Malaysia Day 2 - Melaka

My second day in Malaysia started before dawn. I decided to go for a day trip down to Melaka - a town that made it to UNESCO's world heritage list in 2008. I took the KL subway to the bus terminal together with quite a few early commuters.
At that time KL's main bus station was under reconstruction, but thanks to many fellow travellers who posted on Tripadvisor I knew, where I have to go and what bus I should take. It all sounds so easy, just take the subway and then you get off at stop X and board your bus. I wish!
When I got off the subway, there were no signs pointing me to the direction of the bus terminal. I had to rely on the people who seemed all to go into one direction. I thought I had nothing to loose, so I followed the masses. However, finding the right bus wasn't as easy. It seemed to be just a field provisionally turned into bus terminal. There were no boards with timetables, no numbers of terminals, no nothing. Had I not known, I have to look for a company called "Transnasional" I would have been quite lost.
There were all kinds of busses from various companies and behind their window shields they had little boards with the names of the places they were going to.
There was no central booth to buy tickets and I assumed I had to buy tickets directly on the bus. I had to walk all down the bus "terminal" to finally see a couple of busses with big "TRANSNASIONAL" signs on their sides. There were not many people waiting, yet there was a small tent where a girl was selling tickets. She asked me if I wanted a return ticket, but I was silly enough to take a one-way only. I thought it would give me more flexibility to travel back, whenever I feel I have seen enough.
Well ... since I had left the hostel before it was time for breakfast, my stomach was protesting. Luckily, there were some booths selling "breakfast" - i.e. VERY sweet coffee and VERY sweet buns. It seems that everything in SE-Asia has to be sweet. Just like the instant coffee served on board of AirAsia flights or the instant coffee served in the hostels or just anywhere. If you're like me and drink your coffee black, no sugar, thank you .... you'll have a hard time finding your preferred drink in SE Asia. But, as we say in Slovak, hunger is the best chef ... so I had some sweet buns and some lemonade to calm my stomach.
And off we went, two hours down south, driving along half-empty roads, I almost fell asleep and don't remember much from the ride.
The adventure began when we arrived at Melaka bus terminal. I didn't want to be ripped off by yet another taxi driver, so I went looking for a bus to take me downtown. I knew, it had to be bus number 17, but again, there seemed to be no order in the chaos of busses going into all directions. I walked up and down and never saw a sign for bus number 17. Or rather, I did see it, but there was another bus parked in that spot and I certainly didn't want to end up in some other unknown place in the middle of Malaysia.
Finally, a bus with a big 17 arrived. It looked more than a little bit worn down, it was more like some museum exhibit, held together with sellotape. The bus driver was smoking a cigarette and looked a bit like an old pirate. I asked if he was indeed going to town and he just gestured that I should get on the bus. I expected there would be more tourists, just to be sure that I am on the right bus, but for a long while I was the only foreigner among many locals. They happily chatted away and I wished I understood what they were talking about. It's strange, how unnerving it can be, if you don't have ANY idea of what people say.
Finally, some tourists did arrive and I instantly felt a lot better. Soon after that the bus left the terminal and I was hoping, I'd find the stop where I would have to get off.
No need to worry, the bus driver alerted me and I spotted the historic central (Dutch) square anyway. It was full of tourist stands, fancy tuk-tuks and people.
The red buildings you'll see in all publications about Melaka looked less impressive than on the pictures. Maybe it was due to the clouds, casting a grey shadow over the town, but also the red didn't seem as bright and the buildings were kind of small. I didn't go inside to see all the museums, first I wanted to see the rest of the town.
From the Dutch square you can walk up the hill with an old church ruin (St. Paul's), to get a view of the sea and the town beneath. Climbing uphill in 38 degrees Celsius and almost 100% humidity certainly is no fun, but the view is worth it.
Back down, you should continue to walk through China town that begins just across the river from the main square. The houses are impressively decorated, there is the alleged oldest Chinese tepmple in Malaysia (Tokong Cheng Hoon) and Malaysia's supposedly oldest mosque (Masjid Kampung Hulu) and a Hindu temple (Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar), yet, again, due to Chinese New Years celebrations, all the streets were deserted. No food stalls that are supposed to serve the best food you can find, even most of the restaurants were closed. So I went back to the main square and from there up to Little India. There was more life in the streets, colourful shops, selling spices, saris, beads and what have you. I wanted to walk to the oldest Roman Catholic church of Malaysia, as I had seen the oldest mosque and the oldest Chinese temple, but somehow I managed to get lost and it was getting late and I was worried to miss my bus back, so I decided to head back to town.
I thought it would be easy to get a bus back to the bus terminal. After all, there was a tourist centre and they pointed me to the bus stop. However, there was no timetable or no real indication as to when a bus would leave and how long it would take back to the terminal.
Then a 17 bus arrived and I followed an American couple who also wanted to get to the bus terminal. However, the driver refused to take us. Unfortunately, he was unable to tell us why, he just said NO! So there we were a bit lost for words ... wondering how to get back to the terminal on time. Luckily we were able to get a taxi. So even if we did get stuck in awful traffic, I still made it to the terminal way ahead of time.
The terminal was crowded, it was almost impossible to find a place to sit. There were little shops selling all kinds of stuff, there were little fast food joints ... basically it was easy to spend an hour there waiting for the bus, just observing the world around me.
Still, I was quite happy to board my bus back.
One day for Melaka - if you just walk around it's a lot of walking, but with two days you'd be able to explore the hidden gems too. My advice: avoid travelling around Chinese New Year!

The story continues

No, I did not get lost in KL, nor did anything bad happen. I just didn't find the time or place to write, while I was staying in hostels on the road. And when I got home, the "business-as-usual" got the better of me.
But here I am now, to write down what I saw, experienced and learned.
On my first day in KL I left the hostel very early. According to the weather forecast there should have been rain showers throughout the day and I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the city from above - the KL TV Tower. You may wonder, why I didn't go up the Petronas Twin Towers ... after all, probably the most prominent landmark. Well, according to many reviews I read on Tripadvisor, it was much more worthwhile to go up the TV tower, to see the Twins from above. Moreover, to get to the Petronas Skybridge you have to queue for tickets early in the morning as places are limited. And I didn't want to queue and then find out there would be no ticket for me.
When I got to KL Menara (the TV tower) the visitor's deck was still closed! I thought this was hilarious, since I usually have a problem getting up before 8 AM, but while traveling, it seemed so easy to get up at dawn.
From above I saw a modern city with lots of highrises scattered around, green areas and hills in the background. It could have been any modern city anywhere. Most impressive, of course, were the Petronas Twins. I have to admit, I have a soft spot for tall buildings. Maybe, because I'm tall myself? :-)
However, tall buildings are even more impressive from the ground, standing beneath them. And so was I, standing at the foot of the Twins, admiring the architecture. As my luck would have it, the sun came out and the skies were without a single cloud. As the Germans say "Postkartenwetter" - weather to make postcards. I walked around a bit, through a little park that's on the back side of the towers, but then I felt I had enough of "modern stuff" and went looking for some "more real" KL.
It wasn't very difficult to find. It's funny, how new highrises are in the next street to some old run-down houses, where people hang their clothes out of their windows for drying. And about drying ... I wonder how anything can actually dry in more than 90% air humidity!
So there I was, walking around the empty backstreets of KL. I guess people in those hot and humid climates avoid walking as much as possible, but then again, I have to "walk a city" to get a feeling for it.
My first lunch in KL was my first true local experience. I walked past a few local restaurants, but it wasn't easy to pluck up the courage and just walk in, sit down and order food. Most of the places I saw only had male guests and I wasn't sure I wouldn't be offending someone or breaking some etiquette if I just came in.
And then I spotted a blonde girl, sitting alone in a restaurant full with men wearing turbans. Nobody paid any attention to her, but for me, she was a life-saver. I finally plucked up the courage and went in.
I wasn't really sure what I ordered, all those exotic names ... but it was good and of course spicy as hell!
I continued walking in the afternoon, down Jalan Bukit Bintang and I finished walking in the Masjid Jamek - a mosque. So after all these Buddhist temples I visited in Thailand, this was the first mosque I ever saw in real life and of course I had to go in. I was wearing long pants and had a shawl to cover my head, but that was not enough to satisfy the mosque guard. I had to borrow one of the over-robes they give out to toursits who need to be dressed appropriately to enter a mosque. The guard also told me that I'm not allowed to enter the praying area, but I wouldn't have wanted to disturb the people in there anyway. There were no other tourists except a Chinese-looking guy, who asked me to take his photo and for the third and last time on my 44-day trip I asked someone to take a photo of me. Being in a mosque, all covered to respect Muslim rules, seemed worthwhile to break my rule of never posing in front of sights. (my other two photos were taken, because people offered to take them and I didn't want to offend).
It was the eve of the first day of the Chinese New Year and since the hostel was located close to China Town, it was impossible to get any local food! A Chinese girl I met at the hostel suggested we try a Chinese place in the street where our hostel was, however after initially suggesting that we pay double the usual price, because of CNY, the waiter quickly changed her mind and said, we can't get any food, because of CNY! Lesson learned: when you're in areas inhabited by Chinese, expect all businesses to be closed and the streets deserted around CNY.
We had to eat at McDonald's of all places!
So that was day one of Kuala Lumpur.

The frequent traveller's adventures in a new country

Happy landing at Kuala Lumpur. I thought it was funny, how excited I got, given the fact that I usually fly at least four times a month. But queuing at the border control, I couldn’t help but long for the good old European Union, where we cross borders without having to show our passports. And in most cases, without having to exchange money. You only learn to appreciate things, when they’re not available.

One thing caught my attention though: the “auto-gate” where Malay citizens were able to let themselves in through automatic border controls. Something I’ve heard about in a EU meeting last year, where this concept was being considered and tried at an airport in Spain and France. And here, in South-East Asia, it’s already working. Amazing!

I was so excited, or absent-minded, that I simply forgot to collect my checked-in luggage and walked towards the “bureau de change” to get some money. Of course, this was the worst possible option and I usually would never do such a stupid thing, but as I said, I was totally out of touch with reality. So I exchanged my money at an incredibly bad rate, luckily, I was sane enough not to exchange everything, so I lost “only” 8 Euro in this transaction.

And then I walked out of the arrival area and realized that there are no luggage carrousels. Oh my … Buddha. Now, I guess in Europe, if I had left the arrival area and wanted to get back to collect my luggage, some police or security guard would stop me. Not here, even though there were enough police officers present. When I finally found my “belt” my backpack was just arriving (maybe for the second time) and we were happily reunited.

So finally, I was ready to head towards town. But, wait a moment, where’s the “Skybus” … no proper signs to lead me there and I’m not a genius of orientation, so I spent some quality time, running around the airport, carrying my 14 kg backpack on my back and my 7 kg photo rucksack on my front. This great exercise in 30 degrees Celsius and 90 percent humidity. I loved it!

I know, I could have asked, but I prefer to wander around and get lost …

Then my intuition did lead me in the right direction and I finally sat down on the bus and as I was the last passenger, the bus drove off immediately. Perfect timing!

The first thing that strikes you when you arrive at Kuala Lumpur’s LCC (terminal for low cost carriers) is the amount of green. All the palm trees along the road and you can’t see their stems, as they are covered with leaves. Everything seems to be green. I guess that’s what you get in tropical climates with loads of rain and warm weather.

The bus was dangerously swaying to both sides, driving on the expressway, I felt like I’m on some kind of a rollercoaster. Soon enough, the Petronas Towers emerged on the horizon. Coming to Malaysia from Thailand means that you’re going to miss all the families on motorbikes, open busses, tuk-tuks and smog. Not that there’s no smog in Kuala Lumpur, but compared with Chiang Mai or Bangkok, it seems like the air is clean.

As we approached KL Sentral, the main bus station in town, I tensed up in anticipation. So here I am, alone in this very foreign culture, in a Muslim country.  Maybe I should have booked a hotel instead of a hostel? Maybe I should take a taxi, to be safe? Why is my backpack so heavy?

But it was so easy. Modern cities and their facilities are all the same. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Vending machines, trains, train stations.

However, the view out of the train is not always the same. And that’s where it gets exciting. My train was riding through an area that reminded me of “Slumdog Millionaire”. Later, I found out that my hostel is very close to the “Little India” district in KL. Seeing that from the train, I tensed up again, as I imagined  how I’d trod down those streets with my huge backpack, not able to run away if needed.

There was nothing to fear though. In less than five minutes I reached my hostel.  The adventure makes you tired. The flight was just one hour and twenty minutes, but I was on the road the whole day and when I finally fell down in my bunk bed I fell asleep as if I’ve never encountered Lady Insomnia.

   

Respect life

After 23 days dedicated to monks and "spiritual development" I find myself surrounded by temples of consumption. It's weird, there are very few Thai people in this little beach village and they don't even greet you with "Sawasdee", they say "Hello". I don't like it. Even though I don't know many Thai words, I think that learning how to say "hello" and "thank you" in the language of a country is the least anybody can do to show some respect.
This place doesn't feel real. It's like a theme park, a genuine tourist ghetto, with all the downsides. It's just shops, restaurants and bars. Plus tour operators, selling you day tours to the "sights". I always admire how people all over the world are able to sell you the least interesting things as THE "must-see" sights. So you pay a lot of money and then you are dragged from one "sight" to another, to take photos in the manner of "I've been here" and off you go to the next spot of interest. But there's apparently no other simple way to see the beautiful clear waters and the coral reefs of the Andaman sea, you just have to go with all the tourists and enjoy your 30 minutes of snorkelling.
Yet these thirty minutes are a real highlight. Not sure it's worth to pay 30 Euro for the day tour, including the worst lunch I ever had in Thailand (I kind of expected that though), but swimming with "Nemo" and his friends was a real eye-opener. At first I was afraid, as I don't really like all these sea creatures and the idea that I'll be in the same water as them didn't really seem so great. But once in the water I was overwhelmed by the creativity and imagination of Mother Nature. And then I got sad, when I thought how mankind is slowly but surely destroying this little paradise with our industrial development caring for nobody but our own profit.
Maybe everybody should get to see this with their own eyes, maybe then everybody would develop some respect for the environment. These are living creatures with the same right to life as we have.
Of course, if everybody and their mother came here it would mean even more pollution, so even if it were technically doable, it's not a viable option. Somehow, however, mankind needs to grow up and take more interest in the life around us.
It reminded me of a meeting I attended before Christmas. EU Fisheries Council, where ministers were haggling over quotas - how much fish can be caught in a season. Arguing, that the quotas need to be high and higher to preserve the traditional way of life of the fishermen's communities. What a ridiculous argument! The traditional fishermen caught as much fish as was needed for their community, and the stocks never got depleted because some rich people in some landlocked country needed the delicacy that is blue fin tuna. Well, if these "traditional" fishermen continue with overfishing, they will soon destroy their "tradition" by themselves.
Just like with the tropical fruit. Of course, we all love our bananas and oranges and even more exotic fruits. But if you ever tried these fruits in their region of origin, you know that what we get in Europe is just a poor knock-off of the delicious original. I once bought a pomelo at home, after trying it in Vietnam. It tasted like nothing. Whereas here in South-East Asia it's juicy, tasty, delicious. Why do we import it, leaving a huge carbon footprint, if it doesn't even come close to the taste it's supposed to have?
Yet if we stop importing and consuming tropical fruits for example, we are putting jobs at risk in the countries of origin. So there's no easy solution as in, let's boycott all that's imported. I guess, it all comes down to the good old Buddhist "Middle Way" you have to be aware that your actions have consequences and no extremes are good.

Moving on

"Moving on" is actually a much better way to look at things than "saying goodbye". Saying goodbye to people you've spend so many happy hours with is never easy, but it's a totally different cup of tea when you know, you will probably never see them again. 

Moving on opens new perspectives, new opportunities to meet people who will inspire you in life. Moving on is hope, while saying goodbye is sorrow. I hate saying goodbye but love moving on. 

At the end of each class, my students would stand up and say "thank you teacher, see you again tomorrow". Now, there's no tomorrow for me with them. And maybe not even next year. It must be tough for full time teachers, when you watch your pupils get better each day, encourage them to harness their talents and then you see them leave to make place for new pupils.

In my class there were a couple of very talented young boys, which is even more amazing, considering their backgrounds. Danupol, one particularly gifted boy is from a poor hill tribe family of farmers and his father died, when Danupol was thirteen. He then decided to become a novice, to continue his education. "Otherwise, I'd have to plant rice and vegetables, all year round and would have no time to go to school. But I want to be a famous monk, who can teach people and take care of my family."

At seventeen he knows what really matters and may be wiser than many people will ever be.

In this digital age, it seems we are always only a wi-fi hotspot away from people who should matter. So we all exchange our email addresses and make friends on Facebook only to forget about each other in a time much shorter than it would have taken a traditional letter to cross the ocean just a century ago.

I didn't promise to come back. It would be misleading  and most of my friends won't be here either next year. They'll finish school, maybe leave life in the temple to find a job and start a family. 

Life is moving on. 

Off to the South tomorrow!

Oh my Buddha ...

“I’ll have to ask my master to find out” … one of the monks tells me, when he speaks about his research. He’s studying for a degree in political science and seems to have a lot of work to do.

“Do you know my master?” he asks me. “No”, I reply, “how could I know him?”

“It’s Master Google!” he tells me with a big grin in his face and we both laugh.

The other day, I was sitting in the “Monk chat” area with about 15 monks, plus the dogs that live on temple grounds. People who don’t want their dogs anymore or can’t take care of them bring them to the temple, because they know that the monks will take care.

So whenever I sit with the monks, there are some very old and sick looking dogs walking around us and even though I love dogs, these scare me a bit, just because they look like a great source of numerous undesirable diseases.  

All of a sudden, my friend Champa has a weird look on his face. He looks down to my feet.  “What?” I get a little uncomfortable. “Oh nothing”, he replies but he still looks funny. So I take a look down at my feet, to check what’s wrong and then I spot it. A big pile of dog’s droppings. Now, I’m not a person to freak out at this, I’ve picked up our dog’s droppings numerous times. So I only move my feet a little in order to avoid any contact with the “material”.

Champa asks me for a piece of paper, as he has nothing to pick the stuff up with. I take out my notepad and look for a blank page to tear out. Before I can do it they all break out in big laughter. Champa picks up the “droppings” with his hand. It’s made of plastic. They laugh so hard they can barely talk, but judging from a lot of Thai flying around me, they find it hilarious. Who said monks have to be serious?

“We don’t want to look serious” another of my friends tells me. “Then people would be afraid to talk to us, but we have to talk to them, we have to teach them about Buddhism and morality”. So, when they appear more approachable, it’s easier for them to carry out one of their duties.  I just wish, they’d stop pulling my leg!

Blessed be the Burger

Imagine you only had two meals a day, while there is plenty of tempting food all around you. Yes, you’d have to live with just breakfast and lunch, and nothing after noon. If that were me, going without dinner, you probably wouldn’t want to be anywhere around me in the evening. I might just as well bite your head off, literally and figuratively speaking.

Luckily, I’m not a monk so you’re safe as long as you keep me well fed J

However, as if the “two-meals-only” rule weren’t bad enough, the monks don’t have a choice of what they’ll eat.  Early morning, they walk the streets around their temples to collect food from good Buddhists, who want to “make merit” (collect good karma pointsJ) So, sometimes the monks get lots of good food and sometimes they get instant noodles or a little money and then, they can buy small meals themselves.

When asked about their favourite food, most of the monks tell me, they like everything. They don’t care what they eat. Sometimes they don’t even eat lunch, saying they’re not hungry. So it was quite a surprise to hear one of them say that he likes hamburgers. “I only ate it once” he said … “but it was soo good”.  “Hamburger beef, soo good” ... his eyes lit up when he remembered the one time he tried Western fast food.  “Can I get you one?”, I asked, not sure of the etiquette, would it be ok, if I gave him food, not during his morning round (as I doubt McDo is open before sunrise) but later, just before the noon deadline. “Yes, why not?” he replied and I promised that I’ll get him a “burger beef” the next day.

I can hardly imagine anything more embarrassing than going to a fast food joint in Thailand, a.k.a. the food paradise. You can get a good local meal for as little as 25 Baht (about 60 Eurocents) whereas you pay 135 Baht for a Big Mac Menu. But there I was. I marched into the empty restaurant and asked for a burger. And because I didn’t want to walk the 20 minutes to school, sporting a McDo bag, I took my own plastic bag from a bookshop to cover it up.

I was greeted with cheers. “Maria, you have a burger?” His eyes bright with expectation. “Yes, enjoy your meal!” I put the bag on the table in front of him and was expecting him, to dig in and savour the moment. However, it’s not as easy as that. First, he asked me to put my hands together. So I followed his example. He half-closed his eyes and began to chant in Thai, most probably thanking this generous stranger for his meal and wishing me well. I can only assume, as he said the last few words in English: “may you be happy, rich and loved”.  And then, slowly he took his first bite.

   Champa and his "burger beef"