February 18, 2010

The call to prayer wasn’t unpleasant at all; it did wake me up, but I went right back to sleep, getting up way past actual sunrise. Gimzui took us to the waterfront, where a rickety boardwalk led out to a bunch of forlorn fishing shacks. Mosquitoes feasted on my calves, and the foul odor was explained when an old man rode up on a motorcycle and deposited a large quantity of waste into a blue barrel by the water’s edge.

As I walked gingerly out on the boardwalk, dogs in the huts launched a volley of barking against the intrusion. I had no intention of going out that far, however, instead watching the mudfish flapping around on the flats and taking pictures of the scene. Chenbl and I then walked up the coast a little ways and were invited on a tour of the docks there by a Malay fisherman whose friend was untangling a net. Smoke from garbage fires was billowing out over the water from nearby cliffs, but the sky was a spectacular shade of blue. Gimzui said the whole thing would be torn down soon, so it was good that we got to see them before they’re gone.

Breakfast was delicious curry “pancakes” and hard-boiled eggs at an Indian place across the street from the hotel, which is feeling more and more like the old Langford Hotel in Winter Park where my family stayed while house-hunting after moving to Florida in 1981. In a good vacation way, that is. It was getting quite hot, but still not as muggy as Taipei in the summer.

We drove to the old part of town by the coast, full of brilliant white English-style government buildings, to a busy temple. Out in front was a rack of huge purple incense logs, while the scene inside was much the same as most Taiwanese temples, except for the mixture of Malays and Indians. I took a picture of a fellow sitting by the gate, and the woman sitting next to him immediately demanded money. The singing wasn’t that good, though, and they cursed at my back when they didn’t get any.

The Malaysians, who know what they are doing, went to have tea indoors during the hottest part of the day, while Chenbl and I foolishly went for a walk around the area, stopping in at a shop run by an old Chinese woman. While Chenbl chatted with her, I talked with an old Hindu man who thought that Penang was going downhill “thanks to all of those Muslims.” He seemed affronted when Chenbl later came up and asked him if he was Muslim.

Our next stop, after taking pictures of a garbage recycler on his porch step, was Sun Yat-sen’s old revolutionary HQ. After paying a small fee, we got a tour from the junior-high-school girl inside. The old courtyard construction really does keep the places cool, and there were some ingenious pre-electrical-era arrangements in the kitchen. It was odd to think of the old revolutionaries holding their secret meetings there, always on alert for raids and ready to escape into the maze of Indian and Malay establishments behind the place. The upstairs is being rented out to some artist types. “Not just anyone can rent out those rooms,” the student told us when we inquired. “They have to be, you know, someone.”

It was truly hot out now, the perfect time, I felt, to go hat-hunting. We eventually found our way to the Muslim market opposite the Police HQ, and I quickly realized that most of the hats were too small for me. I managed to find a couple that fit, though. The owner, an older man in a black hat just like the one I’d bought from him, tried to fix another hat I’d already bought and didn’t do a very good job.

Our hosts, refreshed after an afternoon of tea, called up and arranged to meet us outside. It was a relief to get back into the air-conditioned car and drive out to the other side of the island, to a coastline covered with resorts and beaches. At the end of the road was a fishing village. Young Malay men with braids and dark, soft mustaches kicked a yellow soccer ball around while stray cats strolled around rubbing people’s legs. We talked with a couple of young fishermen who claimed they were 18, though they looked much more like 14 at most, as they smoked while sitting on the dock. Huge jellyfish, both white and orange, floated in the green water under the docks.

Back in town that evening, we had dinner at an old restaurant, a delicious meal around several tables as there were quite a few of us; apparently the Malaysians got word around of our visit, so we had over a dozen people in a convoy of vehicles. Afterwards, one of them gave us a ride back to the hotel, giving us a guided tour as we went.

Tomorrow we’re driving back to Kuala Lumpur, most likely stopping in Ipoh again for lunch and a haircut.

February 17, 2010

I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning, thanks to Chenbl’s snoring, and we were all out the door by 6:45. Gimzui drove us along completely dark roads, untarnished by streetlights, up a hill through a tea plantation to a place we could watch the sunrise. A handful of photographers were already set up along the road. Gradually the sky lightened, but it soon became apparent that cloud cover would keep most of the sunrise invisible, which was a shame as I was cold; I hadn’t expected to be cold in Malaysia, but the altitude and time of day combined to make me wish I’d brought proper shoes and pants. I walked up the road a ways to look at some interestingly colored farm buildings, wondering what it was like to live and work here.

We had breakfast in a building cantilevered out over a cliff in the center of the plantation. The curry dumplings, tuna sandwiches and sweetbread were all quite good. I took a look at the tea factory, and then Chenbl and I took a walk down through the fields where workers were harvesting the tea. Eventually a trio of foreign photographers showed up, making us a merry little crowd snapping away at the perplexed tea harvesters. At least they were merry; while the others were happy to continue, I lost my appetite for the whole thing and kept walking down the road to take pictures of leaves instead.

Gimzui said we should leave soon as it would rain, and he was right; as soon as we’d left the parking lot a heavy rain began to fall. Traffic was backed up along the narrow road, with cars edging perilously close to the edges of cliffs.

We returned to the hostel to get our things and then proceeded back down the mountain on the same road we used yesterday, as the other way was blocked by traffic. As we drove along the endless curves through the forests, the sun came out again, and I opened the window and listened to the sounds of the insects and birds; it was quite a racket, but very nice and refreshing. Eventually, however, it got hot again as we neared sea level, and I had to close the window before we got back on the highway north, towards Ipoh and Penang.

Ipoh is home to steep, jutting mountains reminiscent of Guilin in China, though many are halfway gone from gravel cutting that was causing landslides even as we passed through. We drove downtown and had lunch at a sort of market contained in a large, dirt, rather colonial high-ceilinged room with huge mirrors on the wall. The town seemed very interesting, but as tends to be the case when traveling in a group, there was no time for exploring. You need to get out and walk, preferably alone and aimlessly, for that. This hasn’t been the best trip for photos or video, but then again, I probably wouldn’t have come here on my own to begin with, so whatever I get is all gravy, really.

After lunch, we got back on the highway and continued over the long bridge to Georgetown on Penang. After putting our things down at the cheap apartment in the hotel, we drove to a night market, the stalls on either side of the street competing to see who could produce the most smoke. As I was looking around for things to eat, I spotted a Western man holding a professional-level video camera, accompanied by a sound guy trying and failing to look inconspicuous. Then I saw the blonde woman that was the focus of their attention a ways down the street, and I realized that the crew was from the Discovery Channel, and they were filming a Lonely Planet episode. I recalled the incident where the show’s producers had rejected me apparently based on my politics and general demeanor, and I resolved to approach the hostess. When I did, however, I realized that she was not from the Lonely Planet show, but rather one of the cooking shows. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi!” she said brightly, and started to move away rapidly. I get that a lot.

“Did you do a show on Taipei?” I continued, not really knowing what to say. Apparently she gets that a lot as well; she shook her head in a well-practiced manner.

“No, that wasn’t me.”

“Ah, sorry, my mistake.” And that was that. I went back to the Malaysians at the sidewalk table, embarrassed at the whole thing.

After dinner we drove to a very large, very well-let temple on the top of a hill. Many apartments were decorated with what look like Christmas lights for Chinese New Years, but this temple went all out, Disney World-style. Unfortunately, they went Disneyesque in the ticket department as well, charging to get into the nicest parts, so we didn’t bother. As there was no way a car could get anywhere near the place due to the horrendous traffic, we had to walk all the way up and back down again afterwards. Chenbl said the place was lousy with ghosts. Georgetown is full of old abandoned estates from the colonial period; apparently you can’t change the exteriors under a law passed a while ago, so people just leave them, resulting in an inordinate amount of apparently haunted mansions around town.

I’m getting more used to the curious mix of languages I’ve heard people using here. I don’t know any Malay, of course, but knowing English, Mandarin, some Cantonese and some Fukienese really helps. The English words are often simplified on signs as well, e.g. “Klinic” and “Farmaci”. Although the mix of cultures and religions here is fascinating, I’m not looking forward to being awoken at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning by the Muslims’ call to prayer across the street. But Gimzui is adamant that we get another shot at watching a sunrise; we’ll see, maybe.

February 16, 2010

Everyone drives in Malaysia, it seems. Kuala Lumpur’s metro seems a half-hearted effort at best, with small two-car trains and insufficient lines. Buses are scarce, and only a few small motorcycles can be seen whipping around in traffic. Mostly it’s cars. The cities are laid out accordingly as well, necessitating long drives into town amid gridlocked traffic situations for shopping, eating, etc. The license plates are white letters that look like fridge magnets stuck on glossy black plastic cut to the shape of whatever model’s license-plate space is.

Chenbl was feeling ill, so we were off to a late start this morning; Ah-lin drove us to a breakfast place, where we picked up some crunchy shrimp strips, changfen and egg tarts to take with us to the rendezvous point with the others. We then piled into Gimzui’s Nissan, which smells exactly like all other Nissans in the world, and headed north on the highway. Small motorcycles zipped alongside, probably going as fast as they could. One fellow rode mere inches behind a bus, drafting it for mileage. Amazingly stupid, that.

The highway wound around hills and forests of banana trees, teak trees and other crops. Some pieces of land had been cleared. When we reached a rest stop, I was able to establish that, while Malaysian Dunkin Donuts rank above those in Taiwan, they’re not as good as the US version. I also found that KFCs here sell tiny chicken burgers, like sliders, and delicious cream-cheese potato slices.

We got off the highway and traveled a winding road up into the mountains, occasionally passing people sitting in primitive huts on the side of the road. The air eventually got fresher and cooler, until we could turn off the a/c and open the windows. Miles later we entered the small town of Ringlet, where we found a sort of cheap service apartment and then had lunch at a KFC knockoff that had free wifi and swinging seats out front.

Our original plan was to drive out to the Blue Valley to see the tea plantations, but the road was chockablock with cars, so instead we took a side road out to a mountainside village. After parking in the square, we climbed up to the top among the scattered wooden huts, most on stilts, only to be told that we couldn’t take pictures, first because there was a dog somewhere, and then because someone had been caught taking pictures of villagers taking baths; that individual had also been severely beaten, we were told. Chenbl bought sweets for the village kids to get in their good graces and let us take some pictures of them jumping around in the square. The sky was a brilliant blue, the shadows of occasional clouds wafting over the green hills.

The others wanted to go back to the hotel to rest at this point, but Gimzui, Chenbl and I decided to make the most of the late-afternoon light. We drove back along the road a ways to some teahouses overlooking some fields and took more pictures. Walking by myself along the mountain road in the fresh air and crisp light, taking pictures of trees and the mountainside and my own shadow on the highway, I felt as happy as I have yet on this trip.

Dinner was arranged at an old hotel built in the Tudor-style in 1937 called The Smokehouse. Apparently it was originally a haven for lonely, homesick Englishmen who were posted to the area and couldn’t return to their homelands for at least eight years. A rambling two-story wooden structure, it featured creaky floorboards and a very homey feel, including a huge fireplace with a real fire, something I haven’t seen in ages. The food itself was nothing to write home about, but I wouldn’t mind staying in one of the six rooms if they weren’t so expensive.

After dinner we walked through the local night market, which was pretty much like any other night market. I’m continually surprised at how receptive people here are to being photographed for the most part, paranoid hillside villagers excepted. I keep expecting people to shy away as they do in Taipei, but most people, especially Indians and Malays, don’t seem to mind at all. It’s refreshing, and there are many interesting things to photograph here. Chenbl has gotten some amazing shots so far.

After the night market, we retired to a fruit tea shop to review the days’ events. Tomorrow we’re going somewhere else; we’ll see what that’s like tomorrow. I have yet to find a place where my Thinkpad can access wifi, so I’m just writing these in Word for now and will publish them when I can.

February 15, 2010

The Petronas Towers were shining in the distance across miles and miles of low-rise buildings outside the window when I woke up this morning- I’d forgotten where I was. Ouyang, who picked us up at the airport, drove us to a nearby breakfast place, where we were served delicious egg cakes with curry sauce and bubbly milk tea by a trio of taciturn, handsome Indian men.

After breakfast we drove about an hour out of the city to Batu Cave, a huge cavern set in a mountain, guarded by a large golden statue and entered via several hundred steep steps. Monkeys hopped up and down the wires next to the staircase as we made our slow way up.

The interior of Batu Cave is a truly magnificent sight; I could have spent all day there taking pictures and video of the worshippers, priests, tourists and other monkeys. Rays of light pierced the trees above, and drops of water and leaves fell from the holes in the cavern roof hundreds of feet above our heads. A white chicken was the source of endless entertainment for a line of children trying to touch it, and hairy priests tired red string around worshippers’ hands in small but ornate pavilion. Blonde European children were scooped up and photographed being held by smiling Indian men. Everyone seemed to be in a very good mood. On our way out I spotted one of the tourist stores; it was named “TC”. I’ve been seeing my name a lot in Malaysia; it apparently means something, but I’m not entirely sure I want to know just what.

The sun was high and hot as we drove back to the city, to the Petronas Towers Mall, where we met some more Malaysian friends for lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant. One of them, a Mr. Ng, travels to Laos a lot and gave us some tips for our upcoming excursion there. After lunch we went down to the small pond and took pictures of the towers for a while before getting back in the car with yet another friend, Gimzui, who took us out to Putrajaya, a brand-new area full of brand-new government buildings and a large new mosque. There we sat outside the gate chatting and commenting on the various hat styles we saw coming and going, until it was open to the public. Inside, shoes off, I shuffled around the edges of the shiny-floored mosque, circling it until I was in the front, where a woman told me about the various prayer positions. It was very hot, and a short bit of rain did nothing to alleviate the sweltering atmosphere.

We drove down by the government buildings, an eerily empty scene, not a soul in sight and few cars, and then to some of the bridges, which are fancy enough for some geometric shots. The sun was setting by this time, so we went down to a halfway completed bridge to take pictures of the scene.

Then it was back into Kuala Lumpur for dinner at another mall somewhere; I have no idea where because they all seem to be enormous and underground. After dinner, which ran late due to excessive chatting, Ah-lin, whose apartment we’ve been staying in thus far, took us back to the Petronas Towers for some night shots. Sitting on the left-hand side of his Benz as we drove around the city, it occurred to me that in comparison to KL, Taipei seems like a dinky little town. KL is a truly multicultural, international metropolis. It’s not quite Hong Kong or Singapore, but that’s why it’s interesting.

Tomorrow we’re apparently going on a road trip to the mountains.

February 14, 2010

I got out the door this morning in time to catch the high-speed train to Taoyuan. From there I took the shuttle bus to the airport with Chenbl.

We were early, however, and had to wait for the Asia Air check-in desk to open. When it did, we lined up, waited, and finally got to the counter, where Chenbl placed a large box o’ things on the rollers. Only after we’d checked it did the clerk deign to inform us of a tiny change in the time of the flight to Kuala Lumpur; it was now over five hours later, thanks to “snow in Hangzhou,” which has got to be a metaphor for something.

What does one do at an airport for half a dozen hours? We pondered this over lunch at the mezzanine-level Burger King, eventually deciding to spend the time at one of the many airport lounges on the second floor.

The lounge, called “The More,” had massage chairs, the really violent kind that lift you up and throw you around for a while. It also had steamed sesame baozi as well as a Wii set so I could trounce Chenbl in baseball, tennis and bowling. He beat me in boxing, though; I simply don’t have the patience for it. I had some toast with that ugly yellow Anchor butter that smells like Austalia, then took a nap in a small dark room just for that purpose, followed by a shower before it was time to go downstairs to the concourse. There, I failed to find any of the supposed wifi signals that were advertised, seriously considered buying a Futurama comic and watched PS3 games. I also came close to buying, at a ridiculous price, a Canon S90, as the Sony Handycam I’m using on this trip is too large, with insufficient zoom and iffy focusing. I miss using a point-and-shoot for these things. Well, next time.

Asia Airlines doesn’t have any actual staff in Taipei, so the flight was handled by Eva staff, who were apologetic about the meager lunchboxes they were handing out in “compensation” for the delay. When we got aboard, though, I was impressed with the black-leather seats accented with deep red seatbelts and carpeting. Very swank, as if Sharper Image had designed the place.

Unfortunately, the seat in front of me looked as if someone had forgotten to clean up the vomit from the last few trips. A few seats up a woman was clipping her fingernails. I wondered how she’d gotten nail clippers aboard. The seats themselves don’t recline; instead, you can slide the bottom part forward, reducing your own knee space instead of that of the person behind you. Clever, I suppose, albeit in a rather nefarious fashion.

The on-board system advertised all the great movies and TV shows and music, etc. All for a price. The only free thing that was vaguely tempting was the chatroom, where I tried and failed to instigate a mutiny from seat 47K. “Facebook of The Skies” it wasn’t. Krispy Kreme donuts were also advertised, and of course I had to get a couple; they turned out to be about as appetizing as Mister Donut products or cardboard. The dinner itself, bbq chicken, wasn’t very good, and the staff were not very helpful either, disappearing after the meals were out to the back room of the plane where they presumably had a poker game or something, because we didn’t see them for the rest of the flight. This left me free to take prohibited pictures of the interior and the huge sprawl of Ho Chi Min City as we flew overhead.

When we finally landed at Kuala Lumpur, we had to disembark via staircases, a la 1960’s presidents, and walk across a great length of tarmac to get to the airport itself. The lines inside were long, but we got through soon enough, to be greeted by one of the Malaysian fellows who visited Taiwan a few months ago. It was fairly hot and muggy; Chenbl had started sweating almost immediately after disembarking, but it took me a while before I felt the heat.

I’m now at the high-rise apartment of another one of the Malaysians, in the living room typing on my Thinkpad while Chenbl watches Chinese New Year variety programs on TV.

Ever since I sold my LX3 a while back, my Leica M6 has more or less taken its place as my “middle camera”. It’s kind of strange to be back with film, but I’ve noticed something unusual in my experiences using it: I’m getting my film shots up much quicker than my digital ones.

Of course, most of the reason for this is my troubles with Lightroom, which apparently doesn’t play nice with Snow Leopard, necessitating a reinstall of an earlier OS on my iMac to smooth things over, at least until Lightroom 3 comes out of beta. But another reason is my shooting style: when I’m using the M6, which fits in my bag or coat pocket just fine. But I tend to think about shooting differently when I use it; I take more care with my shots and seldom take multiples. People seem to not take as much offense at the sight of the M6 as they do when I’m aiming the Invincible Rabbit at them. However, I also take more substandard shots towards the end of a roll, alas, so eager am I to send it off for processing.

That said, getting the pictures back on a CD the next day is a lot more fun; there’s more anticipation, and I find I have more keepers than I do with digital, and they need hardly any processing at all. Up they go, while my old shots from last summer linger on my hard drives. The psychological block to start in on processing such a mountain of photos makes me hesitate, whereas with a disc of 38 shots, it’s an easy task. To coin a phrase, film just works.

I should note that, if I want to make prints, I’d need to take the original negatives in, negatives that do not contain any adjustments I’d made in post. In this respect digital is more convenient. I haven’t made prints in a while. I am talking with a large photo magazine/publisher about a photo book, however. Seems about time.

I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a GF1, but the pile of unprocessed photos awaiting me makes me feel guilty about getting another camera, and there are always the rumors of something better just around the corner, of course. This will always be the case; there’s always something better just around the corner, somthing that will make your current camera suddenly stop working and retreat back into the drybox, weeping in frustration. But as PMA is coming up, and I’m going to be taking the rabbit with me for the Chinese New Year break, there’s not much of a reason to get another compact just yet. I also have to admit that I’m hooked on the smooth action of the M6 as well as the way it fits in my hands. If Leica made an accessible digital version of this camera, I’d be quite interested, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen any time soon.

Which is fine, actually. I’d thought, along with everyone else, that there would be no looking back after the advent of digital, but it turns out most of the problems we thought we were solving werent’ really that big a deal. Funny how that works.

Hard to believe it’s 2010 already. I still find myself typing “19–” sometimes, and more often than not I’ll type “200-” before catching myself. Funny how our brains screw things up.

Ray, Chenbl and I took a drive in the country on Saturday, heading down to Sanxia, where we stopped to take pictures of some fishermen on the river, and then to a Buddhist temple that was getting ready for some kind of celebration, most likely new-year related. Red paper lanterns were strewn all over the basement parking lot. Upstairs, men were polishing the golden statues and women were sweeping the great hall.

We drove on, getting momentarily lost in Sanxia before finding the road to the tiny village of Sanmin, where we had lunch at an old-fashioned restaurant by the river that runs through the town. We were the only customers at first, but soon other parties began to arrive. The place had holes in the walls to let the wind through. We walked around the town after lunch, taking pictures of each other playing butcher behind a sausage stand and petting the daschund of the owner of the local Chinese medicine shop. The dog would walk up and toss itself on the ground in front of strangers, begging them to rub its tummy.

We got back in the car and kept driving, out to a place called the Batcave. “And here I forgot my bat costume,” Ray said as we pulled up to the gate, where a couple of older aborigine guys were sitting and chatting by the ruins of an old bathroom. The road to the Batcave was an uphill path, still slightly mossy and slippery after the recent rains. We passed an observation tower, and then the path dove into the forest and across a stream that gurgled pleasantly.

We rounded a corner, and my mouth fell open. A fissure opened up above the mountainside on both sides, waterfalls flowing and splashing down one corner at the distant far end. I could see where the bats must have congregated, but the huge open space underneath would also have been great natural shelter for aborigines, with a large hill of rocks in the center like a pulpit. It was almost a religious space, the legendary water curtain cave come to life. I prowled among the rocks in the stream and climbed up next to the waterfalls, taking pictures. It was supremely cool. I wonder what the place is like during a typhoon.

Ray and Chenbl were getting impatient, though, so we went back to the car and off to see one of Chiang Kai-shek’s old villas in Fuxing Village’s Jiaobanshan. It was interesting, but too much has been changed, and fog rolled in, obscuring the views. Ray complained about not being able to take any good pictures in such conditions, but I liked the soft light. It was weird to think of the Chiangs walking around that very area, playing games with the kids and having barbeques. One of the barbeque pictures on the wall was dated the very day I was born, strangely enough.

We had some peanut-butter and chocolate toast and tea at the cafe overlooking the trees stretching into the fog. Again, I kept Chenbl and Ray waiting while I took pictures. That happens a lot when I’m traveling with other people, even other photographers. I’m always off somewhere taking pictures of things nobody else is particularly interested in, and then when they’re taking shots it’s my turn to be bored.

The town was deserted as we walked back down the main street to the car. Everyone had gone back home. A mentally disturbed man walked alongside us for while as the fog was floated across the empty road.

Dinner was various types of tofu and some noodles from a stand on the Daxi Old Street. I was tired and cranky, but satisfied with the day’s activities. The ride back to Taipei was spent mostly in silence. Even Chenbl, who is one of the most talkative people I’ve ever known, was silent. Then again, Chenbl can fall asleep in a chair within seconds.

I took quite a few pictures, and I probably won’t post them for a long time. But that’s a subject for another blog.