Malaysia!

I managed to cobble together enough Singaporean dollars to bus myself over the near border to Malaysia's southernmost city, Johor Bahru, where I could change my unrippable Aussie bucks for some much happier Ringgit. The bus between cities is only an hour, and would be shorter if it didn't insist on taking the long way around. My tentative plan was to stay the night or at least all day in JB. This plan changed the instant I got out of the bus station.

It's not that Johor Bahru is a horrible city, but stepping straight from the clean shiny streets of Singapore onto the filth-ridden pavements of JB isn't the best introduction to Malaysia. I had grabbed some interesting treats from a hawker stall to satiate my hunger (as I couldn't afford breakfast in Singapore) and strode on to discover my first taste of this new country, only to be hassled by guys, troubled by sights and feel totally uncomfortable. I am fine with people staring when I'm a lone little white girl travelling abroad and I'm used to guys whose only bit of English is "hello honey you like to make love?" with the accompanying disgusting smile, but something about the atmosphere of the city made me not want to be there any longer than necessary, and finding nothing more than some fake Fendi bags and a shopping mall within the short distance I meandered sent me straight to the bus station. It was a stop-gap anyway - no need to stick around.

I love you Asia

I wandered in the general direction of the station, or what I thought was the general direction according to my trusty Rough Guide, and not for the last time on my trip, I suddenly realised I was halfway along a motorway with no real footpath and understood that this probably wasn't the right way. As I turned back on myself to return to the city centre and get a cab, a man sat at the bus stop I'd now passed twice shouted "Hey where are you trying to get to?" to me. I told him and he advised "No, no. The taxi is expensive. Sit down, I'll put you on the right bus." He proceeded to chat about Malaysia with me while we waited for the bus,  gave me change so I didn't have to waste the extra 30 sen (about 10p) on the bus fare, then flagged down the right one and sent me on my way. I was overcome with gratefulness....and even more so when I arrived at the main station to see that he'd come up on his scooter to also make sure that I got on the right bus to Melaka without being ripped off. He checked my ticket, checked with the seller, pointed me in the right direction and gave me his email address in case I got in trouble in the country. I could have hugged him and waved as the bus left with a tear of gratitude in my eye.

So Melaka was a dutch settlement, and man, does it show. From the sheets of colourful flowers to the actual windmill,  it's totally the Asian Netherlands. It's a small city, centred around the Dutch square, and walking around it kind of bewilders you. It's got a particular charm, though, and I again filled my evening with the wonderful night market on the Jonker Walk, buying some gifts, eating fantastic unknown treats and taking an inordinate amount of photos. The joviality of the people once again struck me as I went into an empty cafe only for the proprietor to search through the whole place to find me an adapter to charge my camera, give me free internet access and to put Bryan Adams on for me (!!) presumably because I look like the sort of cat who likes to listen to the Groover from Vancouver.

Melaka by night

I was, again, planning to stay in Melaka for another day but after I chatting to Melik, the owner of the resplendently beautiful Emily's Guest House, a place made from mostly recycled materials with a pet rabbit called Mr Playboy and an entrance hall with a koi pond and gorgeous archway, I felt like I'd exhausted Melaka's possibilities for me and I went to catch a bus from the unmarked secret busstop nearby. I did, however, sample Melik's amazing kaya, a substance I grew to love to the point of obsession by the end of my trip, which is basically a sugary coconut spread with egg yolks. It's amazing.

Mr Playboy

After an 8-hour bus trip, which was actually more of an 11-hour bus trip, during which I very nearly found myself at the mercy of ten angry macaques (is there any other kind?), I gathered myself at the ferry port in Butterworth. It was sparsely populated with myself and just a few late night Penangers (Penangites?) trying to get home, but in the dark, when I was tired, with little energy from a day travelling and not much enthusiasm, it didn't look all that great. It was a delightful trip over the short expanse of water as you point straight towards the bright lights of the night time city, but while staggering to find a hostel with a room, I wasn't too impressed. The next morning, though, Penang's main city of Georgetown looked much more hospitable, and after yet more help from locals (who clearly had been briefed by their cousins in JB about my inability to look after myself) got on one more bus to the National Park in the top left corner of the island. On the bus trip I met Leigh, a girl staying at my hostel headed in the same direction, and we trekked through the park together, stopping to paddle in freshwater rivers, hanging out at the beach at the end of the hike and searching out ice creams when we were badly in need. The forest there was astounding and it was great to clamber, duck, stride and sweat.

I spent the evening looking for some Malaysian pants (of which there are apparently none in Malaysia) but before the sun went down I noticed that there was a fire next to my hostel! Oh my god! And there are...people standing around......watching? And it's money that's on fire? I was perplexed. Thankfully a friendly local saw my frankly shocking facial expression and explained to me that it was actually a ritual related to the festival of the Hungry Ghost. This is a time where the doors of Heaven and Hell are opened up and the spirits of the deceased are free to roam the earth, and Chinese Malays celebrate this by    giving offerings to their dead relatives, or to those whose families did not properly grieve them when they died. What I was seeing was a huge pile of burning fake "Hell Money" with a lady praying to it, and there was a selection of food and drinks next to it. Chinese Malays also leave an empty place at the table for their deceased during this time.

I was lucky enough to be in Malaysia during the time of 3 massive festivals. Because the population of the county is mostly made up of 3 different races - Malays, Chinese and Indians, who live mostly in harmony, at least culturally - there are a myriad of holidays and celebrations throughout the year. During my short trip there was the Hungry Ghost Festival (Chinese), Ramadan (Islam) and Hari Raya, which I was informed is like Malaysian New Year, but its actually the culmination of Ramadan so it's really a Muslim day. However, all of Malaysia closes down (as I was to learn to my chagrin while trying to get from Butterworth to Lenggong which resulted in the most ridiculous set of bus journeys ever) as most people trek back to their home towns to be with their families and hold 'open house', which is basically where they make a ridiculous amount of food and open their homes up to anyone. I was temped to sample such Islamic delights by crashing in on some unsuspecting lovelies, but as I was up in the jungle trying not to get humped by a goat at the time, I was somewhat hampered in this plan.