After the noise and excitement and high prices of Georgetown we decided
to head West on the island of Penang. We were stuck here while the computer
was in the shop and needed to save some money and wanted to camp. The
camping site on the map does not exist and so we went to Mrs. Loh’s guesthouse
because the Lonely Planet said it had a garden. Perhaps we could camp
there?
Unfortunatly it was impossible, and at any rate the energy there was sort
of wired. Then we made it to Fisherman Village Guesthouse which had no
garden, cheap rooms and, best of all, a neighbour who thought it would
be really cool to have some ferenghis plant their tent in front of his
house.
The entire village lane gathered around to watch us put up the tent, amazed
by the technology and Oudi, our landlord, and his family are very sweet.
Tea all day long and delicious cake and every evening as the sea breeze
cools the village, Oudi gives me a lesson in Malay. Everybody is Malay
here, no Chinese or Indians, and they are Moslems. The days are punctuated
by the sounds of the mosque and the singing of birds.
Malaysians are bird crazy. Every family has chickens and roosters, of
course; they also have birds in cages large and small just for the beauty
of their singing and colour. In this way the otherwise drab homes are
all inhabited inside and out by black, yellow, red and mauve emissaries
from heaven.
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