maylasia BOLEH!

first off, sorry this has taken so long... im a putz.

so me, my friends julia and brenda arrive in singapore directly after leaving indonesia, to meet peggy and wait for my good friends kenny and thomas, who unfortunately slept through the alarm to come late and we all missed the bus. 3 hours later, we arrive at the bus station which will take us directly to the old capitol of maylasia. it is here that i realize that i can juggle for money, so i throw down a hat and give it a try. i get nothing, and my friend peggy gets her water stolen due to the fact that im not paying attention haha. maybe not too funny. needless to say , we got on the bus, and after a good, long bus ride on one sketchy vehicle, i am ready to get off immediately. we arrive in a small, historic town called malaka, which used to the the capitol of maylasia, and contains massivly old ruins from the earliest settlers of every race. the most prominent is the dutch arcitecture. it was a very strange thing, and still is when i think about it, to see infinite amounts of crosses on all parts of the streets, architecture, and especially the churches. this is due to a massivly large immigration of dutch colonists and missionaries in the 16th century, of which you can see the the first night. we checked into a farily legitimite hostel, with good bathrooms, large rooms. maylasia at first sight reminded me much of a rich version of thailand. clean streets, not so clean buildings. the majority of the women were fully visible, regardless of it being a completely muslim country, ( its illegal NOT to be muslim) and only a small minority were completely clothed in black, and usually had eyes which seemed happy to my best understanding. i suppose ive been lead to believe that in a patriarchical society women would be rather despondant, but i never got that impression. whereas in thailand, family relations, often violent and verbal, is a fairly common occurance, of which ive seen more than a few times. we went out the first night we were there, to a lonely planet reccomend, called the "satay house" named after an maylay food adopted by vietnam, in which you dip all types of food (fish, chicken, egg, celery, morning glory, shrimp, bread, etc) in a boiling vat of peanut sauce and spices. this night we met a traveler, as we always do, a single girl goin around maylasia and indonesia for 4 months. after alot of talking, eating, drinking, we all parted, and i quickly found my way back to my bed, quiet and appealing.

the next day we traveled more in malaka, visiting alot of the old dutch churches, all filled with old headstones from the 16th century, where the names and dates of all the deceased were perfectly engraved, and rarely exceeding 40 years of age. this is something i cannot imagine, to be so far away from europe in a time where multi month ship journeys were the only means of long distance travel; in a tropical rainforest, where headhunters were still a fearsome and very real threat. all to try to bring a foreign god into a seemingly godless country. we quickly got through all the churches, which were scattered with histories of constant religious flux inhabiting the same buildings, and eventually settling as historic monument, to statues of forgotten saints of different faiths. the next day, we got on a bus to Kuala Lumpor, and a short while later, arrived in a bustling hub of clean streets and infinite food vendors. it was a 5 minute walk from the taxi cabs to the Red Dragon hostel, which is by far the nicest hostel ive stayed in, and if anybody is in little china of kuala lumpor, id say its a must. with massive rooms, large clean beds and sheets, a common room downstairs with a pool table, massive internet hub, and a free widescreen tv with too many movies to count. we settled in, internetted a bit, then went out to celebrate kenny's 21 birthday in a crowded food street, ordered too many beers and too much food, and spent a couple hours going crazy with ourselves, a group of older ( but shockingly young-hearted) dutch couples, and the wildest waiters and waitresses ive ever seen. all i learned from that night is that i love hong kong chicken, maylasian "anchor" beer is better than any thai beer, and speaking in completely different languages dosent destroy the barrier of the parasitic american pop culture; which creates more than enough of a connection to have fun. the next morning, we spent the first half of the day in the city, visiting the famous petronas towers, which are the self-claimed highest towers in the world ( i dont know if its true), and the various temples. the most shocking of this was the islamic art museum, which is by far one of the best museums ive ever visited. it contains relics from longer ago than i though possible, all possible versons of the koran, and infinte weapons, jewlry, religious artifacs, and muslim texts. the most impressive of these were by far the korans. this museum has the largest collection of them in the world, and many of them were inlaid with gold leaf, silver, pearl, diamonds, jade, and rubies of too many kinds for me to classify them all and took over 10 years to create. since all of these had to be done from hand, there were hundreds of books with different translations, all of which were worth more than i can imagine. unfortunately, there were no pictures allowed in the museum, so i can mearly say this is something that should be seen at least once in your lifetime. we made our way back to the Red Dragon, and rested for a few minuets before we learned we had to quickly jet to get to the busstation in order to make it to our next destination.

we quickly hopped to a bus to a fairly indescrite place called the cameroon highlands, a high altitude town known for its infinite tea fields, and mossy forests, one of the only remaining forests in the world. we took a depressingly curvy, and long road to get to the highlands, which was soon forgotten once we stepped out of the bus, and into near 50 degree weather, in which all my companions greatfully just shed out clothes, breathed deep, and shivered with happiness. we soon got a ride to Fathers guest house, the reccomended stay, and met a driver there who worked for Father's, and started driving. the intersting thing about this drive, is the immediately impressed us with his fluent english. shortly thereafter, impressed us with taking long drag from a whisky bottle out of the glove compartment, and saying 'you dident see this' . needless to say, our driver, paul, became a quick friend, and spent alot of time chatting with us when it got too dark to go trekking. we played drinking games that night in the event of my friend kenny's birthday, and went to sleep freezing cold. it was wonderful for me, maybe not so much for my californian comrades. we awoke for the 6:00 morning madness tour offered by the guest house, which we attended with only the guide. a native indian named Kumar, whom is one of those fantastic people you meet in life, with no proper schooling, but massive intelligence regardless. this man had been offered a position at the guest house at the age of 19, where he still works at the age of 36. in a place like the highlands, i cannot say i disagree with Kumars career choice of hiking, offroading, and drinking free tea every day. we drove from the guest house directly higher to the peak of the highlands, where the famous mossy forest was at its forte, and hiked a rather muddy path to the peak where we could see the sunrise over a sea of calm , cold high-altitude clouds, and the few green peaks making islands in the cloudy expanse. we spend the next few hours crawling around on the ground, which was actually a 4 foot growth of dense moss. this was especially visible when you jumped, and every tree in a 20 foot radius shook and rained dew. kumar went to great lengths to explain everything about the mossy forest, from the vegetation, to the animal life, to survival techniques of highaltitude rainforests. so if anyone out there gets lost, drink monkey cups, strain the moss, pack it in your shirts, and look for some yellow, bulbous grubs to eat. hell, go ahead and try it if your not lost, kumar made it sound pretty fun. we spend the next few hours going back to the car in a massivly muddy, roundabout trek around the mountain, and finally arrived with black feet and grins, to head off to the tea plantation. this particular plantation consisted of about 200 fields and massive numbers of workers, whom would cut the baby leaves off of the shrubs, pack it in wicker baskets on their backs, and repeat the action the whole day through. we spend a long time driving around the fields, taking in the impossibly green landscape and constantly gnawing on tea shoots and baby leaves. we soon got a quick lowdown on how to make chinese, indian, and malay tea from kumar, which consists of differnet techniques of drying, cutting, straining, boiling, etc. , and each of which produces a different flavour of tea. we drove to the central sales hub of the plantation, and had massive amounts of fresh tea. we soon headed to a local strawberry plantation, but found that it was close, and told kumar that we would stay for a while. a while passed, and soon we decided to hitchhike back to the guest house, and kenny grabbed an open bed truck. needless to say , when the realization hits you, flying 60 miles an hour around mountainous turns, that youre hitch hiking in maylasia, its a pretty distinctive feeling. we arrived about 3 miles out of town, and the driver would not accept any money, so we started hiking back to the town. it was a good walk, and we arrived happy, and ready for indian food, which was given to us that night in abundance. im always excited to write about indian food, and this particular place had a open pot tandoori, in which naan dough was melded to the side of the heated clay pot, and taken directly from the pot to your plate. best naan ive had in my life, im proud to say, along with some killer barbeque chicken curry, and too much dhaal to eat. we headed back to our room and some freezing cold showers to pull the mud off our bodies. the next morning i woke up far too early, and spent a few hours writing and getting breakfast from the hostels restaurant, which made some great toast, great eggs, and great tea. it was quiet, cold, with a very bright morning sun on top of a small hill opon which the hostel was built. i experienced a deep happiness here, i dont know why, but it felt like the right place at the right time. my comrades woke up, and we caught the 11 oclock bus to kuala lumpor, and decided to stay the night there before we headed back to singapore. we arrived, and went directly back to the red dragon, and ended up throwing down our gear, and splitting up to see the city. i went with thomas and brenda, to go find a good indian restaurant, which we did, and wandered the streets afterword in search of something to entertain us. this was soon found in the form of a karaoke store, where tons of little soundproof rooms are each decked out with a tv, couches, an infinite music selection, and a couple of mic's. i was more than hesitant at first to go, but after a while i gave in, and ended up having a blast, and threw a pretty good round of gangster's paradice, as well as a nice duet of Frosty the Snowman with thomas. we came back to the hostel after that, and met up with the others to fall asleep. next morning, we took a bus directly to singapore. we finally got through a ridiculously long customs line, and got on our plane back to the states with little trouble. it was a relif to get back into bangkok. it always seems to be. its hard to think now what seemed the most ridiculous hub of street madness and pollution could be so comforting now. i've written this blog 3 weeks too late, i apologize, ive been staying in bangkok for the past weeks doing muay thai, doing farily well in a few fights, and going on a couple school trips. ill include a blog with these experiences in a few days, and this time im serious about writing them. hah. i will post more pictures tommorrow

indonesia

so it begins at the ferry station. i am going to indonesia with my two friends, julia and brenda, both of whom are far more competent travelers than i, so i am excited to see the flowing ideas and opinions that will come in the near future. we are only hopping over the border of indonesia just bearly, but then when you think about it, it would be impossible to see all of Indo, due to the fact it consists of over 7,500 seperate islands, and more shoreline than any country in the world (obviously). we get on the ferry after an hour or so of cards, and juggling for the kids at the station, and hop on a very gross boat, which we sit in the front of, surrounded by people with expectant eyes, and kind faces. julia and brenda crash immediately, while i spend the few hours listening to music and trying to understand the people around me. as well as an adorable indonesian baby across from me that seems quite puzzled by everything i do. understandably, of course.

we touch down in Indo, the island of Palau Bintan, it is sometime after dark, and all i see is relatively similar to thailand, only with far pushier merchants and promoters. somehow, we get roped by somebody who claims to know where we are headed, a small backpackers guesthouse, and we follow him to a small mans home with the same title, who obviously is used as a cheap way to milk foreigners money. he is a kind man however, and after a while of talk, instructs us to a far better arrangement, on the south side of the island, no concrete, lots of vegetation. we first stop to get some money, called 'ringit' and 50,000 ringit equals out to about 15 us dollars. this shows us immediately that indonesia is even cheaper than thailand ( it is possible), and it is just as warm towards foreginers, during the day that is. after an hour of a car ride, we arrive at our destination reccomended by lonely planet, a small b and b called "shady shacks". i will never understand whether or not it was called 'shady' because of the fact of how low key and makeshift the entire place was, or because there was massibe palm tree which often engulfed the 3 rooms total available in shade. quite a puzzle, one of those obnoxious ones that make you dwell incessantly for no reason. none the less, i find myself drawn to this place like few i have been to.

after arrival, we are given a plate of fried noodles and boiled yucca root, a common dish which is characteristic of singapore, and despite its relative simplicity, is some of the best food we've had, and we discuss it often still now haha. there are locals there. there is a central roof and small platform with tables that you can eat at, if the cook is there and not tending to her children. but it is night, and the locals are all here. we realize after we are eating, that most locals are here it seems, for we are in a small town, very small, and the ones still awake are here. whether it is to drink, or to watch the foreigners, i dont know, but after the locals offer us their pink whisky ( i know, right?), attitudes lighten, cultural barriers seem non-existant, and the mist of smoke exhaled by the indonesians seem to make everybody melt, and understand that they are simply human beings, in the same place at the right time, with no mission, but an opportunity to read smiles and absorb the experience. we drink . they drink. friends are made the first night. sleep comes easy in the small hut shared by the three of us.

i awake much too early the next day. head feels like a wet sponge. regardless of this i emerge from my hut ( ive always wanted to say that) and take in the view in front of me. it is now i am tempted with a realization. that to write about something experienced seems a moot point to me now. just as nobody can understand how you feel when you miss home, there are too many feelings, too many images which all coalesce with each other to create an impossibly re-creatable feeling. this is how i feel now, trying to type the view in front of me as i leave the damp wood and palm leaves of my small home, and see the entire world of a people all around me, the small village behind me, the labyrinth of sea and island in front of me, all the while the clouds settle calmy as they never do for me, telling me to share this place with myself, and go nowhere. i stare. for hours it seems. the sand below, behind, in front, everywhere minute boulders which have finally reached their destination of the sea. i wonder if they are as changed from what they were long ago as i am feeling right now. the clouds say stay. i stay. id stay a bloody lifetime if that feeling came to me right now. i realize that i am not counting the waves anymore, and i am not focusing my eyes, but rather glazing over as a trapeze artist might during their highest act. need to focus on everything, so i must focus on nothing. i look down for an instant to my watch. the hours felt were indeed hours past. the day is waking, and i feel like im falling to sleep.

i reluctantly strap on my running shoes, and start to run. i need to see this place right now. ill never see all of it anyways, which gives me no excuse whatsoever to sit on a beach and contemplate. i run, i sweat like i never have and never will, and after a half hour enter a village looking like frosty running through hell, and immediately realize that each house i pass has somebody in the window. watching, waiting, watching. everybody smiles. i smile. i cant help it. after a while, everybody waves, whether they be in their houses, on the street, in their shops, on motorcycles, hanging on to trucks hurtling in the other directions. i feel a bit like a celebrity, but i realize how skin deep this is, and wish i could get to know these people on terms other than that of an outsider. i keep running, back through the village, and to the shady shacks, to find julia and brenda eating lunch. i join them, for a strange curry with fish, and many mashed vegetables, roots i think. they love yucca, it is in everything, and i find a natural affinity to it, so i am happy. i doubt the girls feel this way at all. we spend the day going to a small island about 1 hour out to sea. we get there by an extremely frightening boat, a few pieces of wood and a motor all slapped together, a bit as if was put together by harry potter, and no human hands had ever shaped it the way a boat should look. regardless, we make it to the island safely, and spend the time doing very little. very little at all. i do some henna tattoos ( indain tatoo paint) on brenda and julia, and lie down for a while, and think about whatever you might think about on an island literally in the middle of nowhere. nothing. there are no boats or people here. maybe a few houses on stilts far off in the ocean's horizon. i dont know who lives there, and i doubt i ever will, but a large part of me envies them. we head back to the shack, and chill for a while, i juggle with the cook's children, the older child enjoys it, the younger one only enjoys his brothers company. i am envious of them both haha. dinner time, more noodles, a bonfire which enables us to enjoy the company of a few other travelers, some students from hong kong, they searched for over a day for shady shacks, and only just found it, to spend the time exclusively in their huts and for a short bout on the island. i dont think they enjoy it so much, but their lives are interesting as any, and they seem puzzled by the idea of cooking roots in the fire. it is now that i will officially thank my parents for raising me the way a human being should be raised; without constant comforts. i eat 2 yucca. julia tries to eat one, and the others dont touch them. i think i have made a friend with the manager there, he speaks no english, but we both love yucca root, and thats good enough for me, and good enough for him i think. nighttime, we decide to withdraw a small bottle of vodka bought at the airport, and share it with the nightly gathering of villagers at the eating commons, and decide to let it dance around the room along with the other bottles of pink whisky. they think the vodka is very strong, and hard to drink when put in a mixer, they cough quite often, and each seems to laugh at this, including the one coughing. happiness is in everything here it seems. their whisky is surprisingly soft, and i feel a bit like a chauvinist when i take a long draught of their beloved drink, and only smile afterwords. when i think back to this night, it always reminds me of a more intensely perverted version of beauty and the beast, with dishes and glasses and bottles dancing constantly. it is now that i come upon the face of a man which draws me unlike any other. i instantly like this person with large eyes, curly hair, no fat, bone and stringy muscle put together with a strong face, frail body, and eyes of a 200 year old man who understands the sadness of life, yet finds himself trapped with an always lingering expectancy of joy. he is quiet, and i saw him watching from outside the first night, and tonight i cannot stand constantly making eye contact with this man who says nothing and remains hidden. he reminds me of myself in his position, yet i know undoubtedly as the sun will rise tomorrow that this man has experienced an irreconcilable sadness, something lost. i invite him into the hut with brenda and julias help, and after a long while, he concurred, with a traditional bottle of whisky in hand, and more character in an energy than i have ever felt, regardless of his lack of clothing or adornment. simple green pants, torn. that is all, along with the spirits. both the one en caged in a bottle in his right hand, and the one purveying itself across the room with absolute force of presence. i wonder how somebody so small can keep me absolutely mesmerized. it feels as a dream, but there is something about this human being that i will never understand. he sits opposite from me. there is a pulsating noise that i cannot distinguish in my ears, and it continues to resonate regardless of how much i drink, or how deeply i inhale the salty air and let go of my hesitant fear of this persons presence. he eats a bit, and i eat a bit. we begin to play cards. he wishes not to play, so we all play along, and i play the cards in my hand, not caring whether they are high or low or good or bad, i am lost in this night. i being to speak much more to this man, and after explaining my name so he understands, he explains his through the owner of shady shacks. his name is christmas. he smiles quite a bit, and i try to keep in mind that i am in a dangerous situation of my own mind, this person fascinates me far too much to keep my guard up, but i dont think of this then. the night wears on, i feel as if christmas knows everything that i do, but knows it so much fonder, deeper, and more solid than i do. as if everything i have thought or done has been put to action, experience, and completed by this person. we complete the night with happiness and sleep, with each person going back to their homes, me to my shack, christmas going to his small shanty beneath the palm trees in a large plantation field, alone. i dont know why i write about this now, only to express something that will plague me for the rest of my life i think. i wonder constantly about christmas, whether underneath his small shanty he has a picture of his family that somehow was lost, or his hobbies, or knowledge, or maybe a memoir to a god that hasn't shown itself to me yet. i dont know what i feel right now, only a nostalgia for something that never really implemented itself. i realize that i miss christmas as i write this now actually, and i wonder whether he fascinates every person he meets like this, only to leave at the end of the night into a soundless dawn filled with harsh labour and the promise of tomorrow nights drink. ill never know. i wont lie when i say it drives me unbelievably goddamn insane.

we leave the next morning, everybody waves, we wave, it is all paid for, 20 dollars a person, food included. christmas is in a tree in his field, i wave and smile, it is returned, and we all get in the car and leave. we spend the night in the main city of pulau bintan, a rotting city, however we meet a man by the name of rudy, a local who accompanies us throughout the day with the excuse that he needs to practice english. we are used to being ployed by these city people already, only to relearn my age old mantra that always keeps me learning and humble due to my incompetence at embracing it. dont judge. rudy ends up being a very kind man, though i believe he was genuinely interested in my two companions, but regardless of this we leave on good terms, and make a friend to keep for help in the future if ever in indonesia. we go to sleep in a surprisingly nice hotel spotted from the cab, and wake the next morning to catch the ferry to maylasia. we get on the ferry, and i fall asleep immediately. i have too much going in my mind to keep it running on auto pilot. system failure. shut down.

maylasia now, we are at the bus station.

p.s. i will write about maylasia ina few days, i did not ever expect three days to need this much writing... goes to show. i will find pictures of the island. unfortunately i dont have any pictures of my friend christmas, and i think its better like that.