The Blue Diamond

Off the plane and straight to the bus station...oh wait...where's the bus station? The LP guide was wrong. My world was turned upside down. Where the bus station should have been, stood only a concrete frame of a building, littered with the remains of a mall centric civilisation and the odd hard hatted Malaysian construction worker wandering around it, like a scene from a post-apocalyptic zombie film.

A travel agent across the road with a lone Malaysian standing at the door smoking - a sign of life that used to be! Maybe he'll know something. He knows exactly where the station is, but in a fit of rudeness chose not to tell me, and instead to ignore me completely. I felt it a good opportunity to release some of the anger I had me carrying around in my emotional backpack. Soon after, another travel agent was far more helpful and set me on my way. Stuck in traffic, it took over an hour and a half to get to the makeshift tent on the outskirts of the city that was the new bus station.

I was soon on the next bus to Georgetown on the island of Penang another 5 hours driving North. Buses aren't usually anything special, but this bus was different. The chairs were almost fully reclining couches with built in pillow and a furry rug like cover with an 80s vibe pattern. Quite tired from an early morning and long day, I slept most of the way ... until suddenly we had arrived.

Where were we? I had no idea.Was this the bus station in Georgetown? Let's wander around. The only thing that suggested any urban activity was a fair that was quickly shutting down. I finally figured out that the bus had brought us to a main bus station on the island just across the bridge to the mainland, but no further into the island. So Georgetown was a little way away yet. I hailed a taxi and was in the city centre with 20-30 minutes.

When I arrived at the The Blue Diamond hotel (the name of a very famous band, but also my dad's band back when he was at university), a dimly lit bar and restaurant were being harassed by a local cover band. Plenty of travelers were enjoying the ok music, but ghastly singing. I wandered through to the reception, but no one was there. Back outside, I looked at the band to see the drummer, an older Han looking Malaysian man, pointing at me with his drumstick. Eventually he gave up trying to tell me something through interpretative percussion, stood up slowly, put his drumsticks down and walked over "Hi, how can I help you?" he asked in perfect English.

He had a young boy show me the dorm. A few stained mattresses thrown into a large room; at best it was grim, and at worst, I could picture three rats wearing visors, smoking discarded cigarettes and drinking while playing a game of poker. No thank you. I took the room with a double bed and a shower, which though a little on the grim side, permitted enough privacy from the griminess to feel comfortable.

I awoke to find the city as dead as the night before. A small Indian restaurant was open for breakfast, so I ventured in, in hope of finding some Poori Bhaji. The waiter came over and I pointed to the closest thing on the menu to Poor Bhaji. He shook his head and pointed to a small section for Parathas (or Pratas as it's spelled here). Ok. I pointed to one under that heading. The waiter shook his head and then pointed to two of the ten items under that list. I gave up. Just bring me whatever.

Georgetown bloomed with life once 10:00 am struck. It has a strong colonial past as a former British port, chosen to rival the Dutch in the Straits of Melacca, a money making shortcut in getting between India and China. The Indians were brought here to work the tea plantations and with them they brought Islam and Hinduism. So there are plenty of mosques and colourful temples to be seen, often with a cross-pollination of influence (e.g. Chinese dragons and upturned roof corners on the biggest Hindu temple in Georgetown, opposite a Chinese temple and just down the road from the city mosque). Malaysia is the pinnacle of multiculturalism (regardless of it being officially a Muslim country) and Georgetown captures the older spirit of that multiculturalism.

In the afternoon, I visited Kek Lok Si temple. A top a hill a large bronze Buddha (currently shaded by a newly constructed Chinese style gazebo) stakes the title of largest Buddha in the world. A line of annoyingly tout like women run shops that line the steep climb up to the temple. Plenty of small rooms are filled with Chinese style Buddhas laced with the Hindu Swastika and a great view of Georgetown and Penang Hill covered in a lush forest.

That evening, I attempted to try some Baya Nonyan food, a local Malay people that have descendants from everywhere I imagine. Already feeling slightly queezy, a meat roll filled with lumps of indigestible fat, bone and gristle, covered in some greasy skin and turmeric flavoured rice, which quickly became very sickly, didn't help (and still makes me feel ill writing about it!). I cut my losses and didn't finish the meal.

The owner of the hotel/drummer of the band had seen my guitar the night I had arrived and suggested I jam with the band the next day. I was happy to oblige. The band were much better this evening however. The previous night they had let anyone come up and join them, so what I had heard that night was an out-of-tune straggler, not the actual band. During the evening, the singer and lead guitarist invited me up and handed me the guitar. Uh oh.

The bassist and drummer were awaiting instruction from me on what to play while the crowd stared on. Err do you guys know Jack Johnson? No...eeep. I did my best to explain the chords to the bassist and hoped he would just pick up on it as the crowd was getting impatient. I performed 'Sitting, waiting, wishing' and though the bassist didn't quite catch, on stunting the chorus, the drummer was quick enough to grab the beat. Luckily, some drunks started dancing, hopefully because they were enjoying it and not out of pity. Nonetheless, the song finished without too many more bumps.

A guy from the crowd jumped up and asked if I needed a hand on the bass. Unfortunately he still didn't know any of the songs I knew. I attempted to perform Obadiah Parker's acoustic version 'Hey Ya' by Outkast, but lacking a capo my hand soon began to cramp and I had to give up. Tail between my legs I handed the guitar back, was given a short parting clap and retreated to the safety of a computer.

The next day I left early for the Cameron Highlands, 5 hours East of Georgetown on the border between the state of Perak and Pahang.