Penang—fuck me. It's the first place I've really thought that sucked. And to think, I was looking forward to there as much as anywhere I had planned. Just as an aside, the town names there just fascinate me. You've got Butterworth and Georgetown, which are both unbelievably non-Malay. I didn't visit the museums and what not (sorry, museums are just painfully boring), but I'm sure it has something to do with the British. Maybe it's holding on to that heritage, but you'd think the place names would be updated. Anyway, it's not as if it matters; just something I noticed.
Now, as far as Penang being a bit more Asian and more what I expected Malaysia to be like, it definitely fit the bill. The traffic was chaotic, sidewalks were either nonexistent or just disappeared, people drove every which way and seemed not to obey any traffic laws, there were open sewers (got to love that), sleeping too late was impossible without earplugs and livestock roamed the street. In that respect, it was just brilliant. However, it was too touristy, tacky, the food extremely over-hyped and I just didn't enjoy myself all that much. As with most things though, there is always a reason.
First, my hostel/guest house. It was sickeningly cheap, clean and well-maintained. The owner was nice enough at first and I thought all would be well: that was until I tried to charge my iPod on the provided computer. This mope went apeshit. He starts ranting about "the signs that say 'no downloading'" and I'm explaining that I'm not downloading a goddamn thing. I just want to charge the battery on my iPod so I can listen to the fucking thing while I spend the next day in gridlock traffic to the jetty, sit in the bus station for for hours and then sit on the bust for six more. I thought it was clear, but apparently not.
Then, to make matters even worse, it just had to piss down the rain the day I decided not to carry an umbrella or my rain jacket. As expected, I was soaked to the bone. I saunter up to the entrance, where he was sitting as usual, and make a comment about getting stuck in the rain—what else can you say, right? I step up on the perch, which is right by the road and was subsequently getting wet as well, and he tells me not to come in as they've just cleaned. No problem for me. He brings me a towel, tells me to dry off, wipe my shoes and take off my shirt and ring it out. I do as told and he goes fucking bananas when I ring the shirt out. "Oh no! We just cleaned. You're getting the floor wet. Oh no!". Well, for fuck's sake mate, what is my option? I could step back out in the downpour and ring it out, but then it will just be wet again. I just shook my head, went for a shower and had a lie down. What else can you do?
Now, this was all on New Year's Eve mind you, but I wasn't about to let it go down the shitter just because of some rain and a bitter, old cunt. I did the sensible thing which was to go eat and get drunk—always works wonders. The best thing about going to a massive food court—which was the best food I had—and drinking alone is that you don't stay alone for very long. Sure enough, in no time I had two Germans that were more than willing to imbibe with me. We ate, we drank, they ate some more, I drank more and then we moved on to an open-area bar for more drinks and to see the fireworks.
We ordered a three-liter tower of beer—ostensibly to look cool and manly, I guess—which was absurdly expense by Malaysian standards. Never mind though; it was New Year's and I just said, "fuck it". We hammered through a good chunk of it and then got up to see the fireworks. It was just to the right at an intersection with a clear view to the hill. Everyone else—that could still walk—got up and went to one side or the other as well to see. We came back and there were three fat, sloppy, obviously drunk slobs (Malaysian slobs I might add) in our seats—and the fucking beer was gone. Before I could say a word, the German woman went mad on the poor waitress. I don't think she understood anything she said which probably didn't help. There was a fair bit left and considering the price we paid, we weren't finished drinking. I was rather pissed already, but more beer just seemed appropriate.
Anyway, the one brain dead twat didn't do anything and neither did the other slut we pleaded our case to, so we decided to leave and let things be. The three drunks were oblivious to it all and probably couldn't have told us what day it was. In the ruckus, the German guy disappeared and just for the record, we didn't find him even with his bald head and bright yellow shirt. Sad really as he was super fucking cool.
Now, I might be an asshole—actually, I am—but I think my revenge was justified. Hell, I was drunk, so anything seems justified. Anyway, in the back of this bar, there were massage rooms. Don't ask me why, but I'd say it either doubled as a whorehouse or was a legit business during the day. I had to piss horribly as you do when you consume copious amounts of alcohol. Instead of pissing in the toilet, I wet their beds. It was amazing. Full stop. Fuck you for nicking our beer.
Now, as far as Penang being a bit more Asian and more what I expected Malaysia to be like, it definitely fit the bill. The traffic was chaotic, sidewalks were either nonexistent or just disappeared, people drove every which way and seemed not to obey any traffic laws, there were open sewers (got to love that), sleeping too late was impossible without earplugs and livestock roamed the street. In that respect, it was just brilliant. However, it was too touristy, tacky, the food extremely over-hyped and I just didn't enjoy myself all that much. As with most things though, there is always a reason.
First, my hostel/guest house. It was sickeningly cheap, clean and well-maintained. The owner was nice enough at first and I thought all would be well: that was until I tried to charge my iPod on the provided computer. This mope went apeshit. He starts ranting about "the signs that say 'no downloading'" and I'm explaining that I'm not downloading a goddamn thing. I just want to charge the battery on my iPod so I can listen to the fucking thing while I spend the next day in gridlock traffic to the jetty, sit in the bus station for for hours and then sit on the bust for six more. I thought it was clear, but apparently not.
Then, to make matters even worse, it just had to piss down the rain the day I decided not to carry an umbrella or my rain jacket. As expected, I was soaked to the bone. I saunter up to the entrance, where he was sitting as usual, and make a comment about getting stuck in the rain—what else can you say, right? I step up on the perch, which is right by the road and was subsequently getting wet as well, and he tells me not to come in as they've just cleaned. No problem for me. He brings me a towel, tells me to dry off, wipe my shoes and take off my shirt and ring it out. I do as told and he goes fucking bananas when I ring the shirt out. "Oh no! We just cleaned. You're getting the floor wet. Oh no!". Well, for fuck's sake mate, what is my option? I could step back out in the downpour and ring it out, but then it will just be wet again. I just shook my head, went for a shower and had a lie down. What else can you do?
Now, this was all on New Year's Eve mind you, but I wasn't about to let it go down the shitter just because of some rain and a bitter, old cunt. I did the sensible thing which was to go eat and get drunk—always works wonders. The best thing about going to a massive food court—which was the best food I had—and drinking alone is that you don't stay alone for very long. Sure enough, in no time I had two Germans that were more than willing to imbibe with me. We ate, we drank, they ate some more, I drank more and then we moved on to an open-area bar for more drinks and to see the fireworks.
We ordered a three-liter tower of beer—ostensibly to look cool and manly, I guess—which was absurdly expense by Malaysian standards. Never mind though; it was New Year's and I just said, "fuck it". We hammered through a good chunk of it and then got up to see the fireworks. It was just to the right at an intersection with a clear view to the hill. Everyone else—that could still walk—got up and went to one side or the other as well to see. We came back and there were three fat, sloppy, obviously drunk slobs (Malaysian slobs I might add) in our seats—and the fucking beer was gone. Before I could say a word, the German woman went mad on the poor waitress. I don't think she understood anything she said which probably didn't help. There was a fair bit left and considering the price we paid, we weren't finished drinking. I was rather pissed already, but more beer just seemed appropriate.
Anyway, the one brain dead twat didn't do anything and neither did the other slut we pleaded our case to, so we decided to leave and let things be. The three drunks were oblivious to it all and probably couldn't have told us what day it was. In the ruckus, the German guy disappeared and just for the record, we didn't find him even with his bald head and bright yellow shirt. Sad really as he was super fucking cool.
Now, I might be an asshole—actually, I am—but I think my revenge was justified. Hell, I was drunk, so anything seems justified. Anyway, in the back of this bar, there were massage rooms. Don't ask me why, but I'd say it either doubled as a whorehouse or was a legit business during the day. I had to piss horribly as you do when you consume copious amounts of alcohol. Instead of pissing in the toilet, I wet their beds. It was amazing. Full stop. Fuck you for nicking our beer.
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