Honestly, I think I've enjoyed relaxing and just strolling around these quiet, quaint places more than anything. Well, the jungle and the highlands were amazing, but this is different. I quite like this languorous pace and way of life. I don't give a shit about fancy museums and art galleries, beaches, tacky tourist attractions and cheesy city tours. I just enjoy experiencing a bit of real life and this is fucking great. Walking around aimlessly, stopping for a drink and a smoke, having a chat here and there, giving a smile and a wave—this is where it's at.
Along the way, I've also hooked up with some fellow travellers that make it all worthwhile. I'm young, but there is something about the fifty-year-old, long-term expat that I'm drawn to. They've always got an interesting story about seeing someone decapitated in India, mysterious suicides in Thailand, drunken shenaningans and what not. Most people my age, well, we just don't have that perspective yet—with 'yet' being the key word.
Imagine it: a guy buys a huge Land Cruiser in Australia, ships it to Malaysia and plans to drive it all the way to Kristianstad, Norway. Now, that's balls enough, but taking a route through Myanmar (Burma)—fucking Burma!—Pakistan, Iran and places like that: now that's fucking ballsy. I was half-tempted to ask to join in on the fun, but the Burma part put me off a bit. It sounded wonderful drunk, but now, not so much. Anyway, I wish him the best of luck and hope he makes it unscathed. And remember: write that fucking book!
If there's a bad side to all this, it's that it's quickly coming to an end. Four more days and I'll be back in my big, boring, polluted, chaotic city—which I also strangely adore—and all this will be a fading memory. Yes, it sucks, but that's life. No more heaping plates of delicious Indian food, no 'teh tarik' (pulled tea) unless I make it myself and pork will once again be a rarity—damn it! While we're on the topic of food, on the east coast I've finally been able to get proper, fresh coffee and not the shitty Nescafe and what not in sachets. Christ, that stuff is terrible. Anyway, they roast the beans in palm oil and sugar. It sounds disgusting, but the resulting flavor is distinct and quite nice. It's got a powerful, thick, smoky flavor and I'm beginning to adore it just to be honest.
Kota Bharu didn't have much going for it in terms of being lively, but there was some wonderful food, I met the most interesting travellers there and I just enjoyed hanging out and taking it easy for two days. I also met a diehard Malaysian metal fan too, which was just great. I don't remember the last time I had a proper chat about which band is heavier, what genre do they fall in and who is the best metal guitarist of all time. Just fucking great!
Kuala Terengganu, where I am now, is about the same. There isn't much going on, but I'm enjoying myself nonetheless. "But why are you writing blogs in an Internet cafe" you ask? Well, it beast meandering around in the pouring rain that's for sure. Anyway, I already had a wonderful Indian meal—spiciest and cheapest one thus far—and the food courts and stalls in Chinatown are apparently going to be hopping tonight, so I can't wait for that. Pork guts and beer—yummy! I love the Chinese.
Along the way, I've also hooked up with some fellow travellers that make it all worthwhile. I'm young, but there is something about the fifty-year-old, long-term expat that I'm drawn to. They've always got an interesting story about seeing someone decapitated in India, mysterious suicides in Thailand, drunken shenaningans and what not. Most people my age, well, we just don't have that perspective yet—with 'yet' being the key word.
Imagine it: a guy buys a huge Land Cruiser in Australia, ships it to Malaysia and plans to drive it all the way to Kristianstad, Norway. Now, that's balls enough, but taking a route through Myanmar (Burma)—fucking Burma!—Pakistan, Iran and places like that: now that's fucking ballsy. I was half-tempted to ask to join in on the fun, but the Burma part put me off a bit. It sounded wonderful drunk, but now, not so much. Anyway, I wish him the best of luck and hope he makes it unscathed. And remember: write that fucking book!
If there's a bad side to all this, it's that it's quickly coming to an end. Four more days and I'll be back in my big, boring, polluted, chaotic city—which I also strangely adore—and all this will be a fading memory. Yes, it sucks, but that's life. No more heaping plates of delicious Indian food, no 'teh tarik' (pulled tea) unless I make it myself and pork will once again be a rarity—damn it! While we're on the topic of food, on the east coast I've finally been able to get proper, fresh coffee and not the shitty Nescafe and what not in sachets. Christ, that stuff is terrible. Anyway, they roast the beans in palm oil and sugar. It sounds disgusting, but the resulting flavor is distinct and quite nice. It's got a powerful, thick, smoky flavor and I'm beginning to adore it just to be honest.
Kota Bharu didn't have much going for it in terms of being lively, but there was some wonderful food, I met the most interesting travellers there and I just enjoyed hanging out and taking it easy for two days. I also met a diehard Malaysian metal fan too, which was just great. I don't remember the last time I had a proper chat about which band is heavier, what genre do they fall in and who is the best metal guitarist of all time. Just fucking great!
Kuala Terengganu, where I am now, is about the same. There isn't much going on, but I'm enjoying myself nonetheless. "But why are you writing blogs in an Internet cafe" you ask? Well, it beast meandering around in the pouring rain that's for sure. Anyway, I already had a wonderful Indian meal—spiciest and cheapest one thus far—and the food courts and stalls in Chinatown are apparently going to be hopping tonight, so I can't wait for that. Pork guts and beer—yummy! I love the Chinese.
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