For some inexplicable reason, it took me a little while before I got into the swing of things in George Town. I’d say it took me a solid 48 hours before I was starting to feel the city. I don’t have a good reason for this other than maybe the weather was getting to me; if it wasn’t hot and humid, it was raining. But I’ll give credit where credit is due: in the evenings in between torrential downpours, it’s very pleasant here. If it’s not too muggy.
The art walk is what turned it around for me. In the past few years, the city has commissioned some specific types of urban art: about fifty steel, two-dimensional sculptures that tell the history of George Town, often humorously (like large one-panel comics), and more than a dozen wall murals of people or animals in everyday activities. With the aid of a really helpful map provided by the tourism center, I wandered the city for hours and hours (over the course of two days), sweating in the damp heat, visiting each piece and duly checking it off the list. The part of me that enjoys crossing things off lists (to completion!) was supremely satisfied by this exercise.
A pleasant side-effect of this journey was that I covered more of the city (the heritage zone, specifically) than I would have ever seen in any guided tour. As a result, I discovered several really great restaurants that weren’t mentioned in any guidebook; the importance of these discoveries became magnified as I slowly realized that eating and drinking were going to be my two main activities during my time in Penang, as it was just too damn hot to summon the energy to do anything else. George Town is known as the foodie capital of Malaysia and it certainly lived up to that; some of the dishes I had here rivaled anything I’ve eaten in Asia. Or ever, for that matter. Case in point: one of the vegetarian places close to Little India (adorably and appropriately named The Leaf) had a pasta dish of spaghetti with vegetables in a pumpkin cream sauce. Sure, it’s not a Malaysian dish by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s fucking pumpkin cream sauce. Game over man, game over. Oh yeah, and it cost all of $3. That’s three, as in the number that comes after two.
On Friday night, I was feeling pretty jazzed about life, thanks in part to this Geographer remix that I’ve been playing on loop for days, so I got dressed up (read: jeans, shoes, and a plaid shirt) and went to Macalister Mansion, which is a vehicle for the swankiest cocktail lounge in all of Penang. Several massive menus of wines, whiskeys, and cigars were placed in front of me as I slid up to the bar. I was feeling pretty happy with my plans for the evening as I sipped on Chilean Carménère and Glenmorangie, two of my favorite drinks in the world.
As the evening wore on, I ended up chatting with one of the bartenders and the sommelier, who introduced me to his group of friends that had shown up at the bar at around 1:00. They immediately treated themselves to bottle service, which is apparently the thing to do in Malaysia, as it’s significantly cheaper than buying drinks individually. Whiskey is also big in Malaysia, so when I say “bottle service”, I’m not talking about Grey Goose or Patron or whatever they push in Vegas. I’m talking freaking Laphroaig single malt. It wasn’t long before they had poured a glass of that delicious, peaty nectar and sent it my way.
Close to 2:00, the group (including Fadlin, the sommelier) decided to head out to one of George Town’s clubs and insisted I join. I was happy to oblige. We drove to a club that was admittedly past its prime for the evening, as only two dozen patrons remained inside, but that didn’t stop the DJ from blasting ear-shattering electro house for the next hour, nor did it stop the tattooed, basketball jersey-clad hype man from yelling and cursing into the microphone every few minutes, nor did it stop my new friends from getting more bottle service (Johnnie Walker Black this time).
Maybe five minutes later, an overanxious (and over-intoxicated) kid sitting at the next table over accidentally knocked the bottle of beer out of my hand, which shattered on the floor, sending glass and mediocre Asian lager in all directions. For the next couple of minutes, there ensued the predictable choreography of us picking up the biggest shards with our hands, a barback swooping in with a broom and dustbin, and the aforementioned lush buying me a new beer. After all was forgiven and things returned to normal – meaning we were each yelling over screeching electronica to the person standing next to us – I told Hakim, one of the guys in the group, that I found it funny that everything I had seen or heard that evening was exactly the same as in the States. The conversations, the drunks, the annoying DJ behavior, the music, the couples making out in the parking lot, even the bottle being knocked out of my hand. Everything. I felt like I was out on the town with my friends back home. After I told him this, he turned away thoughtfully for a minute or so, then turned back to me with this typed on his phone:
And as we’re crossing border after border
We realize that difference is none
He told me those were lyrics from a song and some quick Google sleuthing reveals it’s a song by Gogol Bordello (a Gypsy punk band from New York). The sentiment behind those lyrics is actually something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I’d like to defer my thoughts on this until I’m closer to being done with my travels, but for now I’ll just say that I’ve stopped seeing the differences in all the places I’ve been and nowadays I mostly see only the commonalities.
After shutting down the club, the group piled into the cars once more and drove to a random street in who-knows-where (I was many drinks deep by this point), where a lone street vendor had his cart and a few tables set up. Fadlin helped me with my order to make sure my food was vegetarian and a few minutes later I was devouring a pile of delicious, semi-spicy noodles (with a fried egg on top, of course) along with everyone else. A couple other friends of the group showed up and joined in for a while before it was time to head out again, several people on their way to more partying, several on their way home, and me back to my hotel.
The entire evening was random and unplanned and really, really fun. I could tell within a few minutes of meeting Fadlin and his friends that they were solid people. As I got to know them a bit better over the course of the evening, this opinion solidified further. They were incredibly gracious and hospitable and invited me along for all their shenanigans as if I had been part of their clique for years. I really did feel like I was partying with my friends back home, even to the point of noticing that some of these folks reminded me of very specific people I know in San Francisco. To them, it was probably nothing to have me tag along, but for a solo traveler, experiences like this are incredibly meaningful and it’s given me a new perspective on what it means to be hospitable to strangers.
The rest of my time in George Town was mostly uneventful; again, I blame the humidity and daily thunderstorms. Most of my time was spent sleeping, eating, drinking, or pecking away at my laptop in a coffee shop. I did manage to make it out to the only skybar in town for a few drinks and a terrific view from the 360-degree rotating restaurant.
Tomorrow I take an early-morning fast ferry (ominously referred to as the “vomit comet”) to Langkawi for some beach time, jungle trekking, waterfalls, and the like. I’ve read that jellyfish stings are common in the waters there and that you’re supposed to swim fully clothed. I’m not crazy about that requirement, but then again, I haven’t had the best luck with beach-related animal encounters.