I am learning that any map with the location of popular tourist hot spots blown up on the map or suggested walking tours is a piece of junk. Especially when it is given to you by the front desk as part of your welcome package. Those maps will help you in absolutely no way. Brussels, garbage. Berlin, garbage. Venice, I have never been so lost in my life. Always have a map that you printed off of a Mensa website or from the Army. Don't fool around.
With a name that literally means, "muddy river confluence" - which they are strangely enthusiastic to tell you - Kuala Lumpur is the capital of Malaysia, a country so rife with fusion and multiculturalism, it has made an identity out of it. With posts along the Western side that were used for both Dutch and Portuguese trading, Malaysia was colonized by the British. Leading up to and since Independence, Malaysia fostered heavy immigration from surrounding countries such as India, China, Singapore, and Indonesia. We were told to expect great food but were also frequently told to go everywhere except Kuala Lumpur. Malacca, Penang, George Town, especially the islands, were on every Malaysian's recommendation list. But we were staying in KL -as all of the syllable intolerant Malaysians call Kuala Lumpur- and we were going to enjoy it.
Equal parts geologically intriguing and spiritually significant, the Batu Caves are an impressive complex of caves and cave temples dedicated to the Hindu god Murugan. Though the caves represent millions of years of development, the main draw for many to the Batu Caves is the Hindu temple there. The largest statue of Murugan stands outside the caves. Built from concrete and steel with a healthy lacquer of gold paint, the statues stand at 140ft at the base of the 272-step staircase leading to the caves. After Swoyambhu, which clocked in at 365, we were maybe a little over confident and ended up at the top of the stairs still panting for breath. One thing our travels have certainly NOT been is a fitness regime. Murugan is, from an outsiders perspective, a god of protection and Thaipusam, his festival. Much like the Vegetarian Festival in Phuket, Thaipusam includes 'kavadi', or an act of burden, which can vary from the minor carrying of a pot of milk to the severe with body mortification in the form of piercing the skin, cheeks and/or tongue with skewers. Even the carrying of the milk involves a vessel called 'kavadi' which, when thoroughly decorated, can weigh up to one hundred kilograms. One's kavadi hoisted upon their shoulders or speared through their flesh, the pilgrimage begins from Sri Maha Mariamman temple in Chinatown. This walk takes eight hours and the pilgrimage doesn't finish until each devotee has reached the top of the 272 steps, with their kavadi.
Ask anyone Malaysian, or anyone who's been to Malaysia, what you should do there and invariably they say 'eat'. You take some of the most flavourful and influential cuisines from the region and have them all immigrate to the same place. All of this makes for a culinary landscape of phenomenal fusion. Indian, Cantonese and Indonesia/South Pacific cuisines squish together in neighbouring market stalls and food courts, down neighbourhood streets and in restaurants. Without our knowledge, our guesthouse/hostel was located one street over from the famous Jalan Petaling in Chinatown. This is one Chinatown that changed dynamically throughout the day, with constantly changing food available at all hours. Shops set up early and serve steam buns filled with spicy minced pork and carts serve up steaming bowls of Malaysia's breakfast food laksa, a curry coconut broth filled with sliced pork, river mussels and vermicelli. During the day, hordes wander with condensation-coated cups of boba and wedges of apam balik, a pancake filled with minced peanuts and sugar. As Chinatown does, the lights go down and the streets get sexy. Flashy lights and crowds eating at crowded plastic tables as late as midnight. Our first night, we reaped the benefits of the Portuguese influence in Malaysia, in the form of Clay Pot Chicken, a searing hot ceramic bowl heated atop red coals, full of rich, soy sauce laced rice with fall-apart tender chunks of chicken and slices of disarmingly sweet sausage.
The state religion of Malaysia is Islam. While they enforce and support religious freedom, Islam is by far the majority, with Buddhist the closest second, clocking in a nineteen percent. What results is a sea of brightly covered hijabs, burqas and headscarves. The architecture in Malaysia has a heavy Moorish influence, the mosques and government buildings reminiscent of Middle Eastern architecture styles, rich onion domes, cut out sconces and curved windows. Art installations are rich in KL as well and even a brief walk through Merdeka Square and the Botanical Gardens gives a glimpse as to how much the Malaysians value art. Merdeka Square immortalizes the moment when the union jack of British occupation was lowered and the Malaysian flag hoisted.
What is known as Old KL encompasses Merdeka Square, the KL Art Gallery -which houses a light up miniature of the entire city- and, what used to be the Royal Cricket green, the Selangor Club. The visual landscape of Malaysia was so unlike anywhere we had been before. Space-age buildings, like the twin Petronas Towers or the KL Sentral, sit in surprising comfort next to the traditional and exotic, such as the Kuala Lumpur Train Station and Jamek Mosque. The Putrajaya International Convention Center looks like a prop out of Star Trek and yet it sits in the KL suburbs. The Jamek Mosque had the audacity to be closed for renovations the day I had the dedication to wear full-length pants. While I still would have needed additional covering up (which I had also packed) and we were headed to the National Mosque later, I was briefly ticked off that my knees were unnecessarily sweating.
According to our "map" the National Mosque, Masjid Negara, wasn't too far. We had crossed the river. It should be coming up.We descended into the Botanical Garden, past the amphitheatre and the Nirvana cover band that was warming up, through the banyan forests and hijab fashionistas taking advantage of the cloud cover for a photo op. Bamboo groves and lattice work topiaries lined the lane that coiled around the giant lake. Where were we? The Gardens spit out at the National Museum which was welcoming a field trip of what seemed like hundreds of unsupervised school children. I just wanted to see the mosque and I was museumed-out, not to mention extremely hot. The outside of the museum hosts a gorgeous mosaic depicting the history of Malaysia and there was a temporary exhibit about traditional healers in the auxiliary building. You could cuddle with a pastel yellow constrictor and have your picture taken for fifteen ringgit. Staring at our map, which was, in the heat, proving to be less helpful and decided that the Mosque must be right around the corner. Ascending an overpass of carved white stone, we found ourselves circling the National Planetarium. We were climbing a steep gradient, our patience long dissipated. Another tourist, dressed in dark wash skinny jeans, leather shoes and a collared shirt breezed past us looking like Maybelline commercial. A little down a hill and past the Planetarium's miniature model of Stonehenge, we found ourselves by the Bird Park, the largest free-flight aviary in the world. But it still wasn't the mosque.
There was the police museum and the Tun Abdul Razak Memorial. Tun Abdul Razak was the second prime minister of Malaysia after they gained independence and is known as the "father of development" specifically for his work in social justice. Now we have seen our fair share of temples and churches during our travels. Rome alone was "church, pizza, church, gelato". Kathmandu harbours more significant Hindu temples than most other places in the world. Bangkok was Wat city. Within the same religion, although beautiful, the temples do begin to look the same. Maybe it was this anaesthesia that explains why KL's National Mosque stopped me in my tracks.
For one, I was relieved and impressed that we had finally found it. Situated on 13 acres of gardens, the Mosque has a capacity of 15, 000 people. The main features of the Mosque is a turquoise sixteen-point umbrella-like roof with a minaret rising seventy-three meters behind it. Wandering through the mosque is like any exotic Arabian dream you could have imagined. A perimeter of blue-tiled pools and fountains border the main building, shaded corridors beneath the cantilever filled with cues of robed tourists. Though I had a large scarf and a jacket in my bag, I opted for the brilliant purple robe provided by the mosque. Men and women, depending on their level of modesty, garb up before ascending the stairs to the main area of the mosque. Gleaming white tile stretches out in long, open air foyers. Strategically placed skylights pour shards of the light of the heat of the day into a courtyard of pillars outside the main prayer auditorium. In my purple robe, I felt like a handmaid. We narrowly missed a wedding. The bride, wrapped head to toe in gorgeous white lace, was being fed a celebratory meal, surrounded by friends and family all tutting and buzzing with excitement. I could easily say that Masjid Negara has been my favourite temple.
What better thing to follow a beautiful mosque with than fantastic Indian food? Brickfields, also known as the 'new' Little India, sits just on the other side of the KL Sentral Stesen, though again our map proved to be completely useless. KL has good timing though because just as we were ready to flip out as a result of hunger-related low blood sugar and our brains overheating, we strolled down a car ramp and instantly we were there. Banners proclaiming 'Happy Diwali' compete with the requisite flower garlands, Indian sweets and a radio host talking at unnecessary decibel levels. We grabbed a table at a hustling Indian restaurant called Chat Masala. When in a foreign country, if you find yourself in a restaurant where you are having to jockey for position in a restaurant surrounded by young people and preferably tradesman and workers, you are about to have a great meal. That demographic is as far as you have to look for palate refinement. Tastes good + cheap = working man's food, which also happens to be traveller food. Chat Masala had phenomenal fusion. The Szechwan paneer was phenomenal and our potato curry had a discernible kaffir lime peel taste. Mash that up with some bombay roti and you are SET.
We were in KL during the five day lead up to Diwali, the festival of lights. As one guy, who was our go-to food guide and insta-friend, said, 'You have Christmas, we have Diwali. You celebrate the birth of Jesus. We celebrate the triumph of good over evil." They sing and dance, light oil lamps and trade sweets to celebrate. To which I wanted to ask where to get the sweets.
Our breakfasts had become an acidic travesty of instant coffee followed by chewy, cooling boba at Cool Blog and a crispy samosa (or four) from a husband and wife team a few stalls down, all for the rampant price of 21 Ringgit (about $7). Breaky in hand, our last day was spent in KLCC, the illustrious City Center which is home to the Petronas Towers, KL Tower, historic Jalan Ampang with its eighty year old banyan trees, and, of course, many many shopping malls. Having given our map one last chance to redeem itself, we still took a horrifically circuitous route in order to end up at Jalan Alor, the food mecca of KL. Thai, Cantonese, Indian, Malay, Indonesia, American-fusion (mostly the creative use of burgers) all coexist happily on a brief block in the shopping district of Bukit Bintang. A spicy and delicious bowl of Cantonese won ton soup we wandered through the darkening city (and the sleeting rain) to have one more crack at the Petaling Street Market. Contented with my wedge of apam balik and Moozh with his Mee Gooreng, and realizing we had eaten five full size meals that day, we gave each other high five and went home to pack.
Next stop: Indonesia.
Things I learned in Malaysia:
I wish I could pull off a headscarf.
Fusion can be a cultural identity. It always makes for good food.
We saw more rain in 3 days in KL than we did in a month in Thailand.
Chinatown never fails you. (You seein' a theme yet?)
Quote for KL: Me: I feel like I'm in Aladdin.
Bohemian Recommends:
KL Chinatown and Petaling Street - Killer street food.
Bintang and Jalan Alor - Excellent Cantonese night market.
Laksa - Traditonal, yummy breakfast. This will ruin you for bacon and eggs.
Batu Caves (and the Dark cave Tour) - Beautiful and important Hindu shrines.
Raizzy's Guest House - Excellent location, great staff, cheap, but cold showers (but in this heat, it is welcomed).
With a name that literally means, "muddy river confluence" - which they are strangely enthusiastic to tell you - Kuala Lumpur is the capital of Malaysia, a country so rife with fusion and multiculturalism, it has made an identity out of it. With posts along the Western side that were used for both Dutch and Portuguese trading, Malaysia was colonized by the British. Leading up to and since Independence, Malaysia fostered heavy immigration from surrounding countries such as India, China, Singapore, and Indonesia. We were told to expect great food but were also frequently told to go everywhere except Kuala Lumpur. Malacca, Penang, George Town, especially the islands, were on every Malaysian's recommendation list. But we were staying in KL -as all of the syllable intolerant Malaysians call Kuala Lumpur- and we were going to enjoy it.
Equal parts geologically intriguing and spiritually significant, the Batu Caves are an impressive complex of caves and cave temples dedicated to the Hindu god Murugan. Though the caves represent millions of years of development, the main draw for many to the Batu Caves is the Hindu temple there. The largest statue of Murugan stands outside the caves. Built from concrete and steel with a healthy lacquer of gold paint, the statues stand at 140ft at the base of the 272-step staircase leading to the caves. After Swoyambhu, which clocked in at 365, we were maybe a little over confident and ended up at the top of the stairs still panting for breath. One thing our travels have certainly NOT been is a fitness regime. Murugan is, from an outsiders perspective, a god of protection and Thaipusam, his festival. Much like the Vegetarian Festival in Phuket, Thaipusam includes 'kavadi', or an act of burden, which can vary from the minor carrying of a pot of milk to the severe with body mortification in the form of piercing the skin, cheeks and/or tongue with skewers. Even the carrying of the milk involves a vessel called 'kavadi' which, when thoroughly decorated, can weigh up to one hundred kilograms. One's kavadi hoisted upon their shoulders or speared through their flesh, the pilgrimage begins from Sri Maha Mariamman temple in Chinatown. This walk takes eight hours and the pilgrimage doesn't finish until each devotee has reached the top of the 272 steps, with their kavadi.
Ask anyone Malaysian, or anyone who's been to Malaysia, what you should do there and invariably they say 'eat'. You take some of the most flavourful and influential cuisines from the region and have them all immigrate to the same place. All of this makes for a culinary landscape of phenomenal fusion. Indian, Cantonese and Indonesia/South Pacific cuisines squish together in neighbouring market stalls and food courts, down neighbourhood streets and in restaurants. Without our knowledge, our guesthouse/hostel was located one street over from the famous Jalan Petaling in Chinatown. This is one Chinatown that changed dynamically throughout the day, with constantly changing food available at all hours. Shops set up early and serve steam buns filled with spicy minced pork and carts serve up steaming bowls of Malaysia's breakfast food laksa, a curry coconut broth filled with sliced pork, river mussels and vermicelli. During the day, hordes wander with condensation-coated cups of boba and wedges of apam balik, a pancake filled with minced peanuts and sugar. As Chinatown does, the lights go down and the streets get sexy. Flashy lights and crowds eating at crowded plastic tables as late as midnight. Our first night, we reaped the benefits of the Portuguese influence in Malaysia, in the form of Clay Pot Chicken, a searing hot ceramic bowl heated atop red coals, full of rich, soy sauce laced rice with fall-apart tender chunks of chicken and slices of disarmingly sweet sausage.
The state religion of Malaysia is Islam. While they enforce and support religious freedom, Islam is by far the majority, with Buddhist the closest second, clocking in a nineteen percent. What results is a sea of brightly covered hijabs, burqas and headscarves. The architecture in Malaysia has a heavy Moorish influence, the mosques and government buildings reminiscent of Middle Eastern architecture styles, rich onion domes, cut out sconces and curved windows. Art installations are rich in KL as well and even a brief walk through Merdeka Square and the Botanical Gardens gives a glimpse as to how much the Malaysians value art. Merdeka Square immortalizes the moment when the union jack of British occupation was lowered and the Malaysian flag hoisted.
What is known as Old KL encompasses Merdeka Square, the KL Art Gallery -which houses a light up miniature of the entire city- and, what used to be the Royal Cricket green, the Selangor Club. The visual landscape of Malaysia was so unlike anywhere we had been before. Space-age buildings, like the twin Petronas Towers or the KL Sentral, sit in surprising comfort next to the traditional and exotic, such as the Kuala Lumpur Train Station and Jamek Mosque. The Putrajaya International Convention Center looks like a prop out of Star Trek and yet it sits in the KL suburbs. The Jamek Mosque had the audacity to be closed for renovations the day I had the dedication to wear full-length pants. While I still would have needed additional covering up (which I had also packed) and we were headed to the National Mosque later, I was briefly ticked off that my knees were unnecessarily sweating.
According to our "map" the National Mosque, Masjid Negara, wasn't too far. We had crossed the river. It should be coming up.We descended into the Botanical Garden, past the amphitheatre and the Nirvana cover band that was warming up, through the banyan forests and hijab fashionistas taking advantage of the cloud cover for a photo op. Bamboo groves and lattice work topiaries lined the lane that coiled around the giant lake. Where were we? The Gardens spit out at the National Museum which was welcoming a field trip of what seemed like hundreds of unsupervised school children. I just wanted to see the mosque and I was museumed-out, not to mention extremely hot. The outside of the museum hosts a gorgeous mosaic depicting the history of Malaysia and there was a temporary exhibit about traditional healers in the auxiliary building. You could cuddle with a pastel yellow constrictor and have your picture taken for fifteen ringgit. Staring at our map, which was, in the heat, proving to be less helpful and decided that the Mosque must be right around the corner. Ascending an overpass of carved white stone, we found ourselves circling the National Planetarium. We were climbing a steep gradient, our patience long dissipated. Another tourist, dressed in dark wash skinny jeans, leather shoes and a collared shirt breezed past us looking like Maybelline commercial. A little down a hill and past the Planetarium's miniature model of Stonehenge, we found ourselves by the Bird Park, the largest free-flight aviary in the world. But it still wasn't the mosque.
There was the police museum and the Tun Abdul Razak Memorial. Tun Abdul Razak was the second prime minister of Malaysia after they gained independence and is known as the "father of development" specifically for his work in social justice. Now we have seen our fair share of temples and churches during our travels. Rome alone was "church, pizza, church, gelato". Kathmandu harbours more significant Hindu temples than most other places in the world. Bangkok was Wat city. Within the same religion, although beautiful, the temples do begin to look the same. Maybe it was this anaesthesia that explains why KL's National Mosque stopped me in my tracks.
For one, I was relieved and impressed that we had finally found it. Situated on 13 acres of gardens, the Mosque has a capacity of 15, 000 people. The main features of the Mosque is a turquoise sixteen-point umbrella-like roof with a minaret rising seventy-three meters behind it. Wandering through the mosque is like any exotic Arabian dream you could have imagined. A perimeter of blue-tiled pools and fountains border the main building, shaded corridors beneath the cantilever filled with cues of robed tourists. Though I had a large scarf and a jacket in my bag, I opted for the brilliant purple robe provided by the mosque. Men and women, depending on their level of modesty, garb up before ascending the stairs to the main area of the mosque. Gleaming white tile stretches out in long, open air foyers. Strategically placed skylights pour shards of the light of the heat of the day into a courtyard of pillars outside the main prayer auditorium. In my purple robe, I felt like a handmaid. We narrowly missed a wedding. The bride, wrapped head to toe in gorgeous white lace, was being fed a celebratory meal, surrounded by friends and family all tutting and buzzing with excitement. I could easily say that Masjid Negara has been my favourite temple.
What better thing to follow a beautiful mosque with than fantastic Indian food? Brickfields, also known as the 'new' Little India, sits just on the other side of the KL Sentral Stesen, though again our map proved to be completely useless. KL has good timing though because just as we were ready to flip out as a result of hunger-related low blood sugar and our brains overheating, we strolled down a car ramp and instantly we were there. Banners proclaiming 'Happy Diwali' compete with the requisite flower garlands, Indian sweets and a radio host talking at unnecessary decibel levels. We grabbed a table at a hustling Indian restaurant called Chat Masala. When in a foreign country, if you find yourself in a restaurant where you are having to jockey for position in a restaurant surrounded by young people and preferably tradesman and workers, you are about to have a great meal. That demographic is as far as you have to look for palate refinement. Tastes good + cheap = working man's food, which also happens to be traveller food. Chat Masala had phenomenal fusion. The Szechwan paneer was phenomenal and our potato curry had a discernible kaffir lime peel taste. Mash that up with some bombay roti and you are SET.
We were in KL during the five day lead up to Diwali, the festival of lights. As one guy, who was our go-to food guide and insta-friend, said, 'You have Christmas, we have Diwali. You celebrate the birth of Jesus. We celebrate the triumph of good over evil." They sing and dance, light oil lamps and trade sweets to celebrate. To which I wanted to ask where to get the sweets.
Our breakfasts had become an acidic travesty of instant coffee followed by chewy, cooling boba at Cool Blog and a crispy samosa (or four) from a husband and wife team a few stalls down, all for the rampant price of 21 Ringgit (about $7). Breaky in hand, our last day was spent in KLCC, the illustrious City Center which is home to the Petronas Towers, KL Tower, historic Jalan Ampang with its eighty year old banyan trees, and, of course, many many shopping malls. Having given our map one last chance to redeem itself, we still took a horrifically circuitous route in order to end up at Jalan Alor, the food mecca of KL. Thai, Cantonese, Indian, Malay, Indonesia, American-fusion (mostly the creative use of burgers) all coexist happily on a brief block in the shopping district of Bukit Bintang. A spicy and delicious bowl of Cantonese won ton soup we wandered through the darkening city (and the sleeting rain) to have one more crack at the Petaling Street Market. Contented with my wedge of apam balik and Moozh with his Mee Gooreng, and realizing we had eaten five full size meals that day, we gave each other high five and went home to pack.
Next stop: Indonesia.
Things I learned in Malaysia:
I wish I could pull off a headscarf.
Fusion can be a cultural identity. It always makes for good food.
We saw more rain in 3 days in KL than we did in a month in Thailand.
Chinatown never fails you. (You seein' a theme yet?)
Quote for KL: Me: I feel like I'm in Aladdin.
Bohemian Recommends:
KL Chinatown and Petaling Street - Killer street food.
Bintang and Jalan Alor - Excellent Cantonese night market.
Laksa - Traditonal, yummy breakfast. This will ruin you for bacon and eggs.
Batu Caves (and the Dark cave Tour) - Beautiful and important Hindu shrines.
Raizzy's Guest House - Excellent location, great staff, cheap, but cold showers (but in this heat, it is welcomed).