Post 2: Vibrations of the City through a Bag of Soup

That probably doesn’t make a lot of sense so let me explain. Sunday was going to be a spectacular day! And, more or less, it was! There were some kinks though.

Kristen, my roomie for the duration of orientation, and I decided that we were going to go up to the skybridge on the Petronas Towers. We had to get up early (as if that’s challenging when your jetlag wants you to get up at five in the morning) after an attempt at a late night. We arrived with two other ETAs, Melissa and Adeel, to wait for the 1600 free tickets they distribute every day from the basement of the towers. We arrived and got in line and were lucky enough to make it before the cut off. It’s rather fascinating that they built this black stone line that weaves back and forth on the ground and everyone just stands on it. We stood on it. We followed it back and forth. We watched the video on the building of the Towers over and over and over. Then we got up to the counter and the man behind the counter asked for 50RM apiece (roughly 16 dollars) for our tickets.
Wait…they’re supposed to be free.
They were free.
Until about six months ago.
FAIL!
Curse the guide book published a year ago and similar faulty information from reliable sources!
We decided that it wasn’t worth it to pay and walked away. Our little group promptly split so that some could go eat breakfast and some could go…shopping!

I think everyone knows that I’m not a crazy shopper, but there is a certain allure to bartering and just looking at merchandise. Kristen wanted a knock-off purse, and I wanted these…they aren’t harem pants exactly nor hammer pants and you could definitely see some avid believer in the ways of yoga are. I just call them poofy pants. Basically, they have elastic at the bottom, are lightweight and billowy. I wanted those. Needless to say, definite success. It was hot and sticky and lots of people shouting and refusing to go lower and then hollering to have you come back and just buy whatever it was. Also, Angry Bird merchandise is popular. Very very popular. You can have multiple t-shirts, a polo shirt, a backpack or five, sandals and slippers and crocs, and a long night shirt all with Angry Birds all over them. Sorry, no pants.

So the day seems hunky-dory, right? Did I mention that I’ve continue to be sick? Skip the next part if you don’t want to know my symptoms. Basically, my nose has been blogged – not so much runny – but clogged with a wall of bright green-yellow boogers for the past four days. If that wasn’t enough, it seemed that the excess snot was beginning to ooze up my tear ducts and goober my eyes and crust on my lids when I slept. Lovely, no? I even thought that I had pink eye on Saturday until I got it checked.

My throat was getting sore and downright squeaky from overuse and talking about the noisy crowd as the day continued. But Kristen and I had a good time drinking freshly-made juice, talking to this random guy teaching in Korea, cramming into crowded monorail cars, and then heading back to the hotel to be flabbergasted that it was only 1pm. It had been a long day.

Trying to be relaxed on our one day off from orientation, we went to Starbucks to steal some more internet. I was waiting for a call from my dad’s friend who lives not far from KL and who was coming into town for a meeting. It was great to see someone that I’ve known since childhood even if I don’t know him and his wife terribly well. I’ve been surrounded by people who’ve known me (if at all) for almost a week. At that point, you’re not really feeling very understood and everyone is their version of polite. But back to my dad’s friends, they could tell me a bit more on what to expect as a foreigner living in Malaysia and various things to look forward to or look out for. Plus, having someone in-country who offers to be there if you need anything is just about priceless. I definitely hope to call on them for company (and not wild desperation) in the future.

We’re arriving closer to the significance of soup in a bag.

I was not feeling well. All the talking with friends of all sorts throughout the morning had made my throat really tight. It was difficult and rather painful to swallow, and my other symptoms of a really blocked nose and irritated eyes were persisting. Truly, not the worst of colds, but I wasn’t getting better as they days went by even though I was doing all I could to make myself better. It was time to see a doctor.

I was told that Prince Medical Center was the best I could get for care on a Sunday afternoon that was also in walking distance. I set out. It was supposed to be just round the corner. Technically, it was just round the corner, but the street was a lovely curve for quite a distance before it actually decided to corner. I ended up walking over the length of the entire hospital structure before being able to make it inside because the facility is surrounded by a giant fence that looks like it’s keeping wild animals (perhaps dinosaurs) in and people out. BUT I WANTED TO GET IN! And I did.

Everyone was very nice at the hospital and very helpful. They asked lots of questions and did a thorough exam and after I paid, they gave me my antibiotics in a gift bag. I suppose the gesture is nice and medication is a gift (since, apparently, I can’t get better on my own), but being sick is not a time I associate with receiving presents.

Anyway, by the time I was done seeing the doctor, it was past 6:30pm. I didn’t actually eat lunch because the heat had baked all desire of food right out of me, but it was time to eat. Naturally, I headed to the food street. It’s a bit of a walk from where I was, but I walked with purpose to arrive at a street which, literally, sells nothing but food from various food vendors. There are all sorts of things on sticks and being roasted and boiled and stir-fried. I just wanted something comforting. I found soup. I watched this lady methodically stick a basket of noodles in a boiling pot, gathering other ingredients to compliment it and throw it all together with some stock before calling for pick-up. I stared dumbly for a while trying to figure out how to communicate what I wanted. The server for the stall came up to me.

Me: Uhh…
Him: What you want? (said very nicely in broken English)
Me: This and this (point to two kinds of rice noodles) but not this (pointing to noodles made from wheat) and ayam (which means chicken).
Him: Okay. How you like? (gestures to pictures above stall) Curry…?
(long pause as I stare)
Me: That. (I pointed at noodle soup) For take-away.

I stood rather stupidly in front of the cart watching the woman continue to cook furious with various noodles and other things she pinched from bowls. I waited for her to bring out some sort of Tupperware or something which would indicate my bowl was up. No no. I didn’t get a bowl. No lid. I got soup in a bag. Well, two bags in a bag. They put my noodles and topping in one bag, the broth in another bag, tied those two bags shut together and then put them in a little plastic bag with handles. I took it from the server, paid, and then wondered how I was going to eat soup in a bag.

But first, the walk home! I really strode with purpose now because I wanted to keep my food hot. Granted, though it’s evening now, the temperature was still probably in the high 80s so it helped it keep it warm. As I stood at a particularly busy intersection waiting for a break in cars so I could dash across (crosswalks are obnoxiously red all the time so you just go when you can), I felt it. I felt the vibrations and rhythms of everything happening at that intersection. Little shakes, shudders, tremors, and ripples flowing through my bag of soup up into my hand. It was so strange! But you know that I liked it.

From there, I went to the hotel feeling a little triumphant that I would now be healed by antibiotics and soup…and then remembered I had no means to eat the soup. Thus, in a voice far more crackly and prone to sudden highs and lows than any boy in puberty I’ve ever met, I tried to make myself understood to one of the workers in the dining room that I was hoping she would give me a bowl and a spoon and maybe even a fork. Wonderful dear human being that she was probably read pathetic puppy all over my face, she scurried quickly to the kitchen and retrieved a large bowl, a spoon, a fork, and even napkins. With much thanks, I went to my room and ate some soup while watching a
movie I will not disclose for the sake of Kristen’s reputation. It was cheesy and edited for TV.

That was yesterday. Today was not so exciting. I just had more orientation concerning Malaysia and its educational system, Islam, and the language. Plenty of good information, but that doesn’t mean I paid attention the whole time. One of the antibiotics makes me a little dizzy so sometimes I focused on the fact that I was upright and not spinning around.

Who knows what Tuesday will bring. More speakers, more adventures, more insights, and the unexpected.

Post 1: Selamat Datang ke Malaysia!

My first installment!

Alright, this won’t be terribly long. Actually, it will be dictated by how much batter power I have left (which is currently 22%) and the people I’m sitting at a table with right now – three other Fulbright girls who function as my body guards. We all function as body guards for one another.

I am currently sitting at Starbucks in Kuala Lumpur, the capitol of Malaysia. I have to find Wi-Fi somewhere since our hotel won’t provide it for free.

What a journey it has been so far! I will miss the Tuesday that I barely experienced in California and look forward to finding that day once again in November. But let me break down what has happened so far.

Monday, January 2nd was a tearful and rushed day. I didn’t have enough time for good-byes or to check how much my luggage weighed (for the sixth time) and was whisked away for a final lunch with my parents before making brief phone calls on the way to the airport. But then, at the airport, I had far too much time and ended up playing Gang of Four in this tiny, previously-unnoticed art gallery with my parents.

The coffee shop next door was out of chai.

Then I split from my parents. That was a hard step. Not sure what made it different from so many times of heading off to school before. I think just part of me believes more strongly that I’m never coming back – that pessimistic part of me that likes to think I live in a dramatic old world where contact isn’t possible overseas. Obviously, it is because I’m writing a blog. But yes, “sad hugs” were shared between me, my mum, and my dad and then they waved me all the way through security before I began the journey “alone”.

I got to the gate and called Michael. Phone tag is an annoying game and I think I shall loathe it more now that I am across the ocean and will not want to have to call people repeatedly (in other words, I probably won’t call you though Skype is an option). Talking to Michael was brief and I still had time so I spoke with my mum and dad. More tears. I miss them a lot. Yes, I used the present tense because I still miss them.

So I boarded my first plane of three to head out to LA where I was anticipating a greeting of some of my closest friends out in California. Needless to say after being shuttled from this weird secondary gate to the main terminal, I was not disappointed. I had to shake my head because of their silly demonstrations of fondness: three banners one of which said “Scrooge”. Definitely felt the love and appreciated it. Then, of course, Mexican food helped round off the evening. In a different way from my parents, I am missing the tacos already. Oh yeah, don’t worry, I miss my friends who gave me a fond farewell and kept me from getting sobby and snotty all over again.

Are you ready? LAX security called a code while I was going through security and made me stand stalk still and step away. No, I didn’t have firearms or anything dangerous. Apparently, it was a drill that caused me to panic internally and think I was not going to be leaving the United States that day. The window into my internal dialogue, I imagine, is fairly revealing as to how exciting I sometimes perceive the world.

Then there was the man with the scale. I ran into a group of Fulbrighters at my gate who waved me over and let me sit with them – nice! – but I felt rather bad when I brought up weight requirements for carry-ons which no one seemed to be aware of. I admitted that I had not complied with the weight restrictions myself because I simply had too many material items I could not part with (plus I had added parting gifts from my friends to my packable hoard). Sure enough, a flight attendant from the plane starting moving around our group with a little hand scale and declaring that items had to be checked – for free – and I was not having it. However, I thought my fate was sealed so I didn’t move. All three people around me were told they needed to check their bags and I was…oddly looked over. No good explanation for it, but I am grateful!

Then came the flight. Oddly enough, though I was in a center seat between two men (one of which stank of body odor just a little bit), the flight went smoothly. They had taken note of my gluten-intolerant meal request online and brought me random dishes that were gluten free. I forced myself to stay awake until 4am MST before falling asleep for the majority of the flight. I woke up now and again to adjust positions, but I only had about three hours of the flight left when I allowed myself to really wake up. We were fed breakfast (GF again for me which meant chicken and mushrooms for…breakfast), and before I knew it, we had landed in Hong Kong. That was a little tight.

Like obedient little sheep, we followed the crowds through a security point and out towards our gate at a steady though rather slow pace. It was almost too slow. When we arrived at our gate, they were announcing “final call”, and all the Fulbrighters scurried on a bit more hastily. I sat down promptly in y exit aisle where I couldn’t stow my bags with me and didn’t have a window to look out of, but I dealt fine. I mostly read and journaled a bit. We were also fed again. It was about 9am in Hong Kong, but it seemed to soon to eat…second breakfast? My GF meal was potatoes.

The strangest part about the flight was definitely the quarantine spray. The flight crew sprayed down the entire cabin with some sort of cleaner that can irritate your contacts and you if you’re sensitive. I wasn’t thrilled. There wasn’t an option to not be sprayed with everyone else. The mist just settled on you all.

Everyone made it to KL okay. There were two ETAs who didn’t make it for the first day. One of them was Patricia Weng who is the girl I’m going to be stationed in Maran, Pahang with, but we have plenty of time to bond later. The first day we were simply put into our rooms and wandered around trying not to fall asleep before the sun set. We found Bukit Bintang which is a really ritzy shopping area here. They have the real Gucci and all that jazz. It was pretty neat to see all of the decorations already going up for Chinese New Year’s. This is the first country I’ve been in near the time of Chinese New Year who take the festivities very seriously.

So I’m continuing to write this first blog on my “third” day in KL which, according to Jim Coffman who is one of the head orchestrating people over here, is not actually Malaysia. KL is a land all its own. I would have to agree because speaking only English has not been a problem so far. I anticipate it to be a far greater issue once I get out and about.

Yesterday was the first day for orientation which wasn’t overly exciting but definitely informative. After morning and afternoon sessions, we began day 2 of wandering. I was starting to feel a little off, but sucked it up as we explored other shopping areas and even made it over to the Petronas towers (by the most circuitous route ever because we weren’t using a map). After stopping after some vending stalls for dinner, part of our group heading back for the hotel because we were beat and felt disgusting. Definitely took a shower before going to bed. I was certain that I was sick at this point and went to sleep shortly after taking a shower.

Unfortunately, unlike the first night where I was dead to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was restless. I woke up a whopping hour and a half after falling asleep and woke up two other times as well. I definitely got rest but felt incredibly congested (oh, and my snot was all sorts of pretty colours!).

This morning we’re getting more orienting (two weeks of it actually!). The US Embassy is talking to us about – what! – how to handle the press and the like. We’ll see how it goes. We’re also having our first Malaysian lesson! WOOHOO! More to come when…more happens.

Always know that you can skip or skim my blogs. It’s nothing personal. I know that I just yammer on forever.

Grace and peace.