Cracking Malaysia

“In two weeks we’ve had more contact with our neighbours than the last four years in China and Kazakhstan” observed Liz as she sampled a coconut coated gelatinous confection that had been handed over the wall by one of the young girls next door.

The Chinese, perhaps because of the enormous scale of their country and its population, treat those outside their immediate group of family, friends or colleagues as of no consequence and not worthy of even the most basic consideration. As individuals the people are invariably polite and helpful, but there is no social mechanism to feel any kind of empathy for strangers, and foreigners are often viewed with the kind of interest that would be accorded to a zoo animal.

Fast or Feast

We’ve now entered the holy month of Ramadan, the effects of which permeate every aspect of society. We are spared the shopping jamboree which marks a modern Christian festival but there is still a commercial aspect. The irony is that fasting focuses everyone’s attention on food, and preparations to break fast dominate, seemingly to the exclusion of the fast itself.

It’s more than food though. Ramadan should be a time of piety and goodwill to others, but I’m sure that on the first day I detected the nuance of a slightly cavalier attitude. The town roads were a bit busier in the evening and the engine note of the small motorbikes, the main form of transport, had just the touch of a manic edge to them; the throttles were opened a tad wider producing (or reflecting) an excitable busy buzz replacing the usual languid day to day routine. Here is the contradiction; the month is meant to symbolise humility and meekness but the fast, particularly going without water from sunrise to sunset in the heat and humidity of Malaysia, is inevitably is seen as a challenge. Human nature is such that enduring the privations gives a sense of achievement which is not necessarily consistent with the sought after state of piety.

Making the Earth Move

Every day for the past week or so the papers have been talking about the foreigners who stripped naked and urinated on Mt Kinabalu and how this did not cause a fatal earthquake. That there is a need to debunk the connection between offending the mountain and triggering a natural disaster does of course lend it a degree of credibility, and there are certainly some who believe that the tourist’s behaviour was responsible for the shake that claimed 18 lives. One letter to the daily paper expounded that it was all to do with geography in a tone which suggested that the writer was fed up with the primitive beliefs of some Malaysians, but then compromised the reasoned argument by saying that if it had been the spirit of the mountain it would have reacted instantly and not waited for innocent people to come along.

Two men and two women, one a Briton, were arrested but the media was quick to point out that the charge was one of Public Indecency; they weren’t accused of causing earthquakes.  But there was nobody there to be offended. The only reason the authorities knew of their behaviour was because they took pictures of themselves which they posted on social media. The real reason they were arrested was because of a perceived offence, not against any person or group of people, but against the mountain.

The four that were caught were remanded in custody ostensibly for breaching the standards of decency that are required from a predominantly Islamic country. But the offence had nothing to do with Islam; those who were outraged believe that the mountain is sacred and should be accorded respect. In my opinion this is no sillier than any other religious creed and visitors should ensure that they act accordingly, but I sense that while the actions of the culprits are universally condemned, many Malaysians are struggling to reconcile their national identity as a modern forward looking and technically advanced nation, with the beliefs of a primitive animist culture.

I suspect that a desire to not appear lacking in westernised ways has led to the authorities ignoring the wishes of a revered Bobolonian (High Priest) that the wrongdoers atone for their crime by each offering a sogit (fine) of a buffalo to the mountain. This is a shame as, not only would that be consistent with the Malays historical attitude of looking for recompense to victims above punishment of culprits, but it also seems appropriate that a buffalo is offered to ask forgiveness for wandering around in the buff!

 

Malaysia is a multi-cultural and multi-racial society and there is a general tolerance towards those who hold different standards. On the light railway in Kuala Lumpur I noticed two young women sitting together companionably, both engrossed in their mobile phones. One was covered from head to toe in traditional manner while the other girl barely had a stitch on. It seems to me that managing to combine high moral standards with an attitude of tolerance towards other groups is a strength of the country which some other nations would do well to follow, but there is a need to have some cultural awareness and sensitivity; unless of course you want to be accused of causing the earth to move.

Roads

“The Alfa does 136 mph, that’s well over 200 kph” I read from Wikipedia. “You better wear your glasses when you’re driving it then” said Liz. Sometimes I just slip them on to overtake things.

Perhaps because of its oil reserves Malaysia is a petrol-headed kind of country. The British built railways, as they did the world over, but since independence the money has gone into the road network with luxury coach liners plying their trade up and down the expressways, little motorbikes whizzing everywhere and more and more cars clogging the tarmac arteries as the country and its people become wealthier. Pedestrians are an endangered species.

We are now settled in a large rented house in Kuala Kangsar but it has been a fraught week to get here. Because we were delayed (see below) we missed a meeting with the landlady and had to spend five days in a tiny hotel room. But of course before leaving Kuala Lumpur I had to collect the car.

After a nightmare of Kafkaesque bureaucracy, where I even had to give a fingerprint, I finally got in the Alfa and set off to drive the 30 odd km. back to the hotel. But I didn't set off; I couldn't find reverse with the Selespeed gearbox (which is similar to that in Sebastian Vettle's work car as both Alfa Romeo and Ferrari are now part of Fiat). I had to ask the man at the garage for help and then drove to the petrol station. But I couldn't get the pump to work; I think it was designed to take credit cards. Finally filled with fuel I turned the key but nothing happened; I panicked but then tried with my foot on the brake and the car started, and I got as far as the first set of lights. They turned green and the engine revved but the car didn't move. I struggled with the gear lever and finally pulled away and bowled along what appeared to be a motorway at a good speed until I reached the first set of toll booths.

From our hotel in KL

Fortunately I found reverse this time as I realised that I was at a gate that didn't take cash, and I manoeuvred around the car behind, after it had reversed back. I had studied the map carefully and before too long I saw the sail shaped building where Liz’s new employers have their offices on the 52^nd floor. I was in heavy traffic now but could see the hotel where we were staying, and then saw it disappear as the road pulled me away in the wrong direction. All the roads seemed to be like motorways but I eventually got back to the hotel and the path that I had walked along earlier in the day, but there was a solid wall between me and it; again I was swept away and wanted to scream with frustration as I saw the road on the other carriageway, which I would have to come back along, gridlocked with traffic. 

Then I saw a narrow little road that I thought could get me into the hotel complex. I was greeted with lots of piping hoots but at least I could stop here away from the flow of cars. I wound down the window and was informed that the little road was actually a lane for motorcycles. I engaged reverse again. It was getting dark, rain was starting and I desperately wanted an ordinary street and not a blessed motorway to drive along. At last I found one, and ended up in a building site. I fought my way back to the main road and studiously avoided the lanes with green road signs, which were the actual motorways and which could take me several miles in the wrong direction. Finally I pulled in to the car park under the hotel, went up to our room, and poured a large duty free whisky.

The next day we left for Kuala kangsar. Half way there the car broke down and we were stranded for 24 hours. I don’t want to talk about it.

Cars

My perception is that countries in the Far East are very safe and have low rates of crime, but trying to confirm this through Google is a fruitless exercise as there is so much contradictory information that none of it can be relied on. But wherever you are in the world there is one common denominator of moral values which can always be relied upon, and that is the perfidy of horse traders and their successors; used car dealers.

Having been city dwellers in Kazakhstan for 9 months, and in China for the 3 years before that, we have not used a car other than for a few weeks of the year when back in New Zealand. So we resolved that we would get one to properly explore Malaysia and this has been my all consuming task for our week in Kuala Lumpur.

Left to her own devices Liz would get a brand new lease car which would probably be a nasty little locally produced Proton or Perodua; given a free hand I would buy the cheapest and most interesting wreck I could find, like most of the 40 odd cars that I, or Liz and I have owned, most of which ended their days with us.

She agreed that we buy a big old Mercedes Benz as long as it was shiny and looked smart; I would have preferred something ready dented but this seemed a fair compromise. Every used car in Malaysia has been owned from new by a little old lady who only ever drove to church or the mosque. I quickly discovered that I could not believe all I was told. An advertised 1997 model I looked at was built in 1992 (imported in 1997) and I wasn't allowed to test drive it until we had negotiated an agreed price. I saw an immaculate 1980 car that had only done 34,000 km which seemed too good to be true, especially when I found the service record in the glove box which showed that it had had a 55,000 km service 30 years ago.

Test driving these cars I felt that even the 6 cylinder models seemed a bit dull to drive and the best was the first I looked at; a 1990 3.2 litre model. But then I discovered that the annual road tax increases exponentially with the size of the engine. This car would cost ten times as much to tax as one with half its cubic capacity. I wanted Liz to come and see it as I felt that her approval would mean that it would not be entirely my fault if it were to fall apart before we got it home, but she didn't have the time and said that I would have to make the decision on my own.

So I bought an Alfa Romeo.