Kuala Lumpur is the Urban Outfitters of SE Asia. Cool, eclectic, edgy and fun. I am having a ball. This city is just my style.
I went to the Islamic Art Museum yesterday which was breath-taking. The building's architecture is modern and clever. I was once told that the key to designing a world class museum is to create contant intrigue. What lies beyond that corner?! IAM does just that and houses intricate replicas of mosques from all over the world: India, Iran, North Africa, China. There is an impressive collection of artifacts. From flamboyant jewelry to colorfully scripted Qurans, from tapestries to daggers with jeweled in-lay. I considered punching through the glass to steal a dagger. They were that cool. I walked around thinking that the intricate and patient artistry of Islamic art makes modern painters like Mark Rothko look like children playing with finger paint.
Next, I went to the bird park by a lake, Tasik Perdana. "The World's Largest Birdpark!" the sign exclaims. I took pictures of creatures with crooked beaks and funky hairdos. I am not a paranoid person but I swear a peacock was following me around for a good six minutes.
Outside, I was trying to figure out what to do next and I met an older Indian man who recommended the Batu Caves. He offered to drive me and of course, turned out to be a cab driver. I spoke with him for a while and finally agreed.
The Batu Caves are a limestone wonder accessed by 272 steps. It is said that the god Murugan lives here. My cab driver/tour guide Kris, tells me that he is the god of medicine and that he will guide me through school. I should have come here earlier this summer to visit you, Murugan. Later, I read that Murugan, one of Shiva's sons, is the god of war. Ah well! There is a MASSIVE golden structure of him before the caves. Apparently the Muslim government was opposed to the building of a Hindu god of this size but eventually the Hindus won.
Kris, an older man, was excited that I was asking so many questions and he climbed the 272 stairs with me--something he said he has not done in a long time. There are little temple pit-stops along the way. At one, he instructed me to take off my shoes and we headed over to one of the temples and stood in front of a religous man working there--I don't know what you'd call him. He was burning incense and kept candles going in the wind. This man told me, "Pray!" And so I bowed my head and prayed. He touched white ashes to my forehead and chanted. Perhaps it was placebo, perhaps the cave air, but I felt lighter afterward.
Kris and I wandered into the caves depths. "You will have Murugan's blessing now. He must have been shocked to see a pretty white girl visit him today!" One day each winter, hundreds make the trek up to the caves in a ceremony called Thiapusam. They each bring him a small cup of milk so that they will have his blessing. There is a famous story about an Australian tourist who joined this ceremony one year and prayed to Murugan to cure his mother's cancer. Ten years later she is still in remission and the Australian tourist returns each year to participate in the ceremony and give his thanks.
When I ask the cab drivers how much my fare costs, many have replied, "As much as you like." Do they want to appear humble and protect the image of KL in the eyes of foreigners? Do they know that Americans over-tip and want to see how much I offer? I probably end up giving them too much because I don't want to rip them off and then they come off looking humble. Hmm.
KL is known for its night markets. That night I had a taxi drive me through Kampung Baru, the Malay market, which is too spread out to walk around and enjoy. It's mostly people eating soup and noddles at plastic tables. Then I got dropped off in Chinatown, which is super-bright and circus-like. I felt harrassed and looking at fake designer bags makes me a little sick to my stomach because I think of slave children forced to work in a dark warehouse somewhere. I was told that you can get five watches for 14 ringgets here--about $5 US--but that they will all stop telling time before you get home.
Today, to contrast, I headed into Little India. They sell dates and little goodies tucked into banana leaves. The air smells of spice. Saries and rugs along side the designer handbags and watches. The market winds about little roads and reminds me of the Casbah in Morocco--turn around the wrong corner and you will be lost for a week! At one point, I realized I was the only woman I could see not wearing a headdress. Don't worry, I had my hair covered and tucked into a big chapeau I bought here. This was a more pleasant experience partly because the men harrassed me less here--not at all actually. Or maybe it's just because it's Ramadhan and they are too malnurished to make catcalls.
It's good timing actually because I am here during the final week of Ramadhan and everyone is gearing up for the big celebration afterward. You see women shopping up a storm in the evenings in prepartion. Traffic is also quite bad for this reason. My other experience with Ramadhan was with a Muslim ex-boyfriend. I recall how pouty he was during the day and how I wouldn't call him back until after the sun went down and he'd finally eaten and lightened up.
One man here told me, upon my inquiry, that the police actually fine you if you practice Islam and are seen eating in a restaurant. You can get around this by getting take-away and eating at home but it is absolutely illegal to eat in public. Christians and Hindus are of course exempt.
Okay, I have more to tell but I'm sick of writing. I'm going to go get a drink. Ciao.
I went to the Islamic Art Museum yesterday which was breath-taking. The building's architecture is modern and clever. I was once told that the key to designing a world class museum is to create contant intrigue. What lies beyond that corner?! IAM does just that and houses intricate replicas of mosques from all over the world: India, Iran, North Africa, China. There is an impressive collection of artifacts. From flamboyant jewelry to colorfully scripted Qurans, from tapestries to daggers with jeweled in-lay. I considered punching through the glass to steal a dagger. They were that cool. I walked around thinking that the intricate and patient artistry of Islamic art makes modern painters like Mark Rothko look like children playing with finger paint.
Next, I went to the bird park by a lake, Tasik Perdana. "The World's Largest Birdpark!" the sign exclaims. I took pictures of creatures with crooked beaks and funky hairdos. I am not a paranoid person but I swear a peacock was following me around for a good six minutes.
Outside, I was trying to figure out what to do next and I met an older Indian man who recommended the Batu Caves. He offered to drive me and of course, turned out to be a cab driver. I spoke with him for a while and finally agreed.
The Batu Caves are a limestone wonder accessed by 272 steps. It is said that the god Murugan lives here. My cab driver/tour guide Kris, tells me that he is the god of medicine and that he will guide me through school. I should have come here earlier this summer to visit you, Murugan. Later, I read that Murugan, one of Shiva's sons, is the god of war. Ah well! There is a MASSIVE golden structure of him before the caves. Apparently the Muslim government was opposed to the building of a Hindu god of this size but eventually the Hindus won.
Kris, an older man, was excited that I was asking so many questions and he climbed the 272 stairs with me--something he said he has not done in a long time. There are little temple pit-stops along the way. At one, he instructed me to take off my shoes and we headed over to one of the temples and stood in front of a religous man working there--I don't know what you'd call him. He was burning incense and kept candles going in the wind. This man told me, "Pray!" And so I bowed my head and prayed. He touched white ashes to my forehead and chanted. Perhaps it was placebo, perhaps the cave air, but I felt lighter afterward.
Kris and I wandered into the caves depths. "You will have Murugan's blessing now. He must have been shocked to see a pretty white girl visit him today!" One day each winter, hundreds make the trek up to the caves in a ceremony called Thiapusam. They each bring him a small cup of milk so that they will have his blessing. There is a famous story about an Australian tourist who joined this ceremony one year and prayed to Murugan to cure his mother's cancer. Ten years later she is still in remission and the Australian tourist returns each year to participate in the ceremony and give his thanks.
When I ask the cab drivers how much my fare costs, many have replied, "As much as you like." Do they want to appear humble and protect the image of KL in the eyes of foreigners? Do they know that Americans over-tip and want to see how much I offer? I probably end up giving them too much because I don't want to rip them off and then they come off looking humble. Hmm.
KL is known for its night markets. That night I had a taxi drive me through Kampung Baru, the Malay market, which is too spread out to walk around and enjoy. It's mostly people eating soup and noddles at plastic tables. Then I got dropped off in Chinatown, which is super-bright and circus-like. I felt harrassed and looking at fake designer bags makes me a little sick to my stomach because I think of slave children forced to work in a dark warehouse somewhere. I was told that you can get five watches for 14 ringgets here--about $5 US--but that they will all stop telling time before you get home.
Today, to contrast, I headed into Little India. They sell dates and little goodies tucked into banana leaves. The air smells of spice. Saries and rugs along side the designer handbags and watches. The market winds about little roads and reminds me of the Casbah in Morocco--turn around the wrong corner and you will be lost for a week! At one point, I realized I was the only woman I could see not wearing a headdress. Don't worry, I had my hair covered and tucked into a big chapeau I bought here. This was a more pleasant experience partly because the men harrassed me less here--not at all actually. Or maybe it's just because it's Ramadhan and they are too malnurished to make catcalls.
It's good timing actually because I am here during the final week of Ramadhan and everyone is gearing up for the big celebration afterward. You see women shopping up a storm in the evenings in prepartion. Traffic is also quite bad for this reason. My other experience with Ramadhan was with a Muslim ex-boyfriend. I recall how pouty he was during the day and how I wouldn't call him back until after the sun went down and he'd finally eaten and lightened up.
One man here told me, upon my inquiry, that the police actually fine you if you practice Islam and are seen eating in a restaurant. You can get around this by getting take-away and eating at home but it is absolutely illegal to eat in public. Christians and Hindus are of course exempt.
Okay, I have more to tell but I'm sick of writing. I'm going to go get a drink. Ciao.
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