Veronica and I have been back in our second home for a little over 3 weeks now.
It’s hot, damn hot.
Each day starts out sunny, gets searingly hot by midday, clouds over during the
afternoon and then we get a massive thunderstorm at night. The rain is torrential
and we’re often on duty with a mop and bucket as the house struggles to cope
with the flow of water.
It’s the tropics and it’s wonderful.

We are mostly proud to be Aussie’s abroad but there are times when you do
cringe a tad when a fellow countryman flies the flag at half mast. Take for example
the happy chappy from north Queensland who was sitting a few seats in front of
us on the flight coming over.
As he exited the plane he asked the Malay steward what he reckoned was the best
beer in Penang. Might as well have asked him what’s the best place to buy pork in
town, mate.

In the wake of the MH370 disappearance, there are now more stringent security
measures in place at all Malaysian airports. You have to scan your bags as you
exit the airport as well as when you enter.
When we arrived in Penang we were stuck in a long queue trying to get out of the
baggage area, so we decided to test the stereotypical Malay approach to everything
and assume that they really don’t give a shit. So we pulled out of the queue, circled
the long line of weary travellers and just walked straight out. If the guys in dark blue
uniforms noticed, they weren’t about to make any effort to stop us. Out we went
with our 5 kg of high grade heroin and 10 kg of plastic explosives.

It’s not that we don’t like Melbourne, we do but there is a predictability about daily
life. The gap between expectation and outcome is typically narrow. Not so with
Penang, where almost anything can happen.
Take for example our first 2 hours back here. Before we had even unpacked, I
secured a part-time job as a Barman while Veronica is not only about to start work
as a Waitress, she’s also landed a part in a movie.
All without any intention and before we’d bought our first pint of milk. Gotta love
this place.

We went to a birthday party two weeks ago. Most of Penang was also there. It was
Buddha’s birthday, otherwise known as Vesak Day. They have a big parade with
brightly lit floats powered by huge generators trailing behind on trucks with electric
umbilical cords. People march proudly with banners or in uniform, sometimes
chanting or singing, while the more stoic members of each troupe assume the
important role of urging the rows of onlookers to step back a pace or two.
It’s an eclectic, chaotic blend of percussive crashing, chanting, lambent pink lotus
and fairy light buddhas. You can’t help but get swept along on this river of raw
energy, however tacky the expression or profane your own contention.

We started the night as static onlookers but unwittingly finished up as part of the
parade. It was never our intention, we were trying to leave the area but there was
just no chance to escape.  So we marched along and waved like half-baked loonies
at the confused crowds who lined the sidewalks. Eventually we slipped through a
gap in the crowd and into a Buddhist temple that looked like it had been modelled
on Disneyland.
The sign said to remove your shoes if you wish to enter. Some guy in flip flops with
hawker shorts, grubby shirt and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, shuffled up
to us and ordered that we place our shoes in a pot plant. Considering that the other
200 people who were already inside the temple had spread their foot wear out on
the ground either side of the first step, I asked him why we had to put our shoes in
a pot plant.
He muttered something about people being stupid. I’m not sure if he meant us
specifically or the rest of humanity.
” They will steal your shoes, ” he added.
Veronica and I both looked at our nondescript thongs and then at the range of foot
wear laid out on the ground  and wondered what was so special about our rubber
clobber.
” You must put them here ,” he insisted, patting the edge of the pot plant.
We figured it was like the street drunks who collect a dollar for helping you to park
your car.
We were parking our thongs.
So we put our thongs in the pot plant and then walked past all the shoes belonging
to the great unwashed and into the temple.
When we came out a security guard was standing on point duty, protecting the
pot plant and it’s valuable cargo.
No money changed hands, just a warm, knowing smile for a job well done.

As mentioned earlier, we are now working full time at a busy Restaurant in the
heart of town.
That means midday to 10.30 pm, with a 3 hour break from 3 – 6 pm. Veronica is
the pretty waitress soliciting orders, conveying meals and tapping the till. I am
front-of-house, boring customers with bad jokes and serving them dodgy drinks.
We are essentially singing for our supper, it’s not really a ‘get rich quick’ scheme.
This situation evolved courtesy of the incumbent maitre de going back to Nepal
for a 4 week holiday.
Raj began work here 3 years ago, without a word of English or any restaurant
experience. His development as a professional restaurant manager has been
Pygmalion-like and he has left us with big shoes to fill.

Raj’s favourite saying is ” Nothing is Impossible”.
Other gems include –
” There are a couple of things you can do to extend the length of your life and many
many things you can do to shorten it. ”
” There are 3 kinds of people. Those who help you out of a bad situation. Those who
leave you in a bad situation and those who put you in a bad situation. I am the last
kind sir. ”
Now I think I understand what he means.

We are still winning the battle against Penang’s mosquito fleet but last year’s bat
has returned to hang upside down at night over our back terrace and drop bits of
chewed fruit and excreta onto the terracotta.
We’ve named the little bugger, Raj.

After an 18 years association with Penang, I should rightly assume some level of
insight into the Asian mind.
However, their fervent attachment to money is still one of any number of things
that I cannot repatriate with western logic.
I once believed that the perceived value of money was directly proportional to
the lack of it.  Yet over here, irrespective of caste and despite routine acts of
generosity, most people will default to a form of covetous behaviour that sees them
willing to risk family, friendships or brand, for the sake of a single dollar. It’s
completely irrational. The art of compromise and the capacity for genuine empathy
appear to be lacking in modern Asian communities. Assuming both traits are pivotal
to the concepts of Socialism, no wonder Communism is such a huge fail in this neck
of the jungle.

There are lots of new cafes and restaurants in town. They are springing up daily, like
mushrooms after a morning shower.
A few are really good but most of them are generally missing one or more vital
ingredients, like staff who can talk or food you can eat or coffee that’s drinkable.
Perhaps the absence of any kind of business plan might also be the undoing of some.
My particular favourite this year is a cafe started by a one-time employee of the local
franchise chain, Old Town White Coffee. He’s called his cafe, New Town Black Coffee.

Our next door neighbour is a Temple Uncle. He looks after ‘our’ temple during daily
opening hours. His son and daughter in law have just had a baby and Temple Auntie
cares for the little nipper during the day. We have no issue with the baby crying but
they play the same Nursery Rhymes’ CD over and over again, all day, everyday.
We are becoming psychologically unbalanced. I just want to kill Mary’s little lamb
and pray that Michael’s boat sinks before he rows to shore one more time.

Funny story from our friends, Anita and Warren. They were on a local bus coming
back from Balik Pulau, a town on the mainly rural west coast of the island. There
were only 6 people on the bus and without warning the Malay driver suddenly
started hurtling down the winding jungle-clad slopes into Teluk Bahang. The driver
kept looking at his watch as the bus screeched around tight corners apparently
oblivious to the screaming passengers behind him. The bus roared into the fishing
village, slammed to a sudden halt, driver grabbed his prayer hat, opened the front
door and dashed into the mosque.
His passengers were left dumfounded on the bus for half an hour until all rogations
were completed. The driver then returned to the bus like nothing had happened
and then drove calmly all the way back to George Town.

That’s enough. We are off to Sri Lanka next month for a 2 week holiday. In August
we are very much looking forward to a group of 12 coming from Victoria for a 2
week tour of Penang.

PS: ( A word from Lotus Bud )

Today is Sunday, wonderful Sunday. Our first day off after
an incredibly busy week as novice waiters. My legs and feet
feel like lumps of aching lead but what do we do but get up
and walk the streets of Georgetown like a couple of 2 day
tourists!

After checking out a couple of Sunday markets that sold very
unhealthy Malay snacks I suggested that we go home for lunch
and maybe go out for dinner tonight.

John – ” No let’s have lunch out, I’m feeling lazy”
Me- “But you don’t have to cook it anyway”
John- ” No, but I’m feeling lazy for you”

 
?!!!!!!