Travel Diary: his.to.ri.cal | he.ri.tage | ma.la.cca

This is not quite the review I expected to write about what would have been considered a place representing my heritage. The trip could not have started worse. I’ve not been there for a long, long time and decided to take advantage of the fact that a friend was visiting; so let’s check out this historical city together. Unfortunately, the morning we were suppose to meet my O2 decided to act up (rather common by the way) and I slept through…

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The journey could not seem longer, than it really is; naturally, when all I kept doing was glancing at the clock on my dashboard and the speedometer, working the simple math only to discover I will be late. Repeatedly – the frequency of which is almost to the extend when my tongue seeks to dislodge a stray piece of food between my teeth – like a billion times before I succeed!
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Worse, my air conditioner decided to huff and puff cold air and mist furiously before deciding to stop working. Being a 24/7 air conditioner person (when I’m in the city) I was sweating like a pig in no time and cursing my choice of clothes. What was I thinking? And then, I took the wrong turn into the town centre.
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When I finally managed to get myself parked beside the once famous chicken rice ball shop opposite the once hip and cool Orang Utan shop, which is the direct opposite of those historical red buildings, I messaged Mr. E, since I was explicitly instructed not to waste his money with roaming services (hmmm). And as if it was to punish me further, Mr. E’s first words were “Penelope, do you always make people wait for you?” Well, considerably uncultured given that that was the first time Mr. E and I ever met. Late or otherwise, it was totally uncalled for. I, myself, didn’t see the need or obligation to explain.
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With the aid LP, we walked about the narrow streets that was once the old town organised according to trade. Now, the only trade that seems to scream at you is TOURISM. Shell and coconut hairpins. Batik t-shirts. Foldable fan. Flip flops. Sling bags … you name it. Westernised back-packer cafes. Internet holes. Craft and local artist. Souvenirs stores. Silver. Wood carving. Lacquer ware. Weaving. Lacquer ware?!?
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In short: there was really no essence of the place itself. No heritage. No history. No culture.
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The walkabout was painful. We had to jump off the road on to 3″ to 5″ wide “pavements” (read: sides of the drain) every few seconds, avoiding being killed by cars and bikes alike. It really wasn’t a place for a Humvee; even in my modest 2-door 4×4, navigating through the streets was spine chilling.
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With high levels of humidity (thanks to the drizzles and finally downpour which resulted in us being stranded and smelling delightfully (not) like chicken rice balls after 2 hours), the cultural experience-cum-walkabouts was disappointing to me at least.
‘hunting’ for a good shot was as good a chance as shooting a wild boar. And with everything being prep up for the tourist, I had no choice but to tweak around with CS3 and play with saturation to give the pix a look of the past!
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All in, the drive was miserable. Company so-so. Food was bad. As for the sights … what sights? One needs a trained eye for the lookout of anything old. Note the spotlights on all the rooftops that lights Malacca up into a hideous red glow at night.
I mean: man, red?!? What were you thinking?


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One thought on “Travel Diary: his.to.ri.cal | he.ri.tage | ma.la.cca

  1. Do u really need that LP??? lol.malacca is one place which dissappoints me altho i still recognize that city for a good deal in antiques, still, depends lah.

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