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Showing posts with label Melaka Road Trip 2015. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Melaka Road Trip 2015. Show all posts

Saturday 27 August 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Final

The wait. G*ds, the wait.

Half an hour into our arrival here and it wasn't yet our turn. Wendy marvelled at how the lady boss managed to keep track of the orders with a cheap notebook and pen.

At last, the "famous" fried oyster place was open, and business was booming. People gathered around a stove to watch the chef at work from a safe distance from the heat but not the fumes. Our hair and clothes remained fragrant until we reached the hotel with our bounty. No way were we dining in, not with so many lining up.




I remember a big, mostly flat griddle, more like a shallow wok, perched atop a roaring flame. The chef, a balding middle-aged uncle in an old, off-white vest, would pour a huge steel mug of cracked eggs into the wok and stir it for a while, leaving it to cook for a bit before tossing in the oysters and what looked like a sambal mix that's so dry you can probably count the chilli flakes on the surface.

Once cooked, the contents would be portioned off onto different plates, for dine-ins or takeaways. Separate batches would be processed if some of these, say, were requests for non-spicy ones.

Some of those gathered seemed to be picking some up because of the hype, including three young ladies. "How do you spell 'omelette'?" one of them asked another. Too bad her friend came to her rescue before I could step in.

Five minutes became ten, then fifteen. Not long after that, Sam and Melody suggested we wait it out at the neighbouring kopitiam, where a stall was serving noodles. We ordered drinks to avoid being chased out of the premises, but as the night wore on, the kopitiam's need for seats became greater.

A nearby table hosted a family of maybe eight or ten, and one of the daughters vanished for a bit before returning. I would see her waiting by the fried oyster stall later after we left the kopitiam; seems her family was also hankering for an after-dinner snack.

It was insane. Some of those people had been waiting for half an hour - and it would be a while more before they got theirs.

At last, we sped to the hotel with the spoils: one small(!) pack of the "famous" fried oyster o-m-e-l-e-t-t-e, with chilli. The package was opened expectantly at the hotel's empty dining hall.

The verdict registered in the awkward silence. Then, someone voiced it: "Not very special at all."

About forty minutes of our lives that we would never get back, all for a pile of dry albeit well-seasoned fried eggs and shrivelled oysters, which we could barely see in the dim light. I'd seen the chef cut the oysters with a pair of scissors, puncturing them and letting the juices run out - probably not a good idea.

"So different from the ones in Penang," Sam noted. "Those are moist, not so dry."

And the oysters are mostly whole, I added mentally. Tinier, but whole.

The chilli was a nice touch and it didn't taste awful, but we couldn't hide our disappointment. I wonder how the others, who were still waiting when we left, felt about their o-m-e-l-e-t-t-e-s.



31 December 2015...

The disappointing after-dinner outing underscored the gloom of the next day, when we packed our bags for the return to KL.

To get rid of last night's dissatisfaction, we had the hotel's breakfast. We planned on making one circuit around the Jonker Walk area, punctuated by an after-breakfast snack at The Daily Fix café and several brief stops elsewhere, before going back to the hotel.




I can no longer recall much of this day, numbed perhaps by our impending departure. The past several days had been fantastic - I wished we had several more. Melody wanted to return to Calanthe Art Café probably for the damned alluring claypot Nyonya curry laksa, but for some reason, we didn't.

On the first day of our trip, we had nosed around The Daily Fix and climbed to the upper floor where a few more seats and a tiny gallery were. Because of my fear of heights, I lingered at the foot of the stairs - g*ds, there were gaps in the staircase!

When I did make a move, I took my time. "C'mon, you can do it," Melody's voice rang out, egging me on. I felt I was being teased. I think I also heard Wendy or Sam cheering, "Go, go, go!" So happy to have them on my side.

An exhibition at the upstairs gallery on "dying trades" prompted the question whether the Melakan state government was helping these industries stay afloat - lower rents, subsidies, tie-ups with hotels and tour operators and the like - for the added touristy value. Not a bad idea if it was.

Today, we took a table near the counter and ordered a couple of coffees and a plate of those pandan and gula Melaka pancakes. Each "pancake" was about two and a half inches in diameter and was to be drizzled with gula Melaka, reminding me of the onde-onde we had on Day One.

Encouraged, Melody ordered a gula Melaka cupcake, which proved to be overkill. Sweet, sweet - albeit slightly dry - overkill. We had no complaints about the coffee.

I think we will be back here again.

Unfortunately, we can't say the same about another café.

We stumbled onto this place, which shall not be named, on our last trek around the historic Chinese quarter for this trip. We'd heard about it from other coffee enthusiasts and were curious.




While our noses were still at the door - is that a ... a motor vehicle inside the shop? - somebody burst out from inside, going, "How many people?" She looked around at us clustered around the entrance. "Minimum one drink per person, okay?"

Banyak tak cantik.

Taken aback, we hesitated before declining. Among us, Sam was the most perturbed - and offended - by this. Years in customer service and café-hopping honed her opinions of how customers should be treated and how coffee should be made. The bad vibes stung and lingered like burnt espresso on the palate until we stepped into the low-key but more accommodating Localhouz.

However, its cosy charm did little to soothe Sam's rancour - and Wendy's, as it turned out. "Un-ac-cep-ta-ble," Sam said. "Even if you're selling atas (posh) coffee, customers are king. You still need good customer service."

Wendy agreed. "That was not very professional, coming out and telling customers they can't come in unless they order one drink each." Nor was there a sign telling people about this 'rule'."

Eventually, it boiled over into a couple of one-star reviews on the café's Facebook page. It seems they were not alone. Many would-be customers were also caught off-guard by the brusqueness of the staff; some who swallowed their pride spat out middling to unfavourable thoughts about their coffee.

However, it seems this café won't be changing its MO any time soon, thanks to the constant flow of visitors to this city. We (me, using the royal plural) wish them all the best.




On the way out, I noticed belatedly that Localhouz does not encourage photography within the premises, although that rule might have applied to the paintings on the wall, which seemed to be for sale.

On a table beneath one of these paintings, lay a familiar book.

Whose copy was it?

"One of our staff's," the lady at the counter replied. "She's a fan."

A fan of Senpai's in Melaka, who works at a great place with great décor at 53, Jalan Tokong, 75200 Melaka? What were the odds?

Damn, forgot to ask for the staff's name to personalise a copy of the book. I hope she's still working there.

Anyway, Localhouz. More comfy and welcoming than that other café. I liked Localhouz's lemongrass juice. Too bad we had stuffed ourselves before stopping by, or we'd have sampled more stuff. The loh mai kai (glutinous rice with chicken) looked nice.



Preparing to travel can be a pain. The packing and the sense of being uprooted is uncomfortable for those not accustomed to a jet-setting life. Homebodies like me find having to travel particularly discomfiting, regardless of the distance.

I don't hate my life. I just think more needs to happen in it. That also means I needed to get uncomfortable.

But once you're away, the discomfiture ebbs, and perceptions start changing. Time seems to slow down and you're compelled to follow suit.

When you're miles away from the life you've known for a long time, you're also away from the things about it you don't like. And you begin to wonder why you didn't notice that before or do something about it.

Seeds for the next getaway were planted as I surrendered myself to the embrace of the high-pressure shower of my hotel room - a monsoon deluge compared to the shower head at home. Thoughts of what I would be returning to crept up, chillier than the morning showers I've had (before the heater eventually kicked in) on this trip.

A familiar discomfort emerged, that of the homecoming, triggering recollections of the past few days and making packing up difficult. Writing this brought it all back, and reading this again will, too.




I don't - or want to - recall much of the journey home. The weather was hot when we hit the highway and I stopped to top up the fuel tank on the way out of Melaka. Wendy and Sam reached home first, more than an hour before we did.

Back home, beat and thirsty, I washed my feet, turned on the air conditioning and laid on my bed. My body recognised it, and I relaxed. Sleeping on alien beds is hard. But my bed felt way too comfortable, like the grip of satin-wrapped chains.

So this is what it means when you're "too comfortable".

I wasn't relaxed. I was lethargic. And this lethargy, among some other stuff, was keeping me from doing things.

Strange, I thought. I'd gone as far as Melbourne, apart from Jakarta, Bangkok and Sabah. But it was after this Melakan getaway that more pieces fell into place - and kept falling.

I don't want to live like this.

My feet grow restless.

I need to get away again.

Like, perhaps, a runaway prince from Palembang all those centuries ago.




If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 and part 6.

Sunday 21 August 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 6

This episode took place at night, so I couldn't take enough good pictures - or, rather, I felt my camera couldn't take good night pictures after seeing Sam's iPhone in action. Hence, this text-heavy episode.


"In two hundred metres, turn left, master."

A shiver went down my spine. Man, I could get used to this. Maybe I should install that app and the voice pack.

"Yes, 3PO," I replied to the Waze app on Sam's phone.

This evening, it was my turn to chauffeur the girls around the city. We went searching for some Nyonya restaurants for dinner after finding Melody's recommended spot, Amy Heritage Nyonya Cuisine, was closed. She'd got us itching to go there with her dramatised narrative, so we were crushed when calls to the place went unanswered.


The Bulldog Café, where we ended up for a Nyonya dinner


Having no luck in one or two other places, including one called Nyonya Makko (my g*d, the lines of people outside), we eventually settled for the Bulldog Café, another stop along that witch's Melakan food trail. We parked at a lot near the Ramada Plaza Melaka and walked there.

An institution dating back to the 1980s (so I was told), Bulldog Café recently shed its old-school Nyonya interior for a more modern look: white-ish walls, steel and wood furniture and strategic lighting. Much like the contemporary hipster places in KL. Perhaps that's why no one laid siege to it.

A fish pond for koi laid before a stage for live acts, also festooned with lights. The only reminders of its former identity was the folding wood screen by the front door and a framed newspaper page from a few decades ago.


Pai tee


I scoffed inwardly, gutted that Bulldog went 21st century to stand out from the tradition-touting tourist traps in the Jonker Walk area and beyond. Progress, I think they call it.

Eating these dishes with rice in such polished, angular and well-lit settings felt even more incongruent, so we were all grateful they were nice. The pai tee - pastry cups with fillings of crunchy sliced vegetables, were delightful, as was the piquant ikan goreng cili (fried spice-coated chunks of mackerel) and kangkung belacan (water spinach stir-fried with fermented shrimp paste).

We wished we had two orders of otak-otak (a spicy, savoury fish cake), gleefully tearing off bits of it from the banana-leaf wrap. Though delicious, Bulldog's ayam pongteh, however, wasn't as potent (or as salty) as the one from The Melting Pot - not enough bean paste, perhaps?


Otak-otak


At least they didn't muck around with the recipes too much. There are reasons these flavours endure, even if architectural and interior design styles do not.

...Fine, the Violet-haired Witch had been spot on. Melody loves reminding me to look past that blogger's hair, manic grin and stick-thin frame, noting that she's always forthright with her opinions, unlike some other bloggers whose words have to be taken with a pinch of salt these days.

Needing to walk off our meal (I had two servings of rice), we resumed Melody's short hotel trail. A quick search on the Internet (see how ubiquitous Google is with smartphones?) we learnt that the distance to The Majestic hotel was walkable, so off we went.


The ikan goreng cili


Formerly the home of a Chinese tycoon named Leong Long Man, The Majestic was eventually acquired by YTL Corporation and reopened in 2008. Other notable high-end YTL hotels and resorts include the ones on Pangkor Island (expensive, but worth even a night's stay because I've been there) and in Tanjung Jara, Terengganu.

Again, we weren't chased out; lost at the spa area, one of the staff directed us to the restaurant area, one floor up from the lobby.

The lobby and lounges retained much of its old identity, which is what many visitors come here for. That also made me feel awkward wandering around the place. And the stairs sighed when I stepped on them on the way up to the restaurant.

The restaurant was largely empty. One Caucasian couple toasted each other with red wine at a table. We saw a guy, the pianist, walk up the stairs, sat at the instrument, unfold some music sheets and start playing. Which was our cue to leave.


Outside The Majestic Hotel Melaka


We had fun looking at the menu. Now I wish we'd taken photos of it. The mark-ups were majestically insane: fried rice and fried koay teow at upwards of RM30 - for street food, mind you.

Still, there must be something about the hotel, since we saw a Myvi parked outside on our way out. Maybe the owner's being frugal so he can vaycay here from time to time.

Oustide, our itinerary was diverted towards a walkway and its many signs detailing the many benefits of walking, so we walked. This place was near the river, where motorised tour barges plied.

Some of these barges sported the mascot of home-grown snack food Mamee. The dry noodle snack used to be in every school canteen, tuck shop, hawker stand and bread-vending motorcycle in my childhood. Only now I learnt that its origins were also in Melaka. A Mamee Museum in the Jonker Walk area also attested to this.

As we walked, I couldn't help noticing the "smell of the sea", reminiscent of shrimp or, if you fancy, belacan. The aroma made me feel peckish, despite the dinner we had.

We crossed a bridge and ended up in a Malay village. At first I thought it was a resort built like a "model village" for visitors. Minutes after setting foot there, it dawned on us that, despite the modern-looking façade of some of the houses, this was the real thing.

Kampung Morten lay near the mouth of the Melaka River, holding steadfast against the tide of development - modern touches such as street lamps, paved walkways and a fresh coat of paint notwithstanding. This village was said to be founded by one Othman Mohd Noh in 1920 and was named after Frederick Joseph Morten, a British land commissioner. It has the distinction of being the only Malay village in the heart of the city.

We saw statues of beduk, the drum that's typically beaten to assemble a crowd for prayers. We also saw a pump station near the bridge - the village looks like it's almost at the river's maximum height. And we also spotted a burger stall called "Morten Burger". I resisted ordering one - where will I wash my hands? Never mind that we'd just eaten.

Leaving Kampung Morten, I felt glad the state government kept this village pretty much as is. Too much of Melaka is being roughly dragged by the neck towards the 21st century and beyond.

Compared to The Majestic, the atmosphere in the lobby of the Ramada Plaza Melaka was festive. Families gathered here and there, kids were running around, and it was noisy. At a set of armchairs near the bar, someone was being interviewed and filmed.

From the look of it, this was another potential hotel. But the glint wasn't in Wendy's eyes, so I guessed we could forget about moving here tonight.

Melody insisted on spending a few minutes here, sinking into one of the plush armchairs near the interviewee. Near the bar, I noticed a piano, but no one was at the keys. Instead, an open laptop sat atop the piano, all wired up.

I went for a closer look and suspected that the laptop was the "pianist" for the evening. I thought only hipster cafés had their sound systems hooked up to a digital playlist.

We finally left with little comment on either hotel. Our best bet for the next possible trip is still the Swiss-Garden Hotel and Residences Melaka - yes!

But we still had to wrap up the evening. To this day, I thought we could've done better.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2, part 3, part 4 and part 5. Part 7, the last chapter, is here.

Sunday 7 August 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 5

We passed by the Dutch Square, where Christ Church and the Stadhuys were. When the Dutch took over Melaka, the Stadhuys (State House) was built as the administrative centre. We skipped this part.

On my last visit, I was turned off by how much the area had become like KL's Central Market - kitsched up to thirteen with souvenir stands and overly kitted-out rickshaws, which blared music and had spinning or flashing lights. Now, the rickshaws have themes: Captain America, Avengers, Doraemon, and even the girls from Disney's Frozen.


Themed rickshaws (not at the Dutch Square)


Remembering something, I asked The Ladies to wait at a huge corner shop - more like an emporium - after we crossed the bridge over the Melaka River. I hurried to the Dutch Square, encountering a mime in green clothes and full-body make-up on the way and, at the Square itself, a pair of buskers: a young guitar player and a much younger girl who was belting out popular hits. Shouldn't there be a minimum age limit for street performers?

Back in 2007, I had peered into a cannon near the clock tower and saw it had been "repurposed" as a garbage can. Lacking a camera of my own, I'd asked Melody to help me take a picture of the inside. This will go viral, I thought at the time.

The photo vanished, a victim of Melody's overzealous digital housekeeping.

This time, I had my own camera. And smartphones were more ubiquitous now.

CLICK


Signs of people messing around with Melaka


Looks like they done cleaned up the cannon, but seems sum varmints still wanna mess with Melaka.

Returning to the emporium, I looked around for The Ladies, but they were nowhere. I whipped out the phone and WhatsApped them. By now I was already accustomed to this gadget and what it offered - near total connectivity to everyone else who's similarly wired.

Then, I spotted Sam, who waved me over to where Wendy was. We soon headed back towards the hotel to meet up with Melody and reported our morning's findings.

In our absence, Ms Freelancer had charmed who she said was the hotel's cook into a conversation. He even put up an extension cord for her laptop as she worked in the dining area and offered to buy her lunch.

I can see why the hotel's sales manager that night was cautious around Melody. Unlike the cook, he probably had some experience with her ilk. Probably from how writers and journalists ask questions. Her good looks might have helped, too.



We showed Melody the murals, plus some of the other sights after that. Sam finally took a photo of me on the bench in front of the drooling devil bull, but left before I suggested posing in the "hey, what's that smell is that rain OMG OMG OMG DROOLING DEVIL BULL AAAAH GET IT AWAY GET IT AWAY CALL THE POLICE" manner. I did a lot better with a similar parade of drawings in Penang's 3D Museum two years ago.


"...It's behind me, right?" (Photo by Sam Fong.)


Later, Melody suggested having lunch at some place visited by a blogger I referred to as "a violet-haired witch". We found it easily enough, thanks in part to the Internet.

From the outside, you can't tell what kind of place the Calanthe Art Café is - not without the letters on the shopfront that spelled "Malaysia - 13 States Coffee". As part of her research, Melody stalked the violet-haired witch's blog, leading us to follow part of the latter's Melakan food trail on this trip.

Presumably named for a group of terrestrial orchids (editing manuscripts on botany helped), parts of the café's interior is reminiscent of what I'd dub "desert island" chic: overhanging vines and plants, recycled wood, creepers and such.

A pile of junk was heaped in a corner, including an antique TV from Sharp (I was only yeay-high when I watched it, OMG!) turned fish tank, assorted enamelled steel kitchenware, and an old painting of some bloke. Nearby was a fish pond and an old well ("my grandma's shower", said Sam).


Outside Calanthe Art Café


Melody chose the most out-of-the-way nook in the café that made me glad I packed mosquito repellent. A walkway of planks over mostly white rounded stones led to it. G*d, would the waiters even know we're here?

From the length of our waiting time, it seemed they didn't - for a while.

Like Chawan in KL, Calanthe offered a choice of coffee from all the states in Malaysia. The girls ribbed me over ordering "Penang coffee": "We're in Melaka, drink the local stuff!"

Maybe I was homesick, or just having a taste of how Melakans do Penang coffee. Anyway, since all three beverages (including the two "Melakas") were on ice, they weren't all that appealing. Ice waters everything down.

The food was more satisfying. My "golden" nasi lemak was particularly wonderful, as was the chicken rendang served with it. Wendy sort of regretted picking the tom yam noodles, which she felt was bland in taste and presentation. And is it common to have celery in tom yam?

Melody took her cue from the blogger and was soon writing micro-paeans to the Nyonya curry laksa. Rich and spicy, the chilli and coconut-milk gravy was elevated with a dollop of what we think was ground Vietnamese mint. The pungent, earthy herb lent a dimension to the laksa we had no words for-


Golden nasi lemak, because plain white just won't do at a historical city


"I'd come back for this," said Melody.

Yes, the exact words! Thank you, Mel.

But then, came the dessert. I'd only heard of kuih batik for the first time, despite it being around for ages (I was told). This sinfully decadent local fudge-like brownie is an unbaked mélange of crumbled Marie biscuit, sweetened condensed milk and Milo - household items in the average Malaysian (or, maybe even Malayan) kitchen and synonymous with "comfort food".

Which might explain the sugar-high plateau we'd ended up in.

I'd come back for this. After about a year on the exercise bike.

"I can make this," said Melody the recipe thief. At my look of reproach she went, "C'mon, it's easy!"

"Sweetened condensed milk, not creamer," I told her. By the way, anybody notice that most of the "sweetened condensed milk" brands out there call the products "sweetened creamer" these days? Why is that? Could it be that there's little of what one might call "milk" in them?


The nyonya curry laksawas great, but I never figured out whether
the herb paste that made it better was normal or Vietnamese mint


"I'm more interested in the curry laksa," said Sam, reminding me of my wish to get a pestle and mortar. I shared this, perhaps unwisely.

Sam turned to me at once. "If I get you a pestle and mortar, you learn how to make this." She pointed at what was now a bowl half-filled with laksa gravy. "Deal."

Hey, wait, don't I have a say?

We left Calanthe and wound up back at East and West Rendezvous, where Melody also purchased some dumplings. She and I shared one later, and it was delicious. But I still held back on buying my own.

Wandering around, the afternoon heat eventually got to us. We escaped into the same food emporium, the large one that sold more "local" goods. This one stocked items from local brand San Shu Gong - literally, "Old Third Uncle" - which I knew for its bird's-eye chilli sauce. Nothing quite like Nando's, unfortunately. In a chiller and huge buckets of ice, bottles of iced coffee and honey-lime drinks.

Again, I bought nothing. The lines at the cashier counters put me off.


Kuih batik - who needs fudge?


Leaving San Shu Gong, I found the girls inside an Ochado outlet on the opposite side of the road, seeking refuge from the heat. A few minutes later, we left for the hotel, but not before picking up something.

In Melaka, there's always a famous "something you gotta try". We were not sure if this was a famous putu piring stall, but we were curious, peckish, or both. The stall appeared to be manned by migrant workers. Making this dessert, said to be a Malay take on the Indian putu mayam (string-hoppers), is hard work and requires special equipment, so we got a batch of five or six. We were ashamed to order less.

We watched the staff sandwich a filling of, yes, gula Melaka between scoops of rice flour in funnel-shaped moulds and cover them, allowing the steam from the boiling water below to cook the contents.

Getting the right consistency for the flour is tricky: too much water makes it goopy and too little leaves you with something dry. The flour has got to crumble the right way. Much later, I wondered if the consistency had something to do with the way the batter is treated, like the idli served in Indian restaurants.


Not the "famous" putu piring, but still nice


Back at the hotel, the crumbly, white rice-flour cakes proved a welcome pre-lunch treat. Melody approved. What else can you say when the flour bits disintegrate and do that soul-soothing carb-rich medley with that familiar scent and sweetness flooding your mouth? Shut up, trilled the putu piring, and enjoy.

A drink helps, as the flour can leave your mouth and throat a bit parched.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2, part 3 and part 4. Read part 6 here.

Sunday 31 July 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 4

Back at Heeren Street, disaster struck. Melody came down with a pounding headache and I was dispatched to a nearby 7-Eleven to get a strip of Panadol.

Fresh from The Shore, we returned to the Jonker neighbourhood and took a coffee break at Backlane Coffee, another hipster café, to wrap up the day. The ambience and décor made us café rats feel at home and we quickly settled in. It was also near our hotel.


Backlane Coffee - this might be the back entrance; another
doorway opens to a real back lane


After ordering, Wendy paid up. Earlier, we had pooled an equal amount of money for food and drink for our stay and left Wendy with the purse. Among Backlane's signature items was a drink where you poured milk over frozen owl-shaped coffee cubes in a glass.

Melody's malaise was apparently due to the late nights she'd been keeping, along with the stress of dealing with debtors in her freelance gig. She'd been agonising over one client who'd been late with a hefty payment, but she didn't want to sound pushy while chasing it.

Properly caffeinated, Sam gave Melody some advice and taught her a few lines in Cantonese, though I felt the words had a similar impact in Malay. I think it was along the lines of:

Tauke, lu tak cantik la macam ni. Bukan saja lu cari makan, saya pun mau cari makan.
(Boss, you ain't bein' pretty. You're not the only one scrapin' by here. I'm also tryin' a make a livin'.)

Saya punya kerja lagi susah. Tauke dah hutang berapa bulan belum bayar lagi. Saya banyak buat kerja sama lu. Ni macam tak cantik, tauke.
(I got it rough too, y'know. You been owin' me for months, and I done lotsa work for you. This ain't pretty, boss.)

I'm sure Sam must've used these lines before; they were too polished to be "new". Her gig involves lots of money, tough customers and tougher bean counters.

We laughed quite a bit, which is always pretty. Melody sounded a little better; I think she had half a mind to hire Sam part-time as a debt collector. And "Lu tak cantik/You ain't pretty" became our catchphrase and, later, our hashtag.


Owl be chillin' at a cool backlane coffee place, yo (photo by Wendy Lok)


Guess you could say our evening at Backlane Coffee was a real hoot.



30 December 2015...

I was left with The Ladies the next day. Melody chose to stay behind to do some work for a client or two. She seemed to feel better, and Sam's cantik pep talk might have given her freelancer's spirit a huge booster shot.

To my surprise, everyone liked the hotel's breakfast buffet. Something to do with the neighbourhood, I suppose, where every other shop is considered part of the area's cottage industries and everything was still prepared and overseen by locals.

We made our way to Jonker Walk, which Sam and Wendy were hankering to explore. In addition, Melody gave us an errand: find the alley where some 3D murals are.

The morning was pleasant. A few shops were open or in the midst of opening. Outside a closed shoplot, a large tray of barley grains were being sunned, suspended on an upturned plastic chair. I haven't seen much of that for a long time.

The Ladies spent a good part of the morning at Simpson Wong's Top-spinning Academy at 79 Jalan Tokong. At this institution (it's on TripAdvisor and Lonely Planet), patrons are guaranteed mastery of top-spinning in two minutes by Wong, who also sold tops and assorted bric-a-brac.

Perhaps sensing my less-than-enthusiasm for the sport, my tennis elbow made itself known after lurking in the background for a while. Sam and Wendy took to it like ducks to water.

Simply put, the keys to top-spinning lay "in the wrist" and how the string is wound. The string must be wound tight around the spike and firmly around the rest of the lathed wooden body. One length of string is wound around the thumb. The whole thing is then thrown in a downward angle, launching the top.


Top-spinning class in session (photo by Wendy Lok)


Well, that's as best as I can describe it. Worried about my elbow, mosquitoes and the impending warm weather, I didn't pay close attention.

Having spun tops before, Sam picked things up quickly, making several successful attempts. She also shot a video of Wendy's learning process. It took Wendy a little longer.

We passed by many other shops en route towards the murals. Staff at a biscuit shop were pulling out trays of freshly baked biscuits for the day. By "biscuit", I mean Chinese pastries of all sorts, without or with fillings of sweet mung bean powder, molasses, lotus seed paste or some savoury stuff which might have been pork or anchovy sambal.

A dodol workshop made the local version of taffy the old-fashioned way, with a huge wok and wooden stirrer. Sam and Wendy sampled some. Later on, Sam purchased a bamboo steaming tray from a rattan-goods shop. At the shop opposite, a tinkerer finished up a metal utensil he was making. I bought nothing, since I hadn't drawn up a shopping list.

Even with the influx of tourists and out-of-towners like ourselves, I began wondering whether these businesses can survive. The first time I dropped by as an adult, I gawked at scenes from my childhood I'd thought I'd never see for real again.

Many of these sights in Penang have vanished or retreated into quiet, ever-shrinking enclaves, preserved by necessity and the tenacity of the locals, with help from the state government. Having these around was comforting, letting me pretend I hadn't aged much since I last encountered them.


Not sure if this is the real Aik Cheong shop. It was almost mid-morning
and it's still closed. Few shops around Jonker Walk opened before 10am,
probably waiting for the crowds. Or maybe it was their rest day.


We left the shops and drifted towards the more historical part of the quarter. Along Jalan Tokong (formerly Harmony Street), we strolled past the trio of holy places: the Cheng Hoon Teng (Azure Cloud Pavilion) Temple, the Kampung Kling Mosque and the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple, all of which were at least two centuries old.

Despite the irritating smoke from burning joss sticks, I felt wistful over how harmonious things might've been, compared to today. What would those uptight weirdos upset over places of worship think of these temples sitting side by side on this tiny road?

Who knows why we took that turn at a junction into Jalan Hang Kasturi, but shortly after that, we found what Melody asked us to look out for in an alley to our right. A huge stone-encrusted concrete bollard stood in the middle of the entrance.

In the age of social media, these "3D paintings" provided photo opportunities for the Instagram-crazy. One interacted with these images: "holding" a rose while "wooing" a local maiden (no risk of angering her machete-swinging father), "handing" an Indian moneylender his dues, "painting" a Nyonya lady's windowsill, "shaking" the hand of an orangutan, or looking up in fear at a rearing, salivating bull.


Outside East and West Rendezvous, where Nyonya goodies are sold


Of course we took photos. Melody might need photographic evidence of our find.

We also managed to reach the mausoleum of Hang Jebat via an alleyway between a row of shops, around the orangutan mural. I enjoyed poking fun at the poorly written text on one of the signs, despite a notice saying that it was being "fixed".

(Whoever it is, you're taking too long. I was so annoyed I was willing to do it for free.)

Hang Jebat was one of ancient Melaka's famous five caballeros, who included the famous and loyal Hang Tuah. When Tuah was framed by jealous officials and wrongly sentenced, Jebat went on a vengeful rampage for his said-to-be-dead buddy.

Tragically, Tuah - who was revealed to be alive - had to kill Jebat for the kingdom's sake, establishing himself as a role model who put king and kingdom first. Lately, some are holding up Jebat as a symbol of rebellion against a cruel and unjust government - bros before bosses and all that.

As the day wore on, the heat crept up. Past 11am, we reached another shop with another weird name: East and West Rendezvous at 60, Lorong Hang Jebat. Besides serving cendol, it also stocked some of the usual "local" Melakan goodies in what used to be an old house's hall, big enough to fit a cendol "stall" - a stationary cendol station, really.

This morning, we'd walked in on the staff and lady boss stuffing bamboo-leaf pockets with white and blue glutinous rice and savoury fillings.

Zongzi! sang our hearts. We'd found a place where Nyonya rice dumplings, another Melakan Nyonya staple, were made and sold.


Zongzi (glutinous rice dumplings) being wrapped before steaming, at
East and West Rendezvous


I don't know why part of the rice is stained with the juice from the blue peaflower - it's not the morning glory, a different plant - but it made for a nice colour contrast. The filling looked savoury, probably minced pork stir-fried in soya sauce.

Sam and Wendy wanted a load of dumplings, some for their friends and relatives. We - or, at least, Sam and Wendy - were assured that, even without refrigeration, each zongzi can stay fresh for up to 48 hours. I wasn't convinced.

But there weren't enough dumplings on hand for their order and the lady boss said the dumplings might take a while - fifteen minutes, maybe? So Wendy and Sam confirmed how many they wanted and we went elsewhere to wait.

We ended up at Bikini Toppings, a quirky café nearby whose main offerings were coconut-based. Every other item is a Bikini-something: Bikini Ice Cream (ice cream with coconut), Bikini Shake (ice-blended coconut water and flesh with choice of ice cream), Bikini Jelly (jellied coconut water in the shell), Bikini Wrap (didn't ask) and Bikini Spaghetti (ditto). "Bikini Juice" was plain old coconut water.

Aren't there better ways to engage customers than having them decipher cryptic menu items?

At least we enjoyed what we got. My coconut shake wasn't as legendary as the stuff from Pantai Klebang (which we planned for but couldn't reach), but it was still good.

They even had a "bikini" T-shirt. You know, the one that makes you look like a broad when you wear it. We thought it would make a nice present for Melody, who's fond of such kitsch. But we thought the better of it after some half-hearted wrangling - what if the "bikini" is the wrong colour?

"Oh, there he goes again!" Sam exclaimed as I returned the used utensils to the counter - a little thank-you to the shop and the city that made our holiday so pleasant. "Again", because I'd nurtured this habit back ... way before meeting The Ladies, I think. And it depends on the shop.


Sam's "Bikini Jelly" - just coconut jelly in the shell, really. A welcome
respite from the mid-day heat at Bikini Toppings (photo by Sam Fong).


Amused, the lady boss recalled a similar story about a kid who came with his parents and started helping out at the shop, just to bask in the smiles and attention he was getting. "When it was time to go," she concluded, "the boy cried and said he didn't want to leave!"

High five, kid.

Nyonya dumplings finally in hand, we made our way back to the hotel. Lunchtime loomed, but we held out until we got back to fetch Melody.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2 and part 3. Read part 5 here.

Wednesday 20 July 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 3

"Pictures are for illustrative purposes only."

Like a talisman, this disclaimer is used by many F&B establishments to disavow responsibility for discrepancies in what they serve - food, drink, rooms, and so on between what is depicted in promotional materials and reality.

Online, the photos of the rooms in the Swiss Heritage Boutique Hotel were pretty. They were, after all, the only things many had to go on when selecting accommodation besides TripAdvisor reviews, not all of which were glowing.

Back at our rooms at the Swiss Heritage - which was Swiss only in name and, perhaps, Christmas decorations - after our mid-afternoon walk around the Jonker Walk area, some of those TripAdvisor brickbats were confirmed.


Part of the waiting lounge at the Swiss Heritage Boutique Hotel, with
some travellers' bags. Shouldn't just leave them around like that.


My room smelled musty, the air felt and smelt damp, and one wall sported a brown watermark - proofs of water seepage and poor ventilation. Windows opened to the next room's windows and a narrow air well of sorts. Inside, it's hard to tell whether it's night or day. Funny, considering how the original Straits Chinese architecture had features that maximised air flow and natural light.

One side of the bed creaked loudly, threatening to cave in under the weight of any enthusiastic bed-jumpers. A Pyrex panel on the bed head for covering the embedded fluorescent lamp had come loose.

Other than that, the place looked new. Recently renovated, we were told. I loved the showers (with rain shower option, yo), and the bathroom had a new working hair dryer, which I used to warm up when the air conditioning got too cold, which was often.

Then, there's the noise. The staff and neighbours tended to get loud on occasion, and at least one other building nearby was in the process of getting new again. Among us, Wendy was most perturbed by and most vocal about the din. By the time we went out for dinner, she was contemplating moving out.

I wasn't too concerned with the state of the rooms, though it felt too much like one of those polished and expensive studio apartments cropping up in the country. I lay in bed, nursing my disappointment over a bar of "artisanal" chocolate from a nearby chocolatier. Had I taken a closer look at the package, I would have left it alone.

Good chocolate imparts an intense, somewhat spicy, charred-earth smell and sandy mouthfeel that remains for a few minutes, indicating a substantial amount of cocoa solids. Bad chocolate has less cocoa solids, contained "vegetable oil" that comes from other non-cocoa veggies, and goes down like chocolate-flavoured candlewax.

At least there was dinner: the famous satay celup. Melody also convinced us to case at least one other hotel in the city, perhaps for future visits, either before or after eating.

Wendy's eyes glinted.

This evening, Sam drove. I would take the wheel the next evening as we were only four people, so it didn't make sense for both our cars to be out. With the clipped tones of Star Wars droid C-3PO directing us via Waze, we made our way to what Melody's acquaintance said was a satay celup institution.

Parking wasn't hard, nor was getting around. Scheduling the trip on weekdays was smart. The dinner, sadly, disappointed.


The satay celup was ... well ... underwhelming


I was expecting satay celup to be skewered meat dipped in chilli and peanut gravy - which is just satay. What I saw instead was skewers of assorted bits of raw and precooked food: prawns, cockles, squid, fishballs, meatballs, otak-otak and even broccoli florets, plus a boiling pot of satay gravy - set into a recess in the centre of the table - to dip them all in.

Here, satay celup was just steamboat. About as Melakan and exotic as chicken rice balls.

The air went out of my sails quickly as we settled down to eat. Comparisons were made with the notorious Sichuan hotpot. Looking at the roiling hellbroth of peanuts, chilli and oil in the centre, it was hard to disagree.

"In China, they tend to cook with a lot of oil," the well-travelled Sam recalled. "I lifted one side of a plate of half-eaten fried rice and-" the fingers of one hand mimed an explosion, "the oil pooled at the other end."

We made short work of our dinner and went on to find things that were more Melakan, like this fried oyster place within the vicinity, whose awesomeness ensured it would be constantly walled off by hordes of expectant diners. Again, we were guided there by the voice of that fussy protocol droid.

"You have arrived!" C-3PO eventually announced through Sam's smartphone. A few robotic bleeps from R2-D2 followed. "Oh my stars!" he exclaimed in reply. More bleeps. "It is you! It IS you! ... Uh, what a desolate place this is."

No kidding, 3PO.

The fried oyster place was closed.

For the next ten minutes or so, everyone else was Googling other alternative destinations on their phones. Melody, meanwhile, looked up the opening hours for the oyster place. Consternation filled the car as we discovered how much updating some of the sources needed.

"Closed on Tuesdays!" Melody finally wailed. Another search revealed more places that took Tuesdays off. We wondered if there was a conspiracy among the hot hawker stands to go on holiday on Tuesdays.

I could've kvetched about how we could have done all this research months before we got here, but I wanted to live, and it was too far for me to walk back to the hotel.

Melody suggested a change of pace by casing a hotel, so off we went after 3PO was given new coordinates.

Where a pleasant surprise awaited.



I put away my phone, giving up on taking more photos. Not that there was much to photograph up here anyway with my less-than-awesome gear.


"Queen" Melody's dais: one of the round sofas at the rooftop Sky
Garden lounge of the Swiss-Garden Hotel and Residences
Malacca (photo by Sam Fong)


The girls felt different. Melody posed, Cleopatra-like, on a large circular sofa for Sam, whose photo-taking skills ("Make me look hot!") and cameraphone (Apple, mah!) she admired.

Around us, the wind raged. I was convinced it would wrench our gadgets off our hands, sweep them away to the city below and brain an unlucky passenger or vehicle.

We were thirty floors up in an alfresco lounge, the Sky Garden, at the Swiss-Garden Hotel and Residences Malacca. Fierce gales greeted us when we scoped out the infinity pool, the family pools and the water recreation area and followed us up here - could've been our proximity to the ocean. The floor next to the infinity pool was wet and puddled - did the wind splash all that water out of the pool?

The hotel and apartments were attached to The Shore, a newish shopping mall situated in a piece of land surrounded by river. I was a bit sulky when the ladies decided to spend some time in this mall after checking out the hotel - weren't we supposed to get away from that?

However, at the elevator lobby, we met an older gentleman and what I thought was his assistant. A conversation was struck up, and Melody kept it going. Her curiosity about the current topic would arouse a similar interest among others, which tend to lead to unusual situations.


The nighttime view from the Sky Garden lounge (photo by Sam Fong)


When he learnt we were curious about the hotel, the gentleman introduced himself as the executive sales manager of that very hotel. "So you're gatecrashing?" he said, and we were all nods and "Yes."

Accustomed to antisocial behaviour in KL, we did not anticipate him personally showing us the pools and, later, the rooftop lounge and got one of the staff to "show us around" (read: stand there while we roamed, gawked at and photographed the place).

Of course, none of this happened without a little grilling on the way. "You're not planning on opening a hotel, are you?" he asked us at one point.

We were a little taken aback by that. Industrial espionage, here?

As if we could.

Eventually, Melody's line of questioning also raised a couple of flags. "Cut to the chase," said the manager when we took the elevator up. "What exactly are you looking for?" Understandable, since he could've been in trouble for showing us around if we had been the wrong type of guest.

Melody revealed her secret identity as a freelance writer with a pen in several publications' inkwells and explained that we were shopping for hotels in the city. I suspect she was emboldened by our success at "sneaking" into the E&O in Penang and being wowed by it. I reckoned a weekend at the E&O was something one would have to save up for.

The manager was more relaxed after that. We'd learnt how young the hotel was (just over a year old at the time of our visit), so not much was done to market it while the kinks were being ironed out. Once we arrived at the 30th floor, he and the assistant left us.

As far as rooftop lounges go, Sky Garden's décor was relatively modest compared to, say, that one in 1Utama. Big cushioned chairs, water features, a bar, wooden footpaths and more, surrounded by colour-changing lights. But it was open to the elements - too much, if you ask me - and what a view.

Then, my fear of heights kicked in and made my hands tremble and sweat. I put away the phone, not trusting myself to keep a firm grip on it. The ladies, however, had a ball.


Part of the Sky Garden rooftop lounge (photo by Sam Fong)


Coming down from the high, we gathered at the lobby. We still could not believe our luck. The rooftop visit was more than we'd bargained for. Then, we learnt how much each room cost per night.

We had to restrain Wendy, who was ready to move her luggage from the other "Swiss" place we were staying in.

We could empathise. For just a few ringgit more, we'd have a pool, gym, rooftop view, swankier surroundings and no noisy neighbours or construction cacophony. But that would also mean forfeiting what we paid for our original accommodations. And we were already a day into our sojourn in Melaka.

It wasn't worth the trouble. We'd anticipated being unable to see or experience everything in this city, so we made a point to return and stay here - provided the prices didn't rise too much by then.

Witn that, we browsed around in the mall, which had an aquarium and two food courts, one for Chinese cuisine. I went along; the Sky Garden visit made me amenable to following the girls around. They posed with life-sized figures from Snoopy and window-shopped. We continued to make plans for Melaka Part 2 on the way to the parking lot.

Incidentally, Swiss-Garden Hotel and Residences Malacca hosted the contestants of Miss World Tourism 2015/16, who were here, I think, for the finals that Thailand couldn't host for some reason. Memories of Melaka still fresh in my mind, I was incensed by the noise some groups were making about the event "promoting" vice and whatnot.

Their "concerns" and shallow notions of piety paled in comparison to the hospitality and generosity (and, perhaps, courage) the manager and his assistant showed to four clueless chumps from KL.

Don't mess with Melaka, yo.


Some random passer-by pointing at a now-famous slogan - with
his forefinger, naturally (photo by Sam Fong)


If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1, followed by part 2. Part 4 is here.

Monday 4 July 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 2

Wandering towards another junction at Jalan Hang Kasturi where the A' Famosa Chicken Rice Ball Restaurant was located, I spotted a familiar sign and the miles we'd travelled seemed to have vanished.

No way that's an Inside Scoop sign!


Yes way. The independent ice-cream company's spreading its wings


So it appears that the KL-based independent ice-cream enterprise has joined the invading hordes that descended upon modern-day Melaka, itching to take advantage of the endless flow of foot traffic from visitors. We would later encounter an outpost of Sangkaya, another start-up and coconut ice-cream outfit from the Malaysian capital.

We patronised neither. It didn't feel right somehow.

Instead, the ladies (all three) browsed around one of the shops that sold prepacked local goods with the usual marked-up prices: coffee, biscuits, cencaluk, sambal, pineapple tarts, durian tarts and the like. They also sampled a kind of seaweed jelly, the "pour into hot water and mix" variety. Again, not cheap for the portions each packet produced.

A queue in front of a shoplot - and the heat - drew us in. At Kedai Aku Dan Dia, an elderly gentleman was plopping handfuls of bright green balls of flour into a pot of simmering water. In a pastic container, more such balls were being rolled around in shaved coconut.

We'd found an onde-onde vendor, sited at 25, Jalan Hang Kasturi. Also called (appropriately) buah Melaka, these grape-sized, shaved coconut-covered balls of glutinious rice flour held shavings of brown, sweet and smoky gula Melaka. The green came from the extract of the pandan (screwpine) leaf, touted by some as this country's equivalent of vanilla.

("Appropriately, because buah Melaka can also mean the Indian gooseberry, which is greenish in colour.)


Outside Kedai Aku dan Dia, where perhaps the best onde-onde
or buah Melaka can be had


Unfortunately for us, the last of the current batch was sold. Well, not all. One little fellow remained in the container. The vendor offered us the lone onde-onde, which Sam took up.

Then, for some reason, she lost her grip on the thing. It was as if it was trying to escape, like a fleeing Mexican drug lord.

A few close calls later, my gaze fell onto her upturned fist. My gut clenched with the assumption that it was empty, but her hand was occupied. With a shout or two of triumph, she popped the slippery onde-onde into her mouth.

"Mmm~! So good," Sam moaned as she chewed. I think the struggle made it even tastier.

The vendor's kind gesture assured our return to the shop, some fifteen minutes later, where we bought two bags or ten pieces for RM4. However, the girls only finished one bag, leaving me with another. The contents were still hot, so I let them be.

While waiting for the next batch of onde-onde, we looked around. Some of the shops we browsed included The Daily Fix, located inside another of the refurbished old houses in the neighbourhood.

The front housed a knick-knack shop, selling things that included odd pieces of wood, each for massaging specific parts of the body. Some of these massage aids had "suggestive" shapes; others would feel right at home in a ninja's utility belt. On the scene were some expensive pillows, covered in casings styled after sacks of flour, sugar or rice of yore.

"Why on earth would anyone want these?" I asked.

"They're very nice," Sam said. "They look authentic."

"Yes, when you want to pretend you're a dockhand, carrying these around and sleeping on it after a hard day's work."

Trust hipsters and the Gen-Y to hip up the rough and gritty.


Goodness gracious, green balls of sweetness!


The café took up part of the courtyard and the back half of the property. It sported the familiar Instagrammable rustic chic shared by many other establishments of its ilk. A mutual acquaintance spoke well of its offerings, so we made a note to drop by, which we did, before packing up for the trip home.

Sweaty and fatigued from walking in the hot afternoon, we took refuge in Christina Ee's, where we cooled down with cendol. Their place and their version of the dessert looked more humble than the other icon farther along Jonker Walk, the often crowded Jonker 88, and its durian cendol.

A layer of cooked adzuki beans, buried under a mound of shaved ice, crowned with a medusaic mass of green strands of pandan jelly and drizzled with melted gula Melaka and coconut milk. Also, no durian, but what the heck. This was just what we needed. A few spoonfuls later, the heat receeded and we felt energised again (carbs are great), though we did feel bad for ordering just two bowls to share between us.

Over that same bowl of cendol, we talked about life and the growing appeal of ginger as one ages (gets rid of wind in the gut), along with plans for the next stages in our fluid itinerary. I'd tune in and out time and again to snort at the tour guides who were helping tourists pick "better" brands of white coffee, biscuits and other merchandise.


Chillin' out with some cendol at Christina Ee's


Before I knew it, the onde-onde been forgotten long enough for them to turn cold and soggy from condensation. Still yummy, though, as I learnt back at the hotel. Unmelted bits of palm sugar crunched along with the coconut as I bit down, popping the chewy glutinous rice layer and filling my mouth with a comforting, earthy, syrupy sensation.

This is nothing like what we'd find in KL, or anywhere else we'd been to. And it's just two hours away.



Of the many oversold historical aspects of Melaka, the Baba-Nyonya is arguably among the most visible. They are part of a group collectively known as Cina Peranakan - local-born Chinese who have adopted aspects of Malay or indigenous culture. My attachment to the Chinese heritage in Melaka might have origins in my Penang-born mother's Cina Peranakan roots.

Peranakan in Malay means "local-born" and usually applies to people of other places who are born here, such as the Jawi Peranakan: Indians and those of Middle Eastern origin.

The Cina Peranakan community in Melaka is particularly famous, partly due to strong PR and marketing efforts. You'll find museums showcasing Baba-Nyonya heritage, restaurants serving "authentic" Nyonya cuisine and shops selling Nyonya attire, such as beaded shoes and the figure-hugging baju kebaya. But it's the cuisine, I believe, that looms the largest in the imaginations of visitors.

I find such displays of heritage shallow, which is no one's fault. Many tourists are only interested in the look, feel and tastes of Peranakan Chinese heritage, hurrying by as they do from one attraction to another, afraid to miss out on something else should they linger too long at one spot. Few have the stamina and time to delve deeper, and it's not just the foreign visitors. As such, I feel many of these showcases rarely offer more than just glimpses of a bygone era.

There's an impression that a lot of our history has been steamrolled, bulldozed and sold off in the name of progress before the level of devastation was deemed serious - and even then, progress hasn't slowed. Many origin stories about the people, cuisine, events and architecture have been lost. In spite of the efforts of a handful of tireless, devoted history buffs, activists, academicians and stalwarts in the shrinking communities, we're losing more of our collective heritage as time passes.

Why the blue colouring? Why these designs? Why build it like this? How did the Baba-Nyonyas' Malay-Chinese patois develop?

Few seem to know for sure. Replies such as "It's always been here" or "that's how it is done" aren't enlightening or reassuring.

One day, there will be no answer at all.

And I'm not sure what we can do besides rant about it in self-indulgent "travelogues" like this one.

If you encountered this page by chance, I suggest starting at Part 1. Part 3 is here.

Thursday 30 June 2016

Messing Around In Melaka, Part 1

29 December 2015...

As we drove further into the city, we couldn't believe what we were seeing.

What's with all these signs saying "Don't Mess with Melaka?"

I didn't think much of it when Melody and I spotted the first few signs, but as we approached the city centre of Melaka, they kept popping up.

Browsing her smartphone, Melody learnt through social media about the similarities between this "campaign" and "Don't mess with Texas". The designs for each sign were identical, from the slogan to the state flag and silhouette of the state at the bottom.

Melody winced at the blatant copying. "It's practically the same."

Perhaps, as I discovered belatedly, because it is the same.

Earlier in 2015, Melody, Sam and Wendy had talked about taking a road trip to some place in Malaysia; I just went along with whatever they decided on. We picked the historical state of Melaka, since Sam and Wendy rarely went there. The last time Melody and I were there was in ... 2007, I think.

Was it so long ago?

Yes, Melaka it was, despite my memories of it being this Disneyfied tourist attraction for rubes who I felt were there more for the novelty of being in a historical city rather than the history of the city itself.



When I was a kid in school, I'd read that the kingdom of Melaka was founded by a prince from Palembang (somewhere in Sumatra in present-day Indonesia) in 1402, and that he'd killed the ruler of Temasek (modern-day Singapore) at the time. These days, some believe he was a legit ruler of Temasek until he was driven away by the Majapahit empire around 1398. Others have theorised that the name he was known by, "Parameswara", was a title, and that he may have been a jumped-up pirate with no royal blood.

However, what is universally agreed upon was that, while exploring a spot in the Malay peninsula, he was inspired to name his new digs after the tree he was resting on: Phyllanthus emblica, otherwise known as the Malacca tree or Indian gooseberry. Seems he had witnessed a mouse deer kick his hunting dogs into a nearby river and thought, "This will be my new digs - even the mouse deer here are bad-ass!" Today, the tiny ungulate and the tree are immortalised on the state's coat of arms.

This kingdom became an empire, which would soon be known for legendary figures such as Tun Perak the prime minister, the warriors Hang Tuah and company, and some Chinese princess whose retainers are said to be ancestors of Melaka's Chinese. The seafaring Ming Dynasty admiral Zheng He stopped there often in his trips to the western edges of Asia.

Melaka thrived until the Portuguese invaded in 1511, seeking control over the spice trade. The Dutch came by over a century later (in 1641), followed by the British (in 1824). The foreign visitors left behind a wealth of traditions and heritage, as well as whole communities, in Melaka, which is now the focus of throngs of domestic and international visitors each year.

The state's government has tried to capitalise on this, though some attempts at development have been criticised for allegedly endangering some aspects of Melaka's rich history. One particular scheme was heavily decried. I also learnt that some remnants of the state's former colonial eras were uncovered by development projects, though the related online articles seemed to have gone 404.


The lobby of the Swiss Heritage Boutique Hotel, a blend of old and new


For KL-ites like ourselves, it was far enough from the capital to qualify as a bona fide getaway. In spite of myself, I was looking forward to the road trip. Partly because I didn't have to wake up at 6am or something like that. Plus, the old Chinese quarter of Melaka is very much like parts of my birthplace, Penang - perhaps more so.

As the date approached, Melody set our imaginations and tongues afire with accounts of wholesome Melakan Nyonya cuisine. "You MUST try the ayam garam cili from So-and-So Place! The flavours, OMG Is. To. Die. For. Then there's this place some blogger recommended; she went there TWICE, which she never does unless it's GOOD..."

Little did we know we'd be stalking this blogger's trail once we were there. Right, like we knew where all the good stuff was.



Because she was loaded with work, Melody handed the task of securing accommodations to Wendy and Sam. A place Melody had checked out several months ago was vetoed because of a suspected bedbug infestation. But what to do? Sam and Wendy (whom I shall collectively refer to as The Ladies) were scarred by a previous encounter with the little terrors and were adamant.

Lulled by the pictures and copy online, we settled on the Swiss Heritage Boutique Hotel along Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock (formerly Heeren Street), known for its collection of such hotels and guesthouses, along with the odd café.

Uncharacteristically, Melody and I arrived first. The Ladies' ETA was stretched by a coffee break in Seremban. The hotel's own parking lots were all occupied, so we were given directions to another lot a bit farther down the road, which also hosted a car wash and an old mansion that served as a tea shop. Someone was playing a Chinese musical instrument at the balcony when we parked.


The dining hall of the Swiss Heritage Boutique Hotel


We waited for The Ladies at the lobby, which was the main hall of the repurposed home of, I reckoned, some Chinese tycoon. Old-looking wood carvings and furniture retained some of the charm from those years. Guests were allowed to lounge on single-seat chairs or one imposing ornately carved three-seater. Reminders of a modern age included a pair of modern electric massage chairs and Christmas decorations.

Browsing the papers, we also learnt more about the "Don't mess with Melaka" campaign, which, among other things, promised a war against litterbugs and humiliation for repeat offenders. Bold moves by the current state government, which I think has to struggle to break out of the shadow of the previous administration and its famous leader.


"Don't mess with Melaka", explained in The Star


The Ladies finally arrived. Perhaps it's my old age or their personalities, but I seem to effervesce whenever they're around. Fun is sure to be had in their company. Sam is the more gregarious of the two, and readily spouts aphorisms and homespun wisdom borne of years in customer service. Wendy's the more reticent one, but speaks pithily with purpose.

We left out bags at the counter and wandered off to dip our toes into the ambience of Jonker Walk, a prelude to the full-body immersion we'd have on the next day.

That is, if a "dip" were possible in a city that swallows you whole into a merry-go-round of the old, refurbished and brand-new the moment you step onto its streets.



The heat. G*ds, the heat.

Thank goodness for air-conditioned spaces.

But it seemed as though such places have multiplied since my last visit. Driving into the city, I was struck by how little sky there was in the view compared to ... well, eight years is a long time.

After decades, Melaka was being invaded again: by progress. More cars, more people, more freaking tour buses. And more storeys. I had not seen those high-rises there before. We'd end up checking those later in the night but first, lunch.

Melody, Sam and Wendy hadn't eaten much before hopping into the cars (Sam's and mine). I had just enough foresight to eat a full breakfast, so I wasn't perturbed by the crowds at The Melting Pot, a family restaurant along Jonker Walk that served - what else? - Nyonya cuisine.


The Melting Pot along Jonker Street


This was where Melody had the "OMG you gotta try this" ayam garam cili on her last visit, a few months earlier. We also opted for a cencaluk omelette, fried with onions and a unique concoction made with brined tiny shrimp or krill; and a kangkung belacan: water spinach stir-fried with a paste of fermented shrimp. We all ordered the "small" portions, in anticipation of snacking on other stuff later on.

After a while, though, I was puzzled by the delay. Shouldn't at least one of the dishes be scooped from a pot? Who makes small batches of rendang or curry to order?

The wait. G*ds, the wait.

It didn't take long for all four of us to get hungry. To pass the time, we made a sport of guessing which orders went to which table, while cracking light jokes at the faces of disappointment from those who got passed over.

When our orders finally arrived, I was surprised that we had just enough energy to capture the moment on our smartphones before we fell upon our dishes, plus rice, with groans of relief. These days, quipped a social media maven, the cameras eat first.


At left: cencaluk omelette and ayam pongteh. The latter was the
best version of the dish we'd had on this trip.


The cencaluk barely registered in the omelette, which was fine, because it went well with the spicy (and salty) ayam garam cili. The chicken was more of a really dry rendang, with seemingly less coconut milk.

I had little comment on the other dishes apart from "How tasty!", "This works well", and "Nobody's having this, right?" I was also glad I couldn't see any whole cencaluk shrimp. One version of this condiment was a pile of bent white-pink creatures whose black pinhead-sized eyes stare into your soul and potentially rob you of your appetite.


Ayam garam cili, and it was good


We were hungry, but that's not why the meal was satisfying. Melody's recommendation was spot on.

So it was that, flushed from the afterglow of a sated hunger, we reluctantly picked ourselves out of our seats and went back into the white-hot afternoon and packed pavements.



I didn't set out on this trip to write a travelogue, which explains the dearth of pictures of the usual: crowded streets, refurbished buildings, the tourist attractions and must-go spots. Yet, after two weeks and some feverish typing later, the first draft was hammered out. I suppose I wanted to squeeze out what I could from the holiday, and perhaps I've let a lot of memories of my travels rust away. Oh, what I could've told you about my work stints at Jakarta and Bangkok...

Since I'm not expecting a whole lot from a bunch of travel diaries of a trip that's gone stale (this happened before the New Year), I'm reproducing it with whatever photos that were taken. As for the contents, my travelling companions agreed that it's quite accurate.


Proceed to part 2.