Are we still on?

Hello again to my fives of readers!

October kind of got away from me, huh? It was kind of a big month. I would say probably the biggest this year. And this year hasn't been shabby so far neither. Here's what happened:

Tioman

A while back i heard my friends Odd (who's quite normal), SK and Claire were going to Pulau Tioman, which is one of Malaysia's many idyllic islands near Singapore and I recklessly said "Hey! I'll join you! I'll just meet you at the ferry. No worries!"

So I spent end of September trying to get bus tickets to Mersing for a Tioman trip during Hari Raya!

Ha!ha!ha! That is not me laughing–that is the sound of ticket sellers at KL's famously crap Pudu station on hearing my request. My choices: get there at 4am then wait til 8am for the 1st ferry, OR go to Kuantan and double my trip time then get there at 5am. OR, the scintillating-Take the train to then get a bus to Mersing at 5am. OR,.. well you get the picture.

In the end, the travel gods smiled down on me and confirmed a ticket on the Berjaya Air waitlist. Here marks the end of my relationship with the Malaysian public transport system. Good luck and good riddance!

The replica plane that they sent to fill in for a real plane

An exciting wait in the under-renovation Subang airport, and I was on my way in a tiny plane with a lot of Germans. Is it the same group of Germans following me aorund? Every time I go islanding (real word, I swear)! I thought summer was over for Europeans? I don't get it.

Anyway I flew Berjaya Air and stayed at.. Berjaya Resort and ate Berjaya food and rode the Berjaya bus...it was one of those really authentic experiences. I looked at the Berjaya view (see above) for 3 days, so I can't say I have any complaints!

KL Swing

Next up is where things begin to go off the rails... in a totally good way. In late September, I met this girl Ling who had created a KL Swing Facebook group and I offered to help.

We are both Malaysian-ish and had both been in town for about 6months, separately bitching that there was no Swing dancing. In between then and early October, we held a free taster class in Tiara's Aroma Beauty Salon in Bangsar (good floors, crap sound system, cheap) and then she promptly accepted a job in Singapore!

Note the awesome black light deco

That meant I was on my lonesome for the Oct 9 workshop we had organised with Sinclair, my teacher from Singapore. I like to think I am realistic. I probably err on the side of glass woefully half empty. Just to be, you know, safe. So I fully expected to find myself alone, in a Punjabi bar called Topaz (good floors, crap lights, cheap :D) but to my great surprise and delight, most everyone who replied on facebook, and then some, showed up.

They very obligingly learned the 8-count in mood lighting–I had asked the manager to help me turn off 1) the disco ball 2) the strobe lights. I tried for 3) non-smoking, but he wasn't having a bar of it.

Having noted I could safely get enough people for the class, I began the search for a proper studio. Weekday nights are dance studios' bread and butter, so it took alot of calling around before I found 2 separate ones for Sinclair's next visit, which was last Wednesday and Thursday.

Wednesday went great, once it got started! Monsoon rains, immigration queues and mega traffic meant Sinclair's trip from the airport was much longer and arduous-er than expected. Started half an hour late, but we got there in the end!

More pix here at FB

Singapore

In between workshops, I popped down to Singapore for some work. Some very exciting days spent in a darkened room! My first coffee table book shoot. I really really wanna share, but that'll have to wait.

I also got to hang with my girls J & P who very bravely took me to Bellini Grande for "A new realm in live entertainment"–according to the poster. It was another realm all right! It boasts about a bajillion musicians and an all-hot cast of singers and dancers. It's meant to be in the vague vacinity of Swing Jazz, but it's more closely related to a cheesy day-time Vegas variety show than a Big Band. It's all showbiz T & A with a Kermit puppet, a faux-Southern singer and an Elvis impersonator to boot. My face really hurt when I left from all the laughing-I recommend everyone do it once! Is cheesier than the whole of Wisconsin.

Oh yeah, somewhere in there I turned 29 :) So far, it's not too bad. Not too bad at all.

Scandinavia-the round up

So Wednesday morning, we woke up to an empty driveway.

The 6-week-old car vanished overnight. And the gate was closed. As if it had just popped down to the shops.

After we managed to close our mouths, I got my first entry into a Malaysian police station. My parents were at the counter with a lady living in the next street who was also reporting a stolen C-RV. Another 3 had gone from another suburb. Clearly it was a syndicate, filling an order.

The possibilities began to click through in my mind about how it happened: they'd definitely hacked our gate's remote control lock, because there was no damage...we were lucky they didn't come in..how did they find us?..maybe they paid off someone at the dealership?..maybe the salesman is part of the syndicate?...crooked police? Basically anything that might be a plot twist in airport fiction, is a plausible possibility in Malaysia.

And it's here I begin to be wistful for Scandinavia; that rare combination of being a place you would want to go and a place that's safe to be.



View Larger Map
The route: Anti-clockwise on the Blue line for 2 weeks with the tour. Then Pink line on my ownsome.

With the exception of Oslo which has seen better days, from the beginning in Stockholm, right around the landmass, and over to Denmark, I was only ever in danger of offending locals by misusing the words "Scandinavia" and "Nordic" (oh yes, there's a difference)

Rudolf's posse spotted scoping a joint

All the time I gawped at new bicycles left unsecured on the street, potted plant arrangements left unvandalised, and struggled to spot so much as peeling paint, let alone graffiti. There's a level of civic consciousness that's astounding. It's like Japan; safe, expensive and culturally homogenous but with more trees, less people, slightly less fish and a lot more reindeer.

Sure, as a tourist it's unlikely "historic crackwhore den" would be included on the Copenhagen city tour, but as a comparison, in San Francisco you can't go the two blocks from your overpriced tram ride in Market St to the statue in Union Square without passing at least 4 homeless people panhandling, 3 of them with AIDS, 2 junkies cursing...

"And ooonnne crazypersonmuttering toooo themmmm...sellllllves".

It was just really relaxing to not-worry about maintaining a vice-like grip on my bag, to not-worry about security in the hotel rooms, to not-worry about drivers going through zebra crossings, to not-worry that my bag would be stolen when I went to the toilet.

Maybe it's just because I was there with Malaysians, so given our exchange rate, no one would want to steal from us anyway! But for a place that often looks the stuff of fairytale, my favourite part couldn't be photographed.

I'll be doing a run-through of the different stops on the route in the following days. It won't be blow-by-blow, I promise. I know you can't be arsed to read that, but more importantly, I can't be arsed to write it.

:)

Sounds like Kampung Spirit

So last week we headed north to my mum's hometown.

It was for what I call the zhongzi festival, but what Wikipedia calls Duanwu Festival. It's a day commemorating a poet's suicide with wrapped dumplings.

Never say us Chinese don't know how to cut loose. In yo face, Easter!

Then the other reason (I don't cross state lines for less than two) was a cousin's wedding. Actually that in itself is not so unusual. Given my mum has seven siblings, I'm surprised if a weekend goes past that someone in the family isn't married/born/graduated/coming back/leaving/abducted by aliens. However, I was a little anxious as I haven't been back for nearly a decade.

Pour quoi? you ask. Because you're French like that. Well, mon ami, it's an out in the sticks kampung. That's why! Since I had a choice about it, I've consciously avoided the mechanics shophouse on Jalan Besar (Main St for my 5's of international readers).

It's the business that my grandfather started, that kept the family going through the war and the Japanese, where my mum grew up and where my 80+ y.o. grandma still reigns supreme; insisting on climbing the steep-as-hell stairs every day. To look down on it, I know, pretty much makes me an up-herself Westernised snot.

Yet looking at the five-foot way littered with greasy spare parts, and the buckets of used oil out the back, I remembered why as a kid I always dreaded coming here. I also don't speak Cantonese, so that left me quite the dumb-mute in a house full of screeching, bellowing feistiness–the Cantonese are nothing if not the feistiest feists that ever feisted.

I realised I was like a bad foreign student in my grandma's house; dismissive of the strange workings of a different way of life and watching the clock until I could get back home. So this time I tried not to expect to feel comfortable, just to give people the same room as I do when I'm travelling.

Most travelers would die to be taken into a traditional home and partake in the preparations for a festival, right? So in that perspective, I was quite happy to wrap some zhongzi.

My mum got to show off her skillz, and I got to practise my rusty ones. Sat on a tiny stool in my grandma's rustic kitchen, surrounded by all the ingredients at our feet, the woodfire stove going and sunlight streaming in through the one skylight, I guess I got to make a little peace with the mechanics on Jalan Besar.

Less peaceful and mostly just ear-curdlingly terrifying was the wedding we attended that evening. First off, it was in Taipeng, the nearest major town. When Taipeng is "the big smoke" the hairs on my neck already prickle. Watch out: Racism and middle-class snobbery up ahead!

When we got there, the restaurant was packed to the rafters with shouting, pushing, gobbling Chinese people and about a billion little kids (Memo to small towns: Need more entertainment options).


Then we found our table, to my dismay, was right up the front–next to a gigantic speaker. Worse, the evening's 'host' sporting an interesting haircut and electric blue sneakers, was on stage and fancied himself auditioning for Malaysian Idol.

He chose a Mandarin ballad, and after some banter, proceeded to serve it up to the chewing masses with an extra helping of D-I-V-A. He'd clearly been practising the singing AND the exaggerated hand gestures AND the dramatic facial expressions.

He was singing of love lost, but my appetite went pretty quickly too. For after him came the happy coupleS. Yep, that's a multiple. The restaurant was hosting TWO weddings at the same time–beat that for efficiency, Singapore! After Mr Mariah was done, he then invited the first couple to pop champagne, pour it onto the pyramid of glasses, and do yum seng. Then I guess the glasses were rinsed, and my cousin repeated.

So far so bearable. That is, until the first groom strutted and styled his way through a power ballad and then his wife joined him for a duet, complete with a big finish. If I hadn't already considered sticking myself in the eye with a chopstick to dull the pain, then I was seriously contemplating it now. They too had practised, though not as much as Mr Mariah.

To my dismay, my cousin and his wife followed suit after them. Then again, it's their big day. So I guess they're entitled to do whatever the hell they feel like.

Less entitled, but no less enthusiastic, were the string of uncles and aunties that followed up with ear-drum-bursting renditions of their favourite Cantonese/English/Hokkien numbers. Of course someone HAD to do "My Way". Frank might have had too few regrets to mention, but I bloody well did!

Mercifully, the dessert was declared not up to snuff, so we proceeded to disembark from the dinner. Sonically beaten to a pulp, I headed out to the carpark with the continued warbling ringing in my ears.

PS: Pix of froofy blue bridal gown which we really really wanted to put in, not included to protect us from familial retribution at some later date. Thank you.

Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan

A friend of the family's in KK had sms'd that "KK is not that special.. but Sandakan is great!"

That's all we needed to add it to the itinerary. The Lonely Planet was strangely quiet about it, but I thought "Woo! Finally we'll be seeing something of real Malaysia, not on the tourist route. SWEEET!" And then proceeded to feel very smug about myself.

The big draw for Sandakan is that there's an orang utan sanctuary about 45min drive away in the jungle. Most tour groups just fly their people in at 8am (it's a 30min flight), do the 10am feeding, have lunch, then return to KK. The other big attraction they have is the islands (kind of) nearby which harbour nesting turtles and very much more awesome diving than KK.

Between those two and the superior seafood, I thought we were set to enjoy an undiscovered Malaysian gem of a seaside town.

Turns out I was mostly kinda.. *sigh* well if you must.. WRONG.

Let it be noted what I had read was accurate–the seafood was GREAT. So fresh and really very reasonable.

Also the Orang Utan sanctuary at Sepilok doesn't disappoint. It's well managed and who can get enough of orang utans? Especially the babies!

The thing is, attending a feeding and a seafood lunch takes about.. half a day? Then you're left to contemplate what else there is to do, and you realise FAAARK! You've booked 4 days in a 1-horse town. Which, come to think of it, reminds you of Ipoh 20 years ago, just with more utes. And now that you mention it, many of the buildings look exactly like a building looks when you do nothing to it for more than 2 decades.

Thankfully one thing I didn't cock up was the hotel. Having made a last minute booking, we asked the taxi driver to stop in at various other hotels in town, just to see if we should change. Turns out NAK hotel, one of the first 'proper' hotels in Sandakan, and having gone through a recent renovation, is the only place in town that looks like they actually hired an interior decorator. The hotel's facilities are simple, but the whole thing's been decked out in a nouveau-chinois kind of style, which cheered me no end. And a suite was RM106! That was cheer-inducing as well.

The wonderful Linn at the hotel also hooked us up with a day trip to the Turtle Island of Selingan. It's one of the 3 islands nearby where mama turtles come to lay their eggs. We'd spoken with a few travel agents who said it couldn't be done; it takes an hour and a half to get there, you have to stay overnight etc. I think this is because the island is run by one operator and they only need enough people to fill their chalets. More than that they're not really interested in.

But, we managed to wrangle it, and were happy to see the island, if not the turtles. Turns out though, that we got real lucky! When we noticed a baby come out of the sand in the hatchery, we asked the ranger to help us take a picture (they're kept under watch because eggs left on the beach get stolen and sold by guys holding carrier bags in the street outside Sandakan market). Instead of doing so, he reached in to grab it and asked us to follow. We proceeded over to the beach and let it go! Like some kind of baby turtle freedom fighter. OK so am not up for any awards from Greenpeace yet, but it was such a special experience. I said a prayer for the little guy as he turned into a speck in the blue.

I figure he needs all the help he can get.

New suggested tourism tagline: Sandakan, Not As Bad As You Think. Catchy, huh?

Sabah Trip Part Satu (1) : KK Diving

Yen came back from SF for Dad's 60th, so we thought we'd go somewhere for a family holiday. Having (sort of) successfully convinced my dad the diving trip I had planned in Sabah was for his birthday, we hurriedly packed after the cake was cleared away and headed off the next day for Kota Kinabalu. Or KK for the Malay-challenged.

KK is in West Malaysia, in Sabah state, which is the top right part of Borneo (how much do I rock at geography!). Now, most people go to KK for Mt Kinabalu, the river safaris, the exotic jungle wildlife and such. Me, I give you two words: cheap diving.

Whilst Sipadan off the west coast of Sabah is a magnet for divers (and sometimes terrorists..), you'll also end up paying resort prices to learn in the shallows, and there's sweet FA for non-divers, so I went with KK where there's a plethora of choice. Also a refreshing lack of 2000m drops!

I had enough trouble getting to this point (the trip initially was for China, don't ask), so I only booked hotels, no activities. Luckily KK is fantastic for the last-minute and unprepared traveller, like moi. They have this lovely place called Wisma Sabah in the little downtown. It's a building housing only travel-related companies. Dive tours, Air Asia, hotel bookings, jungle safaris... whatever you want to do you can ask for details, compare prices, and book in the same floor. How cool is that!

Jennifer at Scuba Paradise was very helpful and we were able to book some Mt Kinabalu/river safari things for mum and dad as well as Open Water PADI diving course for Yen and I. Rm 840 for 3 days instruction from personal dive master, equipment rental, lunch, hotel pickup and certification. W00t!

The first day of training was loooong. The PADI DVD is immensely cheesy and there's 5 modules to go through before a final "exam". It's pretty much high school physics (buoyancy, gases, light, refraction..), safety stuff and using a table to figure out how much nitrogen is in your system. It's brain hurtin stuff though, for a holiday. So, we were really glad to escape at the end and quickly sniffed out the waterfront mamak stalls covering the essential food groups: anything fried, desserts with condensed milk, chicken wings and MSG.

Next morning we took off from the jetty at Sutera Resort, the fancy new one in town. It's just chockers with Korean ladies off on a boat ride to the islands with their matchingly dressed and coiffed man and stilettoes.

I curse my slowness in taking pictures! They were truly breathtaking.

If I were learning in Australia, I'd have studied by myself and spent this part in a pool. Instead, our first stop was the shallows at Sapi Island, ten minutes away. It's much more convenient to go to the island than to find a swimming pool actually!

Pulau Sapi is one of the five islands in the TAR marine park off KK. The snorkelling and diving here isn't going to compare to Sipadan. As we were to see for ourselves, most of the coral has been dynamited, leaving only a few patches here and there of natural coral reef. Still, the water is clear, warm and thick with all kinds of fish, so it's very good for beginners.

At the beginning, as with most things, it's all weird and uncomfortable. The equipment is just a tangled mess of hoses and valves with some really indecipherable gauges thrown in. Then there's the actual diving...

I don't have pix of the dives unfortunately–need a whole underwater setup for that. Besides, I was initially, ..what's the right word.. freaking-the-hell-out. It felt so unsafe to willingly 'drown' and then keep heading down, even when you can't see the bottom. My mental dialogue: "faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrk!!!!"

Mental hysterics over, I realised I'm not going to last long if I keep this up, so I turned it into underwater meditation class: Breathe iiiiin, breathe ooooout. Don't think of anything else.

It's quite good training, cause screwing up the calm breathing=drowning. So on pain of death, you must keep calm.

With each dive and learning exercise, we got more comfortable. I went from holding the instructor's arm in a death grip to being able to navigate away and come back (it did take 2 goes, but no one's perfect!).

On the second day, after a swim test, we were finally certified!

I must say initially, I was hoping for a different instructor. Perhaps tall, tanned and French..dark hair...deep soulful gaze.. just a suggestion! But we got safety-minded, old-hand Jeffrey instead. Which turns out was exactly the person I wanted to be in sight as I was freaking out in the murky depths.

It turns out dive instructors, like winners of the World Cup, can't be picked on their good looks alone. Who knew!

This was even more apparent as we got off the boat triumphantly at the end of the 2nd diving day. Another boat had come racing in behind us and there was a lot of kerfuffle as a British girl was taken off on a stretcher in agonies. She'd managed to step on a stingray...ON THE BEACH! We hadn't even seen any in the water!

As her quite hot tour guide was frantically shouting into his phone in the parking lot, it was a timely reminder that a whole bunch of unexpected stuff can happen at sea, and safety, whilst boring and not as good looking is paramount :p

For more Sabah pix and rapier-like wit click here.

Next: Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan