The passion to live. To survive. To overcome life’s obstacles.
The true beauty of existence.
It’s official. If I move anywhere in South East Asia it will be to Georgetown, Penang, in Malaysia. I have only seen a tiny part of the world in my twenty-five years of life, but from what I have seen and where I have been, Georgetown was my favorite place. It is truly a global city, and I am still glowing from the weekend I spent there. I met really interesting people, I ate some of the best food I have ever had, I spent half the weekend at the beach, and the other half exploring a gorgeous city.
I followed Anthony Bourdain’s advice and tried a few different dishes that were featured on “No Reservations.” Of everything he recommended, my favorite was Wan Tan Mee, an amazing meal that cost less than two dollars. It was a noodle dish that I bought on the side of the road and was made within minutes right before me. The contents of my bowl included ramen, pork dumplings, thinly sliced barbequed pork, a mix of vegetables and wan tans, all swimming together in a delicious broth. As much as I wanted to try all the different foods that Penang had to offer, I have to admit that I had this multiple times.
The second dish that I tried was Penang Laksa, which ranked 7th in a 2011 list of the world’s 50 most delicious foods. I had been at the beach all day, and was walking back to the bus stop to catch a ride back to my hostel, when I saw a sign for Penang’s world famous Laksa. It said the food stand/outdoor restaurant was rated number one in the city, and I remembered that Bourdain had eaten it and loved it, so I followed the arrows, found the place, ordered a bowl and had a seat. While I am glad I gave it a try and broadened my horizons, I can say with certainty that it was the first and last time I will eat Laksa. I wasn’t too sure of what to expect, but what arrived was a soup in a clay pot, that was a combination of noodles, onions, cucumbers, mint, ginger and lettuce.
It looked amazing until I took my first bite, and was instantly taken back by how fishy it was. The thick broth was a murky brown and got its flavor from mackerel that had been stewed with lemon grass and chilies. Aside from the fish taste, I enjoyed the blend of spices, but not enough to eat it again.
Another must was Indian food. My first night in Penanag I had the banana leaf Indian dinner, and over the weekend I went for Indian again with a friend that I met. I had tandoori chicken that was roasted from a street vendor and served with garlic nan and multiple dipping sauces, my favorite being the mint cilantro chutney that had a spicier kick to it than I expected. For breakfast one morning I also went to Little India and ordered roti canai, an Indian-Muslim style flatbread that you dip in sauce or curry. I watched the man at the food cart knead the dough, toss it around in the air, and then throw it on a hot flat skillet where it was brushed with butter before being flipped over, folded up and wrapped up in paper for me to take away.
And last but not least, I had a bagel for breakfast; A sesame seed, fresh bagel, stuffed with cucumber and bacon in the middle. Bagels were part of my every day diet during college, and I haven’t even seen one since arriving in Thailand. The bagel was quite possibly the most expense meal I ate while in Georgetown, but I cannot convey the bliss it brought to my morning, when paired with a coffee and a side of fresh fruit from a street vendor.
World renown cuisine may be what Georgetown is well known for, but I did more than just eat while I was there. I spent the first day on my own, exploring the city by foot, and didn’t return to my hostel for six hours. It was never intended to be such a long adventure, but apparently my ability to read a map isn’t as good as I thought it was. I started on Love Lane, the area my hostel was located, and headed to the waterfront, which was about a ten-minute walk.
Once I got to the water front I just followed it all around the edge of the city. After six hours of weaving though side streets, turning the map around again and again trying to figure out where I was, cutting down little alley ways with unmarked signs, I had completely circled the city and found myself right where I had left from that late morning.
(The side of the city where I started)
(When I got to the very end of it and looked back and how far I’d walked)
Although I was exhausted and had considered taking a taxi multiple times, I am pleased that I didn’t, because the only way to truly get to know a place is to explore it on foot. My Tom’s were a little more worn down, my skin flushed from the sun, but during my afternoon adventure I had randomly stumbled across creative street art by a famous Malaysia artist, as well as passed some of the best architecture I have ever seen.
Georgetown first began as a British colony, so much of the architecture that still remains is left from the colonial era. Giant white mansions rest on street corners, with wrap around gardens bursting with tropical plants and towering palms.
These colonial buildings sit across the street from Buddhist temples, with sloping Asian style roofs, on properties that boast statues of dragons with multiple heads. The streets are lined with row houses that the British built, but are now occupied by Chinese, who hang red lanterns and birdcages outside their front doors and over their patios. If you turn the corner you will enter Little India, where you are instantly transported to an entirely different world. The smell of Indian spices and incense drifts through the streets, Indian music blares from open shops, mannequins dressed in traditional Indian fashion stand guard outside of clothing stores, and jewelry shops filled with sparkling brackets beckon you inside. There is also the modernization of Georgetown, and all the new architecture that wealth has brought with it. But there is no such thing as wealth, without poverty to compare it to.
Beautiful high rises framed in glass raced toward the sky and were surrounded by manicured lawns and modern art sculptures that sometimes served as fountains and sometimes simply as art. Each street that I walked down became a representation of a different part of the world, and I saw more flags blowing in the warm winter air, than I was able to identify. My favorite part of the day was when I found the Chinese jetties. These jetties were first established over a hundred years ago, when Chinese families settled in Georgetown. Each jetty was built to act as a mini neighborhood for a family or clan of people. Over the years they have become homes to generations of Chinese families, and the inhabitants all live in wooden houses built over the water. The reason for building their neighbors over the water was to originally evade paying land property taxes. I wandered down the jetties, and stumbled across more art by the same famous artist.
The most astonishing thing about Georgetown was how many people call it home. I have never been in a city that was comprised of people with every skin color, from every country, dressed in all different styles of traditional clothing, heard so many different languages around me, and tasted such a wide variety of foods. It was a collision of culture, yet all the pieces seemed to fit seamlessly together. There was harmony and cohesion and everyone was friendly and it seemed that people were accepting of all the differences around them. It seemed natural for such a global community to exist as it was doing in Georgetown, and it made it seem odd that in many places of the world we live in areas that are segregated into one type of culture or people. I left Penang hopeful that this is what the future will be like. Cultures will all learn to coexist in the same space, and rather than feeling like our neighbors are stepping on our toes with their differences, they are actually teaching and inviting us to dance.
The second day on my own I decided to explore one of the beaches I had over heard other travelers talking about. I jumped on a bus out front my hostel, which cost me around eighty cents, and took a half-hour ride along the edge of the city. From my window seat I watched as the winding snake-like coastline changed, and I finally buzzed the button that signaled the bus to stop when I saw a beach that looked like a good place to spend the day. The sun beat down on my shoulders that early December afternoon, as I threw my towel down in the sand. The weather was hotter than most San Diego summer days, and sunscreen was a must. The fact that I hadn’t brought a bathing suit with me on my trip did not stop me from swimming. The beach was almost deserted except for a few people, so when a family was near by I swam in a tank top, and when there was no one else in sign I swam in shorts and a bra. About twenty feet to my right were giant boulders that started at the sand and were scattered throughout the water, I climbed on some and swam out to others, and spent the afternoon jumping off of them, into the salty sea.
The most surprising thing about the coastline in Georgetown was how similar it looked to certain parts of Lake Tahoe. As I rode the bus, a flood of memories washed over me as I looked at scenery that was too familiar. I was reminded of the time I spent with him, and the afternoons we spent climbing on giant rocks and admiring the frigid lake water, surrounded by a ring of snowy mountains. Its been a year since we lived together in Tahoe, and it was depressing to realize that he should have been here by my side, spending this weekend with me. At the same time, I found beauty in the fact that I was alone, comfort in my own company, and the security of knowing that I had come so far in a year, and I had taken a giant step to completely change my life, and I was doing it on my own. In Tahoe there were days that I was truly unhappy and wanted to change my situation, but couldn’t bring myself to leave his side, despite how badly I had wanted to. Now a year later, there was nothing that could make me sacrifice my own happiness for another person, and riding on the bus, I realized how much stronger I have become in taking control of my life.
I had an unforgettable weekend away, and the entire time I was in the city I was dreading the Monday afternoon when I would be forced back onto a minivan to return to Thailand. But as I rode back to the country I am temporarily calling home, I watched the city behind me growing smaller as Caribou pulsed through my head from the headphones wedged in my ears, and I knew even though I was leaving, I was so fortunate to have spent the last four days there. Georgetown was like a cup of perfectly brewed tea that included spices that had been traded all over the world and shared between many people. After generations and generations of trying different blends, the perfect cup was produced, and everyone was enjoying and sharing it. And all I wanted was a sip, a taste of something my own country has never been able to offer me.
Yesterday morning I awoke at the exact time that a motorcycle taxi was supposed to arrive at the hotel I live at. It was a few minutes past 6:30 am, and I rushed to put on a T-shirt, leggings, and throw the rest of my clothes into my duffle bag. At 6:40 I rushed down stairs, only to find that he hadn’t arrived. My first thought was that he had grown impatient, waiting on a late foreigner, but I it occurred to me that at the cost I was being paid to be picked up and taken to the Malaysia border, he would most likely wait.
My reason for going to Malaysia is that I need to get my visa stamped so that I can remain in Thailand. This is the second time this month I have been on a “visa run” and each trip in transportation costs me 1,500 baht. It sounds like alot, but in USD it’s really only about $45. My last visa run turned out to be unsuccessful, when I arrived at the border after a seven hour minivan ride, only to have my visa extended for fifteen days. When I pushed my passport back through the immigration window, shaking my head as I said, “No, no, no, thirty days.” It was pushed back at me with the reply, “No, fifteen,” followed by a nice smile.
This time I am going to the embassy in Malaysia, which requires at least a two day trip. Somehow for me it has turned into a four day getaway, and I am in Georgetown until late Monday.
Once my mototrcycle taxi did arrive to pick me up, it was almost 7:00, and he took me straight to the minivan station. I was loaded on a minivan, that to my surprise, was filled with foreigners. This NEVER happens. The last few times I have been on a minivan, which is one of Thailand’s main forms of public transportation, I have been the only “farang,” a word coined for foriegners. I have ridden for fourteen hours without speaking or hearing a single word of English. While the minivan was packed to capacity, with overstuffed traveler’s backpacks falling over on passnegers, and legs cramped against seats to small for western bodies, I was happy to know that I would have conversation on this trip. When you spend ten plus hours in a van cramped next to other people, you underestimate how imporatnt conversation is to passing the time.
Along the way we stopped multiple times, sometimes for gas, food, or bathroom breaks, but mostly we stopped to switch transportation into another minivan or for immigration/border issues. Our seating arrangement changed a few times, and I was able to have different conversations with other travelers. From what I gathered, some people were at the end of their journeys, having traveled for the past eight months, while others were just beginning what would be a half year of traveling. I spent the most time talking to a gentleman from Germany, who had won his traveling funds from a recent win on a German television game show. We talked about travel, literature, and the secrets to finding happiness in life.
This being my first time traveling with a group of other foreigners, I also quickly realized the behavior in a farang that I don’t want to model. Yes, the trip is long, and the van is uncomfortable, but no one wants to hear about how miserable you are, or how hungry, hot, or tired you are. Yes, traveling can be frustrating and there are often unexpected hurdles along the way, but making generalizations about a country’s people, based on a few negative experiences is ignorant. Discussing how ineffective a country’s education system is and the relationship between farang teacher and Thai teacher is uncalled for, especially when you are only a tourist, and have not taught in the Thai school systems. If I have my criticisms of Thai education, it is because I work in a school everyday and I see first hand the pros and cons of their educational practices. I also try not to make judgements or jump to conclusions about their education system, because I am not a certified teacher, nor have I been here long enough to even begin to think I understand Thailand or its culture.
At around 5 pm our minivan finally arrived in Georgetown, Malaysia, which is the capital of the island state Penang. The city is the second largest metropolitan area of Malaysia, and is more modern than anything I have seen since arriving in Thailand. Crossing a giant bridge to reach Penang, I gazed out my window at a city skyline with high-rise after high-rise. This is my first time traveling by myself and I was excited to get into the city and see what it had to offer.
The first hostel the group from the minivan went to only had a few empty beds, so I split ways with the rest of the group and joined my german friend and his best friend in finding another hostel. We ended up getting a room at the nicest place we found, a guesthouse by the name of Banana. We all split a room to keep costs down, and found one with a double bed and a single. They insisted they didn’t mind sharing a bed, so they gave me the single bed, we threw our luggage down, and went out to find a much needed dinner.
In the minivan the German and I had shared our love of Indian food, after he told me about his travels in India earlier this Fall, so we made our way to Little India in Georgetown. We stopped in the first restaurant we got to, and when we asked for a menu they replied that they did not have any. Instead they placed giant banana leafs in front of us, and came around with different pots of curries, rice, and meats, and spooned helpings of it onto our leaves. I looked around and saw everyone eating with their hands, and realized no one was using silverware. I felt silly eating with my hands, in front of two people I had just met, but we all dug in and had a great dinner. They were super friendly, really funny, and we all swapped stories of home as well as from abroad. They shared their stories of adventures in San Diego; how they’re never had a better hamburger and how they surfed in Ocean Beach.
After dinner we went back to Banana, where we sat in the common area, chatted some more, and I had a Guinness. My Guinness was the equivalent of $3 USD, and was the most expensive beer in 711, but I decided to indulge, this being my vacation as well as the first time I have had a western beer since leaving the states.
The boys both left early this morning to catch a boat to their next destination, so once again I am on my own to explore and hangout with myself. Before coming here I watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations,” so I have a slight idea of where I want to go, what I want to see, and what I want to try eating. There are farang everywhere, so maybe I will be lucky enough to meet more people tonight, who were as genuinely nice as the Germans from last night.
I am a newly turned 25 year old, living in Thailand, visiting Malaysia, with a whole weekend to myself, and two days off of work.
Yep, life is good.
After a month of disappearing into my Thai world, I am back and have more than enough to catch up on. But where to start? At the beginning and work my way toward the present, or start with the present and back track until I have finished where I left off?
I’m thinking the best place will be Boobay and Kao-Hom. They entered my life, as randomly and unplanned as everything else seems to. It was my first night in Surat Thani, and I was at some type of Thai fair with booths, vendors, games and rides.
I was walking through an extremely crowded and hot, covered-market when I laid eyes on them, well, Kao-Hom.
She was the tiniest bunny in the entire bunny-cage-exhibit, and she was bright white with electric red eyes. She was the most adorably possessed looking creature and I knew at that moment I had to have her.
After much begging and pleading I was able to convince my friend Michael that he needed one as well, because everyone knows you cannot just buy one baby bunny. That night we took our new little loves back to the hotel, snuck them in, and they have been with me since.
They instantly became best friends, and they are always cuddling with one another, or grooming each other. Sometimes I will glance over, and see Boobay licking Kao-Hom’s ears, while she closes her eyes and relaxes. They are addicted to throwing their bedding out of their cage and nibbling on anything and everything. They will eat for hours if allowed, and are able to nom on more cucumber than even seems physically possible, given their size. The first night I got them, Kao-Hom weighed less than a Snickers bar and barely took up my entire palm.
In the past few weeks she has doubled in size, and it won’t be long until shes no longer my ittybittybabybunny. I guess it’s true what people say, they really do grow up in the blink of an eye.
Next topic to address, what is this place Surat Thani that I speak of? Surat Thani is the newest place I am calling home, and hopefully one that will remain that way for the next year or so. I moved from Nakhon Sawan based on a decision that was made over night, with no real thought put into it. I liked Nakhon Sawan, and although it was starting to feel like home, it wasn’t the place that felt that way, but the people who were making it feel that way. Long story short, I was offered a job in Surat, the location looked amazing, and the transition was going to be into almost the exact same job I was going to be doing in Nakhon Sawan, so I took the offer. I accepted the job on a Thursday, and by Friday I was on a bus to the most southern parts of Thailand. I arrived in Surat after a full night ride and was instantly amazed at how beautiful it was. I know it sounds silly, but I really started to feel like I was finally in Thailand, the Thailand you see in pictures.
There were trees everywhere, tall ones, short ones, one with bananas, ones with coconuts, huge palms, ferns, vines, and flowers. Surat is extremely rural, while still remaining a decent sized city. It is the perfect combination and balance and I knew instantly that I was in love.
Surat is also located less than an hour from the beach, and is one of the closest cities to all of the southern islands. A trip to the beach went from being something I could only do during an extended holiday, to something I could do after work on a Friday. I impulsively went to Surat hoping I wouldn’t regret my decision, and despite the ups and downs, I couldn’t be happier here.
I am currently living in a hotel, called Thong Thong mansion, until I move into a house in December with two of my guy friends. I am working at one of the most desirable schools in the city, and I spend my days teaching preschool children and kindergarten. For someone who has no desire in having children, I keep finding myself surrounded by more and more little children. I love the kids I work with, but after spending all day with 2 ½- 6 year olds, I go home exhausted and drained of any energy I could hope to have. It is physically and mentally exhausting, and I have no idea how parents do it, especially young single parents. Taking care of a child has to be one of the hardest jobs, and having to take care of one full time seems unimaginable. I love walking in the door in the morning and being rushed and hugged by little tiny kids, but by the time 3:30 rolls around, elated doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling I get when I am hugging them goodbye.
My nursery classroom has about eighteen children in it, and the youngest are just under three and the oldest are about four. Their English level is low, but I know that I will see it rocket during the year that I spend with them. They absorb everything, and are constantly repeating me, even when I didn’t know they were listening. One student, see below, continues to refer to me as “Honey” which I think she probably picked up at home.
The first time she started calling me Honey I thought it was funny and kind of weird, and that it would pass. It’s been about a month now, and I am still her Honey. She will come up to me with her coloring sheet and get my attention by repeating “Hon-neeey” over and over again. Her tone of voice is the sweetest thing, and I love that that has become her nickname for me. To the rest of the kids I am teacher “All-leee, Ar-reee, Armeee, Aawee” or some other odd combination of letters with the long E sound.
The students all each have weird little quirks with me, and as everyday passes, I am getting to know them more and more, despite the language barrier. The thing is, with little children, it almost doesn’t matter that we don’t speak a common language. Yes, they know the alphabet, simple commands, and basic concepts, but they can’t really talk to me, and most of their verbal interaction with me is a mixture of Thai and English. I spend so much time doing interactive lessons that require them to express themselves through physical movement or art, that a common language almost isn’t necessary. By spending my week with them, I am learning their behavior, their personalities, and their likes and dislikes. Perhaps it is because I can’t verbally communicate with them, that I feel as if I am closer to these students than I have been in a very long time, with any other children I have worked with. There are times that they will sit in my lap, wrap their arms around me, stare at me and smile and laugh (while talking in Thai), and I start to understand the joy of having your own child, and what it must be like to have someone that you love so much, and that you helped bring into this world. But then I hear a scream from the other side of the room, and I see a child pulling something down off a shelf onto another kids head, and I am instantly ripped from this fantasy. Children are hard work, and the best part about my job is that at the end of the day, they go home to their real parents and I go home to my life of being single, unattached, and twenty-four. My responsibilities are minimal and I have literally no commitments to anything or anyone other than this job. Simplicity is bliss.
When I am not working, I am hanging out with the people I have gotten to know in town, and I am loving my new environment. While Michael was here, we spent our afternoons exploring the city on our motorbike, and spending the nights down by the night market.
We went to the beach one weekend, and it was the first time I had seen the coast in over three months. The water was warm like a bath, and when it started to rain, we stayed in the ocean just to keep warm. That night it started to pour on us- just dumped from above and everything we owned, including ourselves, was drenched. We stopped at a thrift shop to buy clothes to change into once we got rain jackets, but the thrift store only sold women’s clothes. We settled and picked out two girls shirts, one that happened to be pink, and was never meant for the size of Michael’s body. We went to 711 to buy our rain jackets and change into our new clothes, and watching him struggle to pull a tiny pink long sleeve over his wet head and shoulders was the funniest thing I have ever seen. Thai people actually stopped what they were doing and started staring at him. One lady’s jaw literally dropped as Michael struggled for far too long. The finished product was a tiny shirt that hardly reached his belly button with sleeves that had about six inches to go until they met his wrists. We put on our pink and purple plastic bag rain jackets and rode off into the dark stormy night.
Everyday I miss having him here, and I miss silly stupid little adventures with him, but I still am lucky enough to have a wonderful group of people to spend time with. My days are spent in the company of two South Africans and one American, and whomever else we end up seeing. The best thing about being in a traveler community is that you have a group of friends, so different than the people you would normally know at home. Everyone is from a different side of the globe, and everyone has a story that has landed him or her in this same weird place you are in. It’s a lot like college, minus the stress of academia.
As always, I am beyond thankful for the life I am living and wouldn’t trade it for anything. For some crazy reason I have been given this beautiful opportunity, that so many others will never experience. Everyday is an adventure, everyday is a rebirth, and everyday is greater than the last. Traveling abroad has been the best choice I have made for myself, and if you are even considering it, take my advice, and go for the plunge. Whatever fears or reservations you have should not prevent you from living your life in such a new and drastic way. You will see yourself as you never have before and you will test your mind body and soul in ways that every human should be.
Leave everything behind and just… go.