Penchant for Penang

Prepare thyself for a lengthy love story between two men and an island. If you have five minutes and want to learn why Penang is such an incredible island, don’t read this. My love for Penang will not be diluted for your benefit.

Staring at the same movie play on repeat as the sun went down on our last day in Thailand, we crossed from Ko Tao to the mainland in order to find our way to Malaysia. First, we had to get to the train station. Wandering around aimlessly we were delirious with ignorance, yet by complete luck a man heard us say ‘train station’ and we hopped on a suspiciously out of place double decker bus. Train station achieved, we asked for a ticket to the border town. No dice. So, we got a ticket to the next closest place, Hat Yai, a city we knew nothing about. So, with around six hours to kill we found somewhere to get food and hang around watching football, with Brendan very slowly sipping a solitary coke for hours as proof of our patronage. We eagerly left the watering hole to catch the train but it turned up hours late. Miraculously we we found ourselves on a sleeper train that was actually suitable for sleep and not the sad uncomfortable slumberous imitation of sleep that we were used to. The air-con was blasting, bunks had curtains and a set of fresh bed linen was provided. It wasn’t long before we were both inspecting the inside of our eyelids.

We were awoken just before our station and quickly hurried to give back our bed linen and get off the train. The inspector was pushy but when compared to the calm malevolence of the “The Enforcer” from our last night train, he was fine. You know what push me around all you want. Seven hours of train travel later and now, in the early hours of the morning, we pottered onto the station of Hat Yai in the south of Thailand. Still extremely tired, we looked around for someone to take us to Malaysia. Luckily, outside of the train station there were many private bus companies and we organised our minibus seats without too much hassle. Our next thought was to stoke our internal fires with some fried chicken. Despite knock knock knocking on heaven’s door, KFC wouldn’t open its doors to us this early in the morning (apparently the Colonel isn’t an early riser), so we settled for a bag of crisps and I demolished an ice cold mocha.

An hour later, and still wired from my hit of caffeine and condensed milk, we hopped on our bus with a family (many of whom were wearing camouflage t-shirts) and set off to the border. The family took us in as their own camouflaged kin. They made conversation, offered us egg waffles, and made sure that we didn’t get lost at the border crossing. After entering Malaysia, we crossed a truly enormous road bridge to the island of Penang, bid our adopted bus family farewell and thus began our Malay Odyssey. 

The City

After settling into our hostel, which had the faux-inspiring travel quotes of a self-regarding generation (shout out to my people!) scrawled onto the walls, we decided on what we wanted to do. The plan was that our next few days should be for exploring what the city of Georgetown had to offer (before venturing out to explore the rest of the enormous island of Penang).

Georgetown, the island’s city (and one of the largest in the country), was first established in 1786 by Francis Light of the British East India company after leasing the island of Penang from the Sultan. Eventually, the Sultan wanted his land back but the British weren’t particularly keen, so ignored him and kept it. Georgetown grew exponentially from there and despite the whole colonialism stigma, Light actually gained the respect and love of locals and peers alike, learning the local language and managing to keep the much more evil colonial powers of the Dutch at bay. After his death from malaria in 1794, his son William took up the familial reigns of reassigning the ownership of indigenous people’s land and set up the first free state of Australia (also founding the city of Adelaide). 

The British colony of Georgetown continued to thrive and diversify until WW2 when under considerable pressure from the Imperial Japanese powers, the British scuttled off silently, secretly allowing the Japanese control over Penang. This started years of brutal occupation which included the ethnic cleansing of Chinese populace, severe social oppression and sex slavery of the local women for the Japanese army.

Once the Japanese had surrendered, the British returned but with more questions over the ethics of their presence not only in Penang but also in South East Asia. Post-independence the city went into a massive decline and it has only been in the last 20 years that the city has been cleaned up and invested into, in a large part thanks to being named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Walking around the quiet streets we really did get a sense of the vibrant history of the city. The abundance of colourful pre-war buildings sets this city apart from the rest of South East Asia and while the British influence on the city is clear, the large Indian and Chinese communities have influenced design too. As you pass shuttered houses or walk beneath the infinite archways that flank the narrow roads, you feel connected with the history of the place through the atmosphere that the setting exudes. Paint is flaking off the façades revealing their red brick skeletons, old wooden shutters are stained from a century of tropical punishment and the metal crosshatch gates slowly rust in front of people’s front doors, but the truth is that the imperfections amount to something special. We crisscrossed our way to the seafront, stopping in a few of the food courts that are scattered liberally around the city. But then with the ominous clouds of an afternoon tropical storm coalescing, heaving their dense grey mass closer to our position, we decided to pick up the pace and make it to somewhere for a smoothie of some sort. Somehow as the first rain drops fell, a gentle warning of the deluge to follow, we were stood between two opposing smoothie establishments. We were deciding between a busy place with an impressive menu or a sparsely decorated, garishly pink place that was completely empty (not even an employee in sight), buuuut it did have Sangria on the menu. So, as the rain bombarded the street, the thunder rumbled overhead and the water overflowed the trench-like drains, we sat and watched the water varnish the road with a rippling sheen as we emptied a carafe (or two) of Sangria. 

While the buildings would be enough to interest most people, the city has gone one better and filled itself with truly amazing street art. Whether it is a large piece of graffiti the size of a house or a small piece incorporating a real object such as a bike, the street art is diverse and beautiful. However, one of my favourite creative projects in the city was a set of 52 wrought iron caricature scenes telling the history of Penang through artistic and often humorous snapshots. Some people hunt out all of the street art points in the city, however, being two people who feel deeply uncomfortable with an itinerary, we just happened upon some and enjoyed them when we did. 

One such moment of happenstance was when we saw a sign to ‘Art Lane’ and followed it. It happened to be part stitched together houses and part alleyway that covertly takes you through a block of Georgetown’s city centre. Within the confines of Art Lane was a whole load of art. Who would’ve guessed? But we were astounded at the variety and the quality.

Fake food. Real smiles

Having done our Sangria assisted recce of the city, we now set out to figure out what else there was to do. Turns out an awful lot. Our conservative estimate for a four-day trip to Penang was being thrown back in our faces and we were happy to be proved wrong. So, as with every city of the world, we sought out some museums. However, now among the colourful buildings of Georgetown it wasn’t the time for heart rending reminders of wartime atrocities such as in Ho Chi Minh City and it wasn’t the time to stare at crystals that resemble perfectly cooked pieces of pork (although the porky mineral exhibit in Taipei was surprisingly close to our first destination’s subject matter). 

Wonderfood Museum was not somewhere I was particularly bothered about visiting but as always Brendan persuaded me, we paid and went in. First, we learnt about the history of Malay cuisine and how it has had such strong influences from the Chinese and Indian communities. There were some very interesting and detailed exhibits about daily life in the country and how culinary traditions have helped shaped it. However, it was when we spotted the dress up section that I was truly sold on the museum. We dressed up as chefs which, I don’t think I’m being presumptuous in suggesting, made us five times better looking (at least). Who knew that an apron and a frankly impractical hat would kickstart our modelling careers just like that (maybe that guy in Panama City was on to something). After derobing, we made our way through the rest of the museum which was most famous for its enormous hyper-realistic food sculptures which were incredibly impressive and then rooms and rooms of food related photo opportunities in which we had a lot of fun. In conclusion, I learnt almost nothing but got to dress up and play with food; the Playdoh eating toddler in my brain had wrestled control for the day and was loving it. 

Contrastingly, our next museum trip was stumbled on by complete accident and we had never even heard of it. One day we had decided to explore the enormous Komtar building and mall to see what delights the gigantic building may contain. In general, we were a little confused by many empty corridors and sparse shopping areas. Nevertheless, we were enjoying seeking the strangeness that any mall has hiding within its bloated belly. In this one we found a museum, at the back of a tourist store dedicated solely to the durian fruit. Apparently it had displays of durian artwork and sculptures but the entrance fee was truly extortionate so we moved on, avoiding the also pricey Space Museum and just when all hope was lost we came to Penang’s House of Music. We were greeted by the lady at reception and she explained what the museum contained, we were on the fence but she also explained that we get an hour tour with the ticket and then access to the museum all day even if we wanted to leave and come back.

The museum was a detailed cultural tour of Penang through the ages and encapsulated the importance of music through each period in its history. It ended up being so much more than that though, it had been designed to be as interactive as possible. There were instruments of all types strewn around the place which you could play, there was a recording studio to record your own radio show, an area to put your feet up, stick on the record player and listen to music. We loved the place. I tried my hand at puppet theatre and playing the Guqin (which emits the musical embodiment of China, even with my embarrassingly non-existent musical ability), while Brendan took to the booth to finally record his late-night jazz radio show. After all of Brendan’s listeners were suitably soothed by his baritone whisperings and all the imaginary children had fled my gratuitously violent Malay version of Punch and Judy, we sat and listened to some Saturday Night Fever. This place, without a doubt, is one of my favourite museums I’ve ever been to. The lady that showed us around was knowledgeable and personable, and while the museum itself was a treasure trove of musical history, it was more importantly a whole lot of fun.

Monkey Excursions

Part of the reason we had extended our stay was the knowledge that Penang held much more than Georgetown for us to explore. One such exploration opportunity was Penang Hill, which is an area comprising of the highest peaks on the island. However, thinking that we could manage a bit more than that in one day, we decided to spend our morning in the shadow of a large woman, both physically and metaphorically. After an impatient wait in the dark airless underbelly of Komtar Mall where the bus station was housed, we caught our bus to Air Itam.

We were heading to Kek Lok Si, the largest Buddhist temple in Malaysia and an important pilgrimage site for Buddhists across South East Asia. Built between 1890 and 1930, the temple complex houses pagodas upon pagodas, prayer halls, and flower gardens but the most impressive feature of all was at the top of the inclined elevators. We took them up and stood in utter awe at the sight in front of us. Rising from the flower garden and courtyard was a pavilion 83 metres tall (the equivalent of a 20-storey building), the roof was a three-tier pagoda continuing the ornate carvings from the pavilion’s support pillars. The pavilion itself wasn’t even the main attraction, inside is the enormous statue of Kuan Yi, the Goddess of mercy. In terms of big ol’ statues that I’ve seen, Kuan Yi dwarfed Nicaraguan Jesus in size but she didn’t seem to be pointing the way to any beachside bars which was disappointing. I suppose that Jesus will show you the way to a alcohol soaked paradise but Kuan Yi will have mercy on your frail hungover carcass on the morning after. They are the deity dream team! As Kuan Yi continued her ceaseless gaze over Georgetown, we descended and visited a few more pagodas. Finally, we left and walked off through Air Itam to get to the base of Penang hill.

Deciding wisely against climbing the hill, we took the much less strenuous funicular to the top where we set about finding things. Much like at Kok Tobe in Almaty, the top of this hill was adorned with fairground tat, but upon sighting the Rodelbahn (sled on tracks), I instantly knew I needed to ride it. However, my childminder cruely dragged me away and promised we could look at the price later, so taking that as a binding verbal contract of soon to be had fun, I skipped off towards the rainforest trails. We walked along the small road for a while, occasionally glimpsing incredible views of the city but eventually turned off and wound our way through the forest. The path was well maintained and short but really enjoyable because we managed to avoid standard rainforest incidents such as: a fatal snake bite, nature’s acupuncture by manner of three-inch-long tree spikes, or arguably worse than both, the stink of sweat-soaked Brendan and James reaching your nostrils. On our way back, we saw groups of incredibly cute Dusky Leaf monkeys in the trees, one with a baby. Their white spectacled faces made them look almost cartoon-like but we watched intently until they jumped out of view. Upon our return to the main area we did indeed ride the Rodelbahn, I was placated and we headed home. 

Another day another adventure, this time to the aptly named Monkey Beach on the North West of the island. First, we grabbed ourselves a long bus to the nearest town and then set off along the trail which traversed the forest’s surmountable fringes and hugged the beautiful coastline. To make a change from the norm, we went out prepared for the hike with plenty of water. That state of affairs changed 5 minutes into the hike when a very sweaty man approached from the other direction asking me for water. Being the kind human being that I am, I handed over my bottle (without a single ounce of nauseating hatred for the man who I can still imagine greedily guzzling my liquid lifeline). Aren’t I an inspiration? Continuing, we enjoyed the trail’s twists and turns, however, the standard sweat situation had arisen. As we skirted the large monitor lizards lazing in the sun and found our way closer to Monkey Beach, the situation was grew ever more dire. We were lacking in swimming shorts but that wasn’t going to stop us. We arrived, kicked off our shoes, asked ourselves what we were thinking; there was now sand in our shoes, that’s how you get blisters isn’t it? Jesus, how about some forethought in the future? Regathering our composure (and our shoes), we set them down at the base of a big rock with the rest of our much more delicately placed items and hoped beyond hope that the significant body odour lingering around our pile of items would deter monkeys from thievery. Finally, we whipped off our tops and committed to the non-swimming shorts swim. Long story short, I didn’t drown, monkeys didn’t make off with our things and the beach goers couldn’t get enough of the “Daniel Craig exiting the water” situation that was happening right in front of their disbelieving eyes… at the other end of the beach… We on the other hand stumbled out of the water like two uncoordinated, hastily made creatures and did some chilling. An hour of sunbathing later and it was getting late so we got a boat back to town so we didn’t have to get disgusting on the trail again.

“Tssssskk… Ahhhhhh”

Penang and Georgetown are perhaps best known for their food. We had seen a wealth of James-sized portions in the Wonderfood museum but unfortunately, they were not fit for human consumption so we decided to seek out some real food. One of our regular haunts during the week was a posh bakery around the corner from the hostel which sold proper, unsweetened, freshly cooked bread. That would’ve been enough for us but they also had a menu of sandwiches, soups and cakes which were unbelievable. I’m not a soup man but their carrot and ginger soup served with a large sandwich was undoubtably the best way to start a day. If you were feeling particularly greedy you could get caramelised bananas on sweet french toast too which I might’ve done on every single occasion.

In terms of the most important meal of the day, dinner, we dabbled in Chinese and traditional Malay food on occasion but we became obsessed with the Indian food. Throughout our trip from Uzbekistan to here, Indian food had been a way to treat ourselves, a pricey reminder of home. Whether it was an unexpected curry in the Pamir Mountains or a samosa celebration in Phnom Penh, they were an extravagance we indulged in as we crossed Asia. In Malaysia, Indian food is the norm and we couldn’t quite believe our luck. Self-control has never been my forte in the culinary department, so Indian food was leapt upon at most opportunities. On one such occasion, we had left the hostel with a Dutch traveller who knew the city and showed us her favourite Indian food in town. After eating two curries, half a chicken, rice and two naan breads I was feeling that kind of happy where you’re completely immobile. So, in a manoeuvre akin to the Umpalumpas rolling Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I was shifted through Little India, past the magnificent temple and to the sweet shop. Hidden among lots of little stores, we would never have found this tooth rotting paradise. Having never had Indian sweets before, I picked out an impressive assortment of multi-coloured confectionaries. They were all ridiculously sugary. Don’t get me wrong they were very tasty and varied, but somehow it seems they had all been crafted from pure sugar. I, of course, soldiered through and finished off my box, but at what cost?

Later that night we were shown where people in Georgetown drink on the cheap. It was a shop/warehouse (Antarabangsa Enterprise) but selling cans of beer for less than £1. Ignoring the almost certain illegality of this “enterprise” that was selling alcohol so cheap, we invested in the only way we knew how. Outside were stacks and stacks of plastic chairs and so you grab your beer or drink of choice from the myriad of fridges, pay the fat man at the counter and thus the night begins. We were tucking into a few cold ones when our Dutch companion was spotted by some of her friends. They were a group of Jordanian guys doing their PhDs in Malaysia and they joined us for the night. They were great company and soon it was time to leave, so we hopped in their car as gracefully as the beer and soju mixture allowed us to and headed to the club. The chain-smoking started in the car and continued into the confined single room club, it was unpleasant but the night was great. We left absolutely honking of cigarettes, I was convinced 10 years had been taken off my life but that morbid thought was quickly forgotten when the promise of a greasy burger came around. The next day (after Penang Hill) we were invited to their flat on the outskirts of Georgetown for some Jordanian food which they cooked from scratch. We met their friends from around the Arabic speaking world, some other Dutch girls also turned up and we tucked into two enormous maqlubas. It was a truly special experience and a memory I’ll treasure forever. 

Special mentions:

• Other than this strange Dutch/ Jordanian combo, we also met an amazing British couple, Jack and Paige, who we went out for drinks with one night to Chinahouse. This was was a beautiful restaurant, café, courtyard, bar, live music venue and art gallery stretching through an entire block of the city much like Art Lane.
• Nasi Kandar also deserves a mention. It is a northern Malay dish originating from Penang but popularised by Tamil Muslim traders from India. The dish is pretty much rice, a selection of curries and side dishes but served on one plate. We went to Hameediyah (the oldest Nasi Kandar place in Penang), where you point at which dishes you want from what is best described as an ice cream parlour set up for curries. We tucked into the rich intermingling curries and the different meats which made this simple meal quite the feast.

Final Thoughts

Georgetown is, quite simply, one of my favourite cities in the world. It struck us as the full package and after a full week in the city we could’ve stayed for another. Only one thing dulled the love for this city, sucked the life from the colourful streets, perfectly crafted cuisine and relaxed atmosphere. That solitary thing was a man called Erwyn. This was a man who was violently friendly. This unfortunate over sociability affliction meant I was instantly not a fan, so I turned myself onto the ‘minimum levels of human social response’ setting which did not totally deter him but did turn his attention to the irrepressibly sociable Brendan. But being over-friendly is not enough to drive us to this level of dislike, in fact it truly began when Erwyn tried to claim that ‘zild’ is a word on Scrabble. Trusting him, we continued and this man whose second language was English beat us all by the width of a zild. What does Zild mean? NOTHING. It’s not a bloody scrabble word. This irked us all, Jack and Paige left for bed and not much later I did too. Brendan, still engaged in conversation with Erwyn, stayed. However, getting extremely strong vibes of homoerotic affection, Brendan left for bed too, despite the pleads of Erwin and the promises he would wait for Brendan to return. Brendan did not return, and Erwyn waited for over an hour. In that hour, he called Brendan around ten times and sent him many desperate messages. After explaining his dedication to the straight disposition Brendan turned off his phone and went to sleep. The messages that followed begged Brendan to engage in many explicit acts as his, “final request, my last favour”. Luckily, I escaped with some unwilling selfies of me and him, 20 new likes on my Facebook profile and a comment saying, “Very sexy.” Concerned that the most interest we had garnered on this trip was from an older Filipino man, we took our frustration out on the walls of the hostel. Jack quite rightly wrote “Zild is not a real word” while Paige quoted Erwyn’s disturbing final words to us. But alas, Erwyn will stay blocked on our Facebooks for as long as Georgetown will remain in our hearts; forever.