After two flights (and a six hour layover in Jeddah), I’m finally home in Liverpool following an amazing time in Malaysia. Representing as creatives, and working with the local Learning Adventure Resource Network, I’ve delivered a week of creative learning workshops to students from a range of schools – and you can read about Days 1 and 2 here, Day 3 here – and Days 4 and 5 here. As for the end of my adventure …
Day 6 and 7: Moths, Mangosteens and Lord Murgan
Given that this is my second trip to Petaling Jaya, I’m beginning to get a bit of a sense as to how things join up. But I’m keen to explore a bit further, so Cordelia has offered to take me on a bit of a drive round on the Saturday. In preparation, I take myself off for a little walk on the Friday evening – and possibly find somewhere to eat. I’ve now worked out how to get from my Outdoor Office to the main road. The route is another reminder of the blend of the ancient and modern that the city offers, with truly old palm trees framing the omnipresent overhead railway link to Kuala Lumpur that’s currently being built (hopefully operational by the time of my next visit). Reaching the main road, I turn right – only to come to a halt after about 400 yards: with all the construction work that’s going on, the pavement simply stops. Malaysian drivers are assertive, to put it politely, so I don’t fancy trying to cross six lanes of fast-moving and heavy traffic; instead, I turn back the way I came. My stroll takes me along a highway lined on one side by semi-detached houses, many accessible only by passing through checkpoints staffed by security guards (much of the professional class here lives in what are effectively gated communities), then past a huge secondary school with immaculately kept grounds. Despite the blistering heat, I keep going until I arrive at a block of shops – and the Al Safa I know enough now to understand that, as a Malay eaterie, the Al Safa is likely to offer a reasonable range of vegetarian food, so pop inside. It’s busy and noisy and friendly – but none of the staff speak English. I, of course, speak no more than a handful of Malay phrases (shame on me), so I decide to pass on this occasion.
My T-shirt is wringing wet by now, so I decide its time to head back to the hotel. Just past a row of fruit stalls, I come across some steep concrete steps and, intrigued, make my way down. What’s at the bottom is a world apart from the gated communities just a hundred yards away. Here the street is narrow and lined by small and ramshackle houses, each seemingly with a partially stripped-down car outside. There are lots of people, many of them children, and more and more join them as I make my way down the pitted tarmac. I’m getting some strange looks, enough to make me feel, not unsafe, but uncomfortable, as if I’ve walked in on a community where I really have no business. Poverty Tourism, if you like. I smile and say good afternoon (“selamat petang”) and the locals smile and offer selamat petang in reply. I’m pretty sure that I could get back to the hotel by following this road for a bit, then heading left – but decide to return the way I arrived.
On the Saturday, Cordelia is aghast to hear of my adventure – she and Cassandra really aren’t too keen on leaving me to my own devices! The area I’d ended up in, apparently, is one of a number of “immigrant villages”, home to families arriving here in search of work – many from Pakistan or Bangladesh. Today, though, we’re going to be in the car. She takes me “behind the scenes” of a couple of gated communities, where a semi-detached house in the more desirable areas can easily set you back two and a half million ringitts. This equates to about half a million pounds. Many of the homebuyers are ethnically Chinese (the other two main ethnic groups here being Malay and Indo-Chinese), so prices can also vary dramatically according to their precise location. A house near the security gates, for example, has very poor chi – and fetches a concomitantly lower rate.
Back in my Outdoor Office, I’m joined by what must surely be the World’s Biggest Moth. It looks a bit like a slate-grey skate – and each wing is easily bigger than my outstretched hand. I’ve seen a lot of wildlife on this trip; iridescent dragonflies with bodies as thick as my finger, tiny birds, swooping across and dipping into the water features, and huge numbers of slender, black squirrels. I’m keen to discover exactly what these are – but whenever and whoever I ask, I’m just told “squirrels” (which I’d kind of worked out for myself). I consult the internet – but find that Malaysia is home to a vast number of different species of squirrel. The specimens I’ve seen match the descriptions of the Giant Black Squirrel in every respect bar one: they’re not exactly giants. It’s still a mystery.
I’ve also seen my first fruit bat, sleeping upside down in the rafters of the porch at the myIGSCE Learning Centre, to where we’d retreated when a fire alarm temporarily suspended our work (during, coincidentally, Wednesday’s exploration of the Great Fire of London). It’s jet black and has the most enormous eyes. I move in for a better look, but the children warn me off; the creature isn’t dangerous – but it will poo on me if it thinks I’m getting too close.
I’ve been slightly nervous about Sunday all week (in fact, I actually wake up feeling a little queasy at what’s to come) – as Sunday has always been earmarked as Durian Day. Malaysia’s favourite fruit, the durian is probably best known in the UK for its perennial role in the TV show “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here” – as contestants are often challenged to eat it. The ones used on the programme, though, I’m told are probably (a) of the stronger varieties and (b) way past their best. I’m a great one for, on the scantest of information, imagining what something (or someone) might look like – then gaining a firm conviction that my image is correct. Normally, of course, I’m proved wrong. And such was the case with the durian. Far from the yellowy-green pear that was in my mind, the durian is actually about the size of a pineapple (if not a little bigger), lime green and with enormous thorns. I was right about one thing, though: it smells far from appetising (and the smell is all-pervasive). Cassandra surveys the ten or so varieties available – then selects one of the sweeter options: raja kunyit. Machete in hand, the stallholder splits it open to reveal the fruits themselves: three giant and custard-yellow slugs. The approved way of taking durian, it appears, is to bite a piece off and suck the flesh from the pit – which is then spat out. Taking a quick swig of coconut water, I place the slug in my mouth – with quite a lot of trepidation. The flesh begins to melt away immediately, transforming itself into a thick sludge, sweet and incredibly rich. And while there’s a slight hint of cheese, it’s more like butterscotch than anything else. The most surprising thing is that I like it. I really like it, in fact. Although the richness means that I can only manage two of the slugs (which is probably a good thing – they are, I’m told, incredibly fattening).
The durian remains with me for the rest of the afternoon – not only does the taste linger (getting stronger, if anything), but it has the habit of coming back at you. My hotel is full of signs forbidding customers from taking durians to their rooms – on account, of course, of the smell. Mangosteens are also verboten – but according to Cassandra this is likely to be down to their tendency to stain. So we go on a mangosteen hunt – and are quickly rewarded with success. They look like huge radishes. Cassandra shows me how to get into them, placing them between the heels of your hand and exerting pressure. Once opened, they’re like little treasure boxes, the pearly white fruit nestling inside red velvet (which is the part that stains). And the taste … An instant explosion of clean and pure strawberry-sweetness, giving way to a lemon sourness. One of my favourites so far.
We round off the day by heading into Kuala Lumpur to visit two very different temples, almost across the street from each other. Sze Ya is a Daoist shrine – and its very busy. Today is Ghost Day, the day when spirits of the dead return to the temporal world to feed, so adherents are leaving nourishment for their ancestors – fruit, incense sticks, chrysanthemums and holy paper. Just yards away, the Sri Mahamariamman is the oldest working Hindu temple in the capital, dedicated to Amman, the Mother Goddess. It’s full of idols depicting her, Lord Muruga (who is very popular in this part of the world) and Ganesh, in different settings. There are icons everywhere – in the shrines, on the walls and on the incredibly detailed and intricate towers at the entrance and in two corners. We’re lucky enough to be there for the first part of evening prayer, the music, rituals and chanting offering a meditative space to reflect on what’s been amazing visit to the other part of the world.
And it really has been an amazing visit. The programme with the young people of Petaling Jaya went really well (they rose to each and every one of the challenges I set them) – and I feel that our relationship with our hosts, the Learning Adventure Resource Network goes from strength to strength. And I’ve been much more confident this time round, with a clearer idea of how teaching and learning works here (and of ways that we at as creatives can best complement what’s already happening) and a much better understanding of how the city itself works. But getting me here has been a real team effort. So this, the final chapter of this year’s blog, wouldn’t be complete without a final “Thank You” …
- To Cordelia and Casandra for inviting as creatives back and for making me feel so welcome …
- To their colleagues at the myIGCSE Learning centre, Julie and Pushpa, for supporting my work throughout the week …
- To two of the senior students, Ling and Zhee Ming, for keeping the wheels oiled and for supporting the younger children …
- To Jo, Jenny and Rowan at as creatives, for their work in preparing all the resources (and checking that I’d booked the correct flights this time!) …
And to my wife Helen. Helen had hoped to join me on this visit but ultimately, and unfortunately, wasn’t able to. Supportive as always, though, she waved me off with a cheery smile – and I looked forward so much to those brief daily telephone conversations with her. I’ve missed her (and Nancy the cat) like mad. It’s been a wonderful experience – but, and as always, it’s great to be back home.