Fish Spa

So novel I had to try—the Malaysians are really into these treatments, the spas are numerous.  Three Ringgits (less than 1 USD) buys your feet ten minutes in a pool with thousands of hungry ‘Doctor Fish’. Not advised for the ticklish or fish-phobic, the three inch toothless fish swarm your submerged appendages in a feeding frenzy, pecking off dead skin and apparently increasing circulation. Either I was in dire need of a cleaning or I taste particularly good because the fish gave my feet far more attention than the others in the pool. The sensation of looking down at your feet lost in teeming fish-boots as your bit by hundreds of tiny mouths does get heart going—I think this is the “increase in circulation” they claim. It was worth it for the good laugh and my feet did feel cleaner, but it is the type of experience that once leaves you fulfilled for a long time. 

The view from above--I had a serious school going

I wonder if different nationalities taste different? 

Even the hardcore Muslim women who only show their eyes in public will stick their toes out for these beloved fish. 

KL Night Market

Come nightfall the central arteries of Chinatown become impassable to all but foot traffic as a horde of transient buyers and sellers pack the streets, giving rise to a bazaar experience for all five senses. An indiscernible collective hum of bargaining and banter envelopes your hearing as you enter the crowd. This is no place for adherence to the Western notions of personal space—bumping, rubbing against and cutting off others are all acceptable moves for progress in the crowd, without them you’d be at a standstill. The humid heat persists even in the absents of the sun and has an intoxicating effect on those not used to it by sapping your energy, giving the world a surreal dreamlike texture…or maybe that was lack of water. The smell of roasting coffee and hazelnuts, fresh fruit and hawker food stalls dominate the air. Some food stalls cook with such spicy chilies that as you pass by the airborne oils cause the lungs to cease up and burn, but it’s quick to pass. And then, as if to makes these sweet smells sweeter, there is the occasional whiff of raw sewage or rotten garbage from behind the scenes—ah the joys of a developing nation. 

Once your appetite has returned Indian tandoori pots and vats of curries, huge Chinese noodle filled woks and Malay concoctions like peanuts and dried fish are present in abundance. Wash it down with a fruit smoothie, Chinese tea or Tiger brew. After taking care of the stomach one can enjoy the visual feast—illuminated by red paper lanterns and strands of blue lights merchant stalls display mostly knockoff garments, footwear, watches, sunglasses, handbags and wallets. This is no place for true hand crafts. Less than perfect replicas of the high-end products I saw for sale in Singapore were available in mass. After reflecting on my distaste for the multinational brand names selling their overpriced goods (see Chasing an Illusion) I had a new respect for the counterfeit scene of the night market. If companies like Louis Vuitton are going to engineer needs for their goods in the public at large but limit who can have their goods by the price they charge, I see no moral issue in knockoff artist providing for these perceived needs with similar goods at a much more accessible price. It’s Robin Hood justice of sorts.

When buying anything but food barter is the game played in these streets, and after reading some pointers I was keen to hone my skills with practice. All prospective transactions began in a similar way—entering a merchant’s stall you casually look over his goods uninterested in anything specific, or anything at all, allowing 

him to approach you—“Yes, for you sir!?!”

With a pause, nonchalantly ask him the price of a few items, never just the one you’re interested in, as if only to humor him for asking. No matter what his price your retort is as always the same—“too much!” with a look of shock.

Without fail this leads the merchant to spiel about his great product and why it’s worth the high price, which again is met with—“too much, too much.”

This might get him to lower his price, but usually only a little. “Is that your best price? I want your best price!” you demand firmly always with a smile, keeping things light but cutting to the chase.  He doesn’t want to undercut what you might be willing to pay so the question begets a question—“how much you want to pay?”

This answer has to be calculated, a bit lower than you’re actually willing to fork over, but not so low that he doesn’t take you seriously. Upon stating your lowball price it is his turn to bock and act repulsed, most merchants put on a good show, but the key is standing firm. He’ll counter with something higher, and depending on how much he gives from his original price gage how low you think you can get him and make a final offer. After making the final offer the move is to stick to it until he accepts…if he continues to fuss walk away. The threat of taking your business elsewhere is deal closing power move, the merchant almost always calls out and to accept your price before you’re out of his stall. But you can’t fake the walk away, if he doesn’t go for it just keep walking—he isn’t willing to take the offer and you’ve just given up too much bargaining leverage to negotiate further. No big deal all the merchants sell basically the same stuff, go to another stall, mend the tact and play again…it’s all just for fun. 

Kuala Lumpur—Refreshingly Unfamiliar

Though they’re less than an hour apart by plane, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore are totally different beasts. Kuala Lumpur (or KL as it’s known locally) is a pleasantly unpolished, there was something about its grimy, at times seedy and wholly foreign, rough cut that I found refreshing. Maybe I was just craving travel time in a developing nation after New Zealand and Singapore, the western amenities, common language and similarities in culture can become lackluster when you’re seeking fresh experiences. There is immense character in KL’s dirty streets, tattered buildings, strange smalls and an unfamiliar culture—you can’t avoid newness. And it’s this newness that keeps you in the present, unable to file these experiences into preformed boxes of perception from the past you can’t help but more fully engage them as they occur. To me this is what traveling is all about…

 Part of the one block Little India

I don't know what this woman was making, shavings of something and white paste wrapped in a banana leaf, by the way everyone around her was acting it had to be narcotic  

Dankness on a stick in the making 

Crowds like this is are unavoidable...get comfortable with it

The motor scooter: The family car of SE Asia