Eye of the Liger: Luala Kumpur

Because we were unable to fly home for the holidays, Jeff and I traveled to Malaysia for two weeks instead. We began the trip in Kuala Lumpur, then spent four nights on the beach in Penang, and finally returned to KL before flying home.

I didn't know very much about Malaysia before I arrived, but it was an overall great experience, especially because it is incredibly different from Phnom Penh. First of all, Malaysia (or at least KL) seems quite wealthy. We went to more than one mall that was five or six floors full of designer stores, from Dior to Alexander McQueen. The streets are impeccable. The public transportation is efficient, clean and easy to use. The customer service was prompt, professional, attentive and knowledgeable. Our hotel was quite swanky.

Merry Christmas from the hotel lobby!

Malaysia is very diverse and multicultural, as we were told by almost everyone we met -- the population is a third Chinese, a third Malay and a third Indian. Therefore, there are two little Indias, a big Chinatown and a lot of other culturally robust neighborhoods/areas. Most of the people that we interacted with (cab drivers, waiters, hotel staff, etc.) were not born in Malaysia, but had moved from another Asian country. It seemed like a country of transplants, but all the transplants seemed happy. Many had brought their families with them, and most seemed to be working class, but definitely not poor.

Chinatown street food

Unfortunately, the first few days in KL (we arrived on Christmas Eve) ultimately made me feel more lonely than anything else. Of course I was excited to drink a Starbucks grande soy latte (mikemac) and get upgraded to an executive suite at our hotel, but the city itself presented as rather impersonal. Although there is such a diversity of cultures, it seemed like no one took ownership of making KL individualized or unique and instead it came across as almost devoid of culture. We could have been in any major city... however, I am definitely biased because Cambodia absolutely crawls with culture, personality, smells, sounds, greetings, smiles, and authenticity despite the chaos. KL seemed like a Stepford wife in comparison.

I think the other thing that stuck out to us was the lack of communication we had with people. In Cambodia we are constantly meeting new people/random strangers who are excited to sit down and talk, share a drink, invite us over, recommend a new restaurant, tell us about their life, anything. As we drive through the streets, we can't go more than a few blocks without hearing the "HELLO!" of small children and grown men alike. Even on its worst days, Cambodia is genuinely friendly. While we were in KL we were each other's only conversation for the most part.

Jeff's airport Starbucks

I also want to take this moment to explain a related facet of Malaysia -- it is a predominantly Muslim country, and therefore has its differences. One of the differences that became clear to me after only a few days was the treatment of women. It was striking at first to notice the more outward components of Muslim life: women wearing head scarves, long black burkas or burkas that covered everything but their eyes. But, I had expected that. What I did not expect was that the trains had cars for women only. And that local men did not address me at all. Taxi drivers would ask, "sir, where are you going? Where are you from, sir?" and not make eye contact with me or answer my questions unless I asked twice. Waiters would ask Jeff for our order. And during my one solo cab ride, the bearded cab driver did not speak one word to me except for the initial "where you go?," even when I asked him a few pointed questions. When I got out, instead of verbally telling me the amount I owed, he pointed at the meter silently. Suffice to say, it got old after a while and I found myself ranting a little bit about the archaic practices that are still in place.

While I was sad not to be home for Christmas with my family, Jeff reminded me that we were on a vacation that many people only dream of being able to experience. This perspective shift was needed, and I tried my best to recognize and appreciate that. I will let the pictures speak for themselves, but the best things about KL were:

-our first Malay meal, absolutely delicious: Malaysian curry, lamb and morning glories, a bottle of wine, a friendly waiter, great ambiance

-starting (and finishing) Friday Night Lights Season One; so good!

-relaxing by the pool on the hotel's roof, reading a good book

-a visit to the Batu Caves, a large Hindu temple complete with monkeys, incense, gorgeous Indian families decked out in traditional garb and the largest statue of its kind in the world (or largest in Asia, I'm not entirely sure, but it was BIG)

287 steps. I counted.

I will also indulge a recount of the Canopy Walk, as I can now admit it was one of the best things we did. I can assure you that Jeff's account would be slightly different. If you know me, you know that the "hiking" genes skipped me and instead manifested in a disproportionately high number in my sister, Caitlin. When I was in middle school, my heart twisted with loathing and despair at the mention of a Saturday hike with the family in Zoar Valley. I remember one particular time when my mother was so angry with me for refusing to join the weekend jaunt that she took my cell phone AND the computer keyboard when they left me at home. I still refused to go. So, you can imagine the disgruntled mindset that slowly began to hatch when we got out of the cab and were told to "walk to D." Well, we were at A. So we walked on, having no idea where to go, until we finally found a tiny ticket office. We purchased tickets from a mean-faced woman, who instructed us to walk further into the complex of office buildings and recreational vehicles and then turn right at the bridge. We did. Then we entered what seemed to me to be a hiking trail. I was wearing sandals, white shorts and a strapless bra. Sorry for the personal details, but its pertinent for the females out there to understand just how ill-prepared I was for a hike I did not know I had agreed to go on.

We began to walk. There were interesting plants all around us, some with massive leaves and others with beautiful colors, so I was momentarily lured into a sense of calm. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe this would be the exception to the rule, the hike I would enjoy. Then the incline picked up. And the temperature increased as the sun rose. And the mosquitoes sent out the notice that we were in the vicinity. All this led to sweat and anger and uncomfortableness. Did I mention I was carrying a leather purse like a messenger bag? Perfect for a hike, right? The terrain became increasingly difficult, to the point where I needed to grab on to small trees to support my weight as I teetered from step to root-infested step. Sweating. I am now dirty. Angry. After about an hour (or what felt like an hour), we got to a flat area with a bench and a sign and I resigned myself to sit on the bench and read/reread the sign until Jeff was ready to go back down. I informed him, pleased with myself for not complaining as much as I could have, but the look on his face (one I have seen many times before) told me that perhaps I did not do as good a job masking my disdain and annoyance as I had thought. At any rate, he continued up the mountainside/sheer cliff/forested jungle and two minutes later yelled down that I had to come up because we were almost there. Almost where, you might ask? The Canopy Walk, of course.

What is it about that name that would alert one to the fact that they may have to hike up a mountain? You tell me.

It turned out to be a series of three or four long walkways strung between the highest trees in the jungle. We were instructed not to have more than four people on one walkway at one time, and to keep at least six planks in between ourselves and the person in front of us. Without any other instructions or disclaimers, off we went. To add insult to injury, the person in front of me happened to be a damn toddler. Toddling along the shaky walkway with her mother cavorting beside her, snapping pictures. No fear. Probably not even sweating.

In the end, I was glad that we did it; it offered an amazing view of the jungle and far off city, as well as a sense of exhilaration that we could plunge to our brambly, bug-filled death at any moment. Jeff can attest that I apologized for my angst. But he can also probably attest that he would rather plunge to his death from said walkway than take me on another hike.