Day 5 (05/01/2011)
Not much sleep due to the heat and mosquito combo. It make me laugh how rarely I remember meals; they either need to be very good or very bad. This morning was… laksa maybe?
Sunk in 1512.
I start off at the Maritime Museum which is super-coolly designed to look like a Portuguese ship that sunk in the Strait of Malacca in 1512, one year after the Portuguese wrested control from the locals. The major failing of the museum was no were did I find a listing or display of what was discovered in the holds of the ship. That would have captivated me.
The rest of the museum adequately lays out the history of the port with an understandable bias towards the Malay people. This has been a lively port for over five centuries. Yes the goods, the findings and the displays were decent and complete. The real highlight however had to be the setting; wandering the bowels of a replica ship from 500 years ago in a deep stained wood pretty much made everything feel more real for me.
Gate to Famosa.
Malaysia moves at its own pace, as the big ‘mall of Malacca’ isn’t open despite it being after 10AM, but I did find a group of women practicing sword routines in an open air courtyard there.
The upshot of this wandering was discovering the Portugese Gate of ‘Famosa’, the last remnant of Portugal’s occupation of the city. It’s a thick, sturdy mass of stone but clearly not up to the Dutch cannonballs. Following the path I end up at a Dutch graveyard. The series of historical complexes dotting the hill of Malacca is impressive.
I told you there was a lot of red.
I buy a drink along the river near the Dutch Red Clock Tower and write eight postcards. Hopefully I remember to send three more for some little ones. (Apparently they like postcards more than the small bills I send.) After mailing the letters I end up at lunch enjoying chicken rice balls, which without Malay chili sauce – likely sambal- are bland but with the sauce they become a savoury treat. The restaurant I end up in is a crumbling building with an iron gate which the proprietor guards like zealously. It takes me a complete tour of the dilapidated structure to discover and wedge open the rusted, sliding grill. There is no menu, this place only serves chicken rice balls. Naturally I am seated with the only other foreigner there, a charming, retired 70-something woman from Athens, Greece. She’s on a tour and only has 45 minutes before the bus heads to the next spot. The rest of her group are somewhere western for lunch. It’s impossible not to adore her, as she wishes she had the youth to make her own path across Asia. A septuagenarian and a traveler? I believe I have a new role model.
(Incidentally if you go to Malacca and want to dine on chicken rice balls with the locals, go across the bridge away from the Dutch Town Square, on your right hand side, at the first corner is where this place is. Hard to find the entrance to but it’s cheap and it’s obviously caters to locals.)
I meet an artist who is an artist first, then a businessman. He creates some great t-shirts but won’t sell them online since that would be too much business and not enough time for art. I wanted an Year of the Ox (2009) shirt but I’m two years too late. Fantastically he suggests I visit again in a decade. He owns three shops in Malacca so he sends me to the other open one (remember Malaysian time) since they might have an Ox shirt. (They don’t) Then he tells me of a good, tucked away baba nonya restaurant (which only opens for lunch – doh!) I end up returning to his store and pick up two shirts for my brother, then back to the Post Office where for 13 Ringgits ($4) I sent them to Canada… by sea mail. (Appropriate dontcha think?)
Artist: Charles Cham – (yes, I do randomly meet international artists, why do you ask?)
Shop: The Orangutan House (has it’s on Facebook page, I might have to start one for my blog.)
I intended to go to the Baba Nonya museum, I received directions and confirmation about the location. I walked into the only open door on the block, it appeared to be a fading, failing art gallery with dusty, aging paintings. A taciturn woman behind a pseudo desk nodded her head towards the upstairs of the building. The first stairwell uses a steel cable stretched diagonally across its landing to halt my progress. When I discover a second stairwell it leads to dustier, abandoned rooms. If there is a museum there, I never found it. When I descend the stairs, the woman behind the pseudo desk shoots me the evil eye to dismiss me from her premises.
'Green A/C'
I amble roughly north and right when I start to fear I’m lost, or I’ve left Malacca altogether I reach the Villa Sentosa which is a traditional Malay house. My guide turns out to be a real character, who sailed the globe, so he’s been to Vancouver, “not Stanley Park, but Gastown” I believe him. Now he tells entertaing stories. The Malay people lived in an open concept design with most things centered around an open courtyard. The buildings were raised rancher style, to permit airflow under the house and keep things cooler. The house itself is a clutter of old bric-a-brac, mostly archaic household items; irons, cookie molds, record players and cameras. A formal, dated air clings to the place, a three dimensional snapshot of a bygone era. I learn about tea ceremonies and Malaysian weddings – where the couple might change outfits seven times. The former gentleman of the house passed away at 93, his bedroom has been preserved, they all said it just felt right to do that.
Coconut scraper, no coconuts.
In Malaysia a coconut scraper makes perfect sense.
The guide lives next door, his roof is painted up as the Malaysian and Malaccan flags (one on each sloped slide.) He’s most proud of the money he received from the government for better paint. “Last year, no money and it washed away in 3 months. This year 2000 Ringgits for paint!” Finally he shows me a sheath he’s making for a dagger. He’s 52 and one day a month is ‘his day’ – he swims and fishes and escapes his house. That’s how he stays young.
Dear Tourists: Ignore the man behind the curtain. Love Oz.
I nearly take the River Cruise back into the heart of the city but opt instead to grab a taxi. There are no taxis around today. Walking. I do get to peer behind the light curtain along the river and it reveals a shanty town. Well, that’s one way to beautify the place, tuck the ugly behind icicle lights.
I find myself at Sin Yin Hoe cafe and enjoy a pleasant and spicy local fried noodle dish. It’s a good mix of locals and tourists.
(CWB would be scandalized, he writes a thousand words about a bowl of cereal.)
Back at the hostel with Pinto’s help I do something new for me. I book a flight intra-country. From Malacca to Penang. This allows me to skip Kuala Lumpur, hit the north and then backtrack to Singapore.
Okay, the Air Asia website states ‘weapons are no longer permitted on flights within countries.’ Does that mean weapons were once permitted as carry on luggage? Why do I do this travel thing again?
And… the flight costs me 100 Ringgits total.
Byron and his backpacks 