Day 84 – 87 : Penang – “Hang on, I’m on an island?!”
Penang is a small Malaysian island province hanging off the western coast of the country about an hour and a half north of KL. More accurately, Penang is the island of Penang and a strip of land on the mainland to its east; a long spine of narrow bridgework preventing the islet from drifting off toward India.
I mention Penang’s geographical make-up as, for some unknown reason, I never actually look up the place before I get there – leading to a bemused look on Sheila’s face as we sit in the eager taxi-man’s vehicle and I ask if I’m on an island. Or not. You never can tell these days.
We’re staying in the Hutton Lodge in George Town which, quelle surprise, is a former colonial outpost for the British before they left Malaysia back in 1957. The town now serves as the capital of Penang province and, never ones to buck tradition, have decided to leave the British name in tact. As hostels go, it’s sufficient. We have free wifi, a large communal showering area (in which I manage to slip in, jamming my left foot between a pipe and a wall in the process) and access to old editions of magazines such as Men’s Health etc. I spend many an hour flicking through old fitness lore, calculating devious schemes to get myself back into shape when I get home.
Truth be told: I’m thoroughly conflicted about Penang. Looking over articles on the web and personal testimony from many visitors to the isle, there seems to be an abundance of positivity overflowing from eclectic and legitimate sources absolutely gushing about its wonderful culture, the exciting cuisine and how friendly the people are. I think it’s a total shit-hole.
The best analogy I can come up with regarding Penang is in relation to its colonialist beginnings. Now that the colonialists have all left, however, it’s akin to the practice of rich parents leaving a house in the questionably capable hands of their delinquent children only to come home and find that what was once a shining example of their opulence and refinery, is now reeling in the aftermath of a monster party.
There are remnants of colonial beauty in Penang; the architecture lush and intricate in places while some of the open-planned streets and wide, breezy areas, conjuring up images of Victorian women prancing around in with their sun-umbrellas, smack of the heyday of British imperialism. What’s infested Penang, however, now that the masters have departed, is a veneer of grime and neglect, with an ever-prevalent rubbish phenomenon that appears to be breeding out from its very walls. In a nutshell, the place has gone to the dogs. Or the cats more accurately, considering the burgeoning and starving feline population we come across at nearly every junction.
It’s not just the wild cats that are having a hard time of it. Bent and work-worn people in various states of disarray peer out from their dark, clammy hovels; working furiously away on whatever junk they’re hocking to the masses. One cavernous den has nothing but broken lawnmowers stacked on top of each other like the mechanical graveyard of a great grass-cutters’ war. It’s ironic as, to the best of my knowledge, there’s hardly any grass on Penang.
It reminds me in a way of my father back home who, growing up in harsher times than the era in which I did, is incredibly reluctant to throw anything away. The family shed is full of VHS tapes covered in mould; useless to anyone but those with an unhealthy penchant for mildew. My father would fall in love with Penang; its endless junk-traders and shit-hawkers obviously just waiting for him to join their fetid sect as a venerable leader and king.
It’s not just the crap oozing out of the shop-fronts that’s off-putting. There’s also trouble afoot when it comes to walking around the place in general. Hugging nearly every street in Penang are twin aqueducts that may or may not be the vestiges of an ancient sewer system. It sure smells that way. Though some of the troughs are covered by broken stone slabs, most go exposed to the public. Festering gullies of mulch, they’re a magnet for an unwary foot to get snagged in.
It’s also strikingly hot, a condition not helped by the forever grabbing trade-hawkers who hassle us incessantly from the side of the road. It gets so intense at one point that I have to go back to the hostel before risking incarceration for the (justified I might add) pummelling of a local shit-peddler.
The best thing about Penang is that there are no Burger Kings (that we could find, and we looked) so we’re totally reliant on the local cuisine. Rambling through the cat-infested streets, we come across an Indian establishment ballsy enough to declare itself as having the best tandoori in Penang. At this point, on yet another sweaty and harassment filled preamble, I really don’t give a shit where (or what) I eat so, making the pushy waiter’s year, I agree to sit there and put this crazy boastful to the test.
We only eat Indian food in one other place in Penang but, bloody hell, I think they’re on to something. We go back to “Kapitan” something like four times in three days, always overjoyed at the dishes we order. The food is cooked in the corner in a semi-open kitchen hovel consisting of two tandoors and a mountain of pots. The fresh naan bread seen to be slammed down into the counter at regular intervals. It’s hardly the pinnacle of hygienic conditions, but we care not a jot. In fact, when it comes to questionable hygiene, we’re the only people eating in the place with a knife and fork, the rest of the clientele seemingly content to scream up to the place on whiny mopeds, alight in a dangerous fashion, and then sit themselves down to a meal eaten with their bare hands. And we’re talking curries and rice dishes here. Doesn’t matter. They stick their hands in and scoop up the contents with naans and assorted breads. It’s so messy, in fact, that there are washing basins strategically placed around the open-to-the-road restaurant for the sole purpose of cleaning yourself up after your gastric adventure.
It really is good food. Later on in the trip we experience some Thai dishes that literally snap our taste-buds to attention, but it’s the chicken tikka masala and garlic naan combo (with Pepsi, no Coke, Coke is for infidels apparently) from Kapitan which we rate as the nicest dish we taste on our three month trip. And it cost something like a euro. At the most.
Amazingly, as we sit in Penang airport and are about to make our escape to Bangkok, I spy a Penang tourism video in the departure lounge. As we sit there subjected to a weird perpetually moaning child, I can’t help but think that the Penang depicted on the TV looks awesome. So much culture! So many friendly faces and beautiful sights to see. Why didn’t I see any of this during my short stay? Who knows. I’m just happy to escape Penang alive.
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