December 22nd 2001 was a cool morning, which was unusual for Malaysia. The rain the night before had produced a cool morning air that enveloped me as I strolled out of the air-conditioned hotel. It was really nice, one of those pleasant surprises you never expect. "A good start," I said to myself.
With the exception of a three-week sabbatical in early November when I returned to Ireland, I had been calling this hotel home for the past five months. I had been back in Malaysia over a month ago now and I had yet to settle back into my routine; in fact I had been receiving steady signals from the planet "second thoughts." I had been fine for the first two months, with the milestone of returning to Ireland clearly visible in front of me, but the moment I returned to Malaysia that goal was removed and I was struck with the realization of being here . . . for a while.
For now, it was nice to be back on the move, standing outside the hotel embarking once again on a journey. I was leaving for Thailand's Koh Pa Ngan, an Island infamous for its excesses. I felt this was what I needed--excess. A friend of mine, Mark, a soldier and an avid church goer, had told me once "everything in moderation" . . . even moderation. I had been living the epitome of a moderate lifestyle since I got here--it was my way, I suppose, of trying to be "professional." It was obvious I was having a spot of bother, so I felt a shake-up was in order. I wanted a break from architecture, from Johor Bahru. I needed a change, an adventure . . . something, for God's sake. Rumor has it that you return from such breaks invigorated and refreshed, with a new lease of life and a pearly-white smile. Thirteen days later I would return not with a smile but with a renewed honesty in my soul--more of a long-term and deep-seated refreshness, rather than the momentary one I was hoping for. However, accepting this truth was not without its perils and rewards.
I caught the 8:45am bus to Penang--some would have stopped of in Melaka or Kuala Lumpur to break up the journey, but I wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible. Having spent new year in Penang back in 95/96, and still having very vivid memories of that night (those I could remember that is), I wanted to get locked back into that mind-set as soon as possible. It would take me a 12-hour bus ride to get there, but I figured it was worth it.
We had to stop and change in some place in the middle of nowhere. A Chinese guy was the only other occupant on the bus heading for Penang. I tried to strike up a conversation with him but he wasn't very chatty so I dropped it. He did arrive back from the food hall with an egg sandwich for me, which I thought was a nice gesture. He seemed more talkative on a full stomach. Jeffrey was an engineer and he worked in Merlin Tower, a place I had been to regularly in recent months due to work myself. His admission to working there caused the blood in my body to rush to my limbs and I had the immediate urge to evacuate my bladder and bowels right their in seat 13a. Jeff was originally from Penang, working in Johor Bahru, and returning home for the holidays; unfortunately, my illegal status in the country meant I had to be less than honest with him, and prompted my earlier involuntary reaction. A run-in with an immigration office in 95/96 had cost me all but my emergency 50 Ringitt which I kept in my sock. Then, on another occasion, I was invited to someone's house whose father was . . . yup . . . an immigration officer. All of this had left me cagey when talking with the locals and made me reluctant to accept Jeffrey's very generous offer to have dinner at his house with his family. I felt like I was letting down the spirit of the Therouxs and the Hemingways who threw themselves into a culture, immersed themselves in the people and the place. This is the problem with lies and, more specifically, trying to live a deceptive life. I think now that you can't live such a life because you have to be on your guard constantly, you're not relaxed and you can't immerse yourself in the eddies and flows around you and (if you want) go with them! You spend your time analyzing every moment to decide how to react--rather than just reacting. You're resigned to watching many moments pass you by.
I had singled 'The Oasis' guesthouse out from my guidebook; it was just a little outside the center of town but still walkable, mind you. It had got a good review and wasn't rowdy, but quiet and welcoming, which was just what I was after. It was dark as we pulled into the bus station and I intended to make my way to Oasis directly. The Komtar tower in Penang is superb for orientation; unfortunately my orientational skills are shit and I immediately headed off in completely the opposite direction. When I eventually realized this and got moving in the right direction, it started to drizzle rain. The closer I got to the Oasis, the sparser the streets got. I was walking up the middle of the road with a few locals cycling past me and, as I looked into some coffee shop windows, I saw locals laughing and cracking jokes at (I would imagine) the asshole in the rain . . . I let it go . . . I figured they were probably right.
After my unplanned detour, I eventually got to Oasis. My first impression was that it was all it was cracked up to be. I passed through a gate that was too elaborate for the typical cheapo hostels I was accustomed to staying in; it was the threshold to a scruffy and dog-eared yard, which put me right at ease. A tall dirty blonde with 'mucho' cleavage was sitting outside with a few others who, for reasons that should already be apparent, I didn't really register. At RM 8 a dorm bed would have been a bargain at twice the price; I fired my bag carefully in the corner and made for the cold shower. I could have had a hot one but the blonde downstairs had awakened the primal wildman in me which, for the time being, could best be addressed by having a cold shower. Plus, from the perspective of energy efficiency, the cold shower was closer, and time wasted walking to and from showers was time wasted away from blondie . . . or so the caveman in me was thinking. One shower later and I was off down the stairs like a rat down a drainpipe. I parked myself beside blondie . . .
. . . whose name was Claudia. She had a strong 5'9", possibly 6' frame, good solid bones, and she was direct and to the point. Her build and her frame created a formidable woman; she had left Austria 15 months ago to wander around the globe and was doing a cracking job at it, having been to Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam . . . She didn't say a thing about being harassed by men, or having trouble with men, or being stared at by . . . yup, men. That was nice! You get sick of running into women that do that . . . Claudia didn't. It may have been her purposefulness, a trait very apparent in Germans that was obviously present in Austrians as well. She had, for the past four weeks, being traveling with 'Apre,' an Australian who, incidentally looked like the aborigine in David Bowie's "Red Shoes" video . . . anyway, his parents were Filipino. He volunteered all this info, which I gathered wasn’t the first time, but the explanation seemed plausible to me.
They were going for a drink and, as was proper traveling etiquette, they asked anyone they didn’t consider an asshole to join them. They also asked me . . . naturally, I jumped at the chance but, not wanting to appear the sad and lonely bastard I was, I hesitated initially and even declined, but accepted the second time . . . naturally. Before long we were off: Claudia, Apre, Micheala (a very large German), and me.