Cops. Bloody Malaysian, corrupt bastard cops. So there I was riding around Langkawi helmetless as I always do. But hey, on the last day Mr. Murphy decides to pay me a visit and tells me that I've been getting away with the common sense approach to biking on an island for too long. So after booking my ticket, I pull out of the airport on my motorbike, skull-masked and all... and don't get 10 metres before a bloody overweight bastard cop on the pavement flags me down. It must be my incrementally advancing age that stopped me from revving full throttle and tearing down the strip, because I know the younger Dan would have done so.
After having to bribe the cop (for the very first time in my whole 26 years, I might add!! I shall expand on West Malaysian Police corruption later) I headed back to John's place, packed my bags, had lunch, said goodbye to friends and made my way to the Lapangan Terbang. The plane ride was interesting. I had to practically punch the overweight Indian gent beside me awake so as to not-so-politely ask him to cease his horrendously loud snoring. Yeah. It was baaad. As was his B.O., which I'm sure I was not the sole person that suffered it. I later received muted applause from surrounding passengers for my efforts.
Landing in Penang, I caught a taxi to Georgetown. Georgetown really is the hub of all interesting things for backpackers to see in Penang. Sure, it may have a touristy vibe, but to be perfectly honest, the rest of Penang, excluding Batu Ferringhi, doesn't really have much to offer for the traveller, as it mostly consists of drab shophouses with no character. I spent some time on the mainland that day too; taking photos and walking around conversing and scaring locals with my Chinese and Malay skills. But my backpack was set down in Georgetown.
It's a place with so much character. There is just so much for the photographer to immerse himself in. Traditional buildings greet your lens on every corner, and the locals going about their daily business just demand a couple of surreptitious shots here and there. I've been in Penang many a time before, but this time I decided to settle for a backpacker hotel right on Jalan Pinang; one of three places called "Banana hotel". Don't let the dodgy name fool you. It was all I needed, and it made me happy. As usual, I got royal treatment from the staff for the mere fact that I was a white looking man that spoke all the local lingo, and had a Malaysian passport. Later that night I went to the 711 next door to pick up provisions and met a fantastic girl who had the decency and bravery to invite a pale-skin mohawked Malaysian to party with her and her friends. What a good night that was.
The main clubbing area in Penang is around Georgetown, and the top clubs there are Mois, and a place with the questionable name of Slippery Senoritas. Upon ducking into ""SS" as it is called, I realised that I had been there many a drunken moon ago with some other friends. But Mois was rockin' that night. We were treated to VIP goodness, all thanks to my svelte companion, and we rocked it out all night to some funky tunes. Yeah, this white boy can dance. When the mood is right, anyway.
I woke up with yet another pounding headache the next morning amongst other things, and was greeted upon my entrance from the hotel by a local crazy who insisted on trying to pat my mohawk for its originality. Dude... hangovers and crazy people trying to rub your head really don't go well together. Regardless, after getting some local grub in my system I booked my tickets for Bangkok and spent the rest of the available day taking loads of pictures of a place that has always held a special place in my Malaysian heart. The combination of the delightful food that is only found in Penang, mixed with the street scenes and interesting people watching made the rest of the day a joy. Even with an evil hangover.
I had an interesting conversation with a local at a bar while quenching my ""mat salleh" thirst for beer on a hot day. Hair of the dog, you know. "Waiyah.. you look like ang moh (white man) but can speak local aaah... I got business opportunity for you, you know!" "Really?" I replied. "Yah! Got lot of frustrated housewife in mainland you know! They kena love young man like you! Can earn good money, you know??!!" I politely declined, bought him a round to shut him up and was on my way.
My travel agent was an awesome dude. A true minority in the makeup of Malaysia. A muslim Indian. He offered me a ride to the airport because he had to pick up his children further afield anyway. His wife was in the car too, and we spoke freely about all the things that concerned us as Malaysian citizens; from our unique perspectives as different constituents from within the Malaysian population. They shared their concerns about their children growing up in a Muslim country that marginalised them as being less "pure" muslims than Malays, simply because of the fact that they were Muslims of a different genealogy. I spoke of the prejudices that the Chinese face, despite our economic prowess, and spoke even more of the unique situation that I have always found myself in; being half European and half Chinese in a muslim country. Eventually, we got on to the grand subject of the next elections. Much laughter filled the car on that trip, as well as moments of silent reflection... no doubt on the matter of the gravity of the subjects we so vainly disguised with laughter.
I got to the airport and thanked my kind new friends, and boarded the plane to the land of a thousand smiles.
Arrivederci Penang... Hello Bangkok.
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