Sunni Dawson

Live brave. Inspire you.

You are here: Home / Archives for Travel

Travel

The Bike Saga (Part 2)

By Leave a Comment

‘You don’t have a bike? And you’ve lived here for how long?’
 
Everyone I meet sings out this refrain.
 
‘Yes, I know. But I like walking. It’s a little challenging in this heat. But this body needs the exercise. Believe me. And it’s good to break up my all day typing too. And, if I had a bike, I’d get a little distracted. This way I keep myself focused on writing, walking and living simply here.’
 
Some responses:
 
‘Well, I take my hat off to yer. Those are bloody hard hills!’
 
‘I couldn’t do that in this heat, no way.’
 
‘But you miss out on seeing stuff. A lot of stuff!’
 
And my favourite was from a ex – pro American footballer turned Gym owner:
 
‘For sure that’s a work out. There ain’t no way I’m doing that!’
The bikes look so cute and innocent, easy to ride, right?
But when my friends recently came for a visit, I decided I wanted to show them a bit of the island (and perhaps see some of the isle myself!). My friend Tom who rides a motorbike back in Australia said he would teach me.
 
It couldn’t be that hard, could it? I mean, everyone rides a motorbike here. Everyone. I’m like a eucalyptus tree on a sandy beach. A loner in the heat with very little nutrients.

Remember my first post ‘To bike or not to bike‘? Everyone seemed to have an opinion.
The brakes look easy to use!

Tom points out the indicators. And explains that to make the bike ride faster, you have to twist the right handle down, and to stop I have to squeeze the breaks. Simple.

The bike jerks ahead before I got what was happening. It launches towards a rocky edge of the road. I squeeze both handles down to stop as I meet the edge.  My heart is doing little flip flops.
 
No, I can do this. I can do this. 
 
Simple!

I walk my bike around in a circle towards an enclosed house area with a driveway in between. A somewhat safe looking path.

 
‘Keep your feet out the whole time you are riding. It will help you balance.’
 
‘Ok.’ He’s noticed my incredible balancing abilities. I’m sure my previous life was as a tightrope walker. A tightrope walker that balanced 10 people on my head whilst holding a bar with trees growing out the end. I got out all my balancing abilities in that life, obviously.
 
I drive up the path and awkwardly turn around and come back.
 
‘Ok, I think I can do this. I’ll try again.’
 
Down is forward. Not stop. Down is forward, not stop. Shit!!!!
 
I narrowly miss the side of the house. I can do this. I can.
 
I turn around and drive back down the path again.
 
‘Okay, I think I’m right.’
 
‘Okay. So I want you to drive up that hill and come back down again.’
 
‘Really?’ My heart starts wagging like the dogs who are curiously looking on.
 
‘Yes, we’ll both go. Its better you try it here than when you’re out on the road.’
 
‘Ok.’
 
I follow Tom up the hill. I speed towards a parked car. Down is forward. Not stop. Damn!
 
I narrowly miss the car.

‘Ok now lets go down. You don’t need to accelerate down hill. Just let it roll and remember the brakes.’
 
The little hill

I feel my waggy tailed heart again. It’s ok, you can do this, no problems. Its just a little hill. Just a wee little hill.

The motor is running and I’m looking down the hill. I am stationary and  perched on the rocky top path. I watch Tom drive down the hill. It looks easy. It really does.


Ok, so to get this thing moving I do need to accelerate. That’s ok. I can. It’s possible.

I inch the accelerator down. 
 
The rocky path

Fuck! Shit!

 
I turn into the bushes at the side of the hill. I’m stopped but the motor is still running.
 
I notice my tummy has joined my heart and we’re all beating a techno beat. Shit!
 
‘I don’t know what to do.’
 
‘Ok, just move backwards.’
 
My failing attempts make Tom take over. 
 
‘You’ve freaked out haven’t you?’
 
I nod silently. My head screams: I am never getting on  a bike again! 
 
‘I’ll drive it back down.’ Thank you Tom.
 
I safely walk down the small hill. 
 
 
Betty, the Thai mama I stay with is delighted with my decision.
 
‘Good. You walking to Cafe and back, good. You not drive. Too dangerous for farang. Many farang accident and some time karput. Me happy. Me drive you to different beach today.’


I am grateful I can walk. And that I don’t have to ride a bike, and that occasionally, I get a lift. And even more grateful that a couple of days later my friends decided to rent a car so we could all explore the island together… this Sunday I will reveal our adventures, including the search for the mysterious tree!

Water fight. For the whole country.

By Leave a Comment

As we rounded the corner I screamed. The cold dump of water jolted me upright.

‘Ok, ok, I’m now awake!’ I exclaimed to my friends who appeared somewhat pleased at my plight. I looked down at my chest as I wiped hair out of my eyes. I was dry no longer.
 
They had been hit just a few minutes before, and again five minutes before that. My inner smirk at thinking I sat on the right side of the songthaew quickly evaporated.
 
I looked back down the road. Children of all ages laughingly watched as we disappeared from view.
 
‘We gotcha’ their faces explained with incredible glee.
 
Thai New Year. Songkran.
 
Songkran supplies in the 7/11
7/11 Songkran supplies
 
Its origins come from India, and the word ‘Songkran’ derives from the Sanskrit meaning to ‘change or transform’. Its the passage of the sun from one sign of the zodiac to another, and this particular change is celebrated when the sun enters Aries, also closely related to the Vernal Equinox. Laos, Myanmar, Cambodia and northern India also have related festivities around this time.
The water aspects of this celebration come from a spring cleaning idea: once a year water is poured on images and statues of Buddha. Using the ‘blessed’ water from the cleaning of the images to tip on people is to bring good luck and fortune. 
 
Most Thais consider the on-the-street water dumping a cleansing ritual to wash away the bad thoughts and deeds from the previous year. Buddha statues and monks continue to be symbolically bathed to pay respect.
 
Its now turned into a whole – of – country two day water fight.
Crowds of fun!
We whizzed past a middle aged Farang. He stood up, facing us with a grin as wide as the toy gun he was holding. Squirting it, he caught some of the van. We laughed at his overt pure delight as he sat down, waiting for the next victims.
 
‘This is going to be fun.’
 
Fierce nodding, ‘A whole Island allowed to throw water on each other!’
 
The hello kitty hand gun
We commenced a meander around the sectioned off streets of Thongsala, armed only with a ‘Hello Kitty’ water gun and a ‘Green machine’. The shops were closed, but the people were out. With tables, with buckets, with guns.
 
A Thai women smiles at my friends as they look  hesitantly at her and then towards the other side of the street. She smiles some more, curling her fingers up, ‘Come, come, come.’
 
‘Uh oh…’ my friend giggles.
 
After my 40th splash! 🙂
She reaches into her bucket, a dull white clay substance oozes through her fingers, she reaches towards my friend’s face and smears the substance on her cheeks, both women smiling. She dips her hand in again, beckoning me, reaching to my face.
 
She spreads it on my blotchy, pasty skin, eyes sparkling. It smells fragrant and flowery, a distinct contrast to the murky alley water in the streets. This is actually one of the oldest Songkran traditions where white paste is smeared on faces and arms to both protect from and ward of evil.
 
As I move past her I feel the squirt of water on my face. I look up quickly to see a guy with a bright green and yellow pistol and hurriedly turned my eyes away.
People ready to pounce outside the 7/11

A few steps later a woman saunters up to me with a bucket in her hand, ‘Happy New Year!’ As she tips some over my head and shoulders, leaving a little for each of my friends.

Further on a guy holds a water balloon the size of a basketball and motions for me to come closer. Unsure what he’s about to do, I step a little closer. He presses the basketball onto me, grabbing my shoulder.  The balloon shatters between us. Two more buckets of water follow quickly from different directions.

I realised my underwear was now fully soaked.
 
‘That’s why I didn’t wear any’ my friend smiles.
 
‘Very sensible, very sensible indeed.’
 
We head to a sectioned off area with loud music, and an eclectic bunch of Thai men on a stage with equally eclectic dance moves. The only common factor: they were dressed in different shades of black. 
 
The crowds below were movements of bodies, water guns and talcolm powder. Tanks of water stood 6 feet off the ground with people climbing over them like flies on a honey jar.
 
Young, old, boys to men, girls to women, everyone let their joy emerge. 
 
Permission not to work. Permission to have fun 

Permission for everyone to be silly. And play with water. 

So simple. Yet so much fun.

 

Introducing my waggy tailed friends on the Isle!

By Leave a Comment

Dogs on this Island generally have a decent life. Most roam as they please (being locked up here is as rare as a full bowl of delicious doggy treats). They go to the beach, visit friends and ‘make love’ as is the description used by one of my Thai friends.
 
They usually have homes and are fed. Most need a good tick and flea wash, but those that feed them don’t seem to be too concerned about their furry skin states. There is one beautiful Thai lady that washes her four dogs every second day in the sea. They have soft fur and gentle personalities. They sleep with her every night in her little bed. 
 
Introducing Coca-Cola

Coca-Cola is the boss of the beach I live on. Man about the town one might say.

He is a solidly built dog with a deep bark. When he calls, other dogs come running. He leads the others on the beach. He fights with any that stand in his way. He’s not afraid of getting hurt. He has scars to prove it. 
 
Coca-cola has a tough exterior, but he is a real softy inside. He wags his tail furiously whenever I am around, and he willingly gives me the best access to his chest and belly. Although sometimes I think he’s divided between a good belly rub or a hip massage. More often than not, he gets both.
 
 
Maleficent Marka
 
A bundle of voluptuous rolling joy. She is beautiful! As all puppies, unless she is chewing you or something else, she won’t sit still. I sacrificed my hand to take the first shot!
 
She likes to play games and if you give her any attention she will bound, roll and grab you when you least expect it! 
Aint nothing cuter than some puppy paws!
Introducing Soda
 
Soda is my good farang friend’s dog. He loves to ride on motorbikes with his human, standing on his back legs with his paws on the handle bars (making one think he’s driving!).
 
Soda sleeps on his human’s bed every night (one could say it was his bed really). He fiercely protects her. Especially from any other potential interlopers (other strays who might also want a loving home!).
Soda’s bed
 
A beautiful baby!




Playful Pluto (or Todo)

Pluto was picked up only a few weeks old at a temple on the Island. Most Thais don’t neuter their dogs, subsequently boxes of puppies turn up around temples and other places (there is also a dog and cat shelter for the many strays on the Island run by some farangs).

 

 
Loving the sand!

My good friend saw the notice on a community website and fetched her. 





She loves chewing, playing with humans and digging in the sand. Her love and joy are evident when she’s around her ‘pack’.

A current pic – she’s growing up!


Her name is Pluto, but one of our good Thai friends began calling her ‘Todo’ which means little dog. It stuck.

These are two friends I met in Koh Tao recently.  I watched them eating their eggs, gently picking up the pieces, and consuming them one by one. Such polite souls!

 

She was just so cute and delicate!

 

 

 

 

 

 

And some other friends I met briefly on other beaches in Phangan:

 

One of those days.

By Leave a Comment

Outside noises woke me at 12.30am and 1.40am. I kept checking my phone, worried I didn’t set my alarm, or that it wouldn’t go off. I went to bed at midnight.
 
Crickets chirped on my iPhone waking me at 4am. I blearily headed to the bathroom, splashing myself in an attempt to make something come alive. Anything.
 
I dressed for a 16 hour day of travel: a roomy comfortable t-shirt and Thai pants (both cool and ever so flexible). 
 
I was downstairs outside my hostel at 4.45am. The colourful 19th century Chinese colonial houses were lit by soft fluro lights, providing me some light between the pillars. I looked to both ends of the street. Not another animal in sight.
A few motorbikes drove past. I stood at the side of the pavement so that the minivan could see me. I made several calls the day before confirming my early pickup. 
 
5.15am. I make a Skype call. ‘Hi, I am waiting for a pick up, it was suppose to be here at 4am. Just making sure the driver knows where to find me?’
 
‘Yes, I have your pick-up. The driver will be there soon.’
 
Another motorcycle went past. It turned around and drove back down to the end of the street. It turned around again and drove back down to the other end of the street. Again the motorcycle passed. It turned around for the fourth time.
 
On the fifth time it slowed down almost pulling to a stop about 2 metres away from me. My stomach started knotting. Feelings of both anger and unease washed over me.
 
‘Fuck off!’
 
The solidly built man stared at me. 
 
‘Just fuck off.’
 
He bike reared into action. He turned around pulling up the bike so that he was just a metre from me.
 
‘What did you say to me? Your stupid mouth. Shut up your stupid mouth.’
 
I stood there looking at him. I involuntarily took a step backwards. I looked around me. There weren’t any escape routes. I couldn’t get back into the hostel, I had locked myself out as requested. I could run either right or left with my heavy backpack.
 
‘Your stupid mouth, you think you’re that beautiful. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Your stupid mouth.’
 
‘Fuck off.’ 
 
‘You wanna fuck? Your stupid mouth needs this cock.’ He grabs himself. ‘You stupid woman. You stupid whore.’
 
He continued to hurl such pleasantries at me for another few minutes. I knew it was pointless to respond. Pointless to run.
 
I stood motionless. Please make him go!
 
In a pause I repeated. ‘Just fuck off.’
 
He stared at me again. I stared back. 
 
He started up his bike. And drove slowly down the street. 
 
I started to become more anxious. He could come back. With friends. Is the minivan ever going to get here?
 
 
I looked at my phone. 5.25pm. 
 
‘Hello, I am still waiting for my pick up.’
 
‘What’s the address again?’
 
I sigh and explain the roads the hostel runs off. ‘Ok, ok, driver will be there.’
 
 
Another bike drives past. The driver looks at me and slows down pulling to a stop on the other side of the narrow road. 
 
He waves with a big smile, ‘Hello baby!’
 
‘Go away.’
 
‘Ok, ok.’ He drives off.
 
I breathe out. His energy was different than the first. Friendlier, but my emotions were marching up and down my blood stream on high alert. I hope the first doesn’t come back. Or bring his friends. Shit, I hope the minivan comes soon.
 
I begin to move back behind a pillar, trying to make myself less obvious to the random bike driving past.
 
5.40am. 
 
‘Hello. I am still waiting for the driver.’
 
‘Can you get a taxi?’
 
‘There are no taxis in sight. I would come to you, but the streets are dark and there’s no-one around.’
 
‘He’ll be there. Where is it again?’
 
I patiently explain the address again.
 
‘Will I need to call back? Are you sure he’s coming? I’m getting harassed on the street. I really need to know he’s coming.’
 
‘He’ll be there. No need to call back.’
 
I started to get the overwhelming need to go to the toilet.

Desperately. The kind of desperation a person gets after eating something from a grimy food stall in Asia. I needlessly looked around the street again. I couldn’t miss the minivan. I couldn’t get back into my hostel. 

 
Could I go on the street? What if a motorbike came past and caught me? How much worse would that be? And what about the poor pedestrians later in the morning?
 
I banged on the door of the hostel in the vain hope someone might hear me and get up. Nothing.
 
I tried deep breathing. I tried to focus on something else.
 
 
5.55pm
 
A female voice answers.
 
‘Hi, I had a 4am pick up. I’m at … Is the driver coming?’
 
‘Where are you?’
 
I explain the address again and the streets it borders adding ‘I’m not very far from your office.’
 
‘Ok, I’ll let the driver know.’
 
‘I’ve already called three times this morning and twice yesterday. I need to get this minivan, I have to get to Thailand this morning.’
 
‘Ok, I’ll get the driver to pick you up.’
 
6.13am
 
Same female voice. ‘The driver can’t find you, he’s gone to Thailand. You’ll have to wait for another bus midday today.’
 
‘I can’t wait. I have to get to Thailand this morning, my travel is coordinated so I can get the last ferry.’
 
‘There is nothing I can do.’
 
‘What? This is my fifth call this morning, I called yesterday. I have been harassed my men on the street. I am desperately in need of a toilet, and I can’t get back into my hostel.’
 
Two young loud men walk past me on the street, ‘Hey girl? What do you want to do?’ Waving their arms in an unsavoury manner at me.
 
‘Look, I’m getting harassed again. This is too much. Its unsafe. I need to get to Thailand.’
 
‘The driver can’t find you. He’s Thai, he’s not from here.’
 
‘That’s his job! That’s not good enough. You need to show him. I have been calling all morning. I have been waiting alone in the dark and been harassed on the street. Do you know what that’s like? I have to get the last ferry…’ 
 
Silence.
 
She’s hung up on me!

I bang on the door to the hostel again. I’m beyond emotional. The closest I can get to describing myself at that moment is a fish on dry land trying shit and breathe at the same time. 

 
I start pacing. The dawn was on its way and I saw more movement of cars down one end of the street. 
 
After about 5 minutes, I reluctantly make myself call back.
 
‘Hi, its me.’
 
‘I have asked the driver to turn around. He’s coming back. Where can you go that he find you?’
 
‘Umm I know this hotel a few streets away, do you know..’
 
‘No.’
 
‘Look I can walk into your office in about 15 minutes. Its lighter now and there’s more people, so I think it’ll be ok.’
 
‘Do you know where we are? Maybe you could meet him at a bank.’
 
‘No, I know where you are. I’ve been there before. At least we’ll both know where it is.’ Side note, I had been there once, at 9pm at night, two nights before after a 16 hour travel day, but I was sure I would find it again.
 
‘Have you got a number so I can call you?’
 
‘No, I don’t I’m calling through wifi.’
 
‘Take my number then.’
 
I walk briskly down the end of the street. I notice a restaurant off the main road. I ask the first person I see for a toilet. Relief is the wrong word. More like that fish getting another chance of life-water kinda feeling.
 
I’m almost there. I walk around the huge building trying to recognise all the entrances and exits. Eventually I found the right looking one.
 
I walk up to a woman looking up and down the under-building street.
 
‘Its you? Quickly, quickly.’
Hot, cramped mini van style.

And with that, I’m scramble into the minivan.

 
I wish I could say that was the end of the delirium that continued to unfold throughout the day. I was over and above exhaustion. Missing transport connections and being put on others. I witnessed corruption (many times). I lent a stranger a lot of money, not knowing if I’d see it again. I did. I had to fight again to be fairly treated. I lost.
 
Leaving my island

I made the last ferry by 2 minutes. 

I was crying by the time I made back to my bungalow. I cried myself to sleep. I was safe, but alone and feeble.
 
The only solution the next day was to eat pancakes and chocolate. And organise Skype chats to debrief with friends. It took more than a few days to get back to feeling somewhat normal. I felt numb and overwhelmed. I cried some more. 
 
Making the ferry just in time!

Of course there were a range of factors in this event that played its part. Not the least of which was that I was also menstruating. 

 

This is one of the worst kinds of days you experience as a solo female traveller. No-one to share the burden. No-one to help negotiate. No-one to stick up for you. No shoulder to cry on. No-one to debrief to. No one to be kind to you.
 
Except you. 
 
And I survived. But it took its emotional toll. It ran me dry. More than depleting. So I took care of myself in the following days reading, eating and talking to close friends (thank you!). I am fortunate enough to have been able to do this. Some others aren’t.
 
I wanted to share this day because of the unique experiences of being a woman travelling by herself. I know much of what I experienced as a woman I would not have experienced if I was a man (sexual harassment, being treated differently on pick up, not having to fight to be taken seriously, feeling more personally comfortable to walk in dark streets, and the list goes on. I won’t list all the research on all this, needless to say, its universal).
 
But this day (and those I’ve had before), does not make me want to stop travelling. These days are extreme. And the good days, the magnificent sights, learnings, sharings, wonder and pure joy strongly outweigh these types of days for me. 
 
But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish for a travelling companion. 

The sunset temporarily brightened my mood

Postcards from Penang 2

By Leave a Comment

Postcard 3: Penang Hill

 

In order to escape the parboiling of my already beetroot-esque skin, I jumped on an air-conditioned bus that took me on an hour long meander through Penang’s peak hour traffic. My destination: Penang Hill.
 

Penang Hill is perched about 833 metres above the historic centre. A railway was built in 1923 running almost completely vertically to the peak. I could take the funicular which reached the top within 15 minutes or I could climb the overgrown hill in about 3 hours in 90% humidity. Guess what I chose?

 
In typical solo female traveller fashion, I was asked by no less than 4 couples to take their photo on  the peak of Penang’s scintillating scape of hills, bays and bridges. I asked one couple if they could take my photo (the first of me in a while, so enjoy!).
 

I took a photo of one couple on a swing. Apparently I was so ‘nice’, that the woman ditched her man to have a photo with me on lovers bridge! 🙂 I didn’t get a photo on my camera with this lovely woman, but here is a selfie of me surrounded in locks of love!




















Both a Hindu temple and a Mosque provide places of prayer for locals with a fabulous view of the city on the ultimate tip of the hill. 

 

 






Postcard 4: Randomness
 
In my final Postcard from Penang, I wanted to share just a couple of random interesting things I found.
 
Chinese herbal tea houses are very popular in Penang. I stared into the refrigerated glass tea cabinet with the tempo of a dazed snail. I asked the server what he would recommend for an overheated foreigner.
 
‘Antelope tea for sure.’
 
‘Antelope tea? Does it have real Antelopes in it?’ My voice gave away my foolishness. 
 
He smiled a broad smile, and perched two middle fingers on his shortly cropped black hair, ‘Yes, real Antelope’. 
 
As horror flickered on my face, a girl seated piped up, ‘No, not real Antelope, just herbs. Its refreshing. It will cool you down.’
 

If you are not drinking herbal tea, (which was, by the way, quite refreshing), white coffee is the answer. White coffee is an obsession in Penang and uber cool cafes for young adults to sit around sending smart phone messages to each other.

 
I noticed local bus drivers looked happy and were super polite. I also observed behind each drivers seat an A2 size photo of the driver (usually smiling) that contains their full name for all passengers to see. I pondered the effect of a policy such as this in other cities.

 

Absolutely no Durian is allowed on buses. You shall not get on with your Durian. We can, and will take it off you.
 
 
And finally, a fabulously named product. Do you want to Kick-a-poo too?

 

Postcards from Penang

By Leave a Comment

Postcard 1: Opium and temples

Penang’s life pulsates in the grimy alleyways, crumbling pavement and frying stalls of sweet potato and fatty meats. In the historic centre 300 sculptured cast iron characters adorn laneways and streets making learning about Penang’s history, palatable, even for children. 


For example, Love Lane was named due to wealthy business men keeping their mistresses in this alley (I noted its substantial length).

One sculpture marks the spot where Jimmy Choo did his apprenticeship. 



Another indicating where poulters worked, called ‘Chicken Lane’.

 
A self tour reveals so much, but like an ant swarming for the local saccharine drinks, I sign up for a walking tour. My guide, a tall well groomed man with a passion for Penang and its past explains that only about 100 inhabitants were on the Island when the first white invaders moved in. The Portuguese in the 16th century made spice routes from Goa, the Dutch had a turn, then the British ‘founded’ the island in 1786, well, actually, the ruling Sultan of Kedah was forced to cede to the British.
 
Even juicier was role the British played in the Opium wars between China, Hong Kong, Penang and Singapore, where the British won the war and claimed Hong Kong.Opium wars existed also in the Chinese clans within Penang: the Cantonese and Fujian. Penang as a successful trade port attracted communities from across Europe, the Middle East and Asia. Although many of these cultural groups did not remain for long in Penang, the acknowledgement of their contribution lives on in the street names: Siam Road, Armenian Street, Burma Road, Gottlied Road and a Jewish Cemetery.

Fujian (left) and Cantonese (right) temples
Strolling in the centre of Georgetown reveals its continuing diversity in practices of worship: a Catholic church, Church of England, a Cantonese temple (marked by tall columns and plain lines), a Fujian temple (marked by very ornate colourful roofed carvings), a Hindu temple and a Mosque.
 
The oldest temple in Georgetown is the Goddess of Mercy Temple, built around 1800 by the Cantonese and Fujian communities. This temple is based on Taoism and Confucianism, but many Chinese from all faiths go there to pray to Kuan Yin for good health and luck. But its not just Kuan Yin’s temple. 80 gods hang out here.

Outside Kuan Yin’s temple

 

 
‘Its all about efficiency’, he says, ‘A person can go to this one temple and pray to all the gods and hopefully one of them will grant your wish. If your wish still isn’t granted, go to the Hindu temple. Maybe one of their gods will listen to you!’
 

Opposite Kuan Yin’s temple is a small yellowing steel cupboard containing a statue of Ganesh, (the Elephant Hindu God of Prosperity). He tells me that both Chinese and Hindu peoples have prayed at the foot of Ganesh today. 

 
‘How do you know that?’
 
‘There are both black and red incense sticks here. The black incense sticks are from the Hindus and the red are from the Chinese. Chinese peoples like Ganesh, he is the bringer of prosperity.’
 






Proud family histories are linked to Chinese temples. Generations of Cantonese and Fujians shaking their prayerful hands at their clan’s temple, and living on through lineages of canisters displaying their forefathers names, and reserving front row seats (if you have the money, you can purchase a canister decades before your death, thereby securing your place to keenly watch over your descendants: ensuring their prayer-making and giving answers as you so please).

Postcard 2: the Clan Jetties

Later on I visited the some of the remaining Clan Jetties off the historic centre. The three I saw before sunset couldn’t be more different. The first was a bustling and vibrant community focused on selling plastic wares to tourists.

The second clan seemed like a poor cousin to the first, dilapidated and rickety wooden palings leading to see through toilets and temples. The third presented itself in a well maintained, precise and pretty manner, red lanterns strung up meticulously between the houses.

 

The commonalities between the jetties lay only in the distinct low tide odour. It arrested my nostrils with the delicate scent of decaying fish mixed with days’ old excrement. 

Two more Penang postcards will follow this weekend!