Malaysian Steak

Kat and I decided to get Chinese massages yesterday at a place recommended by the owner of our hostel. Kat had already been there before (the day I was stuck in the bathroom) and was impressed with how hard the massage was. We Lewis girls are somewhat violent when it comes to massages. When I get a massage, I want someone to seek out and destroy those darned knots that I always have in my shoulders and upper back. I want the masseuse to show no fear--to get in there and work those little buggers out! The massages we've had in Bangladesh have been weak imitations of the pleasure and pain Zouk Spa delivered yesterday.

I opted for the 2 hour body massage for 80 ringit (~$30 USD). The massage began with the woman kneeling on my back, digging her knees into my body, and then pounding my butt. That brought me to attention and quelled any fears that this might be a wimpy massage.

My massage therapist was a tiny lady, probably in her thirty's. But she had a lot of power in her fingers, and also employed her arms, palms, and elbows in trying to work out my knots. I don't speak Malay, but I suspect she told the masseuse next to her that she'd never worked with such tough shoulders. Or maybe she was just commenting on how big my butt was. Who knows.

After two hours of being marinated in oil, pummeled, rubbed, and tenderized, I emerged feeling like a big steak. I felt worse than when I came in--but I knew it was all for the best.

Trust me, I feel better today, but I am really sore. My shoulders and upper back hurt and I think all the toxins released during the massage have lodged themselves in my throat. I believe it's clear I need to stay in KL for a few more massage sessions.

G.I. Woes

Today was beautiful. Kat and I have been alternating between the white sand beach and our air conditioned cabin room. Reading books and drinking beer in ice cold mugs. Loving Pulao Pangkor, a small island on the west coast of Malaysia, and preparing to return to KL tomorrow. Perhaps this scene seems all the more idyllic considering two days ago all I wanted to do was lie in bed and go unconscious.

Sunday was a day that will live in Malaysia vacation infamy: Summer's gastro-intestinal revolt. I ate something bad Saturday night. I think it was the carrot, tomato, and cucumber vegetable shake. (Please don't remind me of my sordid history with raw carrots in Southeast Asia. I know I should have learned by now. I'm a carrot lover, drawn to the beta-carotene and orange goodness. I just forget that my stomach requires careful preparation of raw carrots. And without that proper attention, this otherwise healthy veggie turns my stomach upside down).

The attack began as Kat and I scurried to join the line to the KL Petronas Tower Skybridge. We left our hostel at 7:30 am--an ungodly hour in the morning for any vacationer. I felt my stomach churn, and I thought, "That's weird. Must be because I haven't had any coffee or breakfast." Oh, silly me. If only it had been that simple.

Two days before, I had almost fainted while viewing a reconstructed Malaysian house. And I hadn't been feeling like myself since arriving in KL--meaning, I had no appetite. At first I worried about this, then I just figured it best not to ask too many questions and see this as a way to save money and shed a few pounds. I think these odd spells for me had more to do with heat and humidity than my stomach itself.

But standing in line at 7:50 in the morning with 200 other strangers on Sunday, waiting for a ticket to see the city from the highest twin tower in the world, I realized that my stomach was the one to blame. I passed my bag to Kat and ran for the bathroom (which took 10 minutes to find). I quickly learned that I had some major gastro-intestinal issues.

Returning to Kat, I wondered why on earth the Petronas Towers had to subject normal people to such silly schemes. If they just sold the tickets, we would gladly pay. Anything to avoid having to stand in an s-shaped line, guarding your spot, sneering at would-be line-cutters--all while grimacing like someone was punching you. Wait--that was just me when the stomach cramps started. And they didn't stop. Even after Kat finally got the tickets (with me sitting on the crowded steps near the ticket office, praying that I didn't pass out or make a mess).

We had enough time to visit the bathroom before heading up to the Skybridge. Riding a high-speed elevator 41 stories in 41 seconds definitely required a lot of concentration on my part. Once we finally made it to the Skybridge, I was too busy hugging my stomach and softly groaning to say "This is it?" I'm sure it was beautiful, this view of KL from up high. But I was more concerned with trying to find a bathroom. Luckily, we were only allowed to stay on the Skybridge for 10 minutes, and upon heading back down, the attendant (who'd heard of my predicament from the attendant upstairs), showed me the nearest bathroom.

And thus began the theme of my third day in KL. After eating lunch nearby (I fasted), we headed back to the hostel. I spent the day in our "hospital room"--it was too dangerous to venture anywhere without a toilet within 10 feet. I begged Kat to shoot me. Kat thought the whole ordeal was funny at one point, and her laughing made me laugh, which only made my stomach cramp even worse.

Thankfully, the problem cleared up within 24 hours, with the help of some immodium. And I do have Kat to thank for putting up with me and my unsavory smells. And we have this beautiful island to enjoy now. Sans raw carrots.

Quick notes on our vacation in KL

I copied this from an email I sent to Mom about our time in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia:

I am feeling ok

groggy, lazy, sweaty, and generally listless

not used to having this little energy

this humidity is killer

but I love wearing what I want, drinking coffee, eating good food, and walking

although I have lost my appetite the last few days

really strange for me!

right now we are in our hostel room

tiny, but comfy

good a/c

great shower with hot water

very clean

so we are happy

probably going to the beach Monday-Wed then back to KL for one night

our flight leaves late Fri. night

we can store our bags at the hostel during Fri. and pick them up before we head out to the airport

really nice city

modern

well-connected

amazing architecture

friendly people

so many different kinds of people

i wouldn't mind living here, if it wasn't for the humidity

love,

Summer

Traveling South East Asia is not always a breeze. But Malaysia is magnificent!

Kat and I are in Malaysia. Oh my goodness. This is great.

I'm not expressing myself as eloquently as I'd like to since I'm operating off three hours of sleep in the past 30 hours. I can hear you say "Wah wah wah--poor tired lady on vacation in paradise." Yes, I know that I'm whining while drinking wine, eating chocolate, and enjoying no honking whatsoever. But at least let me tell you about our trip here, ok?

We left Chittagong at 4:00 PM on Feb. 17. We were lucky to get a ride to the airport in a van. I was so thankful because two days prior I came down with a bad cold/respiratory nastiness. I didn't want to take a baby taxi (CNG) to the airport, as I was afraid I would hack to death after 45 minutes of breathing diesel fumes. I don't know if Kat would have gotten a flight refund if I hadn't made it, so it's good that I lived.

Our flight was delayed only 30 minutes--considering our Bangladesh travel experience, we would label this "leaving early." And, as luck would have it, this is the one time we didn't have to worry about arriving a little late to connect to our international flight.

For those of you who don't live and work in Bangladesh, allow me to explain. There's an annoying art to planning any sort of travel out of and into Bangladesh. All international flights (except for a flight from Chittagong to Kolkata and places in the Middle East) leave from Dhaka. (Chittagong used to have a flight to Thailand, which was cancelled months ago and never revived. I am on a mission to figure out how to resuscitate this. Begging and bribing have crossed my mind. The question is: Who do I bribe? And with what money?) We have domestic flights between Dhaka and Chittagong scheduled throughout the week. However, these flights don't always follow posted schedules and are arbitrarily cancelled at least a few times a week. Perhaps they didn't have enough passengers. Or the fog showed up. Or the crew didn't show up. Who knows.

All this means we can't just take the domestic flight that is supposed to arrive in Dhaka two hours before our international departure. Oh no--we have to do backwards planning for any sort of travel involving airplanes. Case in point: our international flight to Malaysia left Dhaka at 1:40 AM (on the 18th). There were two evening flights from Chittagong to Dhaka on GMG (one of two domestic carriers) on the 17th : a flight at 6:30 PM and a flight at 9:10 PM. We chose the 6:30 PM flight, because if it was cancelled, we could take the 9:10 PM flight.

This is how we plan all our trips. There has to be a spare flight we can take to still get our international flight after our first domestic flight gets cancelled. Does this sound a little uptight to you? I guess we've seen enough people learn the hard way, so we have to accept burning up a vacation day in transit. Or staying in Dhaka the night before an international flight. Or, in our case this trip, sitting in the Dhaka Airport from 7:00 PM until 1:40 AM while dealing with a lingering cold, bad food, and mosquitos. While eating terrible soup made from a dry mix in the one airport restaurant, the waiter ran over and yelled "Mosquito!" and sprayed under our table with the smelly Asi brand bug spray. Kat and I smiled and said thank you. I then turned my head and coughed for 5 minutes straight. Tasting toxic mosquito spray on your tongue will certainly kill your appetite.

Eventually we did get on our flight. And we got bumped to first class seats! They still had us eat the economy food, which was made by Biman Airways (Bangladeshi Airline). Tummy wasn't so happy, but legs were.

Writing all this down makes me smile. When I took this job, I thought I'd be jetting off to Thailand for three-day weekends. HA!

Upon arriving in Malaysia, we took a 28 minute (that's how they advertise it--and it's true!) monorail trip into the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Simple. No negotiating. No diesel fumes. No mosquitoes. We followed the detailed directions to our hostel, and walked in around 10 am. Unfortunately, our room wasn't ready. So Kat and I spent hours lounging on the patio, laying on the giant bench, whiling the hours away. In delirium. Neither of us had slept much, so I think people wondered if we were drunk.

We met Vince's Malaysian twin! The second this little guy jumped up on our bench, we both said "Vince!" Then we remembered we were in Malaysia.

Vince, as much as I miss you, I have to say. It may take some coaxing to get me to go back to Bangladesh.

Ciao for now.

Capote

We have cable television here. Katrina and I don't generally watch television--Kat's more of the movie-watching kind. But tonight, I happened to sit down with a bowl of fresh carbonara and turned on the tv. And I found "Capote" on. The last time Kat and I sat down to watch this, the movie stopped halfway through and didn't proceed. I'm hoping this doesn't happen again tonight.

I first watched "Capote" in Boston with my roommate, Ben Jacobs. Even now, a few viewings later, this movie still sends chills up my spine. Perhaps it's the music. Of course it's set in Kansas--the place I call home. Why on earth would scenes of a cold, bleak landscape, the flat wheat fields, and a white farm house make me homesick? You know the classic line from "The Wizard of Oz"--so I'll say no more on that.

I think the feelings have a lot to do with my Mom's recounting of those murders. She was a teenager--and she recalls the terror that it struck in her family and her community. She grew up and lived in a farm house that isn't too different than the one in the movie. In Nebraska, a state above Kansas--but close enough for the Midwest.

"Capote" makes me feel a sort of nostalgia and sense of place. The desire to understand and comfort my Mom. The temptation to think that times were simpler "back then"--followed by the harsh reality of a cold blooded crime that made no sense. And this juxtaposed with an author's struggle with himself, his ego, his fame, and his feelings. All this is what brings me back to this film again and again.