"The Layover", Singapore

Coincidentally, Anthony Bourdain had a recent episode of his new show the Layover taking place in Singapore. He makes some good points about the wondrous city planning, the fantastic eating culture there (there are only two things to do in Singapore--eat and shop), and that only Westerners drink the disgusting Singapore Sling.

The famous asam laksa,
Penang style. Oh yeah ...

But let's get something straight, Bourdain--the food in Singapore ain't all that, man! Stop leading people on that Singapore is an eater's paradise. It's good stuff, sure, but it's all a bastardized version of Malaysian food! Hong Kong dim sum there is the same as Hong Kong dim sum anywhere, but if a person wants real chicken rice, real asam laksa (none of that Singaporean curry laksa, please), real fish head curry, real nasi lemak, don't lead him or her on to go to Singapore. The real eating is in Malaysia.

The food in Singapore has been adapted and devolved to fit tourists' taste. (As my brother-in-law puts it, all of Singapore is a tourist trap, albeit a nice one.) And seriously, how can hawker centers that are that clean be any good? Singapore may be cleaner, safer, more modern, more organized, more democratic than its northern neighbor, but when it comes to food, Malaysia wins hands down.

Bourdain, you need to head back to Malaysia for another swing through the hawker centers. My mother-in-law can show you around.

Utopia, Leviathan, or the ultimate rat-race?

We went to Singapore for three days right before our trip to Pulau Bidong. The blog posts are a bit out of order (inspiration doesn't follow chronological order). But here goes.

Welcome to Singapore,
said the Merlion

The city-state of Singapore is a unique case study of what a people can do when they are unified in thought and process. And in the example of Singapore, it’s to create a society and economy wrapped around human capital and capitalism. In the five decades (give or take a few years) that Singapore has existed as a country, it has become one of the most dynamic and modern nations in the world, vastly outpacing Malaysia (with which it has a shared history) and all of South East Asia. All the while, the island-nation has no natural resources and covers only 268 square miles and with a population of only 5.184 million.

Is Singapore indeed a utopia: a democratic, vibrant, diverse society, with little crime and a great eating culture? Or is it a nation with a federal government that is so deeply ingrained in all aspects of life there, going to what in the US we would consider extreme measures to impose capitalism, civility, cleanliness, and order: the true embodiment of Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan? Or is Singapore the ultimate rat-race, where people are put under immense pressure to perform at work and school, logging long hours to jump up in the corporate ladder; where people walk fast and even the escalators similarly move at a rapid pace?

To be honest, Singapore is all of that. It’s a small population unified by a single goal--the drive to succeed. This includes all aspects of life. The country seems to be under constant construction—or reconstruction—keeping it modern. But at the same time, there is respect for its history—the old Chinese cantons are kept and updated and the former British colonial buildings are preserved. And this is perhaps the cleanest city I have ever seen.

Blending the old with
the new in Chinatown

Singaporeans have decided that for this to happen, there has to be a strong government presence involved, imposing its will through regulations. Singapore is often described as a “fine” city. And by that, the city would fine the crap out of you for minor infractions—littering, simply possessing chewing gum, jaywalking, whatever. And I mean fines in the thousands of dollars. (Oddly, I’ve been told the fine for public nudity is only in the few hundreds—go figure!) And illegal drugs? You’re risking your life there. And all this effort is to keep the city-nation clean, orderly, modern, and safe. Want to gamble at the new Marina Bay Sands as a Singaporean citizen? Pony up a hundred bucks first. This is the government’s attempt to keep its citizens from getting addicted to gambling.

Being an American, I find this type of morality regulation and excessive government intrusion a bit much, but hey, it works for Singaporeans: the city/country is clean, orderly, wonderfully planned; their subway runs on time; and the economy is strong--which is more than I can say about the US. Who am I to say that they're doing it wrong?

The Marina Bay Sands, an
indulgence in grandiosity

Is the pace of life in Singapore, then, necessarily fast with an exceedingly strong push to succeed in order to keep this mythos of "Singapore"? With my laid-back California pace, I nearly tripped when getting on the escalator the first time in the MRT station. But perhaps that says more about Californians--and Americans in general--than about Singaporeans. Perhaps we've lost our drive, become too comfy, forgotten what it takes to excel because we've lived the good-life for too long, and our economy is struggling to recover as a consequence.

Something to ponder as we struggle to maintain our roads and highways and bleed manufacturing jobs out of our noses.

A boatride to my history

The open sea

Most people take their birth certificate for granted. They know exactly which hospital they were born in, which doctor delivered them, how much they weighed when they popped out, and the exact time the popping out occurred. For me, this type of information has always eluded me—I mean, I have a birth certificate, but it just doesn’t have all that info, a metaphor, maybe, for a missing part of my life. The time spent at the refugee camps seemed like a stolen time in life for many people. For too many, the escape by boat from Vietnam for unknown lands through unknown seas to an unknown future stole their entire life. I won’t ever know what time exactly I was born, or how much I weighed when I was delivered. But at least a visit to my birthplace, the refugee camps on Pulau Bidong, where my family lived in for nearly 1 ½ years, to which they had escaped to by boat from their home in Vietnam, would bring my life full circle 32 years later.

Full steam ahead

The open water seemed like liquid sapphire with shades of obsidian as the boat sped across the South China Sea. The sunshine glittered on undulating waves like diamonds against blue-stained glass. It was about a ½ hour boat ride from Merang to our destination of Pulau Bidong—the time passed quickly as we watched the mainland disappear into the horizon just as the island began to take form before us. The sea was only a bit choppy and the boat bounced whenever it crested a wave; for a landlubber like me, it was a rare opportunity. As a land mass formed before us and a streak of white sand began to appear, I pondered whether this was similar to what my parents and so many other Vietnamese boat people saw as they approached Pulau Bidong.

A memorial to those lost at sea,
depicting a father pulling his
dead daughter out of the water

This boatride to Bidong was the culmination of a six-hour drive from KL to the main city in the area, Kuala Terengganu, and from there a 45-minute drive to the departing port in Merang. But it was also 32 years in the making, a “coming home” of sorts to the place I was born and lived the first few months of my life. The trip fulfilled a long-held curiosity of mine about my birthplace. Deeply intertwined with that is a desire to more closely understand the experience my parents and brothers, my extended family, and—on a broader scope—the Vietnamese diaspora, including some of my friends, went through living in refugee camps at the island.

I won’t repeat the story of the Vietnamese boatpeople, other than to say that my family was one of the first few batches to arrive at Pulau Bidong. They—all Vietnamese refugees—risked getting lost at sea, running out of food and water, capsizing, being attacked by pirates—endless threats—in an effort to escape a country that was their home to a difficult life in a refugee camp. The Vietnamese are known for their resiliency, to say the least.

White-sand beaches at
Zone C of the island

Beauty with a history
of pain and sacrifice

For all intents and purposes, the island is deserted. A few fishermen hang out of the relatively new wharf, hiding from the relentless sun to fix their nets. The jungle and the undergrowth had taken over the island, though the four beaches remain pristine and breathtaking. We disembarked from the boat and made our way from the wharf onto the beach. The iron husk of a refugee boat remains (reputedly haunted), just the nose jutting from the sand. We saw black-tipped reef shark wading near the shoreline to hunt a school of fish that were attempting to find refuge among the rocks, an allegory perhaps of the Vietnamese refugees. This was the beach the refugees would've first seen when they arrived, and the beach they would leave from for the mainland if they were taken in by a third country. This beach was sandy, with dead coral and shellfish collecting. Other beaches were beautiful, with white sand as fine as powder and breathtaking scenery.

Rosli and his one-man effort
to keep history alive

Our guide, Rosli Mohamad, is a former Red Cross worker at the camp (after my family left) and has started a museum in Kuala Terengganu. He stated that as part of the effort to close the camp, all the buildings were burned to prevent pirates from using them. All that is left are several monuments, the remains of a Buddhist temple and Christian church, a couple of burnt-out structures, a car that refugees used to learn automobile repair, and the iron remains of the aforementioned boat. Rosli himself is a nice guy and speaks Vietnamese. He genuinely seems affected by the several years he spent at the camps as a social worker, and has some ideas on how to preserve and respect the history on the island.

If you are interested in going to Pulau Bidong, supporting Rosli’s effort to establish a museum, or joining the Pulau Bidong Ex-Workers Association (there really is an association for everything!) contact Rosli at lie3827@yahoo.com. Here are some tips:

• Bring appropriate footwear. You’ll be trekking through some tough undergrowth and jungle.
  
  
• Bring lots of water. It’s hot and humid and you need to stay hydrated.
  
  
• Bring bug spray. I was violated repeatedly by mosquitoes.
  
  
• Your starting off point would be Kuala Terengganu. You can fly there from KL or drive ( six hours). Unless you're going with a local, I recommend flying.
  
  
• We stayed at Seri Malaysia Hotel, which is strategically located near Chinatown. But be wary—the hotel is going through some renovations but I don’t know how extensive the changes will be. It’s old, worn, and just plain nasty. Double-check the conditions before committing. At least the breakfast was good.

Selling away the past

On Monday, we took a daytrip to Malacca, a historical city that has a long history of colonization by first the Portuguese in 1511, the Dutch in 1641 and the British in 1826. I didn't realize it until now, but to go to Malacca and then Singapore makes a lot of sense. A person can really draw the contrasts and comparisons between the two cities (well, city and city-state).

The riverfront in Singapore

The riverfront in Malacca

The two are very similar on one hand, and yet have headed in two different directions on the opposing hand. Both have old Chinese buildings that hug their respective rivers that course through the cities. Yet, Malacca is what Singapore was only a handful of decades ago. While Malacca is selling off its history as quickly as possible and leaving a shell of what it was, remnants of its once beautiful history, Singapore revitalizes, redesigns, and redevelops, keeping but refurbishing the old buildings while maintaining respect for what it once was--a British colony.  Let's consider Malacca first.

Welcome to antique avenue

Malacca is the name of both the state and the capital city of the state. The city center of the city of Malacca was registered as an UNESCO World Heritage same at the same time as Georgetown in Penang (in 2008). The city is well known as one of the best places to buy Chinese and Peranakan antiques--furniture, carvings adorning beds, intricate tiles that once trimmed the facade of buildings, statues, vases, etc. My mother-in-law's home is filled with items from Malacca, as are her siblings', collected over decades, long before shop-hopping there became popular. Jonker Street--the main avenue through the old city--is a narrow, cobblestone street that is lined with similarly narrow shops. Expats, students and tourists abound, exploring the river and the old colonial structures and the cheesy replica of a Portuguese galleon, poking their heads into the ancient storefronts and buying souvenirs and overpriced "antiques" that they think are antiques. The floors creak and groan under footsteps and the weight of hundreds--thousands--of objects old and new. Like Georgetown, the old city in Malacca is a throwback in time.

Peering to the entrance
of a tea house

But at what cost is it to the city and the aura of antique shopping in Malacca? Is Malacca selling its soul, its history? In a city known for vintage items that date back to the 1800s, it is getting more difficult to find true antiques. There are more and more instances of shop owners trying to play off newer items as "antiques." Tiles that once trimmed homes and storefronts in the old city have been chipped away and sold off, leaving a bland, naked facade. Many items--true antiques and those that aren't--are now brought in from China. Not that this makes it any better: Even Chinese temples were vandalized for their intricate trimmings of dragons and phoenixes on the roofs.

The moral of the story? Buyer beware. There's nothing wrong with buying non-antiques as long as you know what you are buying. It's a bit depressing that such an ancient city like Malacca is selling itself away without any control or bother to maintain its dilapidated buildings.

Relaxing for the first time

I haven't posted in a few days, a result of constant traveling and refusal to pay S$25 a night for Internet access. But I'm back in KL now, relaxing a couple of days before we head back to the States. We made it back from Pulau Bidong tonight, ending what has been a whirlwind two weeks in Malaysia and Singapore. I had a small break this previous Sunday (see previous post) but Monday saw a daytrip to Malacca to look for antiques; Tuesday started a three-day trek through utopian Singapore; and Friday we headed eastward across the country, culminating in a boat ride to the island on which I was born, Pulau Bidong.

But this is it! No more long trips across Malaysia, just local ones around town and dips in the pool. We've been from the far west of the country to the far eastern coast, from nearly the north of the country to way past south into Singapore.

I'll post more as soon as I wake up--it's about 2 in the morning right now in KL, and I've been up since 6 a.m. the previous day.

A lazy Sunday in Malaysia

View from the in-laws' balcony

It's Sunday afternoon here in KL, and the rain has started again. The thunder in the background complements the pitter-patter of raindrops, the occasional downpour heightening the intensity. I love lazy Sundays be it in London, Barcelona, Sacramento or KL, especially rainy lazy Sundays, when there's nothing to do but to relax from the travels and watch the raindrops. Life seems to slow down--even in chaotic KL--and the tropical birds hide away, leaving only the sounds of the rain cascading in the background.

The rain and thunderstorm highlights the one-week mark that we've been in Kuala Lumpur, a week marked with exploration of the city and traveling around Malaysia. It's also an opportunity to relax and reflect before the second (and last) half of our vacation. This past week: Explore in and around KL, go to Jelebu, go to Penang, dinner celebration on Saturday. In line for next week: Malacca, three-day trip to Singapore, and if we have nice weather, a trip to my birthplace, Pulau Bidong.

Bubur pulut hitam

As I wrote before in a previous entry, Malaysia is a foodie's paradise. There are so many different ethnic groups and subgroups and the inevitable mixing of them makes for some of the best eating experiences in the world. Some are so familiar in taste and appearance--if you're a fan of Chinese, Indian, and various Southeast Asian cuisines, you'll find many of the flavors familiar, if served or prepared slightly differently. Others I have utterly no reference points to draw upon. Perhaps the most different dish I had was cendol, a sweet chickpea-derived dessert from the Mamak, the southern Indian Tamil Muslims. Another is bubur pulut hitam, a glutinous black rice dessert by the Nyonya.

Cendol

Also, for a complete gallery of each and every dish I had in Malaysia, follow this link. I've yet to repeat a dish, so we'll see how long I can do that.

A country(side) for old men

One of the pools at the fish farm,
this one for tilapia

Before our two-day trek to Penang, we took a daytrip to Jelebu. Well, more precisely Pertang, which is on the outskirts of the main city of Jelebu.  And when I mean outskirts, I mean out in the middle-of-the-goddamn-rainforest outskirts. My father-in-law is originally from Pertang and his siblings operate various businesses there, including fish farms. The large ponds (see the picture on the left) where the fish are kept were hand-dug by his grandmother when she came to Malaysia from China. Talk about hardcore.

One of the fish farms we visited had coconut trees, mango trees, durian trees, and other exotic fruits like rambutan and mangosteen. Had it been the right season, I could literally walk up (or climb up) and pluck whatever I wanted from the tree. (I did, however, enjoy young coconut water, right from a scalped coconut.)

Chin Ching Ching restaurant, where
old men come to mingle.

The business district area where we went for lunch reminded me of the small town I was at in 2003 in southern China, near the village my family (on my dad's side) was originally from. The restaurant was grimy on the inside, and grimy on the outside, but the food was delicious. But no matter how different various places might be from what we are familiar with, one thing remains the same: Old retired guys will always hang out at the same joints, not eating a thing but eager to drink strong tea or sweetened coffee, swapping stories. No different at Chin Ching Ching.

Not much to pontificate on, just that the area is beautiful and idyllic, and is as far removed from the hustle and bustle of the large cities as you can get. Serenity now. Enjoy the pics below.

Sleepless in Penang

The speakers on the nearby mosque wailed with the undulating tones of Arabic chanting. It was about 5:30 a.m., and I was woken by the Fajr, the morning Muslim call to prayer. I opened my eyes to the wood beams that comprised the ceiling of the hotel room, listening to the melodic rise and fall of the imam’s voice permeating through the dense, muggy air. This isn’t a country in the Middle East, I remembered; I was in Pulau Pinang (or Penang Island in English).

On Penang Hill, looking down
onto Georgetown and the
mainland in the distance

Penang is off the coast of mainland Malaysia and is one of the states. It is a four-hour drive north from Kuala Lumpur, fairly near the border with Thailand. Specifically, I was in Georgetown, the capital city of Penang. A predominantly Chinese town in a predominantly Chinese province, and governed by a Chinese governor, Georgetown begs to be compared to KL. It is a symbol of what KL was and what KL should have been.

In the heart of Old Georgetown is a complete maze of Chinese cantons, homes large and small, and storefronts with names in Chinese, Tamil, Malay and English squeezed onto a single board. Georgetown was founded in 1786 and the cantons date back to about then. This entire area received recognition by UNESCO as a World Heritage site in 2008, basically meaning that the old section would be protected from further redevelopment.

A rickshaw in front of the historic
Cheong Fatt Tze mansion

And this is where Georgetown and all of Penang differs from KL—the strong desire to maintain its history instead of bulldozing over everything and rebuilding in the name of progress. The colonial buildings from British domination still stand and the Chinese mansions and storefronts are preserved at the same time that modern buildings are raised and Penang turns itself into the hi-tech center of Malaysia. Public art abounds in the city. In KL, in stark contrast, nary a colonial building still stand and old communities are razed for the next gleaming mall or housing development.

Looking down Chulia Street
in old Georgetown

There is a balance in Penang of maintaining the old and accepting the new. The hotel we stayed in—Yeng Keng Hotel—seemed to exemplify this delicate ying and yang, with classical Chinese décor but with modern features. Old men of Chinese, Indian and Malay descent sit and talk amiably while Western tourists duck their heads into stores that sell hand-made chairs with woven bamboo seats or a camera that dates back to the 1800s. A modern Air Asia storefront stands beside a stall that is seemingly busy fixing engines for all sorts of ancient things.

When I visit a city, I ponder whether I can see myself living there. Though hectic compared to most American cities, Georgetown is a calm oasis compared to the typhoon that is Kuala Lumpur. The old town provides an endless supply of interesting things to explore. And the food—similar to that offered in the mainland—is a cornucopia of Chinese, Malay, and south Indian cuisines and mixing thereof. Of the many cities I’ve been to around the world, Georgetown is surprisingly one of those cities that—yes—I really can imagine myself building a life there. These are the things I thought about as I lay awake in Penang, listening to the haunting call to prayer.

Been spending most our lives living in a Foodie’s Paradise

The Petronas Towers

The crisscrossing, twisting, interlocking web of streets of Kuala Lumpur is emblematic of the convoluted race relations in Malaysia. In this country of over 28 million, you have ethnic Malays, southern Chinese of various stripes (Cantonese, Hokkien, Haka, for example), southern Indians, Punjabi Indians, Muslim Indians, Hindu Indians, Peranakan (which are ethnic Chinese that have lived around the Straits countries—including what is now known as Malaysia—for a long time), and a smattering of Vietnamese, Koreans, Thais, and expats from the West. Add to this pot some four million illegals from Burma, Bangladesh, and other places. (Politicians—being politicians—take advantage of divisions, using race and religion to create a sense of Malay nationalism and riding it to power. But that’s another post for another day.)

Jalan Petaling, the heart of
Chinatown in KL

With this diversity in ethnic groups comes the blessed diversity of food and “cross pollination” of flavors. The result? Really damn good grub. Malaysia is literally a foodie’s paradise, a cross-cultural experience for the mind and taste buds, where Hokkien Chinese speak Malay to southern Indians, and Malays speak Cantonese to southern Chinese; where Indian curries mingle with Malay dishes and Portuguese flavors grace Chinese noodles.

My first day and half in Kuala Lumpur was spent eating, sightseeing a bit, and eating some more, from hawker centers and food stands, to an Indian restaurant open 24 hours. On the menu today: chili crab. No chicken rice or fish head curry yet, but soon. Check out some of the food pictures.



I hate to tell you this, Anthony Bourdain, but I’m eating better than you from when you were last here!

Ode to coffee

Any one that knows me knows that I'm a coffee nut. I love the earthy smell and taste of fresh brewed coffee, the atmosphere of a nice coffeehouse with Norah Jones singing overhead or the scratchy tunes of a 1920s French chanson playing in the background, the slight hint of sweetness of the foam in a cappuccino ... I want to share this article from the Atlantic Monthly, by Giorgio Milos, about the five senses of coffee. Do a search of the author's name on the website and glance through some more of this articles on all things coffee beans.

A bit extreme and excessive? Maybe, but you can say the same thing about the pretentious people that say they can catch all the different aromas and flavors in wine. "Oh, I taste ... hints of oak, wild berries, and summer breeze, mingled with snottiness."

And yes, I am writing this as I'm drinking a cup of coffee. But not Starbucks. I'm too pretentious for that.