Malaka-ka-ka-ka

After a hearty breakfast we set off to explore.  Crossing the river, the deafening noise of loud music with plenty of base booms out. We automatically think boy racers in souped up cars are cruising early but we laugh when we identify the source.  Melaka is home to the trishaw, a combination of bicycle and rickshaw for taking tourists around the sights of the town.  Each trishaw is garishly decorated with bright, mostly plastic flowers and garlands and the owners assume that the playing of extremely loud pop music will draw punters wanting to take a musical tour. Although the trishaw peddlers are keen for business we are mostly ignored – mainly because John snarls at the thought of travelling with this racket!

Pimp my trishaw

We walk to a small fortress with cannons facing in all directions which is part of the original Dutch defence of the town.  Several groups of youngsters, all wearing purple t-shirts appear to be taking part in an orienteering competition.  We watch as each team completes a task (throwing water filled balloons into various buckets) and on completion receives further instruction as to the next location. We continued to see purple clad groups throughout the day – come to think of it the last group passed us when we were in the pub at midnight!

A refreshing mango’ shake and a bust up with a Buddhist priest set us up for the well-trodden tourist route to the reconstructed Sultan’s palace which was made of wood and contained no nails. Some interesting gems were found inside (see below) and the A/C was definitely welcome. 

Glass, bottle, bottle glass - please yer bloody selves

The Sultan’s secret garden which whilst being wonderfully laid out is a little neglected possibly because the gardners aren’t in on the secret. We spot a lot of birds in the gardens including a small hawk before wandering back to the main drag and the thud of the trishaw boom boxes.

Malaka has more museums than you can shake a stick at – and they cover almost every topic under the sun (although the stick shaking museum is in Kluang) – literature, nautical, architecture, customs and stamps. John spotted the stamp museum but I managed to discourage him from entering by pointing out some trains and old aircraft a little further on.  He walked around happily taking photos although there was little context to the display which also included armoured cars and a 1957 white Cadillac.

In need of a comfort break and having already experienced the not inconsiderable risks associated with the local facilities we head for a shopping centre where we have learnt a better standard of bathroom can be experienced.  The mall is packed with youngsters shopping ‘til they drop and John struggles to get me past the myriad of shoe shops on our way to the loos which are as expected, top quality.  We navigate our way out of the centre past Burger King, KFC and Macdonalds – although the mall has plenty of outlets selling local food it’s the fast food chains that are packed out.  We don’t go in.

Outside, we cross six lanes of traffic to reach the other side only to realise we should have stayed on the other side.  The rules of the road are less clear in Malaka and appear to involve wandering through the lines of traffic and praying that a nippy Honda 50 doesn’t come past on the outside! 

We search in vain for an eatery for a snack and a drink - don’t ask how we end up in the Chinese equivalent of Gleggs. The helpful assistant explains what’s in each mound of pastry and John picks out a few delights although I’m pleased to say he leaves behind the ‘sweet wife buns’.  I offer a 5 ringett note but when they notice a small tear they refuse to accept it – obviously they share Nuttall’s obsession with perfection.  After paying with a pristine note the shopkeeper produces scissors and sellotape to repair the damaged note with surgical precision. I can now pass it on to a street seller who won’t be so fussy.

The shop's claims come up short - it only sells cakes

The little pastries are as hot as molten lava and I suffer first degree burns when a blob of the sweet pork drips out and disappears up the leg of my shorts – I rebuff John’s offer of assistance and eventually cool down.  

Unusually, tonight we do things right!  We have a rest back at the hotel before heading out about 9 o’clock.  First stop is Pak Putra which is heaving  – Plastic tables and chairs fill the street which is full of local families enjoying the balmy night air and the excellent cheap food. There’s a real feel of community and most customers are apparently locals dining in extended families and giving a real feel of community. Pak Putra is basic with all the cooking done in front of you on the street in the tandoors and we quickly grab a table.  The dining equivalent is eating your tea sitting outside the Newbold co-op – the smell of the drains doesn’t detract from the food nor bother anyone. The tandoori chicken and nan does not disappoint.

What does cause some concern however is the appearance of a large flying insect – the chap at an adjacent table to us preforms a spectacular evasion of the winged attacker and diners scatter.  I am in awe of John’s courage as he alone resists the urge to panic and sits calmly as the creature flies nearer – although he moves quite sharpish when I tell him the beast has settled between his legs!

Heading back to Jonkers for a few drinks at about 10.30 we find the place jumping – the bars are packed and spill out into the streets and everyone is having a good time.  In Geographers, the incoherent resident DJ has just taken the mike as we sit down. To my surprise, he announces what sounds like ‘tonight we’re going to do some Longmoor line dancing’.  Up get the locals and the line dancing begins although I’m not sure it was in ‘Longmore’ style. We sit transfixed and as the line dancing finishes  the local equivalent of Fred Astaire and Ginger who were sitting next to us get up and perform the Malaka Strictly Come Dancing tribute with complicated rumbas and passadobles incorporating throws and twists which have the appreciative and intoxicated audience cheering.  

 

The Geographer has an arrangement with Ringo’s Bar over the road whereby our incoherent song slaughterer does a half hour slot before their incoherent song slaughter takes over for half an hour.  Chatting to Fred and Ginger between their frequent trips to the dance floor they tell us that many of the locals attend dance classes which they try out on Saturday night.

When the rock-n-roll comes on an old boy with a white cap (possibly the last surviving member of the Rubettes) puts everyone to shame as he and his partner jive around the small dance floor in a style which can only be described as CAF.

Much to our amusement the best is saved for late on as the locals take their turn at the mike singing in a style reminiscent of Vic Reeves’ pub singer – singing lessons have obviously not been part of their preparations and they don’t let the lyrics get in the way either as they slaughter some well-known classics including Jail House Lock - John had tears rolling down his face to some of the interpretations given by these karaoke singers who whatever they lack in skill more than compensate with sheer gusto.  The haranguing delivery of Ob la di Ob la dah has to be heard to be believed.

We leave the bar at 2am but get the feeling that they will still all be going strong for a good few hours yet.

Something Fishy in KL

Heavy rain scuppers our plan for trip out of the City so we head for the Aquarium at KLCC.  Boasting the largest underwater glass tunnel the aquarium is huge.  We wander through all sorts of creatures, not all aquatic – I am pleased that I didn’t encounter some of the spiders and snakes on display when we walked through the jungle earlier in the week.

River rats the size of dogs and spiders that are hairier than very hairy things are part of the dispays together with a couple of engaging cotamundi which are known to be cheeky troublemakers. 

 

On to the fish on show in a number of well-presented tanks with lots of information in English enabling us to appreciate the finer points of the displays.  The highlight was the moving walkway which takes us under sharks and fantastic sting rays 

"Der ne der ne de de de de"

The rays glide effortlessly through the water and look like they are smiling at you as we pass.  There are plenty of other fish which I’d rather not swim with including large parrot fish and a shoal of malevolent piranhas with their fixed smiles and deadly teeth. 

A little ray of sunshine

A giant octopus kept us enthralled for about half an hour, what they can do with their legs is no-bodies business.  Interestingly, he appears to be a distant relative of the lamented Paul the World Cup octopus and John looks unsuccessfully for a prediction for Everton’s FA cup chances.

Occy says "Woy's on borrowed time"

After the fishy delights we walked around the KLCC water park. The grounds in the city centre are tranquil and we walk around the lakes although unfortunately the fountains are not working.  The rain returns so we head to Chinatown on the sky train. 

The sky train is rammed and we wonder how we will get through the crowd to alight at our station.  Luckily most people got off at our stop so we did not have to fight our way out. We walk back to the Petaling Street market area and managed to get a few more T-shirts before stopping for freshly squeezed juice. 

The market is bustling with activity so we don’t stay too long before heading back to have a tandoori in a local kopitar – as this is a Moslem café there is no alcohol – I know, an unusual concept of Indian food and no lager!  The waiters are obviously on commission as four different waiters tried to sell us more food even after we had ordered and whilst we were eating.  Our order however had lost something in translation and only half of the food arrived.  We wandered over the road for a few beers before bed.  

Up early and packed for our trip to Malaka.  Our trusty driver Manof arrives at 11 am and we set off on the highway as usual he drives safely and we snooze in the back. A two hour drive sees us at our hotel.  Malaka is instantly likeable with narrow streets and a relaxed atmosphere. There are lots of bars and strange little curiosity shops selling weird and wonderful items and as Friday night is party night in Jonkers we are in for a good time.

We’ve done our homework and already know we will eat at Pak Putra  The place is rough and ready but the reputation of the quality of food is well deserved with succulent chicken tandoori and spicy curry. 

Afterwards we head back to the town and it is worth remembering that Rule 1 applies - maps are not to scale. Consequently the walk takes longer than anticipated before we hit the chaos of Jonkers market and its street sellers all peddling their wares - some are rather odd and not particularly appealing - Radish cake, potatoes on sticks and strange coloured candies that seem to drive the kids wild. 

 

The usual tat is available but the market holders are not pushy. It is very humid and although we don’t need an excuse, we head for a bar and end up at a local drinking hole where most of the customers have clearly been there for some hours with bottles of scotch and Jim Bean half drunk on the tables.  We also see a blind piano player bashing (and I mean bashing) out a tune.  She has the head movement of Stevie Wonder and the finger dexterity of Les Dawson.

After a couple of refreshments we walk into the heart of Jonkers and come across a beauty competition. It’s hard to tell what’s going on as we watch a selection of largely middle aged women parading up and down the stage.  There’s a compere who hasn’t got a clue and a bossy young girl who keeps pushing the contestants into line. Horrendous music starts, women shuffle around, the bossy girl gets bossier.  Everyone goes back to their position and things start again.

We watch for ages (from a bar) trying to work out what is going on.  Although we’re confused most of the local men are focusing on the display of glamorous grannies parading on the stage. After an hour and a few more beers there’s still no sign of a conclusion and we move on. 

Miss Jonkers 2010!

The market is getting busier and busier with lots of groups of youngsters and families walking up and down. Everybody seems excited and there appears to be more locals than tourists. The market runs for the weekend so we stop for a few more beers at the Geographer bar before calling time and stumbling back to our hotel which is in the thick of the action.

I think we're going to like Malaka...

Going up in the world

We have just had our 500^th hit on the blog so a big thank you to everyone who is following our adventure – and thank you for your comments John Docherty - John is now devoting more attention to searching for even more smutty place names and double entendres ………everywhere he looks.

 

The KLCC shopping arcade is identical to many in the UK with recognisable high street names  including M&S, Top Shop and Gap.  This familiarity is both reassuring and disappointing.  However, the opportunity to browse gadget shops galore was too strong and John spent a happy hour or two checking out gadgets, electronics and the latest 3D tvs. I managed to replace my battered trainers as the walk in the rain forest took the last bit of life from them, and unusually even John told me to go and buy shoes! (ermm not quite how I remember it – ed)

6.30 am – Alarm rings and we struggle out of bed – John wants to visit the Petronas Towers and the only way to get tickets is to queue – a limited number of tickets are available each day on a first come first served basis.  Sales start at 8.30am but by the time we arrive at 7.15 there are already more than 100 people waiting.

We join the lengthening queue and wait patiently.  We are assisted by the ver officious queue monitors who constantly push us into a single file line which snakes around the concourse. By 8.10 admission to the queue is closed and the patient waiting continues.  John takes some comfort watching a late comer in a Liverpool shirt being denied entrance. 

At exactly 8.30 the staff give out laminated numbers like the bacon counter at Sainsburys however, this has no impact on the speed at which ticket applications are processed.  John has ‘100’, it might as well be 1,000,000 as we wait and wait.  The queue inches slowly along, friendships are forged with fellow queuers and finally John is within touching distance of the counter.

“No more tickets today for the observation deck” – What? Steam starts to rise in the kettle which is John’s patience – at the counter however he calms down when he secures two tickets for tomorrow.

After 3 hours in the queue we have the day to ourselves so after a leisurely morning we set off to see Little India on the  Dang Wangi express. The humidity has risen considerably during the day and walking around the bazaars selling spices and old cloths or is that clothes and Old Spice is a little overwhelming.  We also realise that as we are in a Muslim area the chances of finding a beer are nil. We quickly backtrack to China Town to secure refreshments.

Back in Petling Street, the stalls have grown since our last visit and we have to push through the stall holders and shoppers. The outdoor market is in full flow and we are encouraged to look at the wares available.  We bought a couple of t-shirts and headed for the Titiwangsa train to get a little closer to home before the return of the rain and enjoyed a few beers before retiring to bed ready for the Tower trip

John is like a school boy being very excited and I have to stop him running up the road to the Towers.  We are given a green badge to wear before listening to the history of the towers.  Then its into the lift to be whizzed up to the 41st floor. 

 

The views from the Sky Bridge which joins the two towers are spectacular.  The weather is fine and visibility is good – we see the whole of KL set out below and realise that the place isn’t as big as we thought.  I’m not keen on heights and marvel at the window cleaner who calmly leans out of his cradle to clean the sky walk.

 

After taking lots of photos we return to the lift which zooms up to an ear-popping 86th floor.  Views from the top of the 450 metre tower are amazing and aided by telescopes you can see huge amounts of detail and incidentally spy into peoples penthouse suites.   The Doc would have enjoyed this part of the experience!

 Back on terrafirma we decided to relax by the pool for an hour or so before heading to down town KL.  Temperatures were well into the 90s and rising but the threat of a serious storm drove us to cover in the Hard Rock Café at 4.30pm. It gets a bit hazy from here on – Happy Hour, too many Frozen Margariettas on an empty stomach and cheap beer –

cue zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dinner is served

After the exertion of the tea plantation and the mossy forest we had a couple of days relaxing.  The weather in the Cameron Highlands has improved and it is pleasantly warm.  We walk around and observe the locals, many of whom are enjoying the end of their holidays before the schools return on the 3^rd January.

On Sunday, Tanah Rata feels like it will burst at the seams with day trippers visiting from KL and making the most of the extra days holiday. Eating, shopping and sight-seeing the small town is mobbed.

We promised ourselves a treat for the New Year and booked a table at the Smoke House. A short taxi ride delivered us to the last bastion of Britishness – we don’t care – after a couple of weeks of various forms of chicken and rice we’re up for some proper grub – at any price!

John started off with scotch broth – the proper stuff with barley and stuff – it was excellent

Take that Grandma Campbell

 ...and could have been a can of Campbells for all we know.  Rack of lamb followed with roast spuds – I thought it safest not to get too close whilst John was eating as I experienced at first hand the wild man of wongo who wasn’t in any mood to share.

Meat - stand back or lose a finger!

Finally, apple pie and custard – what more can you ask for?  It was heaven and all eaten in the surreal setting of a traditional English pub.  Not our normal fayre but very welcome and it did make us feel somewhat homesick particularly when we came outside to find the rain lashing down.

Tanah Rata is best described as a tired hill station in need of some love and attention with very friendly locals.  We have also discovered that it has the highest concentration of Land Rovers outside of British army bases.  Other than the Land Rovers there’s little evidence of the British ever having been here.  However, the convent in Tanah Rata was the former British hospital and John suggested that after Uncle Ron left, all the girls thought life wasn’t worth living and turned instead to serving God.

Packing to return to KL we uncovered a minor disaster with the laundry – John’s favourite blue linen shirt has been accidentally bleached although the sneaky staff in the laundry had hoped to conceal the fact by hiding the blue shirt in the middle of the bundle.  The hotel was very good about it and the laundry agreed to pay £30 to replace the shirt.  

Our driver duly arrived to take us back to KL today, a round trip involving 7 hours driving.  His driving is stress free and we enjoyed a hassle free return.  We stopped briefly at a Malaysian service station on the motorway and the difference with the UK is stark.  The place is clean and bright – there are lots of cheap food outlets and a general air of relaxation. 

Not the sort of view you get at Knutsford Services

That's all for now - I'll update you on KL in the next blog.