Neapolitan: Malaysia

“What is that?!” I sputtered and pointed while tapping the taxi driver on the shoulder. “I mean where is he from? Is he Malaysian?!” The taxi driver must have picked up on the wonder and disbelief in my voice because he actually giggled, shook his head and said, “Oh, young lady… Dark, Light, Malay, Chinese, Indian, Buddhist, Muslim, Christian, and Hindu… All different, all Malaysian!” 

I had previously read about Malaysia being the place where all Asians lived, mingled and mixed, but that still hadn’t prepared me for the 6’ 1”, chocolate skinned, brotha walking down the street with a Kangol pulled low over his eyes and a Denzel swagger that wouldn’t stop.  I wasn’t salivating, just amazed that I was still in Asia and not Harlem, D.C, Philly or any other chocolate city you could think of. Okay, maybe I was drooling a little bit, but who knew they made them like that over here? Malaysia is proof positive that Asians come in all colors and all sizes... Pulling me out of my stupor, the driver continued his drive through Kuala Lumpur while delivering his dissertation on the cultural and ethnic variations in Malaysia. Cabbie education is the best!



Apparently, Malaysia is comprised of three main ethnic groups: Malays, Chinese, and Indians. However, over time these groups have married and reproduced, so you have other ethnic categories like the Peranakan or Baba-Nyonya, which are Malay and Chinese. You also have the Chitty, which are essentially Indian and Malay mixed. Then you layer on the fact that until Malaysia received its independence in 1957, they were ruled by the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Japanese and the British and each country brought its own culture, religion and laws into Malaysia and left its stamp. So while the majority of Malays practice Islam, you still may have Malays who are Portuguese descendants and are Catholic. The Indians added Hinduism to the mix, the Chinese added Buddhism and each racially mixed ethnic group pulled religious cues from both sides of their family and created their own cultural practices. Even today, you see “little white men on bikes in shirts and ties or those other ones who go door-to-door” (Mormons and Jehovah Witnesses) and it’s another layer being added.

This is a really rough assessment of the historical and cultural complexities there, but Malaysia is essentially Neapolitan ice cream; three different flavors with a melting mix collecting at the base of the cone. In actuality, if you take into account the many different indigenous tribes interspersed throughout the country, the Orang Asli (the "original people" or their version of Native Americans), then what you really have is Neapolitan ice cream with sprinkles. Delicious!! (my new favorite word)



Malaysia is Delicious like that brotha crossing the street. It’s Delicious in the way it stretches to accommodate all the diversity under its flag. It’s the only place I’ve gone in the world, where you sit down for a meal and all of the seasonings are offered and every eating utensil is presented: chopsticks, fork, knife, spoon, Chinese soup spoon, and sauce dish. The ethnic food combinations found there... Delicious!  “Do you want Vietnamese Rice Noodles or Chinese Yellow Noodles to accompany your Thai soup?” My can of coke was even Halal! Malaysia is delicious in its ability to meld and mend without losing the individualistic characteristic that brands each community. They actually maintain two separate, yet intertwined justice systems: a secular law system for non-Muslims and an Islamic law system for Muslims. And nearly all of their citizens speak two or three languages: Malaysian, English and their own cultural language. Simply Delicious!

“There are a lot of competing beliefs systems here! How does your country manage this without riots every day?” I asked a friend after having been there for two weeks. He explained the concept of “One Malaysia.” One Malaysia is a national unification concept or belief that progress can only be achieved if they operate as one unit or one nation that respects the ethnic identities of each community. This One Malaysia unity concept is so thick and so ingrained that you can’t spit without hitting a Malaysian flag; they are EVERYWHERE! They hang from buildings, from buses, cars and motorcycles, they string from light poles, they are painted in the grass, etched in windows, and wave from the front of people’s homes. It’s overkill to the point of being ridiculous, but completely beautiful.

The ladies only carts on the subway

Don’t get me wrong, Malaysia has its fair share of “isms” or B.S to contend with in its plight to preserve its multi-racial and multi-religious country. Pick up any newspaper or open a history book and you will read about a number of problems, from churches being bombed to marriages not being recognized. However, the fact that this country is willing to engage each of these problems head on in an attempt to create an all-encompassing space, where cultural and religious “flava” is preserved rather than stripped, is brave and incredibly difficult. Some countries take the easy way and make “my way or the highway” policies, bulldozing all minority beliefs, or “let’s act like it doesn’t exist” policies, where dissenting beliefs are never engaged just ignored. Yet, Malaysia, an Islamic state, has chosen inclusion as its national fabric, weaved it into its flag, constitution, legal and justice systems, and then spewed that same flag all over their country as a constant reminder and conversation. This is the hard way!

Response: “C’mon! We’ve been colonized again and again and each time we fight for our freedom. We are Malaysians! We are willing to fight and aren’t afraid of anything, including taking the hard way!”

Absolutely Delicious...

Petronas Towers

Central Market in China Town

National Monument *Not my photo. Used from Pbase.

The Market

Straight Debauchery: Thailand

WARNING: If you are visiting my blog because Reverend Yolanda came to your BaptiPentaHoliness Church and told you that her daughter was traveling around the world and that you should read her blog, then I beg you to please hold your mule and pass this post. This ain’t for you. If your momma sent you here to see what I was up to and you are under the age of consent, please log off. I will get back to you with something more appropriate in about 5-7 business days. If you are a college recruiter and are reading this as a part of your investigation into whether I would make an ideal candidate for your doctoral program, then please note that this post is not a complete reflection of my character. Nevertheless, it does show that I exhibit a willingness to engage in activities outside of my purview.

I had absolutely no plans of going to Pattaya, Thailand. All of the guide books suggested that it was a major party town and since drinking solo is slightly depressing, I figured I’d spend my days somewhere else. Then my brother advised that his ship was docking in Pattaya for the week and my sister-in-law, Miki, was flying out to meet him. My little brother is in the Navy and as many of you are aware from my bungee fiasco, he lives in Japan. He was underway when I visited Japan and I hadn’t seen him in over a year, so I figured I would catch up with them in Pattaya.

Me: Do you guys want to upgrade to a suite with two rooms or should I book my own room?

My Brother: I haven’t seen my wife in 40 days.

Me: Got it! I will book my own room.

I met up with Miki at Bangkok International Airport and we rode into Pattaya together. The hotel was beautiful and everything was in order, so we checked in and proceeded to our separate rooms. As the bell hop took us to the elevator, I noticed a poster on the wall encased in glass.  The poster essentially stated that this hotel establishment does not support child prostitution and will report those who engage in it to the authorities. “Oh, that’s nice,” I thought and continued to my room. Now, it was late and it really didn’t hit me until after I sat down and de-stressed, but I was confused.

• How odd... Normally glassed encased posters in hotels say something about the hotels excellent customer service rating or the breakfast buffet offered in the morning, but this one was about the illegality of child prostitution. Isn’t that a no-brainer?
•  What the hell do they mean by “THIS” establishment?!  Are there other establishments that do support child prostitution?
•  Why just list child prostitution? What about adults? Isn’t it all illegal?
•  Where am I, really? And what have I gotten myself into?

I needed to know more about Pattaya, so I immediately looked to my best friend: Google. Apparently, Pattaya was a fisherman’s village long before it got its claim to fame as the sex tourism capital of the world. There is a lot of interesting information out there about the history of the Pattaya, the Isaan  Village girls who provide fuel for the prostitution in these areas and the Russian Mafia that organizes the industry to the benefit of those with more “eccentric” taste. It was a lot to undertake in one night, so I sat that information aside in the “dormant” file in my mind because being locked up abroad is not on my bucket list and neither is engaging in child prostitution, legal or not, so I wouldn’t need to access that information anytime soon.

 

The next morning I woke up and had breakfast with my family. I actually really missed my brother and was happy to just sit and talk to him. However, I didn’t want to be a third wheel in their reunion of love, so we made plans to all hang out the next evening and I set out to conquer Pattaya alone. Once you get pass all of the old, white men walking around town with young Asian women on their arms (real old… like, where is your colostomy bag old), then you really start to take in Pattaya.

Pattaya’s main streets are essentially a smorgasbord of massage and spa services. Some places are legitimate and offer foot reflexology, Thai massages and other spa services.  Other places are also legitimate, by Pattaya standards, but they offer “happy endings” along with your massage. For a novice, like myself, figuring out which was which was a little difficult. However, after visiting several different parlors I found two distinctions. First, a lot of the happy endings type of massage places offered “body-to-body”, “intimate massages”, or a “Soapy massage.” Secondly, many of these places have a “fish bowl.” A fish bowl is a glass enclosure with women sitting behind it and they typically have a number on them so you can choose which fish you’d like to service you.

The world famous Tiffany Show!

With supply and demand being what they are, you can imagine how cheap massage and spa services can be in Pattaya. So, I reckoned I’d get caught up on some much needed maintenance. I found two salons that I liked and figured I would get a Thai massage and Body Scrub at one and all my other services at the other. I went to the other first and started ordering. “I need a mani, pedi, and my eyebrows waxed. As a matter of fact, getting a Brazilian is on my bucket list, so let’s do that too!” Side Note: I’m not sure who created this evil, sadistic, cruel, and torturous procedure, but it should have stayed on my bucket list never having been unearthed! If Jesus comes back for just his hairless followers, my ass will be left behind. I will NEVER do that again. EVER!

Having never experienced that type of trauma, I wasn’t aware that getting a body scrub or even going into the ocean after getting a Brazilian is out. (Apparently salt and wounded flesh doesn’t mix well…) However, the technician keyed me in to the follow up procedures and I opted for just a Thai massage at the next place.  I left the salon walking much slower than I had entered, but feeling very breezy and headed to the next salon.

A Ladyboy from the Tiffany Show.

Thai massages are a must do in Thailand and I was excited to get all of the travel kinks out. I paid for my massage, changed into the little outfit they gave me and in walks another one of Thailand’s national treasures: a Ladyboy. A “Ladyboy”, as they are called in Thailand, is a pre or post opt male transsexual and Thailand has some of the most beautiful Ladyboys I have ever seen. They are so beautiful that when my brother, Miki and I went to the Tiffany Show, which is an all Ladyboy show, later that week, Miki said, “Man, I need to step my game up. I want to be a Ladyboy!”

Whatever the case, Thai massages are really vigorous and detailed and this Ladyboy cracked stuff in my back that I didn’t even know existed.  She kneeled on me, stood on me, crawled on me, and walked on me. She used her feet, knees, and elbows and I had my arms and legs in the air, off to the side and was in more positions then the Kama Sutra would allow for. A few years ago, if you had told me that I would crave a cigarette after being completely worked over by a transsexual, I would have laughed in your face. But trust… I have never smoked a cigarette a day in my life, but I swear I wanted to just lay there, light a ciggy and chill in the afterglow; I was shattered.

For the love of money...

After my pleasure and pain day of spa services, I was done. I took three Tylenol and went to bed. I didn’t even wake up for dinner. Day 1 was a wrap, but Day 2 proved to be mind blowing as well. After a marathon shopping spree through Pattaya’s markets and shopping centers, I finally caught up with Miki and my brother. That evening we hit the town in search for the infamous “Walking Street” in Pattaya. Walking street is basically the first block past the gates of hell. Think Mardi Gras or Freak Nik being hosted in Hunts Point, NY in the 1990’s and you have a pretty close idea as to what Walking Street looks like nightly. Anything goes and I literally had to draw a morality line at Donkey Shows. I just can’t do it. What I did go to was a Ping Pong Show. Earlier while in Vietnam, I met a guy who was working in Thailand and he swore that I shouldn’t miss a Ping Pong show if I had the opportunity. So there I was.

For the next two hours, I watched an assortment of debauchery. The show started with a crew of maybe fourteen strippers dancing topless on the stage. Each stripper had a number, remember the fishbowl, and to be quite honest I’ve seen much worse in the U.S., so I wasn’t impressed. Now, I don’t blush easily and have been around the way, but the events that proceeded after the strippers left were unimaginable. The first woman who took the stage had a glass of water with a ping pong  ball in it and for the next ten minutes she engaged in a Kegel muscle workout that would put the “clean and jerk” to shame. Lying on her back, she placed the ping pong into her vagina, pushed her pelvis upward, blew the ball about three feet into the air and then caught it with her hands.  WTF?! Am I really seeing this??

  

At least the tuition is cheap...

I was in awe for the first five minutes, until she blew the ping pong ball so far out that it shot towards a group of aging Japanese men. The way and speed in which those men scattered… OMG… You would have thought that a rat just crawled across the table and tried to attack them. They were horrified and you couldn't have paid them to pick that ball up with a pair of chopsticks! I laughed so hard that my sides hurt! One of the staff members had to actually go over there, pick the ping pong ball off the floor and bring it back to the performer; who without the assistance of at least Windex, took the ball and put it right back inside her vagina. Am I really seeing this?? Then my brother said, “The last time I was here, that happened and a guy caught the ball and licked it.” In one fell swoop, I sobered up fast enough to stop vomit from spewing past my lips.

The show didn’t stop with ping pong balls though. It continued with woman after woman exhibiting her vaginal talents. We saw symphony of whistles being played, a series of candles being blown out and a cigarette being smoked. The finale, however, took the cake. After handing out ten balloons to various people at various distances around the room, I witnessed two girls place blow darts into their vaginas and spin on their backs, systematically taking out each balloon like covert assassins. Am I really seeing this?? Suddenly being able to hold pee for long periods of time just didn’t seem like that big of a deal; these chicks were off the chain.

Sanctuary of Truth!

There’s a lot more to talk about in terms of the underbelly of Pattaya, but the truth is that the sexual energy in that city is so overwhelming that it’s mentally and emotionally draining; especially for someone who hasn’t seen her spouse in over two months.  It's simply too much! After that night I started looking for more family friendly activities that we could all do together, cause I gotta keep my head straight.  So the next day, we went to the Sanctuary of truth.

The Sanctuary of truth is an enormous temple undertaken by an eccentric billionaire and meant to depict the four major philosophical, religious and artistic influences seen in Thailand: Hindu, Khmer, Chinese and Thai. The building is hand carved entirely out of wood and carvers have been working on it for the last 20 years; it is expected to be completed in another 25 years. It is awe inspiring in all of its detail and frankly, I would have gone to Pattaya just to see this. We spent hours there walking the grounds, riding more freaking elephants, getting massages and learning about the building process and I loved it!  This was definitely a fantastic way to spend the day with my brother and his wife and to end my trip to Thailand.  

Carving the walls of the Sanctuary

Every wall in the Sanctuary of Truth is this detailed. AMAZING!

Elephants, Waterfalls, and all things "Normal": Thailand

In the beginning of traveling long term, everything is exciting and you wake up each day needing to do something or anything. Let’s move, let’s go, let’s do. It’s the proverbial honeymoon period of traveling. Then somewhere along your route you hit a wall and realize that your body and finances can’t keep up with the constant hijinks and everyday doesn’t have to be filled. A lot of travel writers I’ve followed call this period “normalizing.”

 

I recognized that I was normalizing when one day I wanted to see Captain America at the movies more than I wanted to see the Grand Palace in Thailand. (Don't judge me! I’m an action movie buff!) I knew I was normalizing when I found an English bookstore in a Bangkok Mall and almost had a coronary buying book after book, forgetting that I had to carry all of them. (Do you know how heavy books are?!) And I really knew I was normalizing when I started decorating my little hostel room area. (What am I doing?! This is not my place!) I was starting to do the things that I typically do and it reminded me of that saying, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

So there I was in Thailand, waiting for my India visa and enjoying one of the best hostels I have ever stayed in. I know that for many people, the idea of staying in a hostel is unfathomable. However, I can honestly say that so far (KNOCK ON WOOD!) I‘ve had some really excellent accommodations; but the hostel in Thailand was just ridiculous. The hostel, Refill Now, should actually be called a mini resort; all glass building, with slideable walls, pool, garden, gourmet meals, spa services, outdoor and indoor bar, open deck for dining, concrete floors and black chandeliers amongst a pristine, modern, white background.

The entire place is owned and designed by an architect in Los Angeles and if the environment isn’t enough to make you want to move in, then the staff sure will. I was there for a little over two weeks and Mark and Rahul were amazing; they helped organize my day trips, kept me hip to the many, many, many scams ran on tourist throughout Bangkok, and even shipped my packages for me when I ran out time to get to the post office. Needless to say, I highly recommend this place if you are making plans to visit Bangkok. I would also recommend checking out the website Bangkok Scams and reading up, because even though I was forewarned, I was scammed, not once, but three separate times.

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The staff at Refill Now!

Whatever the case, I woke up one “morning” around 5pm, got dressed and went downstairs for my favorite meal, Salmon Panang. “Are you just waking up,” asked Rahul the evening employee at Refill Now. “Yep,” I replied changing the television station and settling in to watch my favorite show, Wipe Out. “Oh no, no, no.  Are you spending the week in bed? We have to find you something to do,” he continued.

Okay, maybe I had pushed normalizing into down right laziness, but I swear I needed it; besides I had already visited a third of the must see places, gotten scammed, gotten lost, and shopped more than I was supposed to. What else can you ask of me? He started going through a list. “Did you see this? Have you done that?” After a series of yes, no, maybe tomorrow answers he then asked, “What about the elephant trekking?”

Elephants!

Riding an elephant is on my bucket list and I had yet to accomplish it, so after thinking about it overnight, I signed up for the elephant trekking tour to Khao Yai National Park. The trip included a 2-hour drive to the great outdoors, a visit to a farmer’s market to see and taste authentic Thai ingredients, an ox cart ride through the countryside, a short walk through Khao Yai National Park to see waterfalls, lunch, and an elephant trek near the park. Cool!

Just a little background…

I am not a National Park type of chick! I can appreciate the outdoors for all of its beauty and can hang in there for a about a good hour, but when I think of recreation and fun, hiking through the woods doesn’t come to mind. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to stretch my sensibilities though.  I still have never been camping in my life and it’s on my bucket list as well. So, we will see.

The next day, I woke up earlier than I had in weeks at 6 am, put on my outdoorsy, hiking apparel and met with the tour. We spent the first part of the day wandering through farmer’s markets in the countryside, where the guide, Music (yes, that’s his name), introduced us to new vegetables and fruit. Smell this, taste this, look at that! My husband is the cook in our family and I know for a fact that he would have loved being there; a foodie’s paradise. Then we headed even deeper into the country, where we sat in ox carts and made our way through what could be described as a farmer’s residential area. Beautiful! Next we headed into the National Park…

Since hiking isn’t my thing and the group I was with looked like the cast of Survivor, Music said it would be okay to go ahead of the group to get a head start. So while the group went to the restroom, bought water, and stretched, I headed out.  “What are they stretching for? Rahul said it was a short walk…” 1.5 km in and I was doing okay. I had some great photos, I wasn’t sweating like crazy and I was enjoying myself; I knew that the Colorado girl was in there somewhere! I came to the opening of the waterfall and was blown away by its beauty. I needed to see the entire fall, so I kept going. It is exactly 331 steps down stairs that look more like ladders, but it was worth it! The view was gorgeous and I was soaking wet from the waterfall spray. Thank God my hair wasn’t straight! 

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Almost at the top!

It is exactly 331 steps back up too! One look at the stairs going back and I was starting to think that Rahul had scammed me too! Short walk my butt! By the time I made it back to the top, the tour group had lapped and left me and I was pulling a Fred Sanford. “This is the big one. I’m coming home Elizabeth!”  Music was very encouraging and he waited with me. “I do this six times a week. You can do it,” he said thinking that he was helping, but actually making me feel like an even bigger loser. I sucked it up, started singing Kirk Franklin’s Conquerors in my head, and made it back having caught up with the group.



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Cute at the zoo. Scary on the street!

You know that scene in Tyler Perry’s “Why did I get married too", where Janet Jackson looks all disheveled and wet having just ripped up her house. “You gonna be crazy!? I’ll show you crazy!” Well, that was how I looked. I was done!

Music: “Now we will have lunch and then go ride the elephants!”

Me: “Really?!”

I don’t know what would possess someone to think that after all of that hiking, I would want to sit my stank, crazy looking self next to someone at a restaurant and have polite conversation. Then afterwards, wrap my mosquito bite ridden, itchy, sweaty butt around an elephant’s neck.

Me: (under my breath) “I need a hoe bath. I’m going to the restroom.”

Music: “A what?”

Me: “Nevermind… I’ll be back.”

Even though my elephant ran me through a swarm of bugs and in a wild ass attempt to swat them all, I accidentally ripped my hoop earring out of my ear sending it flying into a river of elephant crap, I can honestly say I had a really good time. In the end, riding an elephant has been accomplished and is now off of my bucket list. Even better, tomorrow is another day and the Planet of the Apes movie is coming out! I’m loving this normalizing phase…

Big Size Madame

Cambodian Bell Hop: "Are you Filipino?"

Me: "No. Why do you ask? "
Cambodian Bell Hop: "Well, I have this friend. She's Filipino and her hair is like you, her skin is like you, and she BIG like you too."

I’m convinced that people in Asia don’t have a filter when it comes to issues that westerners may deem sensitive. They have no qualms about getting all in your business (i.e. "Why you no have kids now? Why your husband not come?"), but to me it's hilarious when they start talking about your weight so freely and in front of you. Whether it’s my Japanese sister-in-law’s father explaining why I didn’t like bungy jumping (“You’re much heavier, so you fall faster!”) or the Thai retailers trying to get your attention as you pass their store (“Big Size, Madame! We have big size!”), I’m almost positive that weight sensitivity is not something they think about. With that said, I had to post about my shopping foray in Thailand.

People everywhere at Chatuchak Market.

Let me first say that Thailand is a shopper’s paradise! I purchased A LOT of stuff and have had to send home five shipments already. This wasn’t the plan, but it’s really difficult to pass up such great deals on really fantastic pieces; especially at the Chatuchak Market, which is held on the weekends. I’ve purchased handmade, custom cowboy boots (don’t ask!), handmade quilts and pillow coverings, a few items of clothing tailor made to fit, too many shoes to count, and a number of things for my husband and family. I even purchased a pair of harem pants, which seem to be all the rage in just about every country, but I doubt I will EVER wear them when I get back to the states. I like them, but I keep catching myself singing “You can’t touch this!” and doing the shoulder part of that MC Hammer dance. Whatever the case, I’m having a ball wandering through markets and bargaining for just about everything.

I designed it! They beaded it, while I waited!

Now, what I didn’t plan for was the need to purchase new bras. I mean, I knew I would lose weight while travelling and it made sense that I would need a few things to offset that, but who thinks about buying new bras while traveling around the world. Well, I should have because so far I’ve lost 7.5kg since my bungy weigh-in in Japan. Funny thing is that 7.5kg really didn’t mean anything until I actually started doing the conversion in my head. 2.2 lbs. for every kg… ok, carry the 1… Holy crap! That’s 16 lbs.! What?!

 “Break it down. Stop… Hammer Time!”

(Yes, I was really doing the MC Hammer dance this time.)

No wonder my current bra was starting to fit like a jheri curl cap; just baggy! With goodness and mercy following me all the days of my life, I can pretty much judge a cup size from a mile away. So I knew the moment I walked into the lingerie department that I was screwed. I started to turn around and then the lady saw me, “Come! We have big size, Madame.” If my eastern kin folk knew how much of a turn off it is to hear that yelled out in public, I think they would reconsider. She might as well yell, “Hey fat girl! I got what you need,” lick her lips, and swirl her hips. Totally turned off!  But I digress…Thinking that maybe she really did have what I need; I figured I’d give it a try.

The markets sell EVERYTHING! Need a door knocker?

Her: “What size, Madame?”

Me: “Do you have a conversion size chart? I only know the U.S standard sizes.”

Her: “Huh?”

Let’s try this another way…

Me: Can you measure?

Her: Oh yes!

She pulled out the measuring tape and I could see her eyes as she continued to unroll it past a rubber banded part which they had probably never used. Her reaction to my cup size, clarified what I already knew, but by now this had become funny to me. “Yep. I got your big size madam right here!” I actually wanted to shimmy in her face, just to shock her and pull her out of her boob trance; but I was reserved.

By the end of the day, I had gone to six different department stores and still no luck. I finally went home and did some research on places that sold western sizes and finally struck gold: Chatuchak Market! I literally couldn't go back there without putting a muzzle on my visa, but that's not the moral of this story. The moral of this story is that if you are traveling long term, don’t pack too rigidly. You’re bound to purchase more than expected. Secondly, this type of travel is better than a crack diet any day! Pack spandex or adjustable clothing!

Vintage shoes from Afghanistan.

More scarves than I know what to do with.

Food at every turn. How did I lose weight?!