto, Paris and London – oh wait, that’s three for three – and cancelled in Paris. After much pleading in both English and French with Malaysian Air representatives in France – even pulling out the fact that SCS has a presentation first thing Tuesday morning for the Prime Minister of Malaysia – we were finally able to get seats on a flight to KL from London, England, leaving ten hours later than we had originally intended. But of course, we had to get to London first. And our bags had been lost because of complications with the cancelled flight from Paris. More than an hour later, they appeared in the nick of time and we ran to the gate just seconds prior to closing by surreptitiously jumping a few lines. Naturally, the terminal from which the plane would be leaving was miles away.

Oh, but wait – theme of the day – when we got to the gate, we found out this plane, too, had been delayed 90 minutes. At that point, it really didn’t matter as we would have been waiting several hours in Heathrow anyway, so it gave us an opportunity to see the newer (and nicer) terminal in Paris. And an opportunity for SCS to catch a Charlie nap.

The situation in France had been a bit of a farce and SCS and I had initially been laughing at our welcome to the country. The airport was beyond dated. And far beyond efficient. When we got to the desk to check in and to get our tickets, we were told the flight wasn't on the board yet and that we'd have to come back in an hour. So we made our way back down through the creepy caverns and back to the terminal's central hub to have a coffee and a pain au chocolat (I believe I have finally swayed SCS to the dark side on those at this point). When we returned to the gate, we were told that we were being given lunch at the Hippopotamus restaurant downstairs because the flight had been delayed three hours. No problems. Asking directions six times, we were finally able to make our way down to the restaurant in the 'Shopping District'. Which included a McDonald's, another restaurant, a pharmacy and a convenience store that had different names depending on which door you entered. Not much of a 'district'. Best of all, we were able to waltz out into Paris without ever once going through immigration or customs. So much for post-911 security.

The centre of the terminal was open-air and consisted of several glass tubes with moving carpets criss-crossing each other and taking people to different levels; that said, no matter where you were trying to access one, it was always going in the opposite direction. SCS likened it to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Hm, Charlie and Chocolate -- likely her two favorite things. And the sign in the elevator helpfully pointed to the floor for "Halls 2-24" and to another floor for "Hall 5". Must be a pretty big Hall. It turns out that one of the Malaysian Airlines planes from the previous day required repairs, stranding those passengers. They, in turn, took our flight, causing two days' worth of nightmares. The worst part is that we found out later they knew all along we weren't going to be flying, but didn't tell most people in enough time to make alternate arrangements. There were some pretty unhappy folks.

In the air, I saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up, and some fireworks over the Thames in London, as well as the Millennium Ferris Wheel. Flying over KL, you could see palm tree plantations as far as you looked, all ordered in perfect lines.

The hotel provides us with a great view of the Petronas Towers and is very nice, though we each described it as “worn”. We didn’t get to see much of KL on the drive in, though the Moorish architecture is one thing that certainly stands out. That’s what the next couple of days, and feet, are for – Discovery!

Onward. And Definitely Upward.

100 posts. And the Petronas Towers beckon like majestic fingers tugging at the fleece. The voyage begins in mere moments. Followed by many, many moments as we make our way around the world. Malaysia -- here we come!

Why Would You Make a Monkey Swim?

Okay, yes these pages have lain rather fallow over the past week as I brace myself to spend 20 hours on the plane this weekend while heading to Malaysia.

But, swimming monkeys! SWIMMING MONKEYS! (said with wide eyes and a slight dance). No, really -- Swimming-freakin' monkeys! Looking at one of the places we're looking to go in Langkawi, where the Asian jungle reaches out like fingertips tapping on the beach, it seems there are macaque monkeys who like to partake in the ocean. And flying squirrels ("Bullwinkle, Bullwinkle!") Oh, and metre-and-a-half long monitor lizards. So excited. I've swum with dolphins, but monkeys? Awesome.