Kuala Lumpur

We were caught at the orchid garden by the afternoon thunderstorm.  In a lull we made it to a taxi stand and jumped into a cab.  A good thing.  As we drove through town the rain increased in volume and the thunder began to speak in no uncertain terms.

I thought in Canada we knew rain.  Apparently we know only drizzle and showers.  The thunder and lightning here were prodigious.  Seldom did the rolling out of one thunderous blast finish before the sizzling crack of the next ripped through the air accompanied by a brilliant flash.  Sometimes the lighting struck in a chain of one-two punches, tearing the air again and again in rapid succession, the ripping sounds overlapping repeatedly before the sonorous bass of the rolling thunder played the coda.  It was a continual and ongoing slam of thunder and in those rare moments the rumbling of the thunder died out, we heard the waterfall splash of torrents of rain hammering the pavement – even from our fourth floor hotel room.  

And as a side note:  I spoke Bahasa Malaysia to the driver of the cab, joking that ini huujam bai untuk taksi – this rain is good for taxis, and he said – in English – you have been travelling in Indonesia.  He explained that I spoke with an Indonesian accent!  Ingrid laughed, saying an English accent she’d understand, maybe some kind of northern bush drawl, but Indonesian?

We read that Malaysia will attain “developed nation” status – if all goes according to the economic plan – by 2020.  As we move around the country we are having difficulty determining what that means. 

The highway between Penang and Kuala Lumpur – which runs a significant way across the country – is of very high standard: six lanes the entire distance providing more capacity than was required the day we drove it.  Other aspects of infrastructure are very evident: rapid transit in KL is extensive and sophisticated and includes an elevated monorail as well as subways, railways and a fleet of air-conditioned surface buses in fine shape.  (On a side note it was with some pride we noticed that the subway system had been built by Bombardier.)

 KL is rife with luxury vehicles and luxury products: the KLCC mall is filled with shops featuring $12,000 watches, $2,000 pens – I don’t know women’s clothing and shoes and purses, but everywhere were designer brands selling for the price of a modest home.  We have hardly seen a woman in the streets not teetering on heels.

There are cranes everywhere you look building high-rises.  All day, and then at night under racks of floodlights huge amounts of inner-city real estate is being developed into wonderful architecture.  The high-tech world is here and capitalism is enjoying a feeding frenzy.

So we are left with a question: what are the key indicators of the difference between a developed and developing nation?  After running through a shopping list of possibles (GDP, maybe GDP per capita, perhaps some measure of health, longevity or education – hygiene or medical care), I was left admiring Bhutan  where the King has determined a significant indicator is Gross National Happiness, measured on an annual basis. 

Upon my return to Canada I will begin a campaign to raise money to send Stephen Harper to Bhutan.  It will be my way of giving back.

Leaving Georgetown

Sherlock Holmes once solved a case – I believe it was the Hound of the Baskervilles – by remarking upon the dog that did NOT bark.  Traffic here in Georgetown is mostly remarkable for the thing that is missing: chaos.

Unless you have suffered the confused cacophony of Asian traffic it might mean little to you to know that these people (perhaps one of the legacies of the orderly Brits) obey traffic signals, stay in lanes, indicate turns, and – more remarkably missing than anything else – they do NOT echolocate with their horns.  The streets are relatively calm and tranquil.   

Crossing a street here is no more nerve-wracking than crossing a street in Montreal.  In fact, since these folks actually attend to the colour of traffic lights – it might be a sight safer.

The architecture wonderfully varied, but everywhere the curve.  Overhead you seldom see square corners.  It must take a great deal more effort to shape arches than to build square, yet sidewalk colonnades are arched as are many doorways and entries to public buildings.  It’s visually very pleasing. 

They take the curve motif one step further with the street corners.  Sometimes, rather than abutting at blunt right angles, the streets meet each other in gentler curves, allowing pedestrians and motorists to better see around the corners.  It would be nice to think that this softening of the edges reflected gentler human interactions generally – I guess we’ll see. 

Penang continues to delight us with little discoveries: morning on the Clan Jetties by Quay: here the Chinese have made their livings by the sea, fishing and expanding their neighbourhood out into the ocean on tall stilt houses.

But the big discovery of the day did not come until after the sun had set: Kek Lok Si Temple is the largest Buddhist temple in SE Asia – and that’s saying a lot.  Like so many things in Malaysia, it represents some considerable cooperation, with parts built by Malays, but also bits added on by Chinese and even a nice pagoda to top it off offered by the Burmese.  Fortunately, as we are here around the Chinese New Year, they continue to light the temple at night into a brilliant showcase.

 Kek Lok Si sits above the village of Air Hitam, 

lit only during a period around Chinese New Year.

Well, after 39 long hours of transit between Terrace and Penang, we have finally found our feet and I have enough energy to make a post to the blog.  And by “found our feet” I mean we have developed rather tender pedal extremities after much walking around the lovely UNESCO world heritage corner of the city of Georgetown.

It’s hard to know quite where to start in an account of this place: the orderly traffic, the wonderful and extraordinarily varied architecture, the exquisite cuisine all vie for a mention, but really, more impressive than any of those is the ancient culture and tradition of inclusion.  

The mutual respect shown by one group to another here is extraordinary.  Muslims, Hindus, Christians and Buddhists do not simply tolerate each other, they appear to honour and respect the cultures other than their own.  On another vector of difference, Indians, Chinese and Malays seem almost proud of each other, proud of their true multiculturalism.  Missing is the slightly sneering disrespect we so often battle in Canada as we struggle to reach “tolerance”: in fact, the whole world could learn a big lesson from the Malaysians about actively celebrating diversity.

 The Masjid Kaptian Keling was built

the first mosque built by Indian Muslims:

its name honours a British Captain.

The historical feel is everywhere.

This trading entrepot sat at the crossroads of the world’s greatest and most powerful civilisations for centuries.  The rich and powerful here were among the richest and most powerful traders on the face of the earth for those centuries, and their mark has remained.

The homes they built and the objects they collected around them are often intact, and the streets are filled with museums, mansions, temples, churches, mosques and gardens built by the elite and maintained or renovated.

 Exquisite glass sculptures fill an entire room of a 

Baba-Noya trader's mansion: extraordinarily eclectic

collectors of the finest arts from around the world.

Once again, though, that gentle Eastern spirit is evident:  in one living museum people were allowed to touch objects, to sit on the elaborately inlaid and carved chairs of the privileged.  Here staircases were closed to the public by the simple expediency of placing a vase of flowers on the treads: no dire warnings, no security cameras, no uniformed compliance officers: just some delicate blooms.  

So we end our first days with delicate blooms.  And sore feet.