…is for geeks

I headed back into the forest to get back to the city. On the subway again, I headed towards the anime museum, the Ghibli Museum, in Mitaka, just outside of Tokyo. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got there, but I was expectiing good things. After all, anime is a big part of Japanese culture, and I had to purchase tickets to the museum beforehand—something I don’t think I’ve ever had to do before. Was this place really so popular that people needed to arrive at an appointed time? With all the annoying transfers and stops, it took an hour to getthere from Meiji Jingu. Even though I had given myself a lot of extra time to get there, I arrived at the museum right on time.

The museum itself was like a big stucco mansion. It had multicoloured pastel paint on the outside, and vines and overgrown plants crawling all over the walls; it had the appearance of a child’s imaginary house. Inside, the rooms were no different. They were haphazardly organized with a messy collection of watercolour paintings and piles of objects, from books to toys to old-fashioned machinery. It felt less like a museum and more like an old house, where the loner owner had recently died and now people came to visit the crazy old man’s place and see what he had been up to all those years. Most things were interactive; we weren’t kept a safe distance from the paintings or books. I flipped through some of the old books of anime ideas, wishing I could read Japanese so I could understand the notes that accompanied the pictures.

The museum also had a short anime film. Having never watched anime before (with the exception of Sailor Moon—does that even count?), I was quite excited to see the show.

A little girl in a pink dress and pig-tails takes a walk. It’s windy outside. She opens a caramel candy, but before she can take a bite, the wind picks up. It blows the candy into the air and disappears. A wind tunnel chases her into her house. The wind tunnel turns into a 6-legged cat. She gives the cat another caramel and she eats one, too. They laugh together. A bigger cat comes, this one with eight or ten legs, and both cats leave.

At night, the little girl is sleeping when the cat comes to her window. The cat’s back opens up and she crawls inside. The cat is like a flying car: its eyes light up like headlights and the little girl sits inside like the driver. They go for a ride.

They’re passed by bigger and longer flying cat cars, some the size of trains, until they get to a forest. The other cats have purple-grey, egg-like alien animals inside. In the forest, the cats bodies disappear as they drop the aliens to the ground. The little girl seems to be confused as she watches all these creatures walk by her, until she sees a big, bear-like animal carrying an umbrella walk by. She runs up to it and gives it a big hug.

A huge, multi-storey flying cat car appears. It is so big it can carry all the alien creatures together, and they’re all loaded up inside. The little girl gives it a caramel candy. It eats it, then licks the little girl’s entire body with its giant tongue. She just laughs. She licks its nose and then they both laugh together.

The 6-legged cat returns and the little girl gets inside. It takes her home, with her laughing all the way.

I sat still at the end, with one big question in my head: What the heck was that about?

Sufficiently weirded out, I decided to get back on the subway and head for another Tokyo neighbourhood: Akihabara, the geek neighbourhood of this geeky country. Japan as a whole is like Akihabara: everything “geek” is cool here. A short walk around the area revealed a large number of video game shops and even more manga (Japanese comics) stores.

I walked around a few of these manga stores, even heading down into the 18+ sections. I was curious: could there really be cartoon for adults’ eyes only? Yes, and it’s called hentai, and it’s creepy. I felt awkward being in the porno rooms with the businessmen, flipping though comic books with not-so-innocent Sailor Moons. The worst part though, was coming across the live-action porn, with a large number of children. When I saw pre-tween little girls dressed in bikinis and posing seductively to the camera. I knew it was time for me to get out of there; I wasn’t so curious anymore.

Besides video games and manga, Akihabara is also known for its “maid cafes.” After my awkward encounter with hentai and little girls in bikinis, I was a little weary of entering a maid cafe, where the servers are dressed in maid costumes. Was it a “boys only” kind of thing? Would it be a little more sexually charged than I can handle right now? I finally decided that I was, again, too curious to pass it up and, worst-case senario, would just bolt out of there it got weird.

I passed by a few cafes before taking a deep breath and heading back to the first one I saw, where cute, costumed girls were standing out front to attract customers. I quickly sat down and order a Coke and slice of chocolate cake.

The cafe was decorated like a dollhouse—cute, not sexy at all. The place was simple, with long, unadorned tables and chairs. The focus, it seemed, was on the girls. The girls, as advertised, were all dressed as French maids, though each had her own style. Most outfits were the traditional black and white, though some were pink or blue. They each had crowns in their hair and high white socks. Looking around, there were only men around me. I wondered if it was unusual for a single girl like me to be there.

After watching the action around me as I ate, I was left with a lot of questions—mostly, “Why?”  I wondered why the girls knelt down to talk with the boys they served. I wondered why they did this “heart dance” (for lack of a better name) after they served the food, where they made a heart with their fingers and  “danced” it around the plate of food. And I wondered why they didn’t do the dance with me. I wondered why, when they had some downtime, the girls knelt down and scrubbed the floor with a cloth. I wondered why there was a white girl working there. I wondered why someone would pay 1500 yen for a 3-minute video of themselves talking with one of the French maid waitresses. I wondered how these maid cafes came about in the first place.

One of the waitresses spoke English and, when I was feeling brave again, asked her a lot of my questions. “This started out as a geek thing,” she said when I asked her if they ever had girls come in alone, “but now it’s like a sightseeing thing. Don’t feel weird. I girl came in by herself just before you.” Whether she was lying or not, I felt better. About the mysterious heart dance, she said, “It’s to put magic in the food. It’s like we’re putting our love in your food.” So geeky.

tokyo…

The subway map I grabbed in the station came complete with its own “Tokyo Sightseeing Routes”—handy info for my guide book-less holiday. I read some of the highlights and starred my favourites: Shibuya, Tokyo Tower, Akihabara, Sensoji Temple (check), and Tsukiji Fish Market. Combined with some attractions listed in my hostel’s own guidebook (Ghibli Anime Museum, Edo-Tokyo Museum, Shinjuku, Imperial Palace, Takeshita Street, and Shibuya Crossing), I realized I was in for a busy two days.

The map may have been handy, but the subway itself was a mess. The map was a colourful swirl of subway lines—thirteen in total—plus trains, a monorail, and apparently even a streetcar. Unfortunately for map users, the lines are separated into two companies with two separate travel passes, and the railways and monorail are separate as well, so you have to pay attention to your route. Not only that, but I soon discovered that the unusually high number of transfer stations weren’t as beneficial as I originally thought. Too many lines parallel each other, meeting at station after station—the Fukutoshin and Yurakucho Lines have nine stations together in a row! Unnecessary. And too many stations have three, four, or even five lines intersecting together, making for long walks to transfer.

I slowly made my way to Shibuya Station, where I read there was a fashion building, ichi maru kyuu, that was the “epicenter of Tokyo fashion.” But when I got there, I was quickly disappointed. The area reminded me of Gangnam in Seoul: business-like and boring. I decided to go for a walk. The most exciting thing I found was another subway station.

One stop later I was at Meiji-Jingumae, the subway station nearest the Meiji Jingu Shrine. The shrine was built after Emperor Meiji and his consort, Empress Shoken, who passed away in 1914 and 1916 respectively. Emperor Meiji, having promoted the combination of foreign influence and Japanese culture, is said to have laid the foundation for modern Japan and well respected by the Japanese people, even today. Empress Shoken is called the “model of the modern Japanese woman” for not only supporting the Emperor but also dedicating herself to the promotion of national welfare and women’s education. Dedicated in their honour in 1920, the shrine sits in a forest with over 100 000 planted trees; a cozy natural retreat in the middle of the city.

Despite the holiday weekend crowds, my stroll through forest was a peaceful one. I passed under the grand shrine gate, Ōtorii, which I read is the biggest wooden Myōjin-style “torii” in Japan. The shrine itself, a little further into the forest, was another beautiful wooden structure. It was, like Sensoji, unlike another I’ve seen in Korea. There was very little colour at all; instead, the structure was mostly a dark wood with a few white and gold accents, all topped with a pale green roof. It look quite beautiful all nestled cozily in the trees.

My pamphlet outlined the ways to pay respect at the shrine, by properly drinking from the fountain and offering coins. I first walked to Temizuya, the fountain, to get a drink. No one was around—the perfect time to teach myself how to use the font. Step one was to use the dipper to rinse your hands: first your left, then your right. After that, I took another scoop of water and poured it into my left palm. I took a drink—or as the pamphlet put it, rinsed my mouth. It didn’t mention anything against it in the pamphlet, so I scooped again and took a second drink. Ready for the third and final step, I rinsed my left hand with another scoop of water. And then, without refering to the pamphlet, I did it all again.

I moved over to the main shrine building to pay my respects. I threw some coins into the offertory box and enjoyed the satisfying clangs that accompanied it. According to my pamhlet, I should have bowed twice, clapped my hands, and bowed once again, but I was overcome with shyness and couldn’t. Instead, I stood still and paid my respects with silence.

To my left, I saw a huge collection of prayer cards. The collection was displayed in a circle; there were maybe five or six sides, each a couple metres tall with several rows of these overlapping wooden cards, and each of these sides came together to form a circle. The prayers (some funny, some serious) were written in many different languages and came from visitors all over the world. I knew I wanted to write one, but had trouble figuring out how to get an empty card. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize that I needed to by a card from the gift shop.

I wrote my prayer on one of the tables surrounding the display. As I finished writing, a man started beating this big drum at the shrine, and big, commanding booms echoed all around me. It was a powerful moment; I felt tears well up in my throat and had to fight them down, back inside.

the land of the rising sun

I arrived in the land of the rising sun after the sun had set, so I had to wait until morning before I could take a look at the city sights. My first stop was Sensoji, a famous temple that happened to be a short walk from my hostel. Right away I could see that Japanese temples are much different from those in Korea. The main gate was mostly a red colour, unlike the colourful mix of reds, yellows, greens, blues, yellows and pinks in Korea. Through the gate, the main temple seemed to have been replaced with an arena; it was covered in big, white sheets, making it look like a new hockey rink instead of an ancient place of worship.

I went inside anyways, just to make sure that there was, in fact, a temple underneath it all. Inside was a slow-moving crowd of people, some were peering into a kind of prayer room behind a sheet of glass. I wondered if always looked like that, or if the Buddha statue and prayer area was being protected from construction. After bowing towards the Buddha, visitors tossed coins into a grate placed in front of the screen. I had never seen a grate system quite like this one before. Was it there to prevent theft, or just because the sound of clinging coins falling through the grate and into the waiting treasure box below was just so exciting and fun?

To the left was a stack of thin wooden drawers. I watched as a few people opened a drawer, took out a sheet of paper, and walked away reading it. Overhearing a family say something about a “fortune,” I realized that the papers must, in fact, be fortunes.

Not being interested in fortune-telling, I decided to give it a try anyways. I watched some more visitors. Put a coin in the slot and shake the silver cylindrical container. And then, okay, so a stick comes out of the container after you shake it. Open a drawer and take a paper. Money, shake, stick, fortune. Got it. But wait—what drawer? I decided I’d better ask someone.

I approached a family who I overheard speaking English.

“Excuse me, can you help me? How do I—”

“Put one hundred yen in here,” the woman said, “shake, and a stick will come out. Choose a drawer.”

“Any drawer?”

“No, the one that matches the stick.”

I went to pay my hundred yen, but the woman stopped me. “No, pray first,” she said. “Pray first.”

So I prayed. “Dear God,” I said. “I am very curious to get a fortune. I don’t really like praying with my hands together or anything because this is a Buddhist place and it would feel wrong. I just want you to know that I’m curious about this. Please let me get a fortune.”

Then I shook and got my stick. I saw there wasn’t a number, but a Japanese character. Matching the characters on the stick and drawer was easier than I thought and soon I found my drawer. As I opened it, the woman came over again to inspect my work.

“Nineteen,” she said. Oh, so they are numbers, I thought. I showed her the drawer and she said it was right, then turned and left me alone with my fortune.

No. 19 GOOD FORTUNE IN FUTURE–

Good start, I thought.

So many troubles and problems invade your family business, everything does not go so smoothly. A tiger demonstrates his spirit too much, then you should be more modest defending its dashing, then you will be safe.

Do believe in gods earnestly, do your best, then everything will be fine in the end.

Getting wealth and happiness, you may remain with them.

*Your hopes and desire turn our to be real by half. *Take long time to recover from sickness, but life will be safe. *Most of your lost articles will not be found. *Take long time to show around the man you wait for. *Building and moving your home will be good by half. *There is no problem of travelling. *Marriage will be good by half. *There is no worry about employment.

There were some concerns—my marriage, home, and hopes and desires will be real and good “by half”? What does that mean?—but I decided to focus on the positive predictions. Steady employment is always good. Remaining in wealth and happiness sounds excellent. And problem-less travelling is a plus for a wanderer like myself. I was especially pleased to see my travel/life motto was even represented with a solid “everything will be fine in the end.”

With my fortune safe in my pocket, I left the scaffolding-clad temple and hopped on the subway to explore more of the city.

scenes from japan

on the islands

I ended my vacation with a relaxing couple days on the beaches of the Perhentian Islands. I went to the smaller island, Pulau Perhentian Kecil, where I stayed in a dorm room with a group of other backpackers. It was the first time I my trip that I got hang out with people my own age. We snorkelled in the tourquoise water, drank on the beach, and soaked up the sun.

a walk in the woods of taman negara

Sunburned after my day on the beach in Cherating, I decided a retreat to the forest was in order. Taman Negara, a national park, is one of the oldest rainforests in the world and one of Malaysia’s biggest attractions. After a taxi ride from Cherating to Kuantan, a bus ride to from Kuantan to Temerloh, a bus ride from Temerloh to Jerantut, a speedy cab ride from town to the dock, an angry cab ride back to town because there was no accommodation available near the dock, a few phone calls to book a tour, and an overnight at a hotel in Jerantut, I was finally en route.

I booked a tour through the hotel I stayed at in Jerantut, and the man who booked the tour for me, Addy, also turned out to be my guide. He and his friend drove me to the park in their card, speeding the whole way. Despite the sharp corners, wild passes, near-miss with a bus, and interesting maneuver where the driver lit a cigarette as he steered with his knees, we made it to the boat in one piece. We met up with the others members of our group: a French family with two children, aged 5 and 8, and an older German man who was also travelling alone.

The tour started with a boat ride down the river, and the view was fantastic. I, unfortunately, didn’t learn my lesson in Cherating at added some more colour to my legs. The forest, at the start of our hike, was similar to those in Canada, with ferns, big trunks, and open skies. Four kilometres in, we stopped at a small cave for a meal break. My backpacked, although emptied (I left most of my clothes in storage at the hotel), was heavy due to the three litres of water I was carrying, and my shoulders craved a rest. After the break, we continued on our way to the big cave, where we would spend the night.

The landscaped quickly changed; it began to look more like a rainforest. The undergrowth became thicker, the canopy above closed up, and the sun disappeared. I saw “Tarzan vines” that, for me, identify a true rainforest. The hike was difficult. There were lots of downed trees on the path that we had to pass over and under, and our footwork was further complicated by the mud.

The day was supposed to be long but easy, but having two young children in our group made the day even longer, and I certainly didn’t find it easy. “This area has many tigers,” Addy said when the sun started going down. “We must arrive before dark or…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to.

We got out our flashlights and soon they became a necessity. It wasn’t until 7.30 that we finally arrived the big cave—and, boy, was it big! There were several groups already there, but there was plenty of room for all of us. Addy made dinner for us while we relaxed on the mats and talked. After dinner, we went outside to a nearby stream to brush our teeth and “shower”—the whole time I was checking for animals with my flashlight. Soon, all the flashlights were turned off and we all settled in for a night of camping in a cave.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the cave opening. It was one of those scenes that make you think, Wow. This is why I travel. With the sunlight, I got a good look at the cave. It was one big “room” that was about 40 metres tall and could handle about 300 people at a time. There were two openings: the bigger, higher one (near where we slept), which was almost at the ceiling, and a smaller one to the left that served as the main “door.” A big rock sat in the middle and divided the room; people used to rock for privacy when it came to changing clothes and using the “toilet” facilities. Someone, somehow, managed to put a Malay flag high up on the cave wall. It smelled of dampness, fire ashes, and moss inside the cave. I loved every minute of it.

During breakfast—bread with Malay jam: coconut with egg—Addy told me he couldn’t sleep because he thought he heard animals. I thought I heard animals during the night, too, I said. “It sounded like bats to me.”

“Not bats,” Addy said. “I think tigers.”

After talking with the other guides, Addy seemed convinced tigers were out last night. I doubted it, but the idea certainly added some excitement to our upcoming hike through the woods. Since it rained during the night, mud would be more of a problem, plus leeches would be out, and maybe tigers, too.

The day was supposed to be shorter but more difficult than the day before, and the difficulty part was certainly true. The hike was a challenge. The mud was a mess, twigs scratching my legs burned my rosy legs, and there was always something to crawl over or squeeze under. We crossed rivers on fallen logs, and trailblazed our way through thick underbrush. Biting pain on my ankles or spots of blood on my shorts alerted me to that fact that leeches had decided to join me on the hike. It was so much fun. But, with two small children, the day was not short. The little girl, aged 5, had a lot of problems, so her dad carried her as much as he could. We took a lot longer—maybe twice as long—as we could have without the kids. I didn’t mind, though; I liked being in the woods.

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”
~ Edgar Abbey

the trouble with travel

Getting somewhere isn’t always easy

I spent the evening on a bus from Singapore that would take me to Kuantan, Malaysia. It was an uncomfortable ride; I’ve never understood why buses need to be as freezing cold as they always are. In the middle of the night, the bus pulled up in front of a fancy hotel and told me to get off. After handing me my backpack, they drove off, leaving me confused and very angry. This most certainly was not the bus station I imagined. I was informed there was no room for me at the hotel, which was fine because I never would have been able to afford it anyways. The hotel guard gave me a chair and I sat down next to him at the gate, wondering what the heck I was supposed to do now.

Some time later, a van pulled up. “Let me ask my friend,” the guard said. The van driver could take me to the bus station in Kuantan, the guard said, so that I could get a bus and meet my friend in Cherating on time (the story I told the guard instead of admitting I was on my own). After thinking about the situation for a minute (like I always do before getting into a vehicle with a stranger), I decided it should be okay and I got in.

The bus station was big. The gravel parking lot I was standing in was filled with big white tents and some red and yellow taxis. The station in front of me was a two-story building with blue- and white-tiled platforms underneath and the waiting area up above. It was still dark and the platforms were all empty. A sign that read “Kounter Tiket” directed me upstairs, where lots of people were waiting for their buses and sleeping on the wooden benches. It was cluttered, and it certainly wasn’t clean. One wall was lined with ticket booths, but they were all closed. Besides that, I didn’t see “Cherating” on any of the signs.

I found an empty spot on a bench and decided to settle in. A young man beside me said hello and we talked for a bit. When I told him where I was going, he told me to wait until 7 (then still over an hour away) before looking for tickets. I tried to make myself comfortable and prepare myself for the long wait.

I was half-asleep when a station worker called up from the platforms below. I imagined he was talking about the arrival of a bus, but of course I really had no idea. He came up to the waiting area and the young guy beside me exchanged a few words with him. He told me to follow the older man downstairs, so I grabbed my bag and headed off, excited I might be on my way soon.

But when I got downstairs, I was told that I was at the wrong bus station—this was the long-distance station and I needed to go to the local one. Of course, a taxi driver was more than happy to drive me there. Frustrated, I refused, instead wanting to walk myself there with the hopes that the walk would calm me down.

I got directions and started off. Right, then left, straight through the lights, then right again—simple enough, right? But before I even made my first turn I realized I shouldn’t be doing this. 1) I suck at directions in general, 2) I couldn’t see where the first turn was, 3) I’m alone, 4) I’m in Malaysia, and 5) it’s still dark. I turned around and, with a sheepish look on my face, went back to the taxi driver.

He seemed irritated I didn’t go with him the first time he offered; in fact, he told me so. While we drove, I noticed we weren’t going the way he had told me to talk, so I asked him where we were going. He got angry and started yelling at me. “Why don’t you trust me?” he said. “Why do you keep asking me? It’s a one-way street so I have to go around!” I could see that this taxi ride would do nothing to cheer me up.

The local bus station turned out to be nothing more than a gravel square with two very old looking buses parked at one side. There was an open-air restaurant at the back of the station, the kind of restaurant with plastic chairs and tables and food in plastic bowls covered in saran-wrap. Two women were wiping down the tables and washing the dishes, getting ready for their day to begin. I wasn’t hungry, so I spent my time watching mice scurry across the gravel as the sun started rising.

Finally my bus pulled up. I paid a couple ringgits to the driver and sat down. The bus, like the ones in the parking lot, was old; it’s dark blue paint was weathered and the seats were grey and tattered. I had no idea when I was supposed to get off, but that didn’t stop me from nodding off to sleep. The ride was long; we stopped at the side of the road to pick up more passengers dozens of times. When I got on, the bus was almost empty, but soon most of the seats were taken. I tried to look at the landscapes we passed and watch the local scene outside my window, but I kept falling asleep.

Some time later, I realized I missed my stop, but, without knowing where I was or what I was doing, I just kept going. Eventually we passed under an archway across the road that read “Terengganu” so I thought we had driven all the way to the city of Kuala Terengganu. Really, we just crossed into the province, but I didn’t learn this until we stopped at another big bus station and I started walking towards what I thought was the city centre. I was tired, sweaty, hungry, and completely lost.

I spotted a small hotel at the side of the highway and decided to ask for directions to a Terengganu hotel I read about in my guide book. As it turns out, I was in Kemaman, a much smaller city still a far distance from KT. They called me a taxi to take me to Cherating.

At 9.30am, I checked into a hotel in Cherating. After nearly twelve hours of buses, bus stations, taxis, and adventures on foot, I had finally arrived.

i love singapore

If I had to describe Singapore in one word, it would be “clean.” Or “colourful.” Or maybe “charismatic.”

My day in Singapore started on Orchard Road, Singapore’s shopping paradise. I arrived early—too early, in fact, to shop in any of the malls, as none of the stores were open yet. That, I decided, was a good thing. The malls on Orchard Road there for the trendy rich folks, not for a cheap backpacker. I spent some time walking up the length of the road, dipping into some of the malls for some relief from the hot August sun.

I thought about making my way to the Singapore Botanic Gardens, but it was way too hot. I instead took a bus to somewhere in the downtown area and walked around. I was immediately impressed with the city—it was so clean and organized. (Many people describe Singapore as the “least Asian city in Asia”—said negatively—because it’s so unusually clean and organized.) The charming buildings were coloured in a rainbow of pastels, looking as if they belonged in the Walt Disney version of colonial America. I noticed a lot of construction, but even that seemed quieter and cleaner than I was used to. Where was the dirt and general disorganization that defeats other cities? Yep, I was already in love with this city.

 

 

 

 

 

In the early afternoon, I made my way to the urban planning exhibit at the Urban Redevelopment Authority. The Authority has a display of their Draft Master Plan for the city of Singapore and I wanted to take a look at it. (Now would be a good time to mention that I majored in Human Geography in university. Urban planning is something I studied a lot over those four years—though I imagine visiting such an exhibit is still a really dorky thing to on vacation.)

Basically, the plan has four key aspects: improving the living environment, strengthening the city’s position as “global business hub,” maintaining Singapore’s heritage and character, and adding more parks and leisure spaces. Each region in the city-state has its own plan that encompasses these four elements. Okay, this sounds boring, but it wasn’t—at least, not to me. There were videos, models, drawings and photos, and clear descriptions for everything. I spent a couple hours going through it all and really liked what I saw; there was a real focus on nature and efficient use of space and resources. I could definitely see myself living in Singapore, I thought.

When I finally pulled myself outside, back into the sunshine, I walked myself over to the Asian Civilisations Museum near the Singapore River. There was a great exhibit about Vietnam, a place I visited with my brother just six months ago. I joined a tour group and learned a lot, not only about Vietnam, but the people of Asia as a whole.

I finished my tour of the city with a boat trip along the Singapore River, passing by colourful quays and seeing the famous Merlion at Merlion Park. The Merlion is a cultural symbol of Singapore, reflecting the original name for the island, Singapura, meaning “Lion City.” The name was given by Prince Sang Nila Utama of the Sri Vijaya Empire, who, upon landing on Singapore’s shores, saw a large animal that he later learned was a lion. The fish body represents Singapore’s beginnings as a small fishing town.

After a cheap and delicious dinner at a street restaurant, a new pair of Birks and a pedicure to get my feet ready for the beach, and a beer at a Chinese kareoke bar, I was back on a bus, headed back up north to Malaysia.

solo wanderings

My first few days in KL were spent mostly on my feet. I love walking around cities; I feel more connected to the place, as if by walking I become part of the landscape instead of simply looking at it. As Paul Scott Mowrer wrote in his autobiography, The House of Europe, “There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country. A fine landscape is like a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo. Even a bicycle goes too fast.” I read that the city wasn’t built with walkers in mind, but I had no problem marching my way through the city. Armed with only a basic map, care of my Lonely Planet, I made a number of wrong turns and a few mad dashes across roads that were busier than I would have liked, but I found my daily strolls to be quite enjoyable.

The first thing I wanted to do was ride the monorail. Very Gotham City, I wrote in my notebook. Watching as the buildings and streets passed by below me, I rode the rail towards the Butterfly Park. After the monorail ride, walking for a while, getting lost, and eventually taking a taxi, I finally made it there.

At first the park seemed empty, but finally I started spotting them. I usually saw their shadows first, then used those to find the butterflies they belonged to. There were butterflies so big they looked like paper birds, and others that were so colourful they glowed.

The park had a small museum that I wandered though. The shadow boxes of spiders caught my attention, and I took some time to study the locations of the various spiders throughout Malaysia. I noted that, of the 19 shown, 11 (including three tarantulas and one “giant-sized” bird spider) are found in the Cameron Highlands. Note: Cameron Highlands can be missed if I’m running out of time! I wrote. To get my mind off the spiders, I checked out a shadow box labelled: World’s Most Beautiful Butterflies. Most of the butterflies were a metallic, luminescent blue and were absolutely stunning—definitely deserving to be on the list.

The perk of travelling alone is being able to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Could I go to a butterfly park and a bird park on the same day? Of course I could. And I did.

The next day, I woke up early to get to the Petronas Towers. There’s only a limited number of tickets every day to the Skybridge on the 41st floor—the highest level visitors can go—so arriving early was a must. There was already a line when I arrived and the wait was long. When I finally made it to the booth, the tickets were being sold for the 11.45 elevator ride—2 hrs later. Though, when I stated I only needed one ticket, they bumped me to the last ticket for the 10.15. Another score for the solo traveller.

The towers were more beautiful than I had noticed before. Each floor is wrapped with silver beams—practical in that they shade the windows from direct sunlight, and beautiful in that they look like ribbons. The shape of the towers themselves are also very symbolic. They were originally designed to be 8-point stars, called Rub el Hizb, which look like two overlapping squares. This shape is a very important symbol in Islamic culture, prevalent in Malaysia. Extra circular sections were added in between points to add floorspace, but the symbolism is still clear. At 170 metres, the Skybridge is half the height of the CN Tower’s glass floor and observation level, but the view was impressive anyways. I love seeing cities from above, where you can see everything happening all at once.

Up, down, and out of the towers, I headed to the bus station to find a bus south to Singapore.

malaysia, truly asia

There’s a place not far away
Different faces yet all the same
With a million dreams in one golden celebration (Malaysia)

Come and spread your wings
There’s so much to see
There’s a million colours right before your eyes
It’s time to celebrate
One golden celebration

Malaysia truly Asia
Malaysia truly Asia

Malaysia celebrated its 50th year of Independence in 2007 and the commemorative tourism TV commercials were still playing in Korea well into 2008. The song from theses ads was quite catchy; it seemed as though no one could say “Malaysia” without adding “truly Asia” afterwards. Emails from friends read, Have fun in Malaysia Truly Asia! or, So how is Malaysia Truly Asia? I never thought of it as more than an ad campaign—until I arrived in Malaysia, that is.

I was picked up from the airport by a new friend who I only recently found out was Malaysian. He took me to a small outdoor restaurant where I met three of his co-workers and enjoyed a snack under the cool midnight moon. Over “pull tea” and crepe-like pancakes, he introduced me to Malaysia’s unique and diverse cultures.

There are three major ethnic groups in Malaysia (Indian, Chinese, and Malay) as well as several traditional ethnic groups. It’s not easy balancing the needs of all these different cultures in one country. “Malays of Chinese background say they’re Chinese, not Malaysian,” my friend said. “Malays and Indians are represented in government, but there’s not so much Chinese representation, so Chinese-Malays don’t feel Malaysian.”

Over the next few days, when I was walking and riding though KL, I was impressed by the mixture of people. Unlike Korea, in which everyone has black hair, black or dark brown eyes, and white skin, I was suddenly surrounded by a potporri of people—dark-skinned Indians, Buddhist or Taoist Chinese, scarf-wearing Malays—who not only looked different but also spoke different languages and practiced different religions.

My friend told me that the Indians, Chinese, and Malays were about equal, each taking a third of the population. Travelling around the city, that estimation seemed realistic. But Malays actually form the biggest ethnic groups with about half the population, while the Chinese-Malays account for roughly 25% and Indian-Malays roughly 10%. Malay is the official language, which all students must study in school even if the primary language at the school itself is Chinese or English. Islam is the official and predominate religion, but Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism, and other religions are also practiced in large numbers.

The diversity couldn’t be overlooked; it wasn’t long before I realized that “Malaysia Truly Asia” was more than a slogan. No, it’s not perfect and the groups don’t always get along, but Malaysia, in all its varieties, is Asia—truly.