That morning we dragged ourselves up early to go to the beach. Going to the beach is always a good idea, by the way. No matter how dubious you are when you set out, you realize this by the time you catch your first glimpse of that blue-gray line and smell the first whiff of salt air.
It was beautifully quiet for a beach that is entirely lined with different hotels. As we kicked off slippers and plunged happy bare toes into the sand there were only several picturesque fishing boats, a few laid-back men who left us alone once we convinced them we weren't interested in parasailing or taking speed boat rides, and plenty of tracks in the sand. Dog prints there were a plenty, and I could see the spirits of happy dogs in them, frolicking at the beach. What really interested me was the crow prints that were all over the beach. The crows in Penang were huge, Odin-worthy creatures which you would keep a respectful distance from. It was the first time I had seen birds big and heavy enough to leave such obvious tracks, neat little scars marching across the sand, weaving in and out of the dog prints, one especially big puddle of them at one spot where there had obviously been some food.
It felt good to start the day kicking sea foam and spotting hermit crabs. We tried to see who could find the most beautiful shells (without bringing any back, of course, like responsible adults.) To our delight we found one long dark one and another little white one. After admiring them and giving them a photoshoot we left them together near the tideline, safely hidden from careless feet with a little bank of stones, hoping they would be friends.
I think one of the funnest things to do while travelling is to go shopping at the ordinary supermarket so you can have your own quiet and economical (if still exotic) breakfast in your own place! That breakfast on the balcony was one of my favourite meals of the whole trip. With a peaceful beach view on one hand and the privilege of being able to put your feet up and drink your tea like a chillin' villin, with all the comfort in the world.
Having said that about meals, however, there certainly was a great deal of good food in Penang. In fact, it was the backbone of our itinerary schedule. Instead of tourist sites we went by famous food stalls. I'm not much of a food connoisseur--my opinion goes roughly from "not nice" to "nice" and "nicer," so I won't bother trying my hand at any food commentary. Here are some quick highlights for those of you who have never been to Penang; for those of you who have, don't laugh at my descriptions.
First of all, one of the most iconic dishes: assam laksa. And I finally understand why every Malaysian I know is outraged when they come to Singapore and try our version of laksa, which they insist ought to be more accurately named "curry noodles." This was one of the dishes that really tasted like a whole new world. Lemongrass, fresh vegetables, sardines, chilli, and so many other flavours blended in one exotic explosion. I couldn't bear to leave any soup behind, there was so much natural goodness in it.
The hawker uncle at this stall expertly poured and drained the boiling hot soup through each bowl of noodles and ingredients repeatedly till it was cooked for just the right amount of time. Which explains why the veg still had such a fresh, piquant taste.
But I jump ahead of myself. This was at the foot of Penang Hill, which is famous for its view. One of the things I was warned about was the heat in Penang; however, it wasn't quite as big a discomfort as I've experienced it in, say, Malacca (where the heat was basically the number one thing on your mind.) I attribute this to the trees. In Penang, one of my favourite takeaways was learning to truly appreciate tropical greenery as I never have before. That is, trees have always been good friends and pleasant background, even inspirations for (aspiring to be) poetical thoughts; but you wouldn't catch me spending time just actually stand gazing at trees.
This was the first time I found myself constantly pointing out beautiful trees, or admiring the vibrant greens, or large glossy leaves I saw--by the roadside, from the car window, and most strikingly of all, from the surreal, mist-shrouded 833m high view of Penang Hill. Taking the monorail up--the first time I've ridden on a vehicle that's so slanted it's almost vertical, to accommodate the steep incline of the hill--I felt not only the pressure in my ears but also a deep sense of peacefulness and contentment surrounded by so much lush tropical greenery. Not that I had never experienced this before. Think multiple mountain climbing in the tropics--that wasn't exactly restful and peaceful, however. Perhaps it was just the temperature that made the difference?
At any rate, I developed a deep appreciation for every bush, vine, creeper, and tree along the way up; by the time I was actually standing on the platform at the summit, looking down at that view, with mist rolling in EXACTLY LIKE IN THE BOOKS I FINALLY UNDERSTAND WHY THEY USED THE WORD ROLLING--I felt so contented, simply looking down at all the treetops.
But I'll spare you any more rhapsodizing on trees and greenery lest I sound like a misplaced Romantic. I promise I won't try to write any poems on my feelings either.
Here is a photo of an adorable pig family at a biscuit shop along the way, to make good my word. I grew up eating these biscuit piglets every Lantern Festival/Mid-Autumn; all kids got them; they came in little colorful plastic baskets with black beans for eyes, too, and were nice as long as you ate them fresh; but they weren't half as cute as these ones!
For my non-Chinese readers--Mid-Autumn Festival is an annual event where we eat (and give to each other) mooncakes, peel pomelos, and drink tea while admiring the full moon (well, traditionally; it's rather hard to do that nowadays from inside your apartment window. You just get a crick in the neck.) There are tons of stories and legends that have to do with this festival; I've heard that the mooncakes are meant to commemorate a historical event where the Chinese freed themselves from being slaves, secretly communicating with notes baked inside the mooncakes. Or something like that. I think the internet might be more reliable. There are also dozens of pretty legends about the moon; the fairy in the moon (Chang Er) with her white rabbit, for example, who supposedly floated up there after self-sacrificially (or selfishly, depending on which version your grandpa told you) swallowing her tyrant-husband-king's elixir of immortality. But there, I'm probably murdering the story by trying to condense it in a few sentences.
At the base of Penang Hill there was also a famous ham chim beng stall; it was fun watching the neat little pats of dough, dusted with sesame seeds, puff up as they were deep fried and turned skillfully with chopsticks in the boiling oil. I've never been a fan of sesame seeds, I think more because of the sight of them than the actual taste (I was a weird kid) but these tasted so good fresh.
I forgot to chronicle the adventures of Shrimpy. Here you can see Shrimpy exploring the various floral backgrounds of Penang Hill.
There were many contrived photoshoot spots, such as a replica of the Ponts des Arch in Paris, full of plastic heart-shaped locks with fading names scribbled in marker, all different shades of pink and red, so that when I added Shrimpy to them the whole photo became one violent symphony of pinks and reds like a discount Valentine's card. I'll spare you the sight.
What a lovely view, to be sure! A time and place to feel small, to feel happy and contented being small and surrounded by such beauty and greatness...