The first feat is getting fed

Originally composed on: Day 3: April 20, 2012: KTL Commuter Train en route to Shah Alam, Malaysia.

Indulging in those things that bring one great joy, under normal circumstances, is exponentially heightened when done in new and interesting settings. Yoni (one of my closest friends and former expat travel companion in Korea) arrived two nights ago and it's been a pleasure to catch up with an old friend after so long. Despite our collective indecisiveness, especially when it comes to our food choices, we are always guaranteed to eat well--and eat lots! Yesterday was no exception.

The meager breakfast I ate at the hostel, while Yoni caught up on some sleep, forged a furious hunger as midday approached. Given our close proximity to Chinatown and the prominent Chinese influence on the Malaysian food culture, venturing towards there for lunch was not a difficult decision. On our constant search for street foods, local staples and unknown culinary concoctions, we shunned several simple looking food vendors and restaurants. A Lonely Planet derived hunt for a local food court proved fruitless. Yet, in the end, alluring aromas of cooked chilies and curries forced us (ever so willingly) into a busy hawker centre off of a crowded back alley.

Squeezing past sunglasses stands and singlet vendors we arrived in a brightly lit open court and the glory that turned out to be the Tang City Food Court. Tables tightly packed into the centre. A ring of small kitchenettes and cutting boards. Large menu boards, mostly in Chinese characters with some photo's thrown in for good measure. And a cacophony of bowls clinking, chopsticks picking, proprietors shouting orders and general chatter filled one's ears. The scents were tantalizing, my mouth was watering, my stomach was hollering.

Yoni made a quick-time decision and ordered a curry noodle bowl with chicken and coconut milk. It was sweet and mellow with clams, slicked pork, tangy pickled sprouts and a splash of key lime.

After settling for what turned out to be a delicious, yet decidedly unadventurous, plate of satay chicken and beef from the hostel the previous night, as my first "real" meal back in Asia, I knew I had to do it up proper! Requirements included: spice, soup, noodles and something I'd never seen before.

Along came Ma La Ban Mee: a bowl of bright, steaming auburn broth, minced pork, fried fish, shitake mushrooms, green onion, fish balls, bean curd and a heap of fresh handmade noodles. The noodles had a perfectly chewy, dumpling-esque texture. The minced pork was sweet and soft; combined with the salty crunch of the tiny fried fish, they balanced out the spicy edge of the molten broth. Though outside temperature was already forcing the sweat to bead off my forehead, this fiercely delicious bowl of broth  made my melon as moist as the soup in the bowl. Everyone loves a good sweat in the morning!

I'd been lusting for this meal for what seemed like a lifetime. This was perhaps one of the most wholly satisfying, simple, but superbly fantastic things I'd ever ingested!

The setup and the standards are now high. There is no doubt, however, that this meal will be matched many times over the next few months. Let the never-ending food crawl continue!!

From Across the Table

Originally composed on: Day 2: Thursday, April 9, 2012. Reggae Mansion, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Liquor is the law. It's the people and the poisons that make the place. In good company the most mundane of surroundings tend to turn into the most hospitable.

You could say you've had the same conversation a thousand times—I wouldn't doubt you for a moment. I've been there...
"How's it going?"
"Good, can't complain! I'm halfway around the world [from wherever it is I live] and I'm loving every minute of it!"
"And the beer is so cheap!"
"Amen to that, brother!"
The usual where from's, where ya been's and what's next's tend to follow. But I like the banter. People do some pretty cool shit when met with inhibition-less travel, a solid exchange rate and no return ticket.

I met a  stunningly beautiful, and intriguingly intelligent German girl named Maria, who's managed to convince one of the largest international medical assessment and pharmaceutical firms in the world that she's capable and qualified to act as one of the marketing managers. So competent, in fact, that she took the job over dozens of applicants who are decades older and more experienced than she. I met a Brit named Ben, who climbed Kilimanjaro in honour of his late father and raised over £16,000 for prostate cancer. Met dudes that shear sheep and others that pick up foreign accents.

There's a world of interesting vagabonds constantly roaming the world. It's merely a matter of who you're sharing a pint with today.

View from a main intersection near China Town

The Petronas Towers

Bake for 4.5-months at 5500ºF

Originally composed on: Day 1.5.2: Wednesday, April 18, 2012: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

The heat comes first!

The heat always comes first. As soon as I cross the threshold of the cabin door I know where I am. It's sticky, humid and heavy. Outside the clouds are intermittent and the sun pokes through at irregular intervals.

Baggage claimed, some money exchanged and I hit the KLIA Express direct to Sentral Station. Rolling out of the station and taking my first up-close glimpse of Malaysia through the smudged cabin window; the country is remarkably, though I suppose predictably, dissimilar from any other Asian landscape I've encountered. The scenery is lush and green. Some small rolling hills here and there, the occasional shanty farm with a few cows and not nearly as much sprawling development than I would have imagined. I can't help thinking: what a nice place to carve out a golf course. Sure enough, one appears.

Once the ultra-modern, wifi equipped train breaches the boundary of the city centre the portrait outside my window is entirely different from the outskirts of town. Honking horns and grumbling motorbikes. Decrepit storefronts and dingy crumbling facades. There must be an allure to the place yet, but it's not apparent to me now. There's a striking contrast between the state of Reggae Mansion and its neighbors. The foreigner-only hostel is a pristine white building with large french doors, marble floors, clay tile courtyards and bumping techno music in the bar.

The evening will likely pass lazily as I await the arrival of my travel companion and decade-long friend, Yoni, and attempt to adjust to the time difference after 24-hours in transit.

So, it has begun!

35,000ft to freedom

Day 1: 

Originally written on Tuesday, April 17, 2012 (EVA Air BR35: YYZ-TPE)

The number of times I leave to go traveling holds little to no bearing on the feelings that go along with the act of departing itself. However versed or virgin one is to the overall experience--it seems for me, at least, that with each boarding, taxi and takeoff comes a strikingly separate set of emotions. 

Just over 13-months ago I was leaving for what I thought would be the adventure that brought me to where I am finally heading. After seven months of some of the most euphoric highs and unruly lows South Korea became just another pin on the map; a pin that changed my perspective on culture, opened my eyes to a part of the world that always intrigued me and ultimately emulsified my ambition to delve as seep as I could into the history, personality and gastronomy of the world. 

As the jet engines screech and the airplane torpedoes off the runway I follow the routine that my father has maintained through his many years of flight. The cardinal rule: shoes stay on until after takeoff. Feel free to settle yourself and engage in normal in-flight activities while waiting to depart. The paper, a good novel, some soft tunes are always par for the course. Allow for casual conversation with an unfamiliar isle-mate or banter amongst friends and family. The screens will drop down from above the seats, safety prompts will cue and emergency instructions amplify over the intercom; respectfully ignore them. Continue as you are while you taxi to the runway and then--stop. 

You are about to engage in the miracle of flight. Set down your reading material, pause the album you're listening to and be mindful of what is about to take place. I always countdown from ten a the thrusters howl and the ground speed increases; my personal addition to the ritual. The rumble of tens of thousands of pounds of metal and complex machinery soon to be lifted off the ground and passed though multiple layers of climate, 35,000ft above where we normally plant our feet. I'm always taken aback when I meet someone who's never flown before. Then, I try to put it in perspective; the fantastical element of the fact that something so magical, so complex, has become an act met with anything less than awe. I think that my father is humbled by the aircraft, and so am I. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6...as the countdown concludes the front wheels push upwards as the angle of the wings steepen. With one final thrust from the turbines, the back end of the winged beast bounds free of the pavement.

There's a unique feeling in your loins with the weight of the air, and air alone, all around you. The first swooping kick into the air is almost tantric. Somewhere between you abdomen and your ass it moves. What is it? I'll likely never know. But, that feeling is as intense, as it is almost impossible to detect. It is as soothing and sensuous as inhaling the aromas of a freshly poured glass of wine. It envelopes the deepest, most hyper-sensitive areas of your innards, and at that moment, and rarely sooner does it all settle in. 

This is where I am going. I am on my way. Pick your book back up. Pop the earbuds back in. Take off your shoes. Let the journey begin...