Penang
I barely had time to breathe the sweet-scented airs of home (!) when I was unjustly whisked away back to The Airport the next day, flying off to a destination that is unravaged by the destructive touches of time. It was perhaps a trip to the past, for that is what Penang is: Singapore in the 60s. My father had once sat me down sometime ago, as I was perusing my acceptance letter to med school, and explained to me that due to the gloomy financial outlook, holidays from now on would only be in locations ‘a stone’s throw away’ which somehow always meant ‘Malaysia’. It hardly bothered me - I have always admired our less pedantic neighbour - but it was not a massive ripple cast because Dad has always loved Malaysia; we had always gone there for holidays anyway.
And it seemed just worthy that we returned to the very same state that had played a significant role in my parents’ life, and to some extent mine, for it was their chosen destination for The Honeymoon; to be blissfully reminded of it countless times when approached by unsuspecting sales staff, informing them that I was indeed unconceived the last time they were here.
skyline and street scenes
Penang would be more of a food haven for the non-Muslim, seeing that it is after all, a massive Chinatown. We were surrounded by Nasi Kandar shops, tucked in every nook and cranny, bursting at the seams of every foodcourt imaginable, and were thus inexcusably chosen as our bread-and-butter for the week. It was quite a surprise that Malay food was lacking in presence, but my deprived tastebuds were keen to just eat anything remotely Asian; the Kandar Cuisine was no monotony.
nuts for Kandar
We did the prerequisite cheesy touristy things, including the tram ride up Penang Hill (in which the above image of the famous Penang Bridge was taken from) and visiting the Penang Museum, but I won’t bore you with the fine details of our excursions. It was wonderful, not only because it was a different environment than Adelaide and to some extent Singapore, but I spent a great week with Mom and Dad in a place that they somehow regard unabashedly as The City of Love…
…which brings me to the picture above. A witty local book ‘No Money, No Honey’ claims that sex houses (or Houses of Pleasure for you euphemists) are indiscreetly labelled with red numbers plastered against a white background. I remembered those times when I showed off my newfound knowledge to high school friends, brazenly pointing at said homes and peering from the corners to see eager-faced apeks queuing for their Afternoon Delight. Chicks and furniture would perhaps stretch the deal, sweetening the dessert a little with promises of ‘a fiery girl with red hair, sitting astride that smashing wicker chair’..all at a special price of course.
Now get out of here before you get your drams stuck (see above). Have a great weekend. 
hey grt pics! and hahahahaha! i feel like having drams stuck now…omg im so lame. the effect of exams. ive just survived one 3 hr paper and i have another 5 to go. see u next saturday!
Comment by Shaz — November 27, 2007 @ 8:30 pm