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The islands of the East
Langkawi is great, but head to George Town in Penang for a cultural surprise… and the best South Indian food you’ve ever had!
Like many Indians, I start my Malaysia vacation from Langkawi. It’s with the hope that the gentle sea, the tropical sun, myriad small islands popping up from the Straits of Malacca and fresh seafood will sweep Ruchira (my wife) off her feet and she’ll not frown at my rendezvous with Glen Grant.
Boat to nowhere
It kicks off well, with an indolent afternoon at Tanjung Rhu beach to see the setting sun painting a splendid picture in the sky. We soak in coconut water and hit a night market that sells Malaysian delicacies at exorbitant rates. Our home is a resort made of renovated old Malay houses. Nearby a dance competition is underway and the quality of its sound varies between Tu cheez badi hai and argument among judges.
But the following day, when the exclusive boat tour – a couple of women and a diehard Donald Trump fan in company – stops near a cave to zealously show nectar bats, my hopes start sinking.
The guide tries to explain the importance of nectar bats. I try to tell him that I have been seeing them since my childhood when the more adventurous ones even flew inside our home.
The next pit stop is to watch bald eagles swooping down to catch fish. These birds behave like municipalities – won’t act if tourist boats don’t offer dead fish as bribes.
Our boat, low on punctuality but high on morality, will not throw any fish in the water. The eagles know which vessel to avoid and I haplessly watch them merrily flapping their wings in the far distance sans the hope of a Kodak moment.
Later, we swim in the sea and do a 15-minute jungle walk to see bamboo trees and wild mushrooms. The guide finally opens the food box: beef chops, sandwiches and delicious bananas. By the time I finish the eighth banana, the guide is shouting, facing the wide sea, as our boat along with the captain is nowhere to be seen!
If you have seen the Andamans and Goa, you can possibly skip this island.
Home and away
But even if you have sailed in Venice and eaten in Hong Kong, don’t risk missing Penang and its vibrant heart – George Town.
I wait for the cab at this bustling crossroad of culture and cuisine in George Town’s ‘Little India’. The area looks like a den of south Indians – Tamils mostly – whose forefathers migrated here long back when everyone vied for a share in Malaysia’s booming tin mining. They survived bloody civil wars, braved gang fights and set up restaurants, taxi services, provision stores and other prosperous businesses.
Dindigul biryani rubs shoulder with Chettinad fish rasam and sukha mutton. Dosa is tosai and chapati is kapati here. Najib Razak (Malaysia’s Prime Minister) will not blame me for thinking I am in some by-lanes of Chennai’s Nungambakkam.
Just as all roads lead to Rome, Indians like my wife flock to Ananda Bhawan. Their three-storeyed building serves all kinds of south Indian food including some heavily coloured and sugary version of kheer.
But beyond the posters of Rajinikanth, Tamil soundtracks screaming from big black loudspeakers and strong scents of incense sticks and garlands, lies a city where every lane rewards travellers with long history and deep culture.
I wake up early to stroll the alleys before the sweltering tropical heat challenges my AC-friendly body.
The lanes of George Town are nothing short of an open-air museum of street art: murals cleverly aligned with real objects for a lively, 3D impact. Like the kid painted on a permanently closed door with an old motorcycle placed below him to show as if the rider is skedaddling.
Look towards left and see why he’s running for his life: There’s a pet dragon chasing him!
At the Armenian street (locals call it Lebuh Armenian), there’s a better one by Ernest Zacharevic – children riding a bike. But on this unfortunate morning, they are overshadowed by a group of sensitive Chinese tourists who can’t fully appreciate art until each one of them takes turns to sit on the bike and giggle for photos.
Hello China
Don’t blame them. George Town is a Chinese colony in Malaysia. The street also leads to one of the Clan Houses – where people speaking the same dialect or from the same areas of mainland China would find shelter, protection and job opportunities.
Meanwhile, I have managed to break one of our suitcases and Ruchira frequently reminds of dire consequences if it’s not repaired, even if I don’t have any idea where the damn thing can be fixed here, in the next three hours.
I can see a lot of shophouses though. The ground floor is dedicated to business, and the shopkeeper’s family lives on the first floor. These houses, throughout the old town, offer unique beauty even though a skyscraper or two peeps from behind. Red lanterns hang over the roads like boundary walls of Chinese fiefdom.
It’s almost 1pm and I offer a truce: “Let’s go to a good Chinese eating house (and pay the bill, too).”
Langkawi has been more of seafood and Malay street food. Now, I am at the heart of Chinatown and at least two locals suggest I go to Wen Chang.
As I sit at a red table under a slow ceiling fan, the cook-cum-manager comes to take order. Only then do I learn that this eatery sells just one dish: Hainanese chicken rice.
The grilled chicken served with rice, soya sauce with a topping of greens is so delicious and filling that you don’t need to ask for a second dish. I am so impressed that I enter a Chinese provision store to buy the ingredients and end up buying seaweed, ginger toffees, soya sauce and two types of chilli sauce.
With a soul full of sin and disdain earned from Ruchira, there are two places in George Town to feel mollified. One, the Kek Lok Si Buddhist temple that offers a great view of the city and, when evening arrives, becomes the favourite spot for locals. Two, the street vendors for the best pork clear soup.
I do both. Still, my appetite for local cuisine is far from over.
As the gentle sea breeze and the city lights make me fall in love with George Town, I bring Ruchira to Chin’s Stylish Chinese cuisine – an award-winning restaurant that showcases photos of its VIP victims at the lobby.
I recognise two faces: Uma Thurman and Martina Navratilova.
Watching the ships anchored far away in the dark waters, pictures of pandas and Mao all around us and with soft music adding to the romance, we decide to eat frog legs, crispy seaweed and delicate wild fungus!
I see forgiveness in Ruchira’s eyes. The thought of frog legs and wild fungus have been able to distract her from that broken suitcase.
This is the perfect opportunity to scan the alcohol menu. The drinks are named after famous characters.
“Give me a Bond. James Bond,” I request the smiling manager.
Follow @SaubhadraC on Twitter
From HT Brunch, May 6, 2018
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