Sunni Dawson

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Penang’s Sizzling Street Art

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The second reason I put myself into a contorted space in a minivan for about 10 hours with a pounding head and sweaty knee creases was Penang’s Street Art.
 
When I was little I would stare googly eyed through train windows at the bright colours prancing about the sides of railways. I would giggle and point with joy at the ‘pretty pictures’.
 
My perception has essentially stayed the same since. In fact, the giggles and delight have grown. I love splashes of colour in otherwise plain wall scapes. I love the creativity and sometimes challenging statements. I love that it brings art into everyday existence.
 
So I will seek it out, hunt it down and smile at it. Even in metal bending heat. Even when my feet long to be lifted from the demands of Sunni’s determination. 
 
It is my great pleasure to share with you my top ten art pieces I scoured for 2 days to find. Which is your favourite?

 

 

 

I love the use of props in Penang’s Street Art.

 

One of the most brilliant, in my opinion…

A cafe grew up around this art!
Bruce Lee.
The emergence of cat street art
happened after a city campaign to look after
stray dogs and cats.

One of the most famous street art pieces in Penang, unfortunately locals and tourist alike are ruining the artwork by getting too close and rubbing themselves up against it. Like other famous artwork, a lot of the piece is now missing.


Cats and humans living together!
 

Penang: Overwhelming the senses!

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There is much to write about Penang, Malaysia, so this will be the first in a few blog posts. Naturally, I will start with my favourite subject…

Desperate to fill every minute of my two days in Penang, I covered myself in zinc cream, grasped my umbrella and headed out into the sweltering heat. 
One of most favourite things to do in a city is wander the streets. I like to feel the city. You can get hints of a city from a bus, but they are mere flashes of torch light, sanitised and secluded, not long enough to peer in and see the underbelly, what’s really there. Of course there are limitations to wandering, but in wandering, you hear the heart, chase the pulse.
 
Initially I was confronted by circling 5 lane traffic surrounding the historical area and the never ending swarm of the motorcycles, cars and trucks. I watched some locals cross up ahead. I can do this. I can. After about 5 minutes I sensed some slower cars approaching. I stepped out, waving to the cars as I slowly moved into the traffic. Loosing my gall, I ran to the curb on the opposite side of the road… phew! And then a smile spread across my face – tick – I’m getting the hang of this confidently crossing roads in mad-Asian-traffic- cities-thing!
 
The streets of the historical city of Penang are a joy for the cultural investigator. Little shops selling hand rolled Chinese sweets, mountains of puffed fried tofu, little shops filled with red trinkets, purses and statues, temples discreetly hiding around from ornately carved doorways, and street food carts with lines of devotees.
 
Penang is well known for its Street Food. Lonely planet picked Penang as the top spot for foodies in 2014. And its the sole reason I endured a 15 hour travel day to get here.
 
Rich cultural diversity drenched in food. My favourite of favourites! The first place I head to is Little India. I didn’t get time to try the famous Malaysian Banana Leaf when I was in KL, (as its affectionately known to locals), so little flickers of joy sprung in my heart when I saw folks enjoying the spread as I tried to find a table directly under a fan.
 
I ordered a masala chai without milk and sugar.

‘No sugar?’ He looked at me as if I was from Pluto.
 
Ahhh, Malaysians, they adore their sugar! After my last trip to KL I came back buzzing. It was like sucrose had replaced my blood and my body was crying out from its lack of hits. 
 
The watery Indian dahls’ in big solid metal canisters were caverns of love for my soul- have as much as you want! Each dahl subtly infused with differing spices and heat.   Most customers eat with their hands directly off the Banana leaves, mushing the rice and spices into glutinous balls. I choose cutlery, even after washing my hands. The dirt and sweat from outside felt like was wrapped in sticky tape (not plastic, thank goodness :)).
 
The Banana leaf comes from South Indian and was adopted into Malaysian culture with the significant migration of these peoples here.   The combination of curry flavours, pickles and poppadoms was exactly what I needed for my continued pacing around the city. 
 
After another few hours of meandering in I’d say around 40 degree, 80 per cent humid heat I saw a food cart stall with a line of 20 people long. The 60 year old server was a train. He moved through the line of people with machine like speed and consistency. Slapping the shaved ice, rice noodles made green from Pandan leaf, red bean paste, sugar and coconut milk into little bowls. 20 bowls were made in 3 minutes. He took orders and money whilst slapping the ingredients together with dogged determination.
As I dived into the bowl, my mouth succumbed to its refreshing bite of cool, coconut and red bean bliss. It was just what my body craved. My cells danced a refreshing gypsy tune! The locals and I hung around in this grimy alley that mingled scents of sweet, meat and heat, jointly devouring this joy. My mind congratulated the stall on its minimal environmental impact. Reusing bowls and spoons. Pure unadulterated happiness glowed from within me.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This sweet desert is called Cendol.

I really wanted to try some Penang / Malaysian specialities. The spices, the rice. Nasi goreng. My major problem is they are usually made on a fish base / froth. So I hunted down a vegetarian restaurant that served local dishes. So happy to find a Malaysian cook in a Indian vegetarian restaurant (thank you Thali NR Sweets Cafe!). Here is my dish. Nasi goreng paprik.

It was fabulous. Rich, meaty and a good amount of heat. I was complete!
 
I finished off the day with some AMAZING Japanese food. A little restaurant, tucked in the historical centre, close to some of the famous Pier communities is a little place simply called Sushi Kitchen.
 

Sitting on a raised wooden floor I was served a glass of iced nutmeg. After basking in the cement radiation it was a very welcome crisp antidote for my throat.

 
The sushi chef had not yet arrived, so I had a bowl of Japanese noodle soup. It had the superb combination of salty flavours mixed with the sweet of the sweet potatoe and lightly battered mushrooms, complete perfection rolling around my mouth. Complete and utter perfection.
 
And then I indulged in the sushi. Pure bliss. The homemade vegan-aise was so tasty, so ‘real’ I would not have believed it was not made of eggs and dairy. Extraordinary! Did I mention that I was sent to heaven and had to come crashing down to earth with a thud on my final mouthful? Its true.
 
I was one happy Sunni. Stayed tuned for more of Penang, there is SO much more…
One happy Buddha (like me at the end of the day!)

Slapping therapy?

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I’ve spent the past two weeks very very bruised and in substantial pain.
 

The story begins with a slender, black haired woman. She interrupted my typing reverie at a local cafe. We talked for over two hours. Fascinating background with loads of great travel stories. Towards the end of the conversation she told me about an ancient Chinese healing technique she has been using.

 
‘Maybe it will work on your varicose vein?’ She pointed at my leg. ‘I tried it on a friend’s vein last week and it went away!’
 
‘Well I’ve had this baby for at least 15 years now. It doesn’t hurt. It just looks ugly.’
 
‘I have some time tomorrow, maybe I can come over and we can try?’
 
‘Sure.’
 
This system is based on the meridian systems that the Chinese believe run up and down the body. Basically it is about releasing the blockages in these meridian lines. Those familiar with Acupuncture or eastern philosophy will be generally familiar with this concept.
 
It is different from Acupuncture in that instead of tiny needles, it involves hard slapping. Yes, you read that right.
 
I was slapped. Hard. And repeatedly.
 
I have only just commenced reading the ’50 Shades of Grey’ series in order to understand all the fuss and the criticism about this film and books. The way I was slapped and the subsequent bruising doesn’t seem as pleasurable as is described in the pages in this book.
 
We went to my bungalow because she was worried that the sound of her slapping in the restaurant might cause people to look at us. It turns out the sound of the slapping was the least of concerns.
 
She slapped me hard on my protruding vein. With great intensity. I found out for the first time in one and a half decades that varicose veins can be painful. Well, at least when being whacked senseless.

I winced and smiled, pretending it was okay.
 
She. Was. Hard. She repeated her assault in second intervals.
 
‘Are you okay? I’ll do it softer.’
 
Lets be clear: the technique is slapping. Slapping hard.
 
‘Yes, I’m ok, its ok.’  I thought to myself its only for a short while – I can grin and bear it. Its all for the greater outcome isn’t it?

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’
 
‘Yes, its ok.’
 
‘There should be bruising coming up by now. Why isn’t there any bruising?’ 
 
‘I’m not sure.’ It sure feels like there should be bruising!

She was brutal. She varied it up the attack between hard and slightly less hard when I started wincing. At some point I started hitting my opposite knee so I wouldn’t feel the pain in the leg she was attacking as much.
 
‘Ok, I’ll try the inside of your arm for a while.’reat.’
 
She felt like a boat paddle with her mighty force whacking the water. Faster and faster, get it out of there! This time I bruised. She seemed pleased.
 
‘If you keep slapping there for half an hour, it will go away.’
 
Let me get this rationale clear. You slap a sensitive area for 10 minutes. Bruises and blood vessels appear. The recommended action is to keep slapping, as hard as you can, until it goes away. HHhhhmmmm.
 
So I did.
 
Day 3

This is the result over the next week. I slapped it for an hour. Some changes in the skin happened, but I ended up having such an internal bruise I couldn’t use my arm for days.

Day 1
Day 2
Day 4
Day 7
She went back to torturing my leg. It was like she was trying to slap the vein into behaving. Like it needed to be punished for what its done. Punished like a child never ceasing to pull her hand out of the cookie jar. The neighbour’s cookie jar.
 
It went on for an hour. At least. 
 
I couldn’t walk afterwards. I couldn’t sleep. When I desperately needed to use the toilet, I hopped. Do you know how dangerous it is for an uncoordinated person to hop in a slippery wet Thai bathroom?
 
I couldn’t walk the next day. Luckily the wonderful Thai family I live with lugged  freshly prepared thai feasts up the hill to my bungalow. And I had this view. (not much to complain about really). 🙂
 
For 42 hours I was horizontal. Literally.
 
After the 43rd hour I was able to walk around my cabin with a hobble.
I did some minor stretching involving sticking my legs up the wall and hammock laying. The hammock laying helped a lot. Mainly because my legs were in the air.
 
I started to walk down to the restaurant and back on the third day. The fourth day I walked down to the 7/11 and back. The worst was just standing in the one spot. If I sat down I had to put my leg up.
 
It took me seven days to do my usual 30 minute or so walk. The subsequent days I walked, continued stretching. The pain really didn’t stop for almost two weeks. And, I know you’ll be surprised by this, the varicose vein is still protruding strongly from my leg.
 
Lessons learnt:
  • Slapping a very sensitive area in the body very hard for one hour, hurts.
  • If you continue to slap a sensitive area and bruises and blood vessels appear, stop.
  • Test something first before jumping in.

 

Any other lessons you think I should have learnt from this, please let me know!

Midweek memento – The mysterious note!

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I flung open my wooden bungalow doors with haste, as I usually do each morning to check the sparkling sea below. What mood is it in? What life will it bring to this day?

As I drifted in my hazy state towards my hammock, I noticed a note, placed under a small rock near my shoes at the top of the wooden staircase.
 
Excitedly, I picked it up. The first thing I noticed was the big, pink lips pressed on the side of the note. My heart sank. Obviously, the note was not for me.
 
I immediately smelt the note. I was overwhelmed by the flowery stench of plastic perfume. Mmmmmmm. Quadruple confirmation. It was not for me.
 
The blue pen cautiously spelt out its curvaceous squiggles. It looked so pretty.
 
But why was it here? I’ve only had the occasional friend visit me here. My bungalow is tucked into the mountainous rocks, the furthermost away from the main path. Its hard to find in the dark. It wasn’t there when I got in at 11pm the night before.
 
I was determined to unravel the mystery.
 
The first step was very obviously, breakfast. I asked the Thai family in my restaurant if they could read the note. 
 
‘It not make sense. It only half words. Maybe words from Laos? But for sure, not for you! It on your balcony?’
I nodded, loving her confirmation that it was most definitely not for me.
 

I saw my friends at a local restaurant later that day. My Thai friend said:

 
‘It is Thai for sure, but I don’t understand what the person trying to say. It does not make sense.
 
It say I think:
 
How much for the price. Wrong. To have hurt, one day, one night. Give up already, you understand.’
Fantastic. The mystery has started to unravel. My summary: someone has had a 24 hour stand. The person (I am presuming its a woman) is heartbroken from the fleeting affair. They are pleading to the other person for understanding. They are hoping a pressed kiss and cheap perfume will persuade their fanciful love.
Certainly not me.
 
But the question remains. Why is it on my balcony?
 
The truth is, no one knows which balcony is mine. I have not had any one night stands or 24 hour stands. I thought about it being put mistakenly on the wrong bungalow. But there were couples around me – all who are just passing through. And no-one who has been single has stayed in the bungalow next to mine (the most likely mistaken bungalow) for the whole time I’ve been here.
 
Another English friend suggested it could be the staff. This is very very unlikely as the two possible staff from my resort (a very loose word here in Thailand) and the bungalow next to mine are from Laos and I am pretty sure they can’t read or write. And I certainly don’t feel they harbour any feelings for me. 
 
My bungalow is just in such an out-of-the-way place.
 
Help me unravel the mystery! Any suggestions on likely stories or scenarios???

Cha cha or Leo Leo?

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I recently visited the main town on Koh Phangan, Thongsala, (which is made up of essentially two main streets and alleyways branching off like a advantageous roots, in a haphazard, inconsistent fashion). All sorts of practical local supplies like hardware are mixed in with tattoo parlours, guest houses and food fares.

Thongsala, Koh Phangan


I like it’s simplicity. It’s not too big or too sprawling. It’s easy to get around and find things. It is the embodiment of a little Thai island village, just enough of everything, just enough dirt, just enough dried fish smells, just enough tantalising treats.

 
 
When I decided to head back to my beach, I went to find a motorbike taxi. I know they always drive like they are taking a labouring woman to hospital, so I had to set my terms upfront. 
 
‘Taxi?’ His pleasant, slightly slurred face looked hopeful.
 
‘Yes, Haad Yao.’
 
He was turning to get on his bike. ‘How much’ I pressed.
 
‘200’
 
‘150’
 
‘Ok.’
 
‘Cha Cha.’
 
He nods. 
 
His friend beside the bike looks at me and says, ‘No, Leo Leo’ motioning with his arms like he’s trying to get a donkey to trot.
 
I look at him in fear, ‘No, CHA CHA…’
 
Encouraged, with a half smirk, he fastens, ‘No, LEO LEO!’
 
 
I put my hand on my driver before he takes off, ‘CHA CHA’. 
 
‘Ok, Ok..’
 
We set off, leaving a laughing group of men behind.


Thongsala, Koh Phangan
This is an example of the current workings of my mind in relation to my writing.  Do I go slowly, cha cha (I love that cha cha in Thai means ‘slow’ when to most English speakers it means sexy, active dancing!). Or do I go Leo Leo (one of the Thai beers here is called ‘Leo’, or in English ‘Fast’).
 
My writing has been paceful most days. And I write a decent amount. But I still don’t think its enough. I pressure myself with thoughts of ‘Leo, Leo’ but this doesn’t help the writing process. Some days I get lost in social media (I am thoroughly enjoying my ability (ie the time) to read all the articles I want to read and have endless conversations with my friends here, and new friends I meet along the way. I’ve helped out friends with various things (on and off the island) which has added up to weeks and weeks of time.
 
I let myself be distracted. I mostly try and be solitary. (Sunni? Solitary? Yes, I know… but its true). I try to hide myself away in corners of coffee shops with earphones in, a concentrated look on my face, barely looking up. But it still doesn’t work. People just want to talk to me. 
 
My internal pressure is far greater than anything I know.
 
And then there’s that time thing. Surprisingly, time flies in a tropical island paradise. Sounds tough, I know. But I am genuinely surprised at how quickly 4 months has gone (yes its really true – 4 months!). Life has gotten busier on the island. Its now high season and I was reflecting with my friends recently on how we miss the ‘good old days’ when the island was sparse and I would go to my favourite cafe and there would be no one in it.
 
I certainly have not been working at the speed I work at when I am working for employers in Australia (I give at least 126.7% out of 100% in all the work I undertake). I have allowed myself the space to go ‘Cha Cha’ for a while. I vary up my routine most days. I’ve let the creativity flow in different ways.
 
But then the guilt creeps in. I think about my good friends at home who are exceptionally busy with their families, parenting, working and everything else in their lives. I feel guilty that I have this time and space. 

And then I feel guilty watching just how hard people work here. My local friends. Working 6 or 7 days a week, over 16 hours a day, never getting a break. And I have the privilege to do what I’m doing. And god damn it! You should be doing more! Mush! Mush!! If they can work those crazy hours – so should you!!! And then the nicer part of me comes out… But you have done those crazy hours before. Contribute in the way you contribute here. And you are preparing for the next wave of intense work that will inevitably happen.

So I still get torn. The angel and the devil are still around. 
I’ve realised that I am a creature of routine. I need it. So I’m instituting a more regimented regime for the next month or so. I’ve redrafted my project plan for all the various writing and other tasks I am doing. I’ve started a new blog I’m happy with. I’m reading more (even if its 50 Shades of Grey – it’s still interesting to read a different writing style, yes?). And I feel focused. Lets see how it unfolds! Wish me luck!

Thongsala, Koh Phangan (pretty island village!)

Midweek memento – Group Sex Workshops

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“I’m going to be a bit late tonight, I’m going to a workshop this afternoon.”

“Oh, ok…”

I quickly understood the vibe. ‘Its on speed reading. I’m really interesting in reading more books, quickly!’
 
Their smiles offered a sense of relief. ‘No problems, whenever you can get here is fine!’

 

I understood their trepidation. There are many and varied workshops offered here in Koh Phangan. Tantra, Astrological Tantra, Spiritual healing of all descriptions, Goddess awakenings, you name it, and someone’s got a workshop on it. Usually framed in a ‘spiritual’ manner, like ‘awaken yourself with…’, ‘become one with the universe with…’, ‘enlighten yourself in these ….conscious ways…’ And then it gets better.
 
I met a guy recently at a local cafe. His opening for the conversation was complimenting me on my hair.
 
‘It’s so golden, such a lovely colour.’
 
‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’
 
‘What cakes do you recommend here?’
 
‘Everything, but the banana cake is amazing.’
 
We got talking about ourselves and what we are doing here. When he found out I was a writer he said, ‘I’ll have to watch what I say then.’ 
 
I laughed, ‘Being a writer can be quite good payback for sure, but, of course all my characters are completely fictional!’
 
We kept talking. A little while later he said he initially came to the island to run a few workshops, but then decided against it because ‘it’s not the right time’. 
 
‘Oh cool, what sort of workshops were you going to run.’
 
‘Group sex.’
 
I desperately tried not to look shocked, and/or burst out laughing.
‘Oh, ok’. I tried frantically to find some sort of question in which to respond, to act like, I’m so cool, I’m down with that… 
 
‘But it wasn’t the right time’.
‘But it wasn’t the right time.’ Repeating his words I nodded, trying to maintain a sense of calm.
 
‘Yes, a lot of people would like have group sex, but they don’t know how. I just want to give them the tools so they can arrange it. But I’ve realised it’s probably best coming from a woman, not a man. I need to find a woman who has had a couple of good group sex experiences.’

‘Ok.’
 
Fortuitously I had a massage appointment to go to, so I had a reason to excuse myself pretty soon afterwards. I almost ran out of the cafe, but not before he said,
‘Maybe I’ll see you here again.’
 
 

 

My friends were understandably a little cautious about asking me what workshop I was attending. Koh Phangan brings out some pretty interesting characters, people and workshops!