FULL MOON PARTY
I'd heard bad things about the infamous Ko Pha Ngan F.M.P.
TRAVELLER A6: Oh yeah I got my bag nicked and contracted syphilis off a body painted unicyclist.
ME: So maybe I shouldn't go?
TRAVELLER A6: Oh you've got to go. It's an experience.
An experience: 4000 people on a massive beach so drunk/fucked that they start collapsing in piles like they've just been sprayed with mustard gas. Not that I didn't have a good time. I made over 10,000 Bart going through their pockets.
The music wasn't so great at the various places along the beach. It was rather like Watford with good weather. I happily guzzled some infamous Thai buckets. A typical bucket contains a fair whack of Samsong, (Thai whiskey that churns your stomach and drives you loopy), some coke and a bottle of wickedly concentrated Thai red bull (found in medicine bottles; has been known to wake the comatose).
At the full moon party people lose consciousness and shoes. I have never lost my shoes no matter what state I have been in. A foolish boast perhaps, inviting disaster. I don’t care – HA HA HA I will never lose footwear as long as I live! Another common occurrence is the ‘Crying Game syndrome’ ie. Where the lovely Thai girl with whom you are getting on very well turns out to be a man. Both of these FMP cliches were achieved with some style by our travelling companion Bob.
BOB (STEVE)
Bob is Scottish, lives in London next to a bunch of Chasidim in Stoke Newington (they drag him out to turn on their lights on Shabbat), and can drink for at least 24 hours longer than anyone I have ever met. What effect did this have on Dan and myself? As an anthropological experiment I have been attempting to match him. I have started to develop a Scottish accent and I can no longer drink water or eat food without vomiting. I haven’t accidentally snogged any ladyboys yet, but I’m trying not to feel too bad about it.
THE ASIAN WAY
Back on Perhentian I had many serious discussions about arse wiping. In Asia no toilet paper is used. A tap next to the toilet provides for all your cleaning needs. No soap of course - are you joking? Dan has become quite the afficionado at this method. He LOVES it. Much more efficient, less wasteful. Less hygenic. I was building up to it. How can more than one entire continent of the world shun the use of toilet paper, whilst I buckle at the thought of such intimate hand to shit contact? Is it me, or am I just a product of our superficially sterile society? Anyway this must change. I vowed to deal with my shit demons. I talked to Dan about it in a panicked tone. He suggested inserting my middle finger up to the hilt. I thanked him for his advice.
I ran into the toilet and sat down before I had a chance to change my mind. There was the tap, dripping lasciviously. Whoosh - the rest was a blur. Before I knew it I was in the shower vigorously scrubbing myself down all over – PURGE PURGE THE EVIL! I returned to the dive shop ashen faced and sat clutching a coffee. I couldn’t talk about it then, and I haven’t tried it since. Maybe I should just go to Japan with their remote control toilets that make you a cup of tea and lecture you on Nietzche.
NIGHT BOAT
The night boat from Ko Tao to Surat Thani left at 9 to arrive at 4:30am. It was a slightly more rickety version of Noah’s Ark. This is fun, we thought as we set sail. Then the winds started to rock the boat almost vertical. It creaked and cracked like a rotten rocking chair. We lay in the quarterdeck (many thanks to Bob for this item of boating jargon) on massive mattresses sliding backwards and forwards. Only another 6 hours. It was lovely on the bow until a tidal wave drenched me from head to foot. Inside, water cascaded in through the windows every so often just to keep everyone refreshed. Fortunately we had purchased some freely available valium from a chemist. I had never taken it before. Within ten minutes I started to see the boat journey not as a churning voyage of discomfort and probable death but as a pleasure cruise through a fluffy meadow. ‘This is so niiice, guys, aren’t you having, like the best ti…zzzzzzzzzz ZZZ z’ I woke up with my leg folded behind my head and my face pressed against the floor. Here we are!
THAI MASSAGE
A 300 year old monkey women pummelled the crap out of me for an hour. As she was kneading my stomach like a sack of dough I thought I might have to run to the toilet. But through sheer will I made it through to the head slapping stage.
KHAO SOK
We are below staggering limestone cliffs and among cool winding rivers in the National Park of Khao Sok. I am now consuming 12 banana milkshakes a day. We went tubing in the river yesterday – you pay, and they give you rubber rings and let you play in the river for a bit. There is a spot of the river where monkeys go every day at 5 o’clock sharp to wash. Off to intercept them today with a banana on my hip.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Monday, May 23, 2005
The Perhentian Dimension
LONG BEACH
Have you ever found that two days on an idyllic tropical island filled with lovely people and white sand can easily stretch into two weeks? No, neither have I.
Dan and I were incommunicado, causing some people to think we were dead. I apologise. But in a way, we were. Many people consider lying on a tropical beach their ideal pasttime. But I prefer walking along it, feet splashing in the warm water. Or sitting in the shallow sea, head poking out, chatting with Germans. I became distinctly average at beach volleyball, but I was integral for morale.
DIVING
I went on a fun dive and ended up doing my PADI open water diving course. I saw two turtles (one of whom was eating something), a black tipped reef shark, rabbit fish, fox-faced rabbit fish, groupers (always fun after a gig), trefally, blue ringed angel fish (not to be confused with the Blue Angel), crocodile needlefish, nudi branch (every shop should have one), red breasted wrasses, cleaner wrasses (cleaner than the red breasted), butterfly fish, Batfish (underwater superhero), puffer fish, false clownfish (don't trust the fuckers), blowfish (the Bond villain), lizard fish, a Jenkins whip ray and some blue-spotted stingray.
And have you ever been on a night dive? Suffused with milky blackness all around. Torch beams striking out like light sabres. And the life that surfaces (or under-surfaces) during the night. Crabs, shrimps, sea snakes, squid. When we popped out of the water into the freshly dark night, the stars were the torches of divers in Space.
SPICE DIVERS
Though not wishing to discard our blood relations, Dan and I found a new family in our dive shop. Spice Divers had chillis hanging from the ceiling of its wide open wooden deck, so what choice did we have? Our instructors were as follows:
SUPER CINDY. Canadian. Agility 90%. Special Equipment: pink fins. Special moves: Underwater leaping swan kick from Karate Kid; fin stealing (I have personal experience); rapping about diving.
PAT THE GURU. Canadian. Alcohol tolerance: low. Friendliness to women: 90%. Special moves: very kindly letting me store stuff in the dive office and administering ear drops; sublime volleyball spiking skills.
The divemaster trainees became like siblings to us. Which would make Dan's relationship with one of them incest. Jap, Norbert, Rob, Jack and Celine - I salute your sweet memory.
LICK MY BALLS
We played a riproaring 5 hour gig in a bar restaurant called Lemongrass. It was supposed to be open mike but no-one else would play. The place was packed out till 4am with many people drinking many drinks.
A few days later they were having another open mike night. Dan and I turned up early, with guitar. The owner, a paranoid smackhead called Romi, came over the mike. 'If you fucking charge 3000 ringit (500 quid) to play then you go and play fucking Albert Hall London'. Dan and I regarded each other with wrinkled noses. Could that have been directed at us? But we don't charge anything. We approached him and he told us in not too many words that we couldn't play. We were outraged - we'd been inviting pretty girls all day! Apparently he'd received many complaints about us playing up a storm and showing everyone a great time. The conversation dwindled to an impasse. 'I'll tell you what I think,' said Dan. I turned slowly to look at him. He was staring at Romi. 'I think you should lick my balls.' Dan's face broadened into a wide grin and he held out his hand for the owner to shake. For some reason Romi refused. Next day all the locals on the island expressed disgust at Romi's behaviour and explained he was probably on a comedown.
Played in many other places and simply on the beach. A restaurant up high over the bay was run by possibly the coolest man in the world - a suave Indian American called Marvin. We jammed in his place with an Irish Malay singer Aminah, owner of a spectral voice.
PARTY
I have a habit of inviting everyone I meet to a specific place for the evening. In a place where no-one has specific plans, this can result in a spontaneous party. A non-spontaneous party occurred on Norwegian Independence Day, despite the fact that there were only 5 Norwegians on the island. No-one knew from whom Norway had become independent, including the Norwegians. The place pumped out shit music and had a shit fire. I was dragged off by our excellent dive buddies Jane and Charlotte and forced to drink a local vanilla spirit known as monkey juice. The monkey juice sent me into orbit like a spacesuited drunken chimp. Jane kept trying to make me drink more but I left and staggered along the beach. Despite being rugby tackled by her I managed to escape and shortly found myself playing a game naming exotic fruits without showing one's teeth. I ended up night swimming with a large tattooed Dutch man of the killer volleyball serve and a gorgeous eyed woman named Charlotte with an uncontrollable fear of wildlife.
THAILAND!
And finally we bid farewell to our Perhentian Paradise. We accidentally lost two Germans with whom we'd promised to travel to Ko Pha Ngan but found two new friends - Jess from Oxford and Bob from Edinburgh. Together we are Team Steve. Many cramped bus journies led us to Hat Yai where we had astounding Thai curry and watched the FA Cup Final in a touristy bar with a kick ass cover band. Dan and I wanted to seize the stage but we were rugby tackled by the bouncers and forced to drink litres of Sing beer and some whiskey. We ended up in another touristy bar with another kick ass cover band, dancing with a bunch of locals. One of them, a lovely young man whose name escapes me (not used to Thai names yet) kindly squeezed nine people into his Nissan and we all went to a club called the Blue Kiss where we were the only white people and Superstar was played every four songs. Celtic vs. Dumfermline, obviously a key interest for Thais, was showing on a big screen.
The next day after being folded up in the back of a bus for 6 hours, we found ourselves coasting to Ko Pha Ngan on an enormous ferry.
We lay on the deck with a pastel sunset on our left sinking into the knobbly islands of the Gulf. Opposite it it hung the full moon that announced our arrival to the island of the PARTTTYYY!
Have you ever found that two days on an idyllic tropical island filled with lovely people and white sand can easily stretch into two weeks? No, neither have I.
Dan and I were incommunicado, causing some people to think we were dead. I apologise. But in a way, we were. Many people consider lying on a tropical beach their ideal pasttime. But I prefer walking along it, feet splashing in the warm water. Or sitting in the shallow sea, head poking out, chatting with Germans. I became distinctly average at beach volleyball, but I was integral for morale.
DIVING
I went on a fun dive and ended up doing my PADI open water diving course. I saw two turtles (one of whom was eating something), a black tipped reef shark, rabbit fish, fox-faced rabbit fish, groupers (always fun after a gig), trefally, blue ringed angel fish (not to be confused with the Blue Angel), crocodile needlefish, nudi branch (every shop should have one), red breasted wrasses, cleaner wrasses (cleaner than the red breasted), butterfly fish, Batfish (underwater superhero), puffer fish, false clownfish (don't trust the fuckers), blowfish (the Bond villain), lizard fish, a Jenkins whip ray and some blue-spotted stingray.
And have you ever been on a night dive? Suffused with milky blackness all around. Torch beams striking out like light sabres. And the life that surfaces (or under-surfaces) during the night. Crabs, shrimps, sea snakes, squid. When we popped out of the water into the freshly dark night, the stars were the torches of divers in Space.
SPICE DIVERS
Though not wishing to discard our blood relations, Dan and I found a new family in our dive shop. Spice Divers had chillis hanging from the ceiling of its wide open wooden deck, so what choice did we have? Our instructors were as follows:
SUPER CINDY. Canadian. Agility 90%. Special Equipment: pink fins. Special moves: Underwater leaping swan kick from Karate Kid; fin stealing (I have personal experience); rapping about diving.
PAT THE GURU. Canadian. Alcohol tolerance: low. Friendliness to women: 90%. Special moves: very kindly letting me store stuff in the dive office and administering ear drops; sublime volleyball spiking skills.
The divemaster trainees became like siblings to us. Which would make Dan's relationship with one of them incest. Jap, Norbert, Rob, Jack and Celine - I salute your sweet memory.
LICK MY BALLS
We played a riproaring 5 hour gig in a bar restaurant called Lemongrass. It was supposed to be open mike but no-one else would play. The place was packed out till 4am with many people drinking many drinks.
A few days later they were having another open mike night. Dan and I turned up early, with guitar. The owner, a paranoid smackhead called Romi, came over the mike. 'If you fucking charge 3000 ringit (500 quid) to play then you go and play fucking Albert Hall London'. Dan and I regarded each other with wrinkled noses. Could that have been directed at us? But we don't charge anything. We approached him and he told us in not too many words that we couldn't play. We were outraged - we'd been inviting pretty girls all day! Apparently he'd received many complaints about us playing up a storm and showing everyone a great time. The conversation dwindled to an impasse. 'I'll tell you what I think,' said Dan. I turned slowly to look at him. He was staring at Romi. 'I think you should lick my balls.' Dan's face broadened into a wide grin and he held out his hand for the owner to shake. For some reason Romi refused. Next day all the locals on the island expressed disgust at Romi's behaviour and explained he was probably on a comedown.
Played in many other places and simply on the beach. A restaurant up high over the bay was run by possibly the coolest man in the world - a suave Indian American called Marvin. We jammed in his place with an Irish Malay singer Aminah, owner of a spectral voice.
PARTY
I have a habit of inviting everyone I meet to a specific place for the evening. In a place where no-one has specific plans, this can result in a spontaneous party. A non-spontaneous party occurred on Norwegian Independence Day, despite the fact that there were only 5 Norwegians on the island. No-one knew from whom Norway had become independent, including the Norwegians. The place pumped out shit music and had a shit fire. I was dragged off by our excellent dive buddies Jane and Charlotte and forced to drink a local vanilla spirit known as monkey juice. The monkey juice sent me into orbit like a spacesuited drunken chimp. Jane kept trying to make me drink more but I left and staggered along the beach. Despite being rugby tackled by her I managed to escape and shortly found myself playing a game naming exotic fruits without showing one's teeth. I ended up night swimming with a large tattooed Dutch man of the killer volleyball serve and a gorgeous eyed woman named Charlotte with an uncontrollable fear of wildlife.
THAILAND!
And finally we bid farewell to our Perhentian Paradise. We accidentally lost two Germans with whom we'd promised to travel to Ko Pha Ngan but found two new friends - Jess from Oxford and Bob from Edinburgh. Together we are Team Steve. Many cramped bus journies led us to Hat Yai where we had astounding Thai curry and watched the FA Cup Final in a touristy bar with a kick ass cover band. Dan and I wanted to seize the stage but we were rugby tackled by the bouncers and forced to drink litres of Sing beer and some whiskey. We ended up in another touristy bar with another kick ass cover band, dancing with a bunch of locals. One of them, a lovely young man whose name escapes me (not used to Thai names yet) kindly squeezed nine people into his Nissan and we all went to a club called the Blue Kiss where we were the only white people and Superstar was played every four songs. Celtic vs. Dumfermline, obviously a key interest for Thais, was showing on a big screen.
The next day after being folded up in the back of a bus for 6 hours, we found ourselves coasting to Ko Pha Ngan on an enormous ferry.
We lay on the deck with a pastel sunset on our left sinking into the knobbly islands of the Gulf. Opposite it it hung the full moon that announced our arrival to the island of the PARTTTYYY!
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Rainforests, religion, KL what the hell, getting emotional
PIERRE AND THE FORMIDABLE FOREST
Taman Negara, the enormous rainforest in the centre of Malaysia. We travelled there via Kuala Lepis (where I ate the best Chinese meal of my life) with a fantastic homme francais actually called Pierre.
Pierre looks like Jean Reno and is an underwater electrician who has been diving in Polynesia for the last 18 months. He has worked with the team that made The Big Blue. He is an avid photographer who takes at least 3 photos of every situation from each conceivable angle. He has photographed every beer he has had on his travels.
Dan, Pierre and I hiked into the rainforest, bristling with life and threaded with enormous cable-like creepers. We got naked and swam in the river. It was only a foot deep so we had to loll on our bellies like sea lions, our white asses forming beacons to guide the passing boatloads of tourists.
We stayed the night in a jungle hide with one wall open to the elements. We watched until it was dark but didn't see any elephants or tigers, only a bunch of butterflies. The darkness was immense and the noise overpowering. We listened into the blackness at an otherwordly array of sounds - chirrups, oowaks, meeps, brrs, whirrs, coops and more. Breathtaking.
As we lay down to sleep rain erupted from the sky. Walking in the waterlogged rainforest the next day, Dan and I were thrilled to find leeches wriggling on our ankles. They are little grey worms that attach one end to you while the other reaches into air like the infant arm of an alien larva. Seeing them prompted delight and revulsion - screaming a bloodcurdling battle cry of 'GRIMBO!' I seized a small plastic water bottle and bludgeoned the leech to death. Blood exploded everywhere. It took four attempts to disleech. Not such an efficient method.
SOCIAL ANIMALS
At the top of a mountain we found a massive scorpion and a bunch of Eastern European travel reps on a Malaysian Airlines funded trip around the country. We hit it off and walked along a terrifying system of bridges at the height of the forest canopy, accompanied by a flying lizard. We then bumped into Dutch Petra from Tioman Island and Czech Petra and Andre who we'd met in Melaka. I don't know why, but I hadn't expected to bump into anyone I knew in an enormous rainforest. On exiting I was pleased to discover that Labour had won the election again, no thanks to me.
AMBASSADOR
I can't remember the name of the man who runs a guest house in Kuala Tahan, the gateway to the formidable forest. He was impressed by my speaking to him in Bahasa Malaysia and asked where I was from. Yes, but where from originally? When I told him I was Jewish he had a wide variety of questions. People usually do. There aren't many Jews about but most people have a lot of curiosity about us. Rightly or wrongly I feel like an ambassador.
Firstly he was interested in the Torah's version of the story of Ismail, Abraham's spurned son and the ancestor of the Muslim people. The spurning is the divergence of the two lines. We moved onto Kashrut vs. Halal (Kashrut won on points after 12 rounds), the nature of God, Armaggedeon, messiahs, temples, Israel, the definition of Zionsim (my old favourite), why Muslims don't drink (turns out Mohammed got hammered on whiskey at 13 and couldn't touch a drop after), cirumcision, Iraq, Iran, Tony Blair, the decline of America as Superpower, what webmail is the best and more.
Just like the Chinese Creationists in Melaka, this guy was particularly interested in the Jews' vision of the end of the world. What are we waiting for? In these discussions I bring to bear my modest knowledge as best I can, aware that I am one of only a handful of Jews many of these people will ever meet. But what kind of a Jew am I (another old favourite)? I don't believe in God and I keep no laws yet I feel the identity strongly. I talk the talk, and I know that once the subject has come up that is how I will be identified - and I like that fact.
But it's so difficult to answer questions about what Jews believe when every Jew will tell you something different. In 45 minutes this man and I covered so much and laughed and asked each other questions we have both of us always wanted to ask. I have not encountered any anti-semitism, just fascination. People want to know, and they want me to know about their culture too. Which is fine by me.
JACK AND ANYA SORT US OUT AGAIN
We had agreed with Jack and Anya that we would return to KL for a second phase of partying. They were both really busy with their high powered hospitality jobs but that didn't stop them from providing Dan and I with buckets of free booze again.
Anya manages a classy restaurant in the ultimately posh Renaissance Hotel. When we arrived in the hotel lobby we happened to bump into the entire group of Eastern Europeans we had last seen in the Jungle. Can this really be chance? In Anya's restaurant a camply wonderful man named Mixim kept the beer rolling. At a massive out of town event Tiger beer and Nokia were screening Premiership football on a massive screen with lots of Chinese girls in football kits. As it happened Jack was providing the food and drink in the VIP area. Can this really be chance?
KL superclub Zouk was filled with Chinese people and was so airconditioned it felt like dancing in a fridge. We strolled past the massive queue and into the club for free quaffing whiskey from a plastic bottle in Dan's trousers. At least I hope it was whiskey. And a plastic bottle.
From me collaring them on Tioman Island to invite them to Arie's beach rave to a really sad goodbye yesterday - I here pay homage to Jack and Anya. Wonderful, open and generous, we hit it off straight away. Perfect people to have when playing music, infectiously into it. They made us feel at home in KL.
Many many people have told me not to trust anyone on my travels. I imagine they mean don't trust people with your stuff, because one thing I think this experience is about is trusting people with your self. Open and honest. Watching the news and staying among close friends and family can leave you a pessimistic view of the rest of humanity, but the vast majority of people in the world are loving, kind, special. I feel my cynicism draining away - a gorgeous feeling.
MALAYSIAN BUSES
...are so cold that they make your nose turn blue and stalactites grow out of your eyes.
STOP THE BLOG I'M GETTING EMOTIONAL
Travelling with Dan is fantastic and I couldn't ask for a better way to start. We are so relaxed together and capable of enjoying ourselves in any given situation. He has had a wonderful year and has already taught me how to make the most of this UNBELIEVABLE ADVENTURE. Getting up and playing spontaneous gigs in bars, eating indiscriminately, befriending everyone. I pay homage. I am suffused wtih love and excitement and really thankful. Gosh.
Taman Negara, the enormous rainforest in the centre of Malaysia. We travelled there via Kuala Lepis (where I ate the best Chinese meal of my life) with a fantastic homme francais actually called Pierre.
Pierre looks like Jean Reno and is an underwater electrician who has been diving in Polynesia for the last 18 months. He has worked with the team that made The Big Blue. He is an avid photographer who takes at least 3 photos of every situation from each conceivable angle. He has photographed every beer he has had on his travels.
Dan, Pierre and I hiked into the rainforest, bristling with life and threaded with enormous cable-like creepers. We got naked and swam in the river. It was only a foot deep so we had to loll on our bellies like sea lions, our white asses forming beacons to guide the passing boatloads of tourists.
We stayed the night in a jungle hide with one wall open to the elements. We watched until it was dark but didn't see any elephants or tigers, only a bunch of butterflies. The darkness was immense and the noise overpowering. We listened into the blackness at an otherwordly array of sounds - chirrups, oowaks, meeps, brrs, whirrs, coops and more. Breathtaking.
As we lay down to sleep rain erupted from the sky. Walking in the waterlogged rainforest the next day, Dan and I were thrilled to find leeches wriggling on our ankles. They are little grey worms that attach one end to you while the other reaches into air like the infant arm of an alien larva. Seeing them prompted delight and revulsion - screaming a bloodcurdling battle cry of 'GRIMBO!' I seized a small plastic water bottle and bludgeoned the leech to death. Blood exploded everywhere. It took four attempts to disleech. Not such an efficient method.
SOCIAL ANIMALS
At the top of a mountain we found a massive scorpion and a bunch of Eastern European travel reps on a Malaysian Airlines funded trip around the country. We hit it off and walked along a terrifying system of bridges at the height of the forest canopy, accompanied by a flying lizard. We then bumped into Dutch Petra from Tioman Island and Czech Petra and Andre who we'd met in Melaka. I don't know why, but I hadn't expected to bump into anyone I knew in an enormous rainforest. On exiting I was pleased to discover that Labour had won the election again, no thanks to me.
AMBASSADOR
I can't remember the name of the man who runs a guest house in Kuala Tahan, the gateway to the formidable forest. He was impressed by my speaking to him in Bahasa Malaysia and asked where I was from. Yes, but where from originally? When I told him I was Jewish he had a wide variety of questions. People usually do. There aren't many Jews about but most people have a lot of curiosity about us. Rightly or wrongly I feel like an ambassador.
Firstly he was interested in the Torah's version of the story of Ismail, Abraham's spurned son and the ancestor of the Muslim people. The spurning is the divergence of the two lines. We moved onto Kashrut vs. Halal (Kashrut won on points after 12 rounds), the nature of God, Armaggedeon, messiahs, temples, Israel, the definition of Zionsim (my old favourite), why Muslims don't drink (turns out Mohammed got hammered on whiskey at 13 and couldn't touch a drop after), cirumcision, Iraq, Iran, Tony Blair, the decline of America as Superpower, what webmail is the best and more.
Just like the Chinese Creationists in Melaka, this guy was particularly interested in the Jews' vision of the end of the world. What are we waiting for? In these discussions I bring to bear my modest knowledge as best I can, aware that I am one of only a handful of Jews many of these people will ever meet. But what kind of a Jew am I (another old favourite)? I don't believe in God and I keep no laws yet I feel the identity strongly. I talk the talk, and I know that once the subject has come up that is how I will be identified - and I like that fact.
But it's so difficult to answer questions about what Jews believe when every Jew will tell you something different. In 45 minutes this man and I covered so much and laughed and asked each other questions we have both of us always wanted to ask. I have not encountered any anti-semitism, just fascination. People want to know, and they want me to know about their culture too. Which is fine by me.
JACK AND ANYA SORT US OUT AGAIN
We had agreed with Jack and Anya that we would return to KL for a second phase of partying. They were both really busy with their high powered hospitality jobs but that didn't stop them from providing Dan and I with buckets of free booze again.
Anya manages a classy restaurant in the ultimately posh Renaissance Hotel. When we arrived in the hotel lobby we happened to bump into the entire group of Eastern Europeans we had last seen in the Jungle. Can this really be chance? In Anya's restaurant a camply wonderful man named Mixim kept the beer rolling. At a massive out of town event Tiger beer and Nokia were screening Premiership football on a massive screen with lots of Chinese girls in football kits. As it happened Jack was providing the food and drink in the VIP area. Can this really be chance?
KL superclub Zouk was filled with Chinese people and was so airconditioned it felt like dancing in a fridge. We strolled past the massive queue and into the club for free quaffing whiskey from a plastic bottle in Dan's trousers. At least I hope it was whiskey. And a plastic bottle.
From me collaring them on Tioman Island to invite them to Arie's beach rave to a really sad goodbye yesterday - I here pay homage to Jack and Anya. Wonderful, open and generous, we hit it off straight away. Perfect people to have when playing music, infectiously into it. They made us feel at home in KL.
Many many people have told me not to trust anyone on my travels. I imagine they mean don't trust people with your stuff, because one thing I think this experience is about is trusting people with your self. Open and honest. Watching the news and staying among close friends and family can leave you a pessimistic view of the rest of humanity, but the vast majority of people in the world are loving, kind, special. I feel my cynicism draining away - a gorgeous feeling.
MALAYSIAN BUSES
...are so cold that they make your nose turn blue and stalactites grow out of your eyes.
STOP THE BLOG I'M GETTING EMOTIONAL
Travelling with Dan is fantastic and I couldn't ask for a better way to start. We are so relaxed together and capable of enjoying ourselves in any given situation. He has had a wonderful year and has already taught me how to make the most of this UNBELIEVABLE ADVENTURE. Getting up and playing spontaneous gigs in bars, eating indiscriminately, befriending everyone. I pay homage. I am suffused wtih love and excitement and really thankful. Gosh.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Going Tiomanic, Melaka the Cracker, KL sweaty hell
ARIE'S BEACH FESTIVAL
Arie is one of the wonderful friendly locals on the magnificent Tioman Island. He is tiny, Chinese looking with a manky mullet, and can only be described as two acid tabs short of a brush with God. He invited us to his beach party. When we arrived it was only full of people we had invited. Arie was thrilled by our efforts, also by our barnstorming guitar jam which claimed 5 hours and 6 strings. Arie had a flashback at one point, I held him and it was okay. We met a deliriously wonderful Kuala Lumpur couple Jack and Anya - look out for them later.
SATAY CELUP WITH EXTRA CHRIST
A Melaka speciality is Satay Celup. You choose a variety of raw, dead life forms on wooden skewers and cook them by dipping them into a bubbling pot of satay in the centre of your table. By pushing in the massive queue of Chinese people, Dan and I got talking to a bunch of Chinese Christians who were so excited to meet Jews that they bought us dinner in exchange for a lecture on Judaism. Highlights of the lecture were Kabbalah, circumcision and why I was eating pigs' ears and squid testicles while Dan only ate cabbage. All our Creationist friends had bizarrely English names like Cynthia. I argued with Willard about Creation.
WILLARD: The reason why the story of Eden is true is because when you have a hypothesis that you can't disprove then it must be the Truth.
DAVE: But you can't disprove the Big Bang either.
WILLARD: Sometimes you just have to have faith.
What a cop out.
THE GIRL WITH THE HEARTBREAKING FACE
Emilia, 8, and what a feisty one. Don't get on her wrong side. Sitting at a table in her mother's cafe with Clarence (below) I drew a dog for her. She snatched the cardboard and held it right up to her face writing furiously then slammed it face down on the table. I picked it up and she smirked secretly while I turned it over, about to read when it was gone - snatched out of my hand by Emilia so she could scribble again before violently slamming it down once more. Next to my dog she'd written
'not good. not innif good'
So I drew a duck. Again the snatch, scribble and slam and 'not good'. There was only one thing for it - I drew a crocodile in a three piece suit. This provoked a secret snigger. She wrote 'not good' again but quickly snatched it back and wrote:
'Please can you draw a cow because I am a cow thank you Emilia Lee Chen'
What could I do? I started to draw the cow, getting no further than the face before the cardboard was yanked out of my hands again.
'And a rat and a rabbit'
Fine. I resumed. Yank.
'2 cows'
When I had finished this menagerie she labelled each one after her family members. The rat was 'my agry brother'. Ugly or angry, it's all the same to me.
CLARENCE THE OCTAGENARIAN SINGAPOREAN CALIFORNIAN
Clarence was the only other occupant of our ten person dorm in Melaka infested with rodents and bedbugs. He is indescribably tiny, 80 years old and invited us to a Chinese cafe so we could listen to him play the piano. He played Liszt, Chopin in C#minor and some old Italian songs. The Italian songs awakened something in me, a summer night thick with romance and nostalgia as the traffic roared out the open front and Emilia darted around with her heartbreaking face. Clarence was so little, with such feeling and experience in his fingertips that cast me to a summer Italian night and I am my father and mother and their love and opera and their music of love. Have you ever had your soul scalpelled open and left quivering in the humidity? Now I feel I have started - I can write and be sincere again. What is this for if not an odyssey of inspiration? These days are so packed with new cocktails of the old and something different.
You have tasted mango and tasted milk, and perhaps you have tasted a mango milkshake, but you have not sipped it at the bar of a Melaka Chinatown juicebar under a grateful fan with a wall of heat humming at the open front and the Chinese juice lady smiling at my attempts to speak Malay, and the Chinese twentysomethings in their chinos and polo shirts and the Scottish man at the doorway buying an apple juice for his child who seems older than he is and the man on my right who wakes me from my book to give me a glass of sky juice and my confusion until they explain that it's water and my disappointment because I love to try new juice and their laughter how can I record and absorb and communicate all these details of delicate life?
KL POST APOCALYPTIC HELL
Malaysia is wonderful. Malaysia's capital Kuala Lumpur is a dirty smelly noisy smog laden trap of churning people. We stayed in a shit hostel, ate shit Chinese food, and then abandoned all high ideas of sightseeing and went to a multiscreen where we thoroughly enjoyed Triple X 2. We scoured the city for booze and ended up paying over the odds for a miniscule bottle of whiskey so bad it would cause a Scotsman to commit hari kiri.
I know you remember Jack and Anya from Arie's psychadelic beach party. We phoned Jack who as luck would have it is marketing manager for a chain of beautiful bars and restaurants around Malaysia. In Bar Savanh we chinwagged with lovely Jack and drank oodles of free beer, before lovely Anya turned up and we progressed to a shiny club filled with drunken Chinese people. Dan was a hit with the Indian girls and I was a hit with the Chinese men.
Arie is one of the wonderful friendly locals on the magnificent Tioman Island. He is tiny, Chinese looking with a manky mullet, and can only be described as two acid tabs short of a brush with God. He invited us to his beach party. When we arrived it was only full of people we had invited. Arie was thrilled by our efforts, also by our barnstorming guitar jam which claimed 5 hours and 6 strings. Arie had a flashback at one point, I held him and it was okay. We met a deliriously wonderful Kuala Lumpur couple Jack and Anya - look out for them later.
SATAY CELUP WITH EXTRA CHRIST
A Melaka speciality is Satay Celup. You choose a variety of raw, dead life forms on wooden skewers and cook them by dipping them into a bubbling pot of satay in the centre of your table. By pushing in the massive queue of Chinese people, Dan and I got talking to a bunch of Chinese Christians who were so excited to meet Jews that they bought us dinner in exchange for a lecture on Judaism. Highlights of the lecture were Kabbalah, circumcision and why I was eating pigs' ears and squid testicles while Dan only ate cabbage. All our Creationist friends had bizarrely English names like Cynthia. I argued with Willard about Creation.
WILLARD: The reason why the story of Eden is true is because when you have a hypothesis that you can't disprove then it must be the Truth.
DAVE: But you can't disprove the Big Bang either.
WILLARD: Sometimes you just have to have faith.
What a cop out.
THE GIRL WITH THE HEARTBREAKING FACE
Emilia, 8, and what a feisty one. Don't get on her wrong side. Sitting at a table in her mother's cafe with Clarence (below) I drew a dog for her. She snatched the cardboard and held it right up to her face writing furiously then slammed it face down on the table. I picked it up and she smirked secretly while I turned it over, about to read when it was gone - snatched out of my hand by Emilia so she could scribble again before violently slamming it down once more. Next to my dog she'd written
'not good. not innif good'
So I drew a duck. Again the snatch, scribble and slam and 'not good'. There was only one thing for it - I drew a crocodile in a three piece suit. This provoked a secret snigger. She wrote 'not good' again but quickly snatched it back and wrote:
'Please can you draw a cow because I am a cow thank you Emilia Lee Chen'
What could I do? I started to draw the cow, getting no further than the face before the cardboard was yanked out of my hands again.
'And a rat and a rabbit'
Fine. I resumed. Yank.
'2 cows'
When I had finished this menagerie she labelled each one after her family members. The rat was 'my agry brother'. Ugly or angry, it's all the same to me.
CLARENCE THE OCTAGENARIAN SINGAPOREAN CALIFORNIAN
Clarence was the only other occupant of our ten person dorm in Melaka infested with rodents and bedbugs. He is indescribably tiny, 80 years old and invited us to a Chinese cafe so we could listen to him play the piano. He played Liszt, Chopin in C#minor and some old Italian songs. The Italian songs awakened something in me, a summer night thick with romance and nostalgia as the traffic roared out the open front and Emilia darted around with her heartbreaking face. Clarence was so little, with such feeling and experience in his fingertips that cast me to a summer Italian night and I am my father and mother and their love and opera and their music of love. Have you ever had your soul scalpelled open and left quivering in the humidity? Now I feel I have started - I can write and be sincere again. What is this for if not an odyssey of inspiration? These days are so packed with new cocktails of the old and something different.
You have tasted mango and tasted milk, and perhaps you have tasted a mango milkshake, but you have not sipped it at the bar of a Melaka Chinatown juicebar under a grateful fan with a wall of heat humming at the open front and the Chinese juice lady smiling at my attempts to speak Malay, and the Chinese twentysomethings in their chinos and polo shirts and the Scottish man at the doorway buying an apple juice for his child who seems older than he is and the man on my right who wakes me from my book to give me a glass of sky juice and my confusion until they explain that it's water and my disappointment because I love to try new juice and their laughter how can I record and absorb and communicate all these details of delicate life?
KL POST APOCALYPTIC HELL
Malaysia is wonderful. Malaysia's capital Kuala Lumpur is a dirty smelly noisy smog laden trap of churning people. We stayed in a shit hostel, ate shit Chinese food, and then abandoned all high ideas of sightseeing and went to a multiscreen where we thoroughly enjoyed Triple X 2. We scoured the city for booze and ended up paying over the odds for a miniscule bottle of whiskey so bad it would cause a Scotsman to commit hari kiri.
I know you remember Jack and Anya from Arie's psychadelic beach party. We phoned Jack who as luck would have it is marketing manager for a chain of beautiful bars and restaurants around Malaysia. In Bar Savanh we chinwagged with lovely Jack and drank oodles of free beer, before lovely Anya turned up and we progressed to a shiny club filled with drunken Chinese people. Dan was a hit with the Indian girls and I was a hit with the Chinese men.
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