An American in Asia: His Quest for Cosmic Truth (or at least a Decent Espresso)

 

After I left Japan, and before I went back to the States, I hied myself off to Kuala Lumpur for a month. I wanted to pursue some opportunities there related to the translation job I had been doing and I wasn't quite ready to head home yet. I chose Malaysia because I'd already been to Thailand and I hadn't heard much about its neighbor to the south.

The Petronas Towers. Symbol of Malaysia's economic strength. They were the tallest twin towers in the world for about 6 months.

I had no idea what KL would be like. I took a flight just a week after I had decided to go, so I barely had time to pick up a copy of the Lonely Planet Malaysia guide and skim it.

I learned that Malaysia is a primarily Islamic country, but there is a 30% Chinese population as well, so no way could you outlaw pork in KL. The country does not fit the stereotype of a conservative Islamic nation and KL is quite cosmopolitan.

Walking around Little India.

Though, while I was there I read a story in a local English-language newspaper about how the Religious Police busted in on a couple and booked them for adultery. They spent a night in jail before a lawyer showed up with the papers to prove they'd been married for years. And I'm thinking, "Wait. Religious Police?" Those are two words that shouldn't be touching.

While the city is certainly not unfriendly, people don't seem to smile much in Kuala Lumpur. Not at a big White guy anyway. Random people smile at me in Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Japan, but during the weeks I was in KL, I didn't see a whole lot of teeth. Then, people don't smile much in New York either.

I stayed in Chinatown. At The Chinatown. KL is not as cheap as other Southeast Asian cities but it was cheaper than Tokyo, which suited me. I had spent all my money and then some sending my stuff back to America.

Chinatown

Descending towards KL International Airport, I had seen low hills covered with vegetation, which looked interesting and inviting, but I never got out to see it, or even beyond the city's suburbs.

As per usual, I commenced filling all my free time with long walks. In Chinatown, sidewalks are set halfway under the overhanging 2nd story of a building and once it started raining I found out why. When it rained, it poured buckets and soaked everything. Dashing to the next overhang across the street was like going for a swim. The rain was warm so, being from Seattle where it's always chilly, it was kind of a special experience.

The streets of Chinatown were filled with vendors all day and up until around midnight. Every day when I left the hotel, the same guy would try to sell me bootlegged DVD's and every day I told him I didn't have a DVD player. After a while I think it got to be kind of a joke, though he never cracked a grin.

Now, this was before George W's colonization of Iraq, but we were already messing around in Afghanistan and friends in Japan worried that I might have trouble visiting a largely Muslim country. So I kept my eyes open for anyone who wanted to strike a tiny blow against America by offing a tall, dorky-looking tourist, but it never happened.

Many people asked where I was from in daily conversations and I always told them the truth. Except for once. I had hailed a cab and loaded in my big hurking suitcase. After we had already started, he wanted to charge me extra for the suitcase, like it was putting a strain on his engine or something.

I wouldn't have him changing the price after we were already moving and I was a little pissed that he thought he could do it just because I was a tourist. No different than calling me an idiot to my face, really. We started haranguing each other and spent the next 15 minutes fuming and fussing over a few Ringhit. For me it was the principle of the thing and maybe I was in a bad mood. Eventually I won out and we rode on in a dark silence.

The ride was only halfway over and I realized an apology would hurt less than 20 minutes of tension. So I took a deep breath and said my sorries for the fight and asked if he was from KL and did he have kids.

He relaxed a bit and started asking me questions back. When he came around to asking me where I was from, I told him Seattle. He said, "Oh, is that in Canada?" I looked around at the piles of Islamic paraphernalia on his dashboard and at all the dark nowhere outside and said, "Yeah. It's in Canada." Why give him another reason to be pissed off at me?

I had to come up with a few factoids about Canada after that. If you decide to masquerade as a Canadian during your vacation to an Islamic country, I recommend you learn the population and area in square kilometers. The major industries are making cheese and drinking beer, of course. Just watch the Canadian historical documentary, 'Strange Brew' a couple of times and you should be OK.

The Malaysian 'burbs.

Apartments in Malaysia were kind of cool. And, after Japan, big. Because of the weather, everyone had windows which never closed and the floors were all made of stone or tile. The places stay cool even if they don't have air conditioning. It's a very modern country and one of the strongest economies in Asia. Everyone I visited seemed to have a computer and a huge entertainment system. And geckos on their walls.

A cement post farm.

It seemed like construction was going on everywhere, but there were also quite a number of half finished buildings lying abandoned. And when I took the train (which was new at the time) that connects the airport to the capital, it wasn't getting much use and I had a whole car to myself.

Fountain in front of the Twin Towers.

I usually ate in Chinatown and my very nice friend showed me a very nice place that was part antique store and part Malaysian Chinese restaurant. You sat among stacks of beautiful old colonial antiques and ate really great spicy food and if anything caught your fancy you could buy it. Down to the table and plates you ate from. I heard one tourist guy ask the waitress if that included her. If she was laughing at his lame joke, she was doing it without smiling or making any noise.

One night instead of going to Chinatown's cafes or the little bars with bands that were bigger than the audience, I stumbled into a karaoke bar. Waitresses in short skirts served drinks and expected the patrons to return the favor by buying them one. The night I went all the waitresses were busy with a group of very well-dressed young Chinese men, which was fine by me. I drank happily by myself and watched people from the bar.

The karaoke was loud and everyone seemed to really get into singing big, weepy love songs. At one point I noticed a man smoking from a small silver pipe with a very small bowl. Then I saw him pass it to the girl beside him. And she passed it around the table.

I don't know what was in the pipe but, from the way it was being handled, it was something much more valuable than tabacco. It was interesting to watch people smoking contraband openly in a bar. Especially in a country where the flight attendants cheerfully warn you as your plane descends that "the penalty for smuggling illegal drugs is death."

It was hot for a walk, but at least I wasn't stuck in the big parking lot they optimistically call 'traffic'.

Coming from the relative cleanliness of Tokyo, I was a bit shocked by the state of some KL streets. The main shopping centres around the Petronas Towers are well-kept, but Chinatown was a mess.

For all it's modernity and the strength of it's economy, it's a shockingly gross place to walk after a rain. That squishing noise is not mud. It's mushy mushy garbage. The rats are huge and very brave. Vendors of food and whatever else just throw their garbage on the ground to create a big smelly ecosystem right there.

By the end of a night there is a solid layer of plastic bags, cardboard, rotten food and Styrofoam containers in the streets where vendors have been. The garbage men come at around 2am and by 6am the street is reasonably cleared and ready for another layer of filth.

Walking to Little India

If Mike Myers decides to make another Austin Powers film, god forbid, he should definitely go to KL's Little India for costume ideas. If you bought a few shirts there and some tight velvet pants, you'd be the swinginest swinger in Swinging London. Honestly I saw stuff there that made Austin Powers look like a poster boy for The Gap. And of course I had to buy some. Anybody wanna swing?

One big problem I have in Southeast Asia is my style. For a few years now I've been into this rockabilly-inpired schtick, wearing tight pegged pants, good leather on the feet and a tasteful but loud bowling-style shirt. Not a Hawaiian print mind you, but definitely more eye-catching that your average Izod.

This works fine in New York. In L.A., I blend in and in Tokyo I actually get complements from strangers. But in Southeast Asia, where they actually make these shirts, I look exactly like a tourist fresh off the boat, ready to spend wads of cash on any sort of krazy krap the vendors want to sell. It bums me out no end.

So now, in Thailand, I've slowly compromised my sense of style. The local idea of hip is mired around 1985 and basically involves showing how big your paycheck is. Jewellery is usually big yellow chunks of gold and clothing always has some European guy's name plastered all over the place.

On top of that, even fashionable men wear sandals without an ounce of shame. OK, it's hot so I bought a pair too, but every time I look down and see my little piggies waving in the breeze I feel like I'd better hurry up and get to a suburban lawn party.

From all this you might get the impression that I was not impressed by Kuala Lumpur. In fact, I was definitely impressed and I had a good time, mainly thanks to fine friends there. But I'm not in a hurry to go back. I'd say there are at least six other places in the region I would rather visit first. Anyway, it was an experience and I got to see my first wild gecko so I can't seriously complain.