This is my first time in Penang, but it's strongly reminiscent of my travels elsewhere in this part of the world. Hairdryer heat and steam-room humidity, at all hours of the day; unnervingly large insects circling the toilet seats; lizards darting across walls; stray dogs by the roadside; monkeys scampering on balustrades above the streets. And then there are the smells: incense and jasmine; acrid, eye-watering smoke from the burnt offerings at the Chinese temples; sweet, mouth-watering wafts in the Little India quarter when the day's first pile of onions and spices gets tossed onto the pan. Of course, every now and then you also get a big silent belch of fresh sewage from a drainage system that's never quite big enough to cope.
And speaking of whiffs....When I went out shopping to stock up on underwear, a local vendor sold me some bamboo-fabric underpants with the sincere promise: 'no smell'. I thought this was throwing down a rather ambitious gauntlet. Because if there's one thing pretty much guaranteed to make something go a bit stinky, it's a full day tangled up in my nether regions at 85 degrees Fahrenheit, in 80% humidity. But I was pleasantly surprised with the results. Not so far as to start excitedly pressing those used bamboo underpants against the nostrils of passing strangers, but certainly enough to buy another couple of pairs before leaving.
For some reason George Town has lots of reggae-themed bars and hostels. One of those reggae bars is also nominally an 'Irish' bar and so they call it "O'Marley's". Jesus wept. In O'Marley's, the intoxicating sensations of the Orient are rigorously suppressed in favour of canned Carlsberg and the complete works of Katy Perry, playing non-stop on the video jukebox, and making my ears bleed. Beer-wise, the best I've been able to do in Penang is Tiger. You can buy Special Brew at the 7-11, but I'm not quite at that kind of place in my life. Not yet, anyway.
Down the road from O'Marleys is a hotel with an electronic sign outside proudly announcing that they are 'Tripadvisor #7'. It made me think of the scene in the 'Borat' movie where Borat introduces his sister: '...she is number four prostitute in all of Kazakhstan!'
Continuing on the TripAdvisor theme, I was pleased to see that their top-rated Penang restaurant was literally about 100 yards from my digs. So there I toddled for dinner. It was OK, but not great: rather pricey, with ungenerous portions and amateurishly obsequious waiters. There was a tone-deaf pianist tinkling away, at whom I ached to yell that J.S. Bach has been dead 265 years and doesn't need to be murdered again. As for the food, I've had better and cheaper Malaysian curries in Sunderland. (At Asiana, to be precise. Credit where credit's due.)
While out walking, I saw lots of signs for 'Jalan Sehala'. I wondered if maybe I should check out this place, whatever it was? I'm glad I googled it first rather than asking a local. It means 'one way street'.
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| Incense and burnt offerings at the Chinese temple |
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| Penang Municipal Town Hall |
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| In the background: the Queen Victoria Memorial Clock Tower (1897). In the foreground: a roundabout, with some kind of modern art fountain thing (2000). |
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| Industries old & new |
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| Edd vs Food #36 Pork belly, mixed veg and rice at Kebaya. See above for my review. |
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| I do realise that at my advanced age... ...it's probably wrong to giggle at a photo of a man called Kok Sing. But context is all. (Singapore Airport gents' toilets). |
