Signs of the Times.

Well yes, now that you ask, my thirst for signs I find to be comical and witty does indeed continue unabated. Innuendo? Check. Juvenile humour? Check. Snickers shared in a subtle glance with a partner? Check.

I liked this one. Really. It's also quite appropriate, I suppose, for a store laden with sweets, chocolates and sundry other sugar-laden hip, thigh and rear end enhancers to be called "Nuttin' Butt". Walking by a number of its patrons, however, I saw just how fine a line it is between wit and irony. A lot finer than many of them were.

Signs like this were affixed every five feet or so to a fence surrounding a mansion the size of a small town (we're talking tens of millions of dollars here). Never mind the ominous teeth of razor wire that lined the top of the fence (or the likelihood that the fence was itself was electrified). No, it was the 'Bad Dog' (with an exclamation mark, no less!) you had to be worried about should you have the misguided notion you should climb it. I thought it was trendy for rich folk to have teacup poodles and chihuahuas? No? I didn't test the theory. Or maybe this was just their way of shaming the family pet, who had recently misbehaved - stealing a pie from the window ledge?

Not sure what dope thought of this one, but it's certainly a clever (sharp, rather than blunt?) and snicker-worthy name for a burrito shop. Care for one? Take a flour tortilla, some rice, cheese and, for a vegetable, some grass? Great if you've got the munchies, I suppose. If it catches your attention, though, it's obviously a successful form of marketing, regardless of the insinuation.

Snicker. He said "Church". Yeah, yeah, okay, fine, I'll give you that the seamen joke is the oldest one going. Still, I think it was the part about the "Confident Captain" that made gffl and me laugh. That or we're really just twelve-year-olds. Tough to tell. Then again, it's hard to picture Blackbeard sailing the gnarly seas, pillaging from the masses and having to head back to shore for Sunday service. Confidently, of course.

Just a great name for a toy store. Period.

Rock Point, On Point.

Smoky goodness and insect repellent: perfume of the outdoors. By now, the smell of campfire has worn off following my first tenting excursion of the year last weekend. Settling on Rock Point Provincial Park near Dunnville, Ontario, gffl and I set up camp and noticed an empty bird's nest in a tree looming over the site. Me being me, I made like a monkey to take a peek (and a 'peekture'). I won't, however, admit to scratching my sides while making monkey noises. Tent raised, we headed out for a stroll along the beach and were greeted by a vast array of topography: fossilized limestone shelves, dunes, shell, rock and sand.

It turns out the area had been submerged in the Caribbean 350 million years ago, as indicated by fossils from the coral reef embedded in the slabs of limestone that line the coast. Forming divots in the rock, evidence of trapped plant and animal life is featured prominently in the limestone, which was eventually sheared off by advancing glaciers as the Earth's continents took shape. It's easy to lose yourself for hours, poring over the landscape for increasingly interesting examples of prehistoric life. Highlights from dinner included campfire-roasted peppers, garlic and potatoes.

On Saturday, we caught a drive-by view of Niagara Falls ($18 to park nearby - incredible) and of some of the rest of Las Vegas North (what a tacky, over-the-top city). Q: "What would a crazed Frenchman say, bobbing along the river, about to plummet over the falls?" A: "Chutes!"

We continued on our short trek to quaint Niagara-on-the-Lake and poked around for a bit. I'm not so sure I've seen that many preppy people walking around in such a concentrated area in quite a while. Oh, and men in pale yellow pants, not a hair out of place. Women, with chunky necklaces, prim collars and, also, not a bouffant hair out of place. We also stopped in at the Inniskillin winery and admired the row upon row of grapes. Hopefully, none of them sour. On the way back, we came across an ostrich farm and had to stop to check them out. Despite being able to run at speeds of up to 65 km/h, the (very large) male and a female took their time coming to see us. Go figure. Like they had their heads in the sand or something. They are mighty impressive birds up close.

Rock Point is a really neat park to explore, particularly if you are even a closet rock hound. Unfortunately, the weather was, surprisingly, a little chilly for swimming this past weekend (unless you had the body temperature thermometer of a child), but there was plenty to see, including various waterfowl, the little critter I found above, pretty shells and plenty of fossils. During the drive, we also came across a couple more signs that could be included on the blog, but we didn't get the camera out in time. They included one advertising the sale of "Tree Wood" (as if there is another kind) and a butcher operating under the name, "People's Meat Market". Wonder if that was intentional. On a couple of fronts.

Empire State Building Shooting, 10 Years Later.

It has almost become a cliché to ponder the rapidity of the passage of time, like Polaroids through a shredder. Nothing reminds me of that more than watching children grow. And nothing makes me want more to be able to rewind the dials on my watch and lose myself, peering into a non-existent film of life – of times past, of memories remembered and forgotten. Today’s post is a reflection of the past and includes passages from my old-school blog – paper, y’all.

Today marks a decade since I unwittingly became involved in history. Ten years ago, I witnessed – in all-to-close proximity – a disgruntled Palestinian man by the name of Ali Hassan Abu Kamal open fire into a crowd of tourists atop the Empire State Building in New York City. Yes, his name is indelibly etched upon my mind. Looking to kill Americans, he happened to stop beside me before drawing a semi-automatic pistol from his trench coat, shooting seven and killing two, including himself. I’ve always questioned the logic of choosing a major tourist site if Americans were his target. Of seven people shot, I believe one ended up being from the United States. Nervous giggles aside, though, my joke became that it was a good thing he wasn’t left-handed or he might have just turned the other way when he began firing. And with how close I was, I likely wouldn’t be typing this.

"...I heard what I thought was a balloon pop to my right. I jumped. I heard two more pops and turned to my right and saw the back of a man shooting another. I remember the short black hair on the man's neck. He was two-three feet away. I could have grabbed him. He wore an olive green or brown suit or trench coat I think and carried a silver semi-automatic pistol."

I had only been up on the deck of the Empire State Building a few moments – enough time to briefly look out over the skyline and to have one picture taken. And I remember feeling oddly nauseous before hearing what sounded like a balloon popping. Then another. Annoyed at what I believed to be a child playing with balloons, I spun, confronted with the back of a man’s head and stared down his arm to a gun, firing into the corner of the deck. There stood a man, doubled over and bloodied. Chris Burmeister, a young Danish musician, would fall victim to Kamal’s bullet in that corner on that otherwise clear afternoon. I carry a phobia of balloons with me to this day.

"He fired and L grabbed me, pulling me away and to the ground. I was on top of somebody and got up, going down again. I looked back – I was the last person left this far back on this side – and I saw a man lying in a pool of blood, as well as two legs."

I stood in shock, unable to understand the magnitude of what was happening. I had never witnessed a shooting before. And each instant slowed right down, my feet mired in the sands of time. Situated next to an observation tower with mounted binoculars (scene, at right) I stood, stunned, before my then-partner pulled me to the ground. Only problem is, I landed on someone and didn’t want to hurt them, so I got back up. When I finally went down again, everyone had already taken off up the deck, leaving me alone near the fence and across from a man by the garbage can near the corner of the building who had thrown himself over his daughter. Between us was a pool of blood curling from a man’s head. At the time, I didn’t know it was the shooter. In the commotion, I hadn’t realized Kamal had put a bullet through his own brain and that it was he who lay by my feet. It was only at breakfast the next day – upon reading the paper and seeing pictures of the scene – that I realized he had stayed put and hadn’t moved around the deck. And once again, I began to feel incredibly nauseous.

"On the gunman was found: two keys, extra shells, a knife, some identification and a four-page letter telling of his hatred for the United States. He had been asking people if they were American. Two Swiss students said 'no' and weren't shot. Ironically, none of the victims ended up being American (sic). One died at the scene; the gunman died hours later and others are still in the hospital. He has been in the U.S.A. since Christmas day and has already acquired a firearm (from Florida). A month and a half. America: 'Home of the brave, land of the free'. 'And the right to bear arms'. "

Just this month, Kamal’s family reportedly admitted the shooting was politically motivated and not simply the result of his having felt he was swindled of land. But really, folks, Kamal (at right) had been in the US for a month and had already LEGALLY acquired a firearm. Never mind questions about a dearth of security or metal detectors at the Empire State Building, this was still prior to 9/11 and we’ve seen that desperate people will take desperate actions. To legally acquire a gun when you’ve been in the country for a month? In my eyes, there’s something wrong there.

Not since King Kong’s looming presence – or at least since a plane, lost in the fog, accidentally flew into the building in 1945 – has there been such madness atop the Empire State Building as people took the opportunity to loot the gift shop and trample others attempting to flee.

I remember a man with large hoop earrings coming back down the deck toward me, yelling, “Where is he? I’ll kill the bastard.” He was, apparently, a former cop who ended up kicking the gun away from Kamal and going through his coat. I didn’t stick around to watch. Almost immediately, the entire building was on lockdown and everyone was herded into a large room leading to the stairs from the 86th floor. Not yet knowing what had happened to the shooter – or if there was more than one – this was rather unsettling. We just sat by the windows as to not hyperventilate and were eventually ushered down the stairs as a fellow tourist videotaped everyone and others laughed at us. Again, unsettling. And creepy.

Time had slowed so much in my mind that I believed all of the events had transpired over thirty seconds, maybe. It wasn't until I saw video recorded by a tourist in the gift shop which captured the sound of the shots that I realized it was in fact all over in a matter of seconds. Such a fine timeline between life and death. Seeing how quickly it ended helped alleviate any guilt I had felt about not acting with the shooter so close. I couldn’t have. Though he was within reach, the timing in my brain was too far removed. To this day, I still wish I could watch the security video to rectify everything in my mind and see things in real time. Perverse, perhaps, but I also feel it would help me better understand.

As witnesses, we were brought to the front of the crowd to take an elevator out of the building, along with a police officer and another witness’s family. The lower level of the Empire State Building was empty and we were greeted only by a wall of televisions, all set to news coverage of us coming out of the building. Incredibly surreal. We were taken to the midtown south district precinct of the NYPD, where more than 100 witness interviews were conducted. Seven of us were held back (without food for eight hours after the shooting, I might add) for further questioning by the District Attorney. During the wait, officers came in carrying paper bags, dampened with blood, and dumped them unceremoniously on the desk. Kamal’s clothes.

We were, naturally, a little jumpy the next morning. When a mover dropped a trolley off the back of his truck, I ducked for cover a little more quickly than I had the day previous. My hunger that morning was for more than breakfast – I wanted news. The reality of what had transpired was driven home when I saw my name in print in newspaper accounts of the shooting. It was one of the most unreal moments of my life. It had been an eventful first day in New York City.

I have no regrets. I don’t think about the shooting much at this point, but I marveled this past week at the fact ten years have already passed. Ten years. Albeit a frightening one, it was just another life experience – and I generally crave experience. Now, just without guns and balloons.

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.

Homeward Bound.

Toffee Nut Frappuccuino in hand -- and oddly, across from a Cheers restaurant -- we sit in the Kuala Lumpur International Airport, one hour into the many, many hour trip back from our sojourn abroad (one hour from Langkawi to KL, 14 hours to Paris, nine hours to Toronto, two hours to London). Of course, all times are approximate, given what we went through to get here. At least our bags are checked right through to Canada and we have a bulkhead seat for the next stretch.

Anyway, there's much, much more to come from our wonderful time in Langkawi, but in the meantime, I thought I'd share shots of a couple of our new friends. The monkey at right was at the Seven Wells waterfall, one of ten times we crossed paths with the little, climbing critters. A little mohawked teen, he was one of the friendlier guys we met. Likely because he was quite keen to find out what SCS had in her green plastic bag. Alas, he didn't get to find out, so he scurried away, lost in the canopy.

Upon originally looking at resorts in Langkawi, I had become excited by the prospect of seeing swimming monkeys. We didn't find any, but we did see several swimming monitor lizards. Snaking their way through the green water, tongue forever flicking in and out. We found the one at right in a mangrove forest, crawling through the muck and getting generally dirty. His mom's going to be angry. Then make him get out the Tide. One of the locals tossed it a chicken carcass, which was soon dissolved into mush. Finger lickin' good. Quite an impressive creature.

Another flight to catch -- more to follow.

Bloggus Interruptus.

Today, we head to the island of Langkawi in search of Macaque monkeys and Monitor Lizards. Oh, and perhaps a bit of relaxation as well. In the process, we bid adieu to Penang, which has been an incredible experience for me. Eye- and imagination-opening. The doors, the details, the smells, the food. The experience. Not sure if we'll have reliable Internet access in Langkawi, so if posting ceases for a few days, it doesn't mean I've been swallowed by the jungle. Necessarily.

Penang, Evening.

We had a ball this evening at the Bukit Jambul mall, where we discovered a sizeable arcade. Good thing SCS and I aren't the least bit competitive. Nah, not at all. Pop-a-shot: check. SCS showed very good form and was good competition. Arcade motor bike racing: check. No clue how a guy my size is to fit on one of those wobbly things. Oh wait, there's also that small detail of balance. Whoops. There goes SCS, tearing down the hairpin turns while I bounce off of walls, wounding only my ego. Must be all her experience on a scooter. Redemption time at the air hockey table, something about which SCS has talked a bunch of smack. Too bad that was the only smack to her game this evening. Two straight -- one, playing by her rules. And the other, by the right rules. I know, she said something about her thigh hurting. A fun, fun time -- and we were good sports about it. Most of the time.

I was pretty excited to get home to my 'dinner in a bag', which I rustled up at an Indian restaurant across from the mall. Take-away. Yum. One guy cooked up some chapati on a giant grill in front of me, flipping it in the air like pizza dough. Another had me choose what I'd like from a number of dishes in front of me: some rice, some sweet chicken legs and something else with shrimp in it. Throwing it all on the plate with gusto, he painted the completed dish with a flourish of a couple more sauces, tied up the bag and wrapped it in newspaper. For maybe $2-3. Voilà, dinner is served.

Penang: Day Three.

An extremely hot and humid day in Penang today and we decided to wade our way through the large Sunday market set up at the base of the hill on which the Buddhist Temple, Kek Lok Si, is perched. This Temple, which seems to appear magnificently over you when you approach it, is the largest in south-east Asia and quite a sight to behold. Still being expanded today, Kek Lok Si is more than 110 years old.

With so many colours, shapes and interesting angles, it was really no surprise that I finally filled my camera's memory card today. The tiling and woodwork are breathtaking, as are the views of the city and the mountain. Throughout, of course, are numerous giant Buddhas in his various forms, some which are trampling crazed-looking demons. Apparently, the site is even more breathtaking at night.

To get up the hill to the temple, you must run the gauntlet of vendors who line both sides of the narrow, covered steps, frantically grabbing at your sleeves and saying "Buy something? Best price, best price!" Of course, if all that's grabbed is your sleeve, you're doing well. I got into a stare down with a young guy who had accidentally -- or not -- been feeling around SCS's rear pockets. At a little more than five feet tall, his eyes broke the lock first and he scurried away, deeper into layers of fabric, smiling Buddhas and cheap t-shirts.

SCS made off like a bandit with her negotiating today, driving prices down and laughing the whole time. "Best price" became a new "best price" became a new best price. And then, a final price. The farther away from the stall you were the lower the price would go as though Ringetts could disappear into vapors with the shrinking sounds of words, lost in the mayhem. For a culture not overly accustomed to negotiating, I think SCS and I have done pretty well and, at the end of the day, everything is so cheap here that it's tough to get too upset either way. Weaving back in and out of traffic, we took in the smells of many more hawker stalls and also passed a religious procession where oxen were pulling a cart of Hindu effects.

We enjoyed lunch at the Temple of Fine Arts with SCS's friend, where there was an Indian buffet and the slogan: "Eat what you like. Pay what you like." Wow, that's pretty trusting, non? It was a restaurant where you take your shoes off when you enter and was run by volunteers. I also finally broke down and had my first mango lassi, not generally being too big a fan of mangos. All and all, it was another fantastic meal.

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 Two.

It was a quieter day in Penang as I had the opportunity in the morning to join SCS at her conference, which included a number of the top bloggers in the world (notably contentious Malaysian bloggers, who are attempting to mobilize action in a country devoid of press freedom) and human rights activists. (Thanks for the shout-out, Peter.) It was particularly interesting to be able to put faces to a number of individuals about whom I have read a fair bit in SCS's papers and to hear their views in person. I'm thinking the only reason SCS asked me to come to the talk was that she wanted a piping hot latte. But I might be wrong.

I also wandered around the subdivisions around where we're staying until SCS finished her work and we were able to head back downtown. I had wanted to go see the Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion, also known as the 'Blue Mansion' because of its startlingly blue walls, which helped it win a UNESCO award. We weren't able to get inside, but it was still a sight to see from the exterior.

We again wandered down through the streets of Penang and into a couple of crazy Chinese and Indian stores with fireworks, golden Buddhas, flowers and other religious icons wrapped in plastic. We also went into a local art gallery and store where the owner graciously toured us around and pointing out various pieces, including one SCS particularly liked of a surrealist cat with fish eyes painted by a 94 year-old man.

For dinner, we stopped into a little Indian shop and had some Tandoori chicken, Mee Goreng and assorted other delights. You really cannot beat the value for food here -- we were full and quenched for about $6. Apparently, many of the hawker stalls follow traditional recipes passed down through their families and tend to specialize in just a few items.

Once we had had enough of wandering, we went back to the Eastern & Oriental hotel to watch the sun set over the water and enjoy a glass of wine. As it got dark, a cruise ship sparkled through the Straits -- needless to say, it was a nice setting.

Stopping at the grocery store on the way home, the security guard wanted her to check her umbrella with the coat check. She looked at him rather incredulously, as if to say: "Hunh? You think I'm going to smuggle a bundle of bananas inside this wee thing?" It was odd, but not as strange as the hotel refusing to provide us with another blanket at the end of the night. Wedding after wedding in the hotel this weekend...

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.