Yesterday afternoon was spent on a beach across the island (Penang is an island, apparently) at the sister hotel of the E&O. There were lots of para-sailers and jet skis and scantily clad Europeans. I would not regard this as my ideal oceanfront scene, but it was nice to wade in the warm Indian Ocean and drink screwdrivers out the outdoor bar.
Also, there was a big Malaysian wedding going on right along the beach that had the feel of a high class, Asian quinceniera and all the tables were named after WWII planes, including the Enola Gay.
Our dinner was advertised as an "international buffet" with free and flowing wine and beer. The booze was indeed never-ending and the buffet was incredibly odd. Up front was a wonderful woman sizzling up satay and seafood and little pancake things with curry sauce. But further into the buffet we got more "Western." Lots of places advertise Western food, I guess for the weary traveller that can't go one more day without a club sandwich. But this buffet had things like jello molds and the dreaded "Chicken a la King" which looked EXACTLY like congealed chicken pudding with a floater of grease. There was "Buttered Vegetables" which was basically carrots and cauliflower in a watery cream sauce and cole slaw that could kill a small child.
I stuck to the Asian food and did fine, downing it all with a none too shabby Chardonnay. We actually had a great time and left to wander the Night Market, which consisted of hundreds of packed stalls along the highly trafficked road.
Folks, we're talking high-end knock-offs. Again tho, the North Fake may be exclusive to mainland China and Alex and I are pretty bummed not to be bringing loads home. I did however procure a ton of great looking Coach and some Prada, as well as cuff links for the boys and some high-end neckwear for my classier, suited fellas. I'm tempted to go back tonight but I can't imagine the folks would hear of it, as it's a bit of a trek.
There were a couple of items Grey Cloud would either love or hate and in the frenzy of last night, I didn't want to cart back a bunch of shit that would get me an eyeroll and an earful of disdain. On second thought tho, even the snobbiest of label whores would get a kick out of the vast array of both brilliant real-looking and appallingly faux accessories.
The cuff links I got were these really cute Paul Smith ones, which look exactly like his signature pastel links. But right by those, there'd be these ghastly "Armani" and "Gucci" links which basically just had the labels stickered to some metal. Do people actually wear these to work? Some of the Coach was just as bad, the signature "C" made into a "G" for those that wished to combine the classic look of Coach with the prestige of Gucci.
I wondered to myself what kind of woman would be caught dead with this crap as 3 completely covered Muslim women pushed past me, all carrying the shitty Coach patchwork bags.
Perhaps the most excited part of yesterday was our cab right back to the hotel from the Night Market. Wisely, I called shotgun. I mean, I was LADEN with illegal goods and needed the space. Plus, I like to listen to my iPod and stare at the scenery. The folks and Alex squeezed in the back and we were off, down the windy, pitchblack yet packed roads for the half hour ride back to the Colonial part of town.
Immediately, I noticed our driver's inability to sit still. He was scratching his head, playing with the gearshift, slapping his knee, doing something at least once every 15 seconds. A few little yelps and screams were dispersed throughout his movements. I slowly turned to catch the eye of my mother who lacks any ability to contain herself and immediately started laughing. Alex and Dad seemed oblivious, as usual. This continued the entire 30 minute drive to the hotel and I found myself alternately terrified and amused while I politely pretended not to notice. As we finally made it to the E&O and exited the death cab, Dad announced, "Well, that was interesting."
"Yeah. " Alex chimed in. "That guy was coked out of his mind."
Now I say, and the folks agree, he had some form of Tourette's or similar. Although I'm not that familiar with blow, so what the hell do I know. Alex and I crashed and awoke this morning to another breakfast of dim sum and cheese and crackers along the ocean. The folks, God bless them, are at Mass and upon their pious return, we're going to hire a car to take us to some tram up a mountain that is probably not government regulated, followed by a visit to the snake temple, where one can have their photo taken holding a venomous snake for a mere 30 cents.
I'm wearing my WashBaG t-shirt just in case.
Last night our very lovely and attentive waiter insisted upon getting us completely trashed, enough so that we started getting friendly with him and chatting him up. Which is how we got a little global perspective while on the north side of the island of Penang, in the country of Malaysia in the middle of Southeast Asia.
"I go to America 3 years ago." He offered.
Much excitedment from the Spotswoods; Isn't that great! America, you say? Well, lucky you! Where'd you go?
"Oh yes. I study semi-conductors for three week in San Jose..."