Sunni Dawson

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Water fight. For the whole country.

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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.

 

One of those days.

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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

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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

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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!

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!)