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.

Big event on my birthday, Part 2

The second event that happened on my birthday was us finally hiking along the Black Diamond Mines park in Antioch. I saw an article in the Sacramento Bee on the mines back in November 2010 and have been aching to go since then. This area was once California's largest coal mining operation, with some estimated four million tons of coal (or black diamonds) extracted from the earth between the 1860s and the early 1900s. Since the 1970s, the East Bay Regional Park District started to acquire land to establish the Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve which now comprises about 5,375 acres.

Something out of the Wild West

For sure, the Black Diamond Mines area looks like something stuck in the Wild West period, straight out of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly (see here and here). A creaky windmill and vintage water tower greets visitors as they drive into the park. Rolling hills, golden in color and spotted with clusters of trees, against a clear blue sky provide for a majestic backdrop. One wonders if Blondie would have felt right at home here.

View from the highest point at
Rose Hill Cemetery

Five small towns once existed around the mines; they have all been torn down. What still stands are the grave markers at the Rose Hill Cemetery. It's about a 15 minute hike uphill from the main area of the park to the cemetery. Sparse trees provide limited shade from the sun along the trail. The cemetery is positioned atop the hill and overlooks the hiking trails snaking below, a monument to the lives of the former residents. (Interestingly, many of them were originally from Wales, UK.) There is a sense of serenity and calmness there, an overwhelming silence save creak of the tree trunks and the rustle of leaves and branches. Sitting under the shade of a tree, the Rose Hill Cemetery is a welcome respite from hiking in the sun.

The Black Diamond Mines Regional Preserve is definitely worth a visit. The trails are easy, so they can be taken gingerly. Entry into the park is free on the weekdays, but only $5 on the weekends. Mine tours are usually available but some are closed for maintenance until March 2012. Despite that, it's a beautiful area and a casual hike that leads you back through time.

Here are more pictures for your perusal:

Entrance into one of the coal mines

Across from the visitors center

A scenic view from the cemetery

Big event on my birthday, Part 1

Two things happened on my birthday last week.

Firstly, ETA declared that they would lay down their arms and cease violent activities in pursuit of a separate Basque nation, apart from Spain. Thus ends ETA's violent 43 year reign of terrorism through Spain and parts of France, which resulted in over 800 deaths. There was no apology of course, no reference to the victims, and no clear delineation of how the disarmament process would proceed.

So much bravado
(image from online.wsj.com)

At the end of the clip, they raised their fists defiantly and demanded independence for the Basque region. Big words for an organization whose senior members have been getting arrested for the last several years. For all their bluster, white hoods and black berets, let's get one thing straight--for the last several years they've been getting pounded by both the French and Spanish, and have been significantly weakened. In the post-9/11 world there is no patience or sympathy for the romantic notion of "freedom fighters" (at least in the West), even among their own people, whether it's the Real IRA, ETA, ELF, or what have you. And this was the reality that ETA faced, as they were losing support in the Basque region across Spain and France.

ETA was formed in 1959 as a response to Franco's effort to quash all independent cultures and languages in Spain, including Catalan. Though it might seem extreme to Americans, many of the regions in Spain are autonomous, much like (but not as extreme as) Quebec. They have their own language, own cultures, own system of regional government, own tax structure. These are important to maintain, no doubt. (Especially Catalan! What a beautiful language; it sounds a mixture of Spanish and French.) But in light of Spain's World Cup win in 2010, can someone from San Sebastian that rooted for the national team still say, "No, I'm not Spaniard, I'm Basque," or someone from Barcelona say, "I'm Catalan first, Spanish second?" For one glorious moment, everyone was a Spaniard; can he or she now go back (metaphorically) and truly claim only his or her regional citizenship?