No Penang Curry in Penang

Driving along the main highway towards George Town, I’ll admit that my first thoughts were where to find the ultimate Penang curry.

A staple offering on any menu in a Western Malaysian restaurant, we grew up salivating over this dish.

We hadn’t even been out of the airport for longer than 15 minutes and already I was scanning the street food vendors fighting for space on the pavement, trying to spot those magical words: Penang curry sold here.

Instead heading in the direction of George Town I felt like I was cruising past a real life Tinseltown, staring at high rises decorated with brightly coloured lights dangling from balconies, hanging from windows and shining for attention on dismal looking apartment blocks.

Wandering around George Town itself, you feel like you’ve taken a step back in time. Aside from accepting your definitely in Asia therefore need to watch both sides of the road like a hawk each time you cross it, the colonial British architecture is noticeable everywhere and a photographers dream to capture on camera.

Chatting to our new mate in the hostel who, when not talking, preferred to keep his eyes shut whilst sitting at the reception desk, didn’t really unearth any amazing stories into why the famous curry couldn’t be found in Penang. I guess that’s because Google is the new storyteller these days….

Interestingly most of the street food vendors that line Lebuh Chulia every night, a throbbing area of activity and the main hub for eating in the area, all sell the same kind of mainly Chinese food, Char Kway Teow. We did spot a stand selling Laksa and the odd Mee Goreng. 

Our not long enough two days we had here (now that is a mouthful to say), did feel like we were acting the role of the typical tourist, ‘ticking off an invisible list of things to see/do.'

That included a trip out to the Keh Lok Si Temple, recognised as the largest Buddhist temple in South East Asia and well worth the interesting bus trip out there.

Around the Esplanade we found Malaysia's answer to Banksy and hagglers taking the opportunity to cash in on the talented graffiti. you can never have enough variations on notebooks with different cover pictures.

From there we found ourselves walking and holding our noses towards the Chew Jetty. Adeptly named after the surname of the Chinese family who first live here, the UNESCO Heritage site still holds the history together of how the first Chinese immigrants to the area lived. Wooden houses sit up awkwardly on stilts made up of anything really; cement filled plastic buckets, wood, brick, all layered on top of each other to support a home. Those who still live in them today have opened a few home stays and there’s a few tourist shops in what you’d imagine were peoples living rooms. Human life in the area is rife, so don’t expect smelling fresh sea air and hearing the seagulls chirping. Walking away from the main ‘tourist drag’ of a wooden alleyway I felt like I had more examples of this made obvious. It did make me wonder if the area is ever discussed from an environmental point of view or just kept as the picture postcard World Heritage site.

Toodle pip x 

Street Food along Lebuh Chulia.

The annual turtle congregation at Keh Lok Si Temple.

Keh Lok Si Temple.

Keh Lok Si Temple.

Esplanade graffiti art.

Chew Jetty.

Chew Jetty.

Holding the house up high, Chew Jetty.

Backyard living, Chew Jetty.

Little bro enjoying a close shave, Little India, Penang.

Arrivals in Singapore

I stood out like a Westernised sore thumb waiting in the Arrivals Hall at Singapore Airport.

Standing amongst the throng of people all staring towards the automatic doors, I took out my homemade sign and let it show itself off to everyone else holding their laminated versions.

It felt weird to be waiting on this side, as the 'Welcomer' to a country that I don't even reside in.

My brother, Tim was expecting our accommodation to meet him at the airport. The night before he spoke to my Mum, and mentioned why his sister that he hadn't seen in almost two years wasn't going to meet him at the airport. I think he only assumed that I had some 'urgent' shopping to do at one of the many malls in this city.

But no, there I was last week waiting next to 'Jan Lo Cheng' for Air Asia transfers' and the impatient, pacing driver holding up a piece of thick card with a name written in Mandarin. 

The shock on his face to see me was priceless. I love a good surprise. 

Toodle pip x

Lao Pa Sat Night Market Satay frying.

Just a casual cruise ship modeled on a few high rises. 

The concrete jungle of living.

Arab St.

Adios Arguam Bay

I'm continually getting distracted as I'm tap taping away on the keyboard.

There's a little girl running around the Departures Lounge at Colombo airport. She's wearing what looks like her 'Sunday best' dress, although it's only Wednesday. Her brother is chasing behind laughing his head off. Each time he catches up with her she trips over and skids along the polished lino floor. It's a struggle for her to get up as she is wearing his sandals that are at least three sizes too big for her. There isn't any tears just constant laughter.

A Mother dragging her daughter by the arm in the direction of the public toilet steps into this invisible playground. She hasn't noticed the two children running around in hysterics but her daughter has and is desperately tugging her arm to be released so she can go play with them.

They look like they're having so much fun; running, sliding and skidding that I'm tempted to be the bigger kid and ask if I can play too. I better not, as I don't think it's fair for her to try and wear size 10 sandals. 

We arrived back in Colombo from Arguam Bay this morning again in record time. Sira Deen, aka the Michael Schumacher of Sri Lanka did manage to bring me back in one piece.

My journey was accompanied by his brother-in-law, a very serious man who played with his iPhone for the entire 6 hours and his friend who was silent in the beginning but quickly found his tongue wanting to know everything about my life including what type of breakfast cereal you can eat in New Zealand. They're both been given a great deal with the free ride to Colombo as I'm footing the 20,000 LKR bill to get back here.

Once the sun rose at 05:30 this morning the streets have began to pack out. Cows dodging Tuk Tuks. People on bikes avoiding bumping into Goats. The scenery ever changing from little towns with ATMs everywhere, street markets, tea plantations, rice paddies, a huge Catholic church and meditation centres.

I feel like I've broken a barrier this morning between gender differences. We stopped for tea and I was invited to sit with the men to drink and eat our vege rotti together. It was a small but noticeable change that I was involved in conversation that didn't revolve around my martial status instead we joked about how expensive Arguam Bay is compared to the rest of Sri Lanka and I reenacted how loud his brother-in-law snores making trumpet noises.

My arms are feeling like sloppy spaghetti after 9 solid days of surfing. August is usually the busiest month in Arguam Bay so I'm glad to be leaving at this time but sad to say goodbye. For an intermediate surfer you've found wave heaven here. Aside from the crowds and the weekend when the swell rose to 6ft plus the waves are usually a consistent 2-4ft and thanks to the swell breaking evenly across the reef, the main point of Arguam Bay provides a long ride to practise turns and tricks (if you can). After a day in the water nothing beats an intense shoulder massage at Stardust Hotel to release any remaining tension.

I've met so many crazy characters here that saying goodbye was hard. From the ADD Austrians who've lived here for 6 weeks now and know everything about the area to the mad Frenchman who leaves money everywhere and won't understand your pronunciation of any French words.  The guys at Sandy Beach Hotel who comment on everything I'm doing at any given time. Our Tuk Tuk driver who when you say, 'maybe I'll head to Crocodile Rock for a surf tomorrow' will take the 'maybe' as a definite 'yes' and be waiting for you at 6 am. 

But it's my new Mama and Papa that I'll miss the most. Always smiling, laughing and joking. People who had lived through extreme hardship at times but still have so much happiness in their souls They've both lost family and friends during the war and when the Tsunami hit. They no longer own the land where the no Siam View Hotel exists. Instead they rent the tired looking Lagoon Restaurant and Guesthouse where the most delicious food is served from a building that looks like a post Tsunami relic. 

Each day, I've been welcome with open arms. Stepping inside I can hear Mama's laughter. They great me as their friend, and I always call them Mama and Papa.

You never leave hungry here and they always have enough to feed an army.

If your ever in town go and spent some time with them at the Lagoon Restaurant and Guesthouse Have a curry and a chat. Taste the most delicious juice. Play a round of Carrom (Sri Lanka/Indian 'finger snooker') and listen to Mama's belly full laughter.

Toodle pip x

Our famous Tuk Tuk drivers chilling out at Elephant Rock.

Waiting at 6am.

Arguam Bay and the rat pack of dogs.

Main Street, Arguam Bay.

Mama and Papa. 

Sri Lanka: Cultural do's and don'ts

Don't eat your curry with your left hand. Don't look at anyone in the eye. Never smile when you see the mobile bakery drive past. They'll turn around and come back for you. Donuts and all. 

Always order the opposite of what you actually want. That way you'll than receive it. Don't get worried about the hour long wait. Your on island time.

Expect to have your photo taken (anywhere). A rude finger won't stop the camera clicking so just go along with it. But don't smile.

If you ask to get some washing down at 09.30 am, don't expect it to happen today. But maybe tomorrow.

When a Tuk Tuk driver asks you if you want to go to another break for surfing the next day, even if you just say, maybe, they'll take this as a written contract and be waiting for you the next morning. 

Although I've also said, no, and even then they were waiting the next morning.

Listen to the locals when they warn you that there are crocs living in the river. They just didn't say that there were at least 30.

And when you do eat your curry with your left hand (yep, I'm going to blame it on the face that I am left handed), expect to have an Austrian draw a random picture of you trying to eat your curry.

Toodle pip x

Me eating a curry (not a carrot)

The crazy Austrian with his work of art?

Mobile bakery.

Never order what you actually want.

Arugam Bay: End of Ramadan and sea time.

Today marks the end of Ramandan. This afternoon the festival begins.

Last night I noticed the start of the celebrations kicking in. Fireworks were let off down the main street of Arugam Bay. Walking along to the best local curry house, a woman in a sari approached me smiling her head off. I was able to make out through hand gestures and broken English that she wanted me to give her 'good greetings' for tomorrows celebrations.

It feels like everyone is off to a wedding today. All the men working at my accommodation have had their haircut, a wearing clean patta vetty, the shirt and long (sarong) like cloth they tie around their waist. 

Most people will be finishing work early this afternoon to spent the remainder of the day with extended families for feasting and rejoicing that they've made it through another Ramandan.

I can't imagine how bad the indigestion will be afterwards.

As I write this, Hassan, dressed in his crisp white shirt and hat, approached me to say that he is off for the day now. And if anyone comes to enquire about accommodation or check-in, if I can call them. How I'll call them I don't know as no number has been left. I joke to him that I am now the Manager. He laughs his head off. It's the first time I've actually seen him smile. 

It's going to be an interesting afternoon. 

Toodle pip x

Getting to grips again on a baby wave at Elephant point (note our Tuk Tuk driver in the background who was yelling instruction on what wave to catch).

Elephant point.

Elephant point.

Drinks shack at Elephant point.

Arugam Bay (main point in the distance).

Tuk Tuk convoy. 

Okanda (highly recommend).

Okanda.

Okanda.

Okanda.

Welcome to Sri Lanka!

I knew trying to get from Gallipoli, Turkey to Arugam Bay, Sri Lanka wasn't going to be a quick little walk to the corner shop to pick up milk and bread especially when you travel via Dubai.

But, this little mission was just another reason why for me, the distance it takes to get to the next destination often doesn't matter. Instead, for me, it's about the regret I may have if I never take the opportunity to do it when it’s made possible.

All long journeys often come with a few good stories. At the time, you don't quite see the funny side and then a few days later, your telling it for the 5^th time to someone else, you start laughing and all of a sudden you’re in hysterics.

I felt like I was on the final leg in getting to Sabiha Gökçen airport (Turkey) on Sunday evening. My bum still felt  dead weight after the 6-hour bus ride from Gallipoli. But that didn’t matter, I was almost there. Until a lorry truck exploded into flames on the E80 highway and all traffic was diverted. At a makeshift bus shelter I watched and listened to the fire cripple the lorry, than noticed a woman sitting nearby me inspecting her daughters head for what I assumed was a head lice check.

For all those who have done a transit in Dubai you’ll agree that people watching here is fascinating. Amongst the throng of Sri Lankans stood 3 Kiwis (randomly, I had two other ex-Londoners on my flight to Colombo) waiting for our passports to be checked as all the locals looked on at us.

This crowd waiting to board the flight, and their choice of dress echoed a country that is made of varying religions. 

I couldn’t help watch a young woman covered from head to toe and wearing black gloves struggling with overweight carry on luggage as her husband nonchalantly strolled behind with a yawn.  I wanted to say to her, ‘Hey would you like a hand,’ but held back as it just didn’t seem right.

Arriving into Sri Lanka as a solo traveller and being a female was always going to be an interesting experiment. Especially when your flight lands in Colombo at 1am. After saying my goodbyes to the other Kiwis, I was ready to face any sleepy eyed males keen on offering a ‘cheep hotel’ or the standard ‘where you from, I have good friend there?’ conversation starter. So walking into the Arrivals halls I felt ready for defeat.

Instead I was greeted with silence.

No shouting. No ‘Helloooo’s’ and ‘How are yous?’ Just a swarm of hands holding signs and one with my name on it.

Long overnight bus rides are killer. You never sleep. Or do you see the end coming any sooner.  Luckily for me I was to be transported in a air conditioned van and I stupidly assumed that meant I’d be getting some sleep and then waking up to hear the sound of the Indian Ocean in Arugam Bay.

That thought was quickly pushed aside when we accelerated over our first bump and my head slammed onto the roof of the van. This repeated for the remaining 6-hours only stopping when the driver pulled over to enjoy his final meal before fasting began and then making his first prayer for the new day.

Keeping to cultural rules, I avoided engaging too much conversation with the driver. Instead just small chat covering off the usual questions of curiosity, and that is especially the ‘Why are you here alone? Where is your husband?’

It was only after the 3^rd tailgate and dodgy overtake that I found my tongue and let him know that perhaps he had better slow down (just slightly).

I don’t think this really sunk in until the brakes were slammed, the left wing mirror was no longer attached to the van, instead scattered in parts on the side of the road, a huge dent and cracks in the windscreen and a very angry truck driver walking over towards us. By now, we also had the driver’s friend sitting in the front seat (who had been picked up half way in the journey for the ride to the coast). He politely turned to me, raising his hands in disbelief and said with a smile, ‘Oh accidents happen.’

By this stage my driver was already in a heated conversation with the truck driver and a policeman on a motorbike had pulled over and was attempting (and failing) to keep order.

I need to stop here to say, that I did try  to capture this all on camera as words can only half attempt to describe the scene. However, I was in such shock that we were all unscathed considering what we had smacked into was a very large truck, carrying a heavy and overloaded timber.

Arms were waving from all sides and everyone looked very angry. It seemed that my driver was trying to throw as much blame as possible onto the truck driver (who clearly wasn’t at fault). Soon all anger seemed to disappear, laughter taking place. If only I knew what was being said.

It was only later, after checking into my accommodation that the Manager apologised for the disruption during my travelling that morning. I started to talk about the truck overloaded with timber and the dodgy driving but was cut off as the Manager explained how terrible it was that someone had hit the van while parked in Colombo Airport and knocked the wing mirror off, dented the side of the van and cracked the windscreen.

Welcome to Sri Lanka!

Toodle pip x 

Tuk Tuk 6am transport to the waves.

Sunset over A Bay.

Gallipoli (Eceabat & Cannakale): Never forgetting our ANZACs

13-hour bus rides are never dull when a 9-year old Turkish American girl hears you speaking English and gets so excited about having someone else to talk too that she pushes past her (Non-English speaking) Mother to chat with you. Although she didn't know where New Zealand is in the world, I was still invited to come over to her Dad' restaurant in New Jersey which was of course, a Turkish restaurant. 

I think if I hadn't been sitting next to the lovely medical student I may not have arrived to the right place. She was sweet enough to explain to the bus driver when I needed to get off and collect my bag after the ferry ride over the Dardanelles. Even sharing a few laughs with me as the 9-year passed around her Teddy Bear so we could all have a cuddle.

The next 'bus ride character' I met was on the ANZAC tour. 

Hailing from Las Vegas, this small Asian woman with her two kids sitting opposite us, began telling me that her knowledge of what happened between 1914-1915 was very limited. Only extending to what she had read about the area on the Internet the evening before.

My reaction to this was of shock. And on reflection how ignorant some people could be. But then coming from America, there was no immediate reason why she and her family would have the knowledge about what happened here as it isn't close to home for them. 

Soon after starting this conversation I learnt that they were on a mini world tour. Her family had already visited New Zealand and Australia and so understood our culture.

Over the course of the day, as I listened to what the tour guide retold us, read the plaques on soldiers graves and admired the memorials that have since been erected, I noticed that each time we'd reenter the bus and sit back down she would let out another gasp of shock as each story we heard pulled another heart string. 

Trying to ascertain what these young and inexperienced soldiers endured is impossible. But by the end of the day I think we all were riding the wave of emotion. Even the woman I met from Las Vegas and her two kids. 

A picture can attempt at telling 1,000 words. Here's what I saw through the lense during my time here.

Toodle pip x