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Maybe Lunch?
Entry 17 of 19 | show all | print this entry |
Arriving in Melaka, the first thing we noticed was the evident fashion trend amongst the hundreds of moped riders who all wear their jackets back to front with the back open... We pondered on the reason behind it, maybe - as its fairly warm - its to keep their clothes from getting dirty as they speed along, whilst still allowing a bit of a draft on their backs to cool them down? Although, most of them don't even have their front completely covered as the jackets have fallen down to their wrists, and also it was raining at the time so their backs were getting wet and therefore the theory didn't make any sense. Its got to be some sort of fashion statement and we were wondering whether to follow suit in an effort to blend in...
The other thing that stood out like a sore thumb was the enormous Tesco supermarket. You just don't expect it and its a little soul-destroying.
A taxi took us from the bus station to The Baba Hotel where we were booked in, and - even though its not a lot of money to bother penny-pinching about - I worry that we're being ripped off for the fare but, at the same time haven't yet mastered the art of bargaining, or the confidence to give it a go. Gav's the same and I think we need to toughen up and not worry about offending people but realise instead that they expect it.
Melaka is bursting with character, and has managed to hold onto an authentic Malay feel, despite a series of European takeovers involving the Portugese, Dutch and British since 1511 - each of which have made their mark and are represented somewhere in the city in terms of architecture and features (some original and some more 'twee' that have been erected more recently by tourist officials).
As well as a Chinatown, a Little India (both of which seem to be a given in most Malaysian cities), here there is also Dutch Square and Medan Portugis (Portuguese Square), Melaka's Portuguese settlement. European to the hilt, the square is not actually from colonial times but was purpose-built in '85, however, descendants of the original settlers communicate in their own language, called Kristao, a blend of old Portuguese and Malay.
The Baba Hotel where we stayed is in Chinatown and the immediate area is rich in Baba-Nonya history. The road, Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock is known as 'Millionaires Row' with elegant townhouses lining the narrow street, which were the ancestral homes of the Baba-Nonya community, descendants of the original Chinese pioneers who married Malay women (its said that Chinese women of high class were reluctant to emigrate).
Whilst a bit worn out, many of the house fronts are still stunning and decorated with hand-painted tiles, elaborately carved teak doors and two red lanterns, framed by heavy Greco-Roman columns - one bearing the household name and the other a message of good luck. The upper levels are even more impressive with their Chinese tiled roofs, shuttered windows with wrought iron bars and painted floral designs.
We didn't visit the museum, but our Hotel and the many antique shops around town gave a good impression of what these houses were like inside and the kind of furniture they were decked out in with lots of gold-leaf fittings, blackwood with mother-of-pearl inlays, marble, Victorian lamps and carved lacquer. These people definitely had style... and a lot of money.
Lucky for us, and a complete fluke (both in timing and where we chose to stay), we arrived on Friday afternoon and found that the main street in Chinatown transforms into a lively night market every Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening.
One rule of ours on this trip is that when reaching a new place we take a moment and have a beer to settle ourselves in (as good an excuse as any). It's all to easy to go on first impressions, which are not always great... And so we wandered down the alley that conveniently links our road to the main street, avoided the first bar which was full of Westerners (not that we think we're any better, just that what's the point?) and let ourselves be pulled into the next one, which was almost empty, by a friendly little guy with a big smile.
He introduced himself as Hans, and gave us the warmest welcome to Melaka we could've hoped for. The Libra Bar became our local for the next week - we were only going to stay in town a couple of days, but the longer we were there, the more the place grew on us and we were in no rush to move on.
The weekend night market was just amazing, there was such a vibrant atmosphere and I loved the fact that it lined just the one street, so you could walk down one side and when you reached the end just turn around and walk down the other. There was no getting lost, covering the same ground or missing things that we've found in some of the larger markets and the fact that it was at night made it a real event. Each stall was lit up and there were lots of fairy lights and lanterns so it was beautiful to take a leisurely stroll around - that is, until our eye caught the hundreds of dodgy-looking power cables daisy-chaining into eachother and laying in puddles of water along the gutter and started to fear that at any moment the magic would end and we really would see the place light up!
I have never seen such a variety of action and merchandise in one place: everything from children's toys to cooking demonstrations using the latest kitchen gadget; giant hermit crabs and scorpions to ancient coins; clothes, jewellry and souvenirs to week-old puppies, the poor things shaking as passing kids prodded them and banged their cages.
Food too, enormous great pans and woks sizzling and steaming so close to where we were being pushed and shoved along with the crowd that I was convinced one of us would get burned at some point.
Behind the market stalls all the shops and restaurants were still open and there were even rows of chairs surrounding a raised stage at one end of the street, where an old boy was giving it his all at kareoke with his mate (who clearly didn't think the singing was engaging enough) giving him encouragement by dancing and prancing around in front of him.
We loved every minute and we went there each night, purely for the entertainment factor - although we did invest in one of those kitchen gadgets, a picture print and a 'jade' ring which broke after one day of me wearing it (oh well, for just under a quid, what did I expect?).
The next day we got trapped in an internet cafe, completely unequipped for the monsoon storm that came down. It was the first we experienced but we didn't care, it was great to watch and when it ceased enough for us to make a run for it we grabbed some food from the market that had set up outside whilst it was going on and were amazed that 4 bananas cost us a mere 0.07 pence! They were proper nice as well, I don't normally like them but they taste so much better than back home.
We visited The St. Paul Church and wandered around the Dutch Square lined with trishaws, all decorated with plastic flowers, bells and whistles each with their own car stereo blaring out creating a bizarre remix of everything from Bollywood-style tunes to the latest chart hits. One guy had some snakes and an iguana on his, and for 5 ringit you could hold a giant yellow albino Burmese python for a photo so Gav stepped up to the challenge, whilst I snapped away from a safe distance before the man offered to take one of both of us, ignoring my pathetic whimpers as he positioned me beside Gav and wrapped it around my rigid neck.
We went for lunch across the road (I needed to sit down and recover) and had our first encounter with a lady-boy, who was our waiter/tress. He was beautiful but had a real attitude which only made him even more fantastic! His favourite word was 'maybe' and he was all, "maybe lunch...?", "maybe one more beer...?" like he really couldn't care less one way or the other.
I was fascinated, too, that although he was sweating buckets in the humid heat, his mascara stayed perfectly intact - I had to ask him what he used, to which he replied, "Maybelline". He sauntered off and we sung under our breath "Maybe he's born with it? Maybe it's Maybelline"!
We crossed over the bridge to Dutch Square after lunch and spotted some enormous lizards emerging from the muddy river, they were giant although we overheard an American guy telling his wife "gee, there are crocs down there" which was perhaps taking it a little far...
Back along the main road, we stopped to check the price of a massage and before we knew it, we were laid side by side in a little room upstairs in cute matching cotton outfits - shorts for Gav and a shortsleeved top and shorts for me - awaiting our Chinese masseur and masseuse.
I was assigned to the man and Gav looked like a giant compared to the tiny lady that over the course of the next hour would almost have him reduced to tears of pain.
Its the first Chinese massage we've had and the first one I've ever had wearing quite so many clothes, it was all very proper and was more about working the pressure points that being a relaxing affair with nice-smelling oils and such.
As if that wasn't enough pleasure versus pain, we let ourselves be talked into a half hour reflexology session to finish off with.
My Aunty Carol is bang into all this so I was keen to give it a go, afterall I've always loved a good foot massage...
But it was no ordinary foot massage and it seemed that the main aim was to feel relief that it was all over, rather than enjoy the event itself. Ow!
We tortured ourselves further by checking the foot chart on the wall afterwards trying to pin-point exactly where we felt the most pain and which area of the body/mind it represented and what must be wrong with it. Not a good idea to self-diagnose...
Obviously, the sensible thing to do after such treatments is to take it easy and drink plenty of water... so, of course, we headed straight for the bar. We got chatting with Hans and the owner, an ex champion in Thai kickboxing and UN worker called Terry, who told us some fascinating stories from his past as well as showing us a few self-defence moves followed by the grand finale - a glimpse of his calf muscles (I have never seen anything like it).
It was cocktail night for them and after a bit of dutch courage, Gav - all nostalgic from his bar days - asked Terry if he could try out a little bar flair. A tad scary as all the bottles were lined up on glass shelves behind the bar - one wrong move and it could have been a massacre. But he pulled it off and got a pretty good reaction.
We'd got chatting to another couple from home, Craig and Gemma, who were really nice and the lads decided to race eachother at a yard of beer (I'll never understand male mentality). Gav's was gone in 3 seconds which, along with the bar flair, suddenly projected him to hero status in the bar.
Surprise, surprise we didn't feel too good the next day and plans we had made to go to the beach with Craig and Gemma the night before went right out the window and instead we slept the best part of the day.
We woke up to the wailing song of the call for prayer ringing out from the loudspeakers in the mosques, which is almost haunting to listen to and the echoes bounce around town in a surround-sound way so that sometimes it's difficult to tell which direction its coming from. You half expect the locals to fall into some sort of trance and start marching zombie-style to the nearest place of prayer to light their joss-sticks...
We went and sampled some of the typical Baba-Nonyn cuisine, ordering a random selection from the menu and hoping for the best. Well, it was all quite tasty, even the mutton curry that we didn't order but were told by the owner we simply must try. Not wanting to offend (he was stood watching us expectantly, clearly proud of his concoction) we tucked in and, even though I can't bear to be in the same room as lamb, it was actually very nice. Think its the word 'mutton' thats the stickler, it conjures up visions of old ladies in short leather skirts and too much make-up...
The Chinese guy who owned the place is well travelled and as we ate he entertained us with stories of his trips, as well as dropping into conversation the fact that he's a barrister so we got his card, thinking it could well come in handy should we get in a spot of bother... He is a Baba descendant and we were amazed at his English - until he revealed he studied in England and doesn't actually speak a word of Chinese. Very amusing.
We also visited our lady-boy (DeeDee) for a couple more meals during the week and were pleased to find that he/she had had a massive change of attitude and was all smiles and compliments, especially for Gav who apparently 'had a lovely perfume'. Mmmm... maybe?
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