Life's an Adventure

Thursday, 31 January 2008

An interesting day so far, and it’s only 7:02 am local time.
I travel 2800 miles to sit in a Coffee Bean and drink a Viennese, but it’s nice to have a bit of a taste of home.

To be sure, I’m exhausted. Hopefully this caffeine will eliminate the mild headache that’s forming in my frontal lobe.

I left 분당 at 3:30, only 1½ hours after I originally planned. But I knew I had plenty of time, so I gave myself a little extra time getting ready and checking my packing. Despite my precautions, I’ve already realized that I left my headband at home, which just means I’ll have wet hair when I wash my face (side note: a lady at the table across from me is signing. It’s amazing that in our world of diverse cultures and languages, we have a truly international language. Unfortunately few people actually can communicate in this language).

As the airport limo passed 부천, I looked at the mass of drab high-rise apartments and wondered where my grandmother might live (when I walked in 10 minutes ago, it was pitch black, but already the sky is a beautiful deep cornflower blue).

I shopped around the airport for a bit and checked time a bit later than I should have. It was 6:00, only 10 minutes before my flight started boarding. I ran to the security check-in. Korean check-in is so much faster and easier than American, thank God! No shoe removal! By the time I speed-walked to my gate, they had only begun boarding (and it was a long terminal!).

I didn’t sleep at all during the flight. But I did watch Rush Hour 3 (unfortunately the movie on my return flight is Nanny Diaries, ugh). I played Meteos much more than I should have, and I really enjoyed the in-flight magazines! Especially the duty-free catalogue! So excited about when I return, because I see some things that I’d like to buy.

When we landed I had to pick up my baggage. Unfortunately I will be flying to Langkawi with a different airline, so I couldn’t leave my luggage in the system. That also means that instead of waiting in the terminal, I had to sit in the amusement-free arrivals section.

While I was checking out a map to see where the Departures were, a man approached me asking if I needed help. He wore a badge and looked official. I told him I needed AirAsia departures, and he informed me that it’s in a different terminal (LCC, the old airport), about 20 minutes away, then instructed me to follow him. I’ll admit it’s a bit disconcerting following a stranger in a strange country. He took me outside, down a line of taxis, and deposited me off with another man. This man took me back inside to the information booth and gave me prices for the Budget Taxi. 48 MYR (or RM - Malaysian ringgits) for the ride, but a 50% increase after midnight. 72 MYR total, a little over $20. A deal in the US, pretty pricey back home, and damn expensive in Malaysia. I told that I’d wait for the 6 am shuttle, thank you very much. He offered 50 MYR, but I held my ground.

I headed over to a café and grabbed an iced chocolate (powdered Nestle with ice, I swear!) and took a seat. At a nearby table sat two women talking to another official-looking badge-toting man wearing a Polo oxford and a tie (Polo as in Polo Ralph Lauren, which can tip one off that he’s really well off). I recognized them from my flight; I had seen them in baggage claim and they stuck in my mind because one of them spoke with a distinctly American accent – the other, a fused British-American accent. The badge was giving them the same prices for taxis that I had just heard. Bored, I very willingly and unembarressedly eavesdropped on their conversation, and even laughed when the British-American accent exclaimed at the inflated prices and offered the badge 20 MYR to driver her there himself.

Eventually the badge (his name is Ssara) drew me into the conversation and I told him I was flying AirAsia as well, and British-American accent said, “Let’s stick together” and American accent invited me to join them. British-American accent introduced herself as CiCi (short for Cecelia) and American accent is Bbing. I settled down with my new traveling companion (Bbing’s flying Malaysia Air, so she doesn’t have to go to the AirAsia terminal) to wile away the next few hours. (Ssara explained that though he works for the airport as security, he receives 50% commission for selling taxi service. Duh! I had already figured on the commission, but just didn’t know what his cut is.)

CiCi and Bbing are Chinese-Malaysians from the SE US, visiting their families for Lunar New Year. I learned about different foods to try, as well as gift ideas for my peeps back in Korea. CiCi’s definitely the more talkative of the two, and the hours really flew by.

At 5 CiCi and I said our good-bye’s to Bbing and headed to the Airport Shuttle terminal to see if the shuttle was running. It wasn’t, so we decided to get a taxi. The price would still be high, but at least we were splitting it. As we approached the information desk, a man approached us and offered to take us to LCC for 40 MYR. CiCi & I exchanged looks. He wasn’t badged as the others were, and as we followed him, CiCi looked at me and crossed her fingers. I told her it’s okay; I could take him and it didn’t look as if he was packing anything.

As we approached LCC he informed us that since it’s past midnight, the fee would be 60 MYR. I protested, telling him that we had already agreed on a price. CiCi just gave him her 50, I think just because she didn’t want to argue for her change.

* * *

So I’ve boarded the plane now. This is the first time I’ve walked across the tarmac to board a plane. It’s nice getting some fresh air! The sky is bright and it’s wonderful to see palm trees atop the nearby hill. We don’t have pre-assigned seats, so it’s first come, first served.

Malaysia is an interesting fusion of ethnicities and cultures, the three main people groups being Malay, Chinese and Indian. Skin colours range from extremely dark to a fair fair fair that would evoke jealousy from Michael Jackson. Many women walk around in head scarves, ankle-length dresses and heels, while others are bedecked in shorts, the less orthodox mix head-scarves with tee shirts and jeans, and still others wear traditional Malay clothing. Very few people in Korea bleach their hair, but half the hair here is that “Asian orange” on both men and women. Signs greet passengers in English, Arabic, Malay and Chinese.

The flight attendant is demonstrating how to put on the seat belt. Do they do this on all flights and I’ve just never noticed because I never pay attention? She looks like a darker version of Sarah Michelle Gellar.

I just got my first glimpse of the Petronas Towers from the portside of an airplane…

* * *

Oh my God this place is AWESOME! Stepping off the airplane onto a tropical island was like a scene from a movie. I wish I hadn’t broken my sunglasses, because I had a desperate urge to put on a pair of aviators to complete the effect.

Hanna had arranged for the hotel to pick me up at the airport. The driver, Murat, directed me to a Mercedes van. I never even knew Mercedes made vans. Murat went over to the left side of the car, so I went to the right, but he had gone to open the door for me. Despite the taxi ride, I had already forgotten that the driver’s side is on the right. People also drive in the left lane (though the taxi held that law very loosely). In the Benz, though, Murat was very careful to abide by the laws.

Although he knows very little English, Murat was very friendly and he tried very hard to communicate with me, mainly asking what Korea was like and whether I liked Langkawi (which I LOVE!).

This is my first real holiday of my adult life. All my other trips had been visiting family (which we all know aren’t real vacations) or sightseeing by a strict itinerary; this trip is purely for relaxation and enjoyment, and I’m PSYCHED about it.

Our resort, Tanjung Sanctuary, is beautiful. The moment I stepped out of the van I could smell the sea. Check-in isn’t until 2pm, but the hotel staff cleaned the room quickly and let me in around 11. While I was waiting, Murat served me a drink on the pavilion, then I strolled down to the beach, stripped off my shoes and waded in the warm water.

Now, after a shower, lying in my swimsuit, I’m debating whether I should look around, go to the beach, or take a much-needed nap. I’m not tired at all but I have a massive headache.

There is a sign on the door to the deck. It reads as follows:
“MONKEY BUSINESS
“Beware of mischievous monkeys.”
It then proceeds to give explanations on how to treat the monkeys and the hotel’s non-liability for any damage the monkeys may cause to guest’s personal possessions. I didn’t know what to make of it (except to find it a bit amusing) until a few minutes ago when I saw one scampering across the beach. There is one screeching (quite loudly) somewhere outside my bungalow right now.

I’m going to try to nap for a bit, or at least close my eyes and rest, before going out. When I took out my contacts and put on my glasses it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I guess 24 hours is too long to leave in contacts.




Friday, 1 February 2008

I woke up this afternoon around 1pm. Last night it took me a long time to fall asleep. I was lying on the couch with the TV on and the volume low, which usually puts me to sleep. There’s that moment, in that weird limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness where one’s mind begins to wander and one sees strange scrambled images and hears loud noises not outside, but between, one’s ears; in the past I’ve seen my mother, strangers I’ve never met, even a red, pointy-tailed Satan; I’ve heard the rush of airplanes, intense bargaining in a foreign tongue, and angry yelling. These visions and noises are only remembered if one actually becomes fully conscious right after experiencing them. For me, waking up is usually the result of a sudden noise or my mind becoming aware that I’m falling asleep. I did this three times yesterday: once in the taxi and twice on the couch. The taxi ride was one when my mind realized that I was falling asleep and told me to wake up (a cab in a foreign country with nobody knowing my whereabouts is not the safest place to doze off); the couch were ones when the TV volume suddenly increased. I finally turned it off and went to bed.

Yesterday after journaling I tried to nap a bit and was very unsuccessful. I finally changed and strolled down to the beach. It’s beautiful. Unfortunately I had my glasses on so when I went into the water I couldn’t see anything. But the water was delightful…once I actually gathered my courage and dove in. Strangely, there were some stinging spots on my skin all over my body. They didn’t leave any marks or bumps and they feel fine now, but they were quite irritatingly painful. I heard some people talking (there were only three other people on the beach) about miniature jellyfish in the water; perhaps that’s what I felt.

Afterward, I rinsed off and washed my face and called for a taxi to take me to Kuah Town where a shopping district is. It was wicked hot out, but I found some amazing deals (deals for me, but I’m sure they’re jacked up tourist trap prices). I got a swimsuit ($10!) and sunglasses ($7!) and fixed my other pair of sunglasses, but didn’t find insect repellent or sun block lotion, so let’s cross our fingers I don’t get malaria and peeling skin.

Last night as I was sitting on the deck we were getting a wonderful breeze, as a storm was blowing in – I could see the lightning to the southeast. This afternoon when I woke up it was still raining a little. The rain’s cleared up but the sky is overcast and the air is still and stifling.

* * *

This afternoon (or evening, I suppose; it’s approaching 7pm) the sky is still overcast but the air seems to be moving a bit more. I SERIOUSLY miss my hair straightener. This natural curl isn’t doing me a bit of good right now. It’s so wonderful out on the deck. The moment I open the door the delicious scent of sea water greets me, and I love sitting here listening to the waves and watching them roll onto the rocks and the beach. My body seems to have acclimated to the weather, doubtless as a result of undergoing monsoon season in Korea. Korea – it’s going to be hard to return to the dry cold after this, but I already miss my friends and wish they were here to experience this with me.

Hanna called a few hours ago as she was preparing to board the ferry to tell me that she’ll arrive around 7. I’m so excited. It’ll be great to just sit around and chill out for a few days.




Sunday, 3 February 2008

Yesterday was very full and exciting. Friday we ended up going to bed around 3 am (I honestly thought it was closer to midnight). Woke up around 7:30 so we could eat breakfast, pick up Cain, and reach Pantai Cenang by 10 for our island hopping tour.

We arrived around quarter til 10 and waited…and waited…and waited for 45 minutes for the agent to arrive. Apparently agents run many of the services – they book flights, reserve hotels and rental cars, and set up tours. After the agent finally arrived, we created a car caravan and he led us about 15 minutes to the small bay where the tour boats took off from.

The boats are small canvas-ceilinged dories which can carry approximately 12 passengers. At the bay we waited perhaps another 30 minutes because we had not purchased tickets in advance (our agent deserted the group the moment everybody parked alongside the bay, without a word of explanation).

Once we finally boarded a boat, though, the tour was wonderful. Our first stop on an island gave us about an hour to enjoy the beach. The water was so clear and the sand was fine and soft.

On that island, however, I learned about just how treacherous coral could be. I was swimming out a bit and as I was straightening up to check where I was, the top of my right foot scraped something very hard and sharp. Now the interesting thing about swimming around in salt water is the speed at which you realize that your skin has been cut – it’s instantaneous. I put my left foot down to balance myself on the coral as I lifted my right foot to examine the damage, but a wave knocked me off balance and I instinctively lowered my right foot, this time slicing the bottom on the coral.

It was a bleeder. When I stepped out of the water the blood started rushing onto my foot, so I quickly stepped back in. The worst part about it is that it hurts to put on flip-flops, and if I go barefoot I’m scared of stepping on something sharp.

The monkeys on the island were hilarious little food bandits. After we disembarked from the boat we watched a monkey steal somebody’s can of Pringles, open it, and start stuffing chips into its mouth. As we were leaving the beach to return to the boat a monkey scrambled to a shaded area where some visitors had stored their drinks and, ignoring the water bottles, snatched a can of Coke and scampered away.

As we waited for the boat to return Cain and I amused ourselves by feeding the fish with some bread he had bought earlier. They flew towards a chunk of bread every time we tossed it in. We threw in the bread as fast as we could to examine their reaction times, and the fish were fast. They were beautiful, too – their bodies were electric yellow, offsetting their bright blue fins.

The boat next took us to an inlet on another island for an eagle feeding. The captain dumped bits of raw chicken into the water (it was disgusting – there was a film of oil on the water's surface), then moved the boat away from the floating meat. When we were a sufficient distance away the eagles swooped down, snatched the meat out of the water, and flew away to the surrounding hills. A wonderful show, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it did anything to devolve the eagle’s natural predatory instincts.

Our last stop was an island with a freshwater lake in its interior. It was a short but decently intense hike to the lake, complete with hiding one’s plastic bags from scavenging monkeys. Here I was able to witness the bathing suits for Muslim women that Hanna had told me about.

They’re basically wetsuits – they cover everything but the hands, feet and face. I’ll admit, I felt a bit odd being in the minority of bikini-wearers in a mass of wetsuits; the fact that my bottoms pulled down when I dove off the pier (hahaha – thank god the water wasn’t clear!!) only magnified my feeling of being the immodest Westerner.

One note – Go Me! for bringing hand sanitizer. Malaysian bathrooms – oh my god, I’ll think even Korean bathrooms are sanitary after these. They do have sit-down toilets, but the majority of the stalls have squatter toilets. Most people do not use toilet paper; instead, after excreting solids or fluids, they use a hose inside the stall to rinse off. Therefore the floor is often wet with water, in which are swimming the millions of germs and bacteria of god-knows-what. So after stepping inside the stall and touching the door handle (I had forgotten my tissues AND there was no way I was sitting on the seat, so luckily I didn’t have to use the bathroom) I had the dire urge to wash my hands. No soap. No water. So…hand sanitizer it was.

When the tour was over we went to a halal restaurant, but Hanna and I thought it was a Chinese restaurant, so when she asked for sweet and sour pork I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary. But it was funny to watch Cain’s face – he looked surprised, then apologetic to the server, then very amused.

The next four hours were spent on the beach. Pantai Cenang is a beautiful beach, and the best part is that it’s not crowded. We see beaches in the Caribbean and the West Coast that are packed with people, and they’re such a contrast to these wonderful beaches where one can relocate one’s beach towel as many times as necessary.

After dinner we went to a small beach bar whose music was putting Hanna to sleep, so we were forced to relocate to a more jivin place. En route we stopped by a fruit stand which sold durian. Cain said it didn’t taste as good since it was Thai durian (CiCi had mentioned that as well) but Hanna and I were both curious to try it since we had never had any. It was moderately pungent, but not as bad as I had expected. With her first bite Hanna had had enough; I think she was a bit disgusted by it. But the hilarious part was when she accidentally dropped it on the ground, and, refusing to touch its stinky meatiness, attempted (failingly, for the most part) to scoop it up with the durian skin. To me, the flavour wasn’t bad – it was just different. I don’t know how or why, but I thought it tasted a bit like 갈비. It was tasty, just not for a fruit.

The bar we ended up at WAS jivin. We stayed and danced by the bar, and within minutes of getting our first drinks Hanna noticed a man checking Cain out. He had a skin-tight white see-through shirt, tight white pants and a green belt, and whenever he lifted his arms you could see his belly. As the night progressed he became more and more bold and in between voo-doo dancing on the floor he would approach and dance next to Cain. I tried to help Cain by dancing with him, but it didn’t help. The coup de maître, though, was when the three of us were dancing, and out of the blue he jumped into our circle and yelled out, “Balaugghh!” The first time it was a shock, but the second time we just died.

This morning Hanna and I were supposed to wake up and eat around 9:20, but after getting home at 3:30 it didn’t happen. Around noon we picked up Cain and headed to the cable cars.

That was a fun experience. The cars go to the summit of one of Langkawi’s highest hills. The ascent is fairly normal for the first two-third’s but the last bit is so steep. On the way up we shared the car with three Muslim women, one of whom was holding the cutest baby. Malay babies are so cute with their big, round black eyes. Muslim Malays dress quite differently from Muslim Arabs. Muslim Malays wear head scarves and dresses of the most beautiful colours and designs.

The scenery is breath-taking. One can see miles and miles of jungle, beach and ocean. The ridge line of the northwestern part of Langkawi is interesting. The hills are like green, tree-covered mounds. At the end of the jungle is a strip of beach, then the clear teal of the shallows, followed by the deeper blue as one’s eyes travel further from the island. The coral reefs are purple, and the shadows of clouds float across the water. Eventually, the end of the ocean is lost as it merges into the hazy blue horizon.

The descent was much more exciting than the ascent. The steepness of the first third of the ride and the jolt that accompanies the car as it leaves the platform made it seem like we were going to plummet down to the valley hundreds of meters below.

When we reached the bottom we headed to the souvenir shop. I picked up three postcards at .90RM each, and quickly did the math to come to 2.70RM. At the cash register there was a sign which read, "Please check your receipt and count your change." I was a bit perplexed at this, until I went to check out. I had 5.70RM in my hand. The cashier used a calculator to figure the total, and after counting the money I gave her, used a calculator to figure the change. Yesterday when Cain and I had gone to a gas station to pick up ice cream and water the man had taken forever adding up our total. This just emphasized the importance of even basic education, and confirmed what Cain, Hanna and I had talked about earlier: the Indian- and Chinese-Malay populations were better off financially than the Malay population because they were more focused on financial stability. They recognized the importance of education and strived for it, and once they received jobs they worked very hard. The Malay population, though, (or at least the rural Malay population) adopted an attitude of "can," which roughly translates into "No worries." That, I suppose, contributes to the attitude which allows an agent to arrive 45 minutes after the time agreed with his customers, or the educational deemphasis which forces a cashier to use a calculator to subtract 2.70 from 5.70RM.

After a lunch of Arabic food we drove to Kuah Town to drop Cain off at the ferry landing, as he’s returning to Alor Star tonight. The last few hours have been spent just lying on the beach, journaling and swimming. The sun is setting and the tide is coming in right now, and in between writing I’ve been taking pictures of the sunset (I love this new camera – it has so many picture modes!). Soon we’ll head off to a Korean BBQ, as Hanna and I are both seriously craving Korean food. Pathetic, I know – I’m in this wonderful area where I can eat Arabic, Indian, Thai, Chinese and Malaysian; it’s been less than a week since my last Korean meal; but woman just needs that mixture of garlic and red pepper!

My right foot is swollen from the coral scratches. I’m going to call it Clubby.




Monday, 4 February 2008

Clubby is still as swollen as last night, if not more. I had a lot of fun putting on my shoes. I thought flip-flops were bad. I just hope it’s not infected or anything; that would be gross.

Last night we did not eat Korean food. After circling around for a bit trying to find the restaurant (it had no sign and was hidden a ways from the main highway), we found it to be a bit dodgy: although the restaurant appeared to be brightly lit, it was in a secluded location, there were not street lights around, and there appeared to be few cars nearby; throw some stray dogs loping around into the mixture, and we were ready to leave. So we decided to head over to Pantai Cenang and enjoyed some Chinese food instead.

I just spent the past 2½ hours dealing with check-out. That was a blast. Hanna and I were under the impression that billing was taken care of, so she left before I, and I proceeded to check out long after she had boarded the ferry for Alor Star.

No, billing was not taken care of. They did not have her credit card number on file as we had assumed. So I met with the resort manager and he kept reiterating how much money the bill was, as I continued to reiterate that I understood perfectly and that I wouldn’t screw him. I emailed Hanna to let her know of the situation, then sat down to wait, praying she’d check her email as soon as she arrived at the office.

The manager, though, suggested that I head over to the airport to see if I could retrieve some cash. I was sure that it wouldn’t work, as I only had my foreign bank card and had left my Visa at home. But I accompanied Murat to the airport to check anyhow. (Note to self: next time carry my Visa.)

It didn’t. So I returned to the resort, praying that we could clear up the matter before my 9:50 flight.

We didn’t. I called Shinhan in Korea to see if they could transfer money to the resort.

They couldn’t. I waited longer. Hanna called the resort and settled the situation quickly, and I left to board the next flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL). I had hoped I could just pay a small fee and book the next flight, which could save me some spending cash for souvenirs and such.

I couldn’t. I bought the return ticket (sorry, people, for the crappy gifts HAHAHA! j/p I would have gotten crappy gifts regardless! snap!). So I’m sitting in the plane, starving, journaling (my pen ran out of ink and I couldn’t remember the last part of the sentence. It’s near midnight now and I just bought a new pen and I’m trying to remember everything I told myself to remember).

OK. After the plane ride I had a helluva time trying to find the shuttle bus ticket booth in LCC, so I could purchase a ride back to CAT (Central Air Terminal). Other booths were open, selling tickets for busses transporting to CAT, but they were 8-9 RM. Normally I’d just hop on, but I knew every ringgit would count and I had 83 RM and some odd change in my pocket.

I finally located the information booth where I was informed that I’m actually to pay at the bus. I almost walked away, but checked myself and asked the woman what colour the bus is. She smiled at the question (there are so many busses at the terminal!) and told me green. I found the right bus and the cashier helped me carry my luggage onto the bus. Yeah, that’s right – there’s no understorage or whatever it’s called. So I balanced my way through the mass of legs and luggage, stepping on a few feet along the way (an early commencement of what became a day-long routine), then settled, luggage in the aisle, near the rear door.

The bus sat for perhaps five minutes, waiting for more passengers, before we took off. The bus is by no means a luxury cruiser: the seats were torn, there was gum stuck on the window beside me, and the ancient fire extinguisher wasn’t quite secure in its dock, adding the clank of metal to the squeaking of chairs as the green behemoth began to rumble down the road.

Suddenly the bus’ operating racket was joined by an abrupt and urgent thumping from the rear right end of the bus. I think a tire blew. The driver quickly pulled off to the shoulder and got out to investigate, followed by two passengers who were probably just as curious to see what happened as they were eager to help. We waited perhaps five more minutes before the driver returned and pulled back onto the road.

I swear, we couldn’t have been going more than 30 km/hr. The squeaking of chairs resumed, but this time the clanking metal was replaced by thumping as the rubber remains of the tire beat the bus’ metal body. Cars honked as they crossed into the opposite lane and passed us.

Honestly, it was funny. It just goes from bad to worse! I suppose the “shit hit the fan” today, totally redefining what in my mind will always be the quintessential “Bad Monday.” Really, can anything else possibly happen? If I had to catch a flight, my situation would have been highly aggravating, but as that wasn’t the case, I couldn’t help snickering to myself as we limped along the road. My coworkers at multiple jobs told me I had a good attitude but I never really realized it about myself until today. I suppose the only thing we can do in situations we can’t change is find something to laugh about. Our only other option is to keep dwelling on all the negativity, making ourselves even more miserable.

The change in pace wasn’t horrible either. I had a chance to enjoy the beautiful flora that lines the road, something I couldn’t have done if we were flying by at 100 km/hr. This caused an interesting chain of thoughts that produced (for me) an epiphany (bananas are full of potassium? Hahaha). I noticed that the leaves were reddening and that dead leaves were lying under the trees (which I had also seen in Langkawi). This made me wonder what season it is in Malaysia. I know, it’s pathetic – my lack of knowledge of SE Asian geography; I don’t know if Malaysia is in the northern or southern hemisphere. Then I thought of whether equatorial nations even acknowledge seasons (other than “rainy” and “hot” as Hanna put it). What if a country crosses into hemispheres? Would it be summer in the northern part and winter in the southern part? Then I began to consider the nature of seasons in relation to the tilt of the earth’s axis, which – wait, no, I’m confusing myself again. Let’s forget the epiphany for now. I’m really tired. (We just went through security to enter the boarding gate and they actually queued us up in Male/Female. Uh-huh…)

When we finally got to CAT I began to look for luggage storage, because I was not about to carry luggage all the way around KL with me. I found a location: 30RM for a large bag, and 40RM for an extra large. I didn’t know which mine was but it didn’t matter; both are too expensive for my 81.50RM budget. So by all appearances I was about to carry my luggage all the way around KL with me.

It took me forever to find the train station. There’s a KLIA Ekspres train which travels non-stop to KL Sentral, where one can catch a transit line to KL Convention Centre (KLCC). Round-trip on KLIA Ekspres costs 70RM (which would leave me 11.50RM) so I sought the commuter train. Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA, airport code KUL) keeps touting the fact that it was voted the World’s Best Airport in its size division, but I think it’d be a whole lot better if half the airport economy wasn’t based on hawkers trying to cheat unsuspecting or desperate tourists. In addition to the multiple people approaching me to ride their overpriced taxis, I had two people tell me that there is no KLIA commuter train (though I pointed it out on the floor map) and then direct me to a certain bus or taxi. After multiple flights up and down the escalators, I found the commuter train.

I was a bit disappointed when I reached it. The KLIA line consists of five stops: KLIA; Salak Tinggi; Putajaya & Cyberjaya; Bandar Tasik Selatan; and KL Sentral. From KLIA to KL Sentral, the round-trip cost is…70RM! No different from KLIA Ekspres! I stood near the ticket counter for a bit trying to decide whether I wanted to go to KL or not, wondering how much farther my remaining ringgits would take me (if the price from KLIA to KL Sentral was 70RM, how much would it cost from KL Sentral to KLCC?). As I looked at the sign, though, I noticed something interesting: a direct trip is 35RM (one way), but if you purchase a ticket for Salak Tinggi or Putajaya, then at either of those stations purchase a ticket for KL Sentral, the price (one way) is 15.70RM. Ah-hah! I figured out a way to circumvent the system! After accounting for transit from KLIA to KL Sentral and back, I would have 50 ringgits to travel to and from KL Sentral and KLCC, and buy food (I hadn’t eaten since last night) and souvenirs.

Turns out I need not have worried about the transit price from KL Sentral to KLCC: the cost is a whoppin’ 1.60RM. Breaking the bank!!

The Petronas Towers greet you the moment you walk up the stairs from the subway station. I walked around for a ½ hour trying to find a good photo spot. Now on the beach, in a swimsuit, I didn’t mind the humidity, but walking in jeans down an uneven sidewalk lugging my bags made me very much aware of the mugginess. My average in Korea is two oil blot sheets; I used three today, but we’ll have to wait until July to get a completely fair & objective comparison (my record in Korea started in September when it’s not so hot and humid). Kudos to Secret Platinum because after all that I still don’t smell.

The concourse of the Towers are full of higher end boutiques. I didn’t go to the top; I was exhausted, hungry (it was nearing 4pm and I still hadn’t eaten) and I didn’t want KL SWAT teams attacking me for attempting to take my bags to the top of the towers (I kept remembering the Asian tourist who was taken down by DC SWAT because he was standing outside the Capitol building with his luggage, which the whole capitol considered a bomb threat).

I wasn’t too keen on doing a whole tour of KL with my luggage, so I headed back into the subway station to check out their shopping and dining. Found an interesting food court with a name that drew me in: Uncle Ho’s. How can one pass that up? Normally I wouldn’t be dining in a food court in a foreign country, but on 50RM a 5RM meal is pretty nice. Besides, who’s to say that food court food isn’t authentic? If the locals eat it, how much more authentic can it be? I took out my notes where CiCi and Bbing had given me a list of dishes to try and scanned the menus for a match. At one restaurant I found Penang Assam Laksa, which I hoped was similar to the “laksa” CiCi had directed me to try. I ordered it and a bottle of water for 6.30RM (a $2 meal!) and sat down to my meal. It was SO good. The broth is a sweet, savoury and spicy thick fish broth and it was packed full of large round noodles, fish and crab, pieces of fruit (I think maybe unripe mango) and topped with mint. Such a mixture of textures and flavours! I was very much impressed. I was so full I didn’t even finish the bowl of soup, which was disappointing; at another restaurant I saw “chendal” for 3RM, a dessert CiCi had suggested I try, but I had no room.

After lunch I headed back to KL Sentral where earlier I had seen kiosks with touristy items. I shopped around for a bit for souvenirs (and strangely found some jewelry with Korean writing on the packaging, implying that not all of the souvenirs were authentic Malay-made). After making some purchases, I headed back to KLIA, repeating my stopover at Salak Tinggi to save myself 19RM (if I visit again I’ll spend the extra 19RM and save myself the 20 minute wait for the next train).

It was 8pm by the time I arrived back at the airport, which would give me at least three hours before check-in, and five hours before departure. I bought some rojak, which Hanna had suggested I try. It’s a mixture of tropical fruits (pineapples, mangoes, papaya and dragon fruit) and cucumbers, topped with a brown sauce that includes oyster sauce, roasted peanuts, powdered pepper, and honey or some other sweetener. Malay people eat it as a dessert, which Hanna couldn’t comprehend; “How can anybody call it dessert when it contains soy sauce?” she had asked. I had agreed; soy sauce doesn’t sound very dessert-y to me either. It reminded me of an Iron Chef competition where somebody had tried to make a dessert out of the secret ingredient: fish. But I tried it just for the sake of trying it.

It was good! Perhaps it’s because I had been warned of the soy sauce-y flavor, so it wasn’t such a surprise to me. It was sweet, sour, salty and spicy all at once.

Still in the mood for sweets, a few hours later I headed over to McDonalds (I know! I’m sorry!) to try a red-bean sundae, which Hanna had also mentioned. In my defense, we don’t have red bean sundaes in either the US or in Korea (I don’t think, but I never really go to McDonalds either, so I wouldn't know). It was good, but I think I’ll stick with chocolate sundaes in the future.

Other than that, my time was spent wandering up and down the escalators, speeding across the travellators (a much more efficient word than “moving sidewalks”) and wandering into various souvenir shops. I searched the CVS for a pen, but they didn’t carry any.

After check-in, I finally went through the first security check and boarded the mini-train that would take me to departures. At a bookstore there I bought my pen and now I’m journaling.




Tuesday, 5 February 2008

I ended up sitting next to an 아저씨 who had been living in Malaysia for three years. He obviously wasn’t used to travelling. When I got on he was sitting in my seat, and I showed the flight attendant my ticket stub. I didn’t want to kick him out – I didn’t mind having the aisle seat – I just wanted to make sure it was okay to sit in the other seat, because I didn’t want somebody else kicking me out. I just assumed he was sitting in the wrong aisle. But before I could tell her, she spoke to him in Korean and he moved. Oh well. As we waited for departure the cabin was full of noise as people located their seats, filled the overhead storage bins, and clicked on their seatbelts. I suppose he was tired and wanted to sleep, but his sighing, 이씨ing, and general mutterings weren’t quieting things down at all. Then he picked up the duty-free catalogue and started 이씨ing again at the prices. I just rolled my eyes and smiled on the inside.

I slept for about an hour on the flight, and I was dead tired when we arrived back in Korea, but SO happy to be back home. When I turned on my phone I had a text message from Anna waiting for me: “welcome back. u were missed n mourned. get some rest 2day. u must be tired.” I was surprised and happy. I didn’t even remember telling her when I would return, but obviously she remembered, and that made me feel special. I called her up and started telling her about my trip. Yesterday I had wondered if the bad could get any worse, and apparently it can: when I told Anna about my foot, I lifted up my jean leg and was shocked to see that my whole leg was swollen. I hadn’t seen it since yesterday morning when I was putting on my shoes, and I was a bit frightened to see how much worse it had gotten. She told me to visit the doctor, which sounded like a very good idea.

I had been planning on buying some duty-free items before I left, but because of my foot I had absolutely no desire to shop much less search for the duty-free section; I just wanted to go home, shower, and see a doctor before it got any worse.

The ride back to 분당 on the airport limo seemed to take forever. The whole time I worried myself sick: I kept on wondering if the infection was so bad that I’d have to get my foot or leg amputated. I wondered how my parents would react if I told them: I went over the phone conversation in my head: “Mom, can I speak to Dad? (It’s safer to tell Dad the bad news, because his reactions are calmer) Dad, please sit down, and make Mom sit down too. Um…I just got my foot chopped off because it was infected. Oh, by the way, can you wire over some money, because I don’t have enough in my account to cover the bills. And perhaps shipping over some chocolate would make me feel better, too.” Then in my perversely Utilitarian mind, I thought about how being one-footed would help me in my law school apps (that’s horrible, I know it! I feel so despicable and I don’t even want to type this, but I have to because it’s kind of funny that I’d even think about this in such a situation!). I also began to wonder exactly how one could attach a prosthetic foot: how do you put it on so gravity doesn’t pull it off? Do you attach it around your knee since there’s a bulge there that would hold it in place? Then my mind wandered into medical science and I considered the idea of screwing a metal skeletal structure in the shape of a foot on to my ankle, then grafting on the necessary skin (can you graft muscle too?) so that I wouldn’t need a prosthetic. I debated between walking into a hospital (how much is emergency room care in Korea?) and scheduling an appointment. I wondered about how much being one-footed would change my life: could I ever run again? Would I be courageous enough to wear skirts or shorts? How would it affect my non-existent love life? Future Halloweens would be so predictable: I'd always have to be a peg-legged pirate! I’ll admit: I even teared up a little at the thought of having one foot, but we'll blame that on the lack of sleep I've experienced over the week.

My mind wandered between these thoughts, interrupted by angry thoughts about how slowly we were moving, and pulling up my jeans to see if the swelling had lessened at all.

Apparently Anna somehow touched on the same idea, because she was kind enough to text me something along the lines of: “hope you don’t get your foot chopped off. i’ll donate some toes if you need them.” Yeah, the offer of toes really touched my heart. Right. But she does know me: what better way to lessen the horror of a situation than by making somebody laugh?

As I walked home I passed by a beggar outside of Samsung Plaza. I had seen him many times before, but this was the first time I noticed that the end of his RIGHT leg consisted of a sock-covered stub, and a prosthetic foot lay beside him. Gawd… as if I needed any reminders...

When I got home I quickly took off my pants to examine the full extent of the damage. Both legs were swollen, but the right was considerably larger. I wondered if they were just swollen because I had been sitting in the plane for so long, and if there was really anything to worry about. I took a shower, then called MyongSoo. I needed some “mom advice” from somebody who knows about the Korean health care system. I told her of the situation, and she not only told me to immediately visit the hospital, but offered to take me there.

Being my mother’s daughter, I started a load of laundry and put on make-up while I waited. As we were driving to the clinic MyongSoo told me about a saying in Korea: cWith the bad comes the good.” She said that maybe something really good would accompany this whole foot fiasco.

She took me to a health care centre close to our school, and within five minutes we were speaking to a doctor (who spoke English!) and he was examining my foot. I couldn’t believe the speed at which we were moving; I had heard stories about waiting in American ER for hours before even being seen by a doctor, and here we were already in the examination room! He asked me about what happened, checked for symptoms, poked my foot a few times, then told me that I had a mild infection and an allergic reaction. He filled out a prescription for some medicines for the infection, and within five minutes I had already had a hydrocortisone shot for the allergies (another shot in the butt! Second butt shot in two weeks!). Talk about efficiency. To top it all off, when we were at the counter to pay I had my credit card ready but MyongSoo pulled out 만원 (about $10) and told me she’d cover it; it ended up costing about 4,000원 ($4)!!! We headed over to a pharmacy and bought some meds (another $4), then she invited me to her house for lunch. I couldn’t believe how fast and cheap it all was. Right now, sitting here with my foot almost back to normal, I know that it’s not only cheap and efficient, but it works!

On the way to her house she took me to the school to pick up a package that had arrived while I was gone. (I opened it up later – it’s cookie dough from mom! W00t!) She also told me that the doctor was pretty good-looking (for once, I had been too focused on something else to notice a cute man) and that I should visit again whether my foot was okay or not. HaHaHa.

I guess the bad is accompanied with the good. I not only received cookie dough (which I have been eating raw unashamedly!) but I was reminded about how good my family and friends are to me.




Wednesday, 6 February 2008

The bad is accompanied by the good indeed. Today was a wonderful day.

Around 10:30 I met 화규삼촌, my mother’s cousin, and he took me to visit his mother for Lunar New Year’s. 이모 할머니 (I just call her 할머니) used to watch me when I was a baby, and I was excited to see this woman who had been such a big part of my early life, but whom I didn’t remember at all.

삼촌 has a very gentle face, and he’s a very kind and gentle person. Before I had moved here, mom had given me a list of names and phone numbers, and she had said that if I needed anything I should go to him, because he was her favourite cousin. I could see why. He also speaks excellent English, which is amazing because when I asked him where he had studied, he told me that it was in middle and high school (and he’s 49 right now!). He has two sons: one is 22 and just joined the Air Force; the other is 20 and will be starting college in a few weeks. Before I had met them Anna and I had debated whether it would be incestual to start a relationship, whether the family tie was too close; we concluded that if they were ugly it would be incestual, but if they were cute it would be okay. Hahahaha! I didn’t meet 송우, the older, but the younger son, 송민 is a handsome guy. Deathly shy; I don’t think he spoke more than 10 words to me, even though I tried to speak to him in Korean.

삼촌’s wife, 숙모, is also very shy and quiet. The whole time we were at 할머니’s house she was in the kitchen preparing food (another stark reminder to NEVER date a Korean guy at the risk of falling in love with him and marrying him – and his family). She tried to kick me out every time I offered to help, but I did manage to make some 만두 (they actually made their own 만두 skins, something I had never witnessed before, as we had always bought ours) and wash the dishes. 할머니 told me that my 만두 was pretty, and I told her in Korean that my mother always said my 만두 was ugly, making her laugh. I made funny in Korean! Go me! Although 숙모 kept trying to kick me out while I was doing the dishes, I’m bigger than she and she couldn’t do it physically. I used my limited Korean to tell her that she should rest, and she finally joined the rest of the family in the living/bedroom.

할머니 only slightly resembles my 할머니. She’s four years younger than my 할머니 but she’s still 79 years old. As she lives in a Korean house, most of the sitting is done on the floor (삼촌 laughed at me because I kept changing sitting positions, as I’m not used to sitting on the floor for so long), and having older bones and joints, once she was on the floor it was difficult to get up. So if she was sitting and had to move somewhere, she would just slide over on the wooden floor. It was kind of amusing to watch, but it totally makes sense to me.

I met all of 할머니’s kids. 화규 is 작은삼촌, or younger uncle; I met 이모 (aunt) and her husband, and 작은삼촌 (younger uncle) and his wife and daughter 출희 (I’ll bet her “English name” is Julie). 이모 didn’t say a single word to me the whole time I was there (I honestly didn’t even know who she was until later but I did play with her purse dog), but 작은삼촌, through 화규삼촌, told me that when I was a baby men would come up to poke me to see if I was a real baby or just a doll.

It was wonderful meeting these beautiful people so far away from my own immediate family. It’s definitely prompted me to try harder on my Korean. I’d love to be able to communicate with them directly and grow closer to them.

Of course I brought gifts; I had bought some 홍삼 and some roots & jujube 차 for 할머니 and I had some 홍삼 for 화규삼촌. The red ginseng is only six years old (my mom always insists that it has to be at least seven years old to get its full benefits) but I figured that it’s close enough. If they drink it slowly enough another year will pass and they’ll have their seven-year old ginseng. I didn’t really expect to receive anything back; I didn’t really want the traditional gift of money. But when I left 할머니 had a bag packed for me and said that it was payment for helping make 만두. When I got home, it was full of 사과, 배, and 재주도귤, as well as a bag of 만두. I felt so thankful and happy, not only for the gifts, but that they had welcomed me into the family even though this was the first time we’ve seen each other in 23 years.




Thursday, 7 February 2008

As I type this I’m preparing to give Clubby a welcomed au revoir. My foot is no longer discoloured, I no longer have cankles, I can curl my toes, and my legs look like those of a woman about 20 lbs lighter than the legs of Monday. I can even start to see some of the bones in my foot again. I’m still a bit curious about the bumps around the scars – I think some sand got trapped in the cut and the skin healed over it – and I don’t know whether those will eventually go away or if I have to shave off the top layer of skin myself and rinse out all the sand pockets. Eeeww… At least if I have to do that I’ll have plenty of alcohol (rubbing and drinking) and Neosporin on hand to counter any risks of infection and dull the pain.

And with that, I believe this little adventure is over. It was a wonderful adventure, full of lasting memories. Some events were good at the time, some events were bad at the time, but they are all good memories because they make my life interesting, they give me a story to tell, and they offer something to chuckle about from time to time when they cross my mind.