Malaysia: Take This Hammer

Road to Malacca, Malaysia


This corner of the world has been tamed. First by Hindus and Buddhists migrating down the west coast of the Malay Peninsula, followed by Chinese traders and Islam. These ideas were in turn followed by Catholicism and mercantilism, brought by the Portuguese, and then the Protestantism and capitalism of the Dutch and then the British. Civilization has accumulated like lacquer, and the resulting infrastructure must be admired.

Like one of Singpore’s throwbacks to its British origins: the disembodied voice in the subway warns you to “mind the gap” as you exit the car. It must be ironic, though. There is about a ½” of space between the door and the platform. You would literally have to aim your stiletto heal to even notice it.
Even the rain has been tamed. This morning it came down outside my Chinatown hotel came from above like a cataract. From one colonial-style balconied side of the road one could race to the other, pass a few more shop fronts and come to the bus stop without getting any wetter. The bus came at the precise minute my map app said it would (I know – backpacking with Google Maps is cheating. A little). My long haul bus to Malacca slid through embarkation and Malay immigration without snagging any of the 30 passengers. The bus continues to glide along smooth asphalt – fresh white lines, guard rails and a median fiery with bougainvillea – that would be the envy of any highway department stateside. The rain has subsided and plantations of palms blur past. These are the edges of the green channel through which we’re passing. Nothing beyond is visible.

One day in Singapore and one cousin-in-law to hunt down after a long separation. I knew something was afoot, though, when I awoke with an old folk tune in my head. I played it a few times in the early 90’s but not for 20 years. It’s about freedom, about moving on. In honesty it evokes the freedom of death, but for me it was the freedom of laying down my burdens, of travel. When I learned how close to the ocean my hotel was, I realized I needed to make the first musical video blog of the journey. With apologies to Leadbelly and with some disconcertingly high notes,

Take this hammer carry it to the captain
Tell him I’m gone.
If he asks you was I running
Tell him I was flying.

Isn't Chinatown in Singapore a little redundant?
"It's even more Chinese," Krissy assured me.

Krissy and I are about to weigh into the Chinatown mayhem.

After getting re-situated, my cousin Krissy and I met up and wandered down the Singapore river, stopping the Museum of Asia Civilizations. Since they didn’t look too friendly to photographers I cannot provide photo-documentation, but at the same time the collection didn’t draw me to ask a guard or sneak a shot. It was nice, though, to learn about the Filipina’s experience in Singapore, relations with native Singaporeans, and general 20-something angst. Anita’s Filipino family is really interesting, and I’m always glad to have a chance to see them and learn the latest.

(Video and photos with iPhone and wide angle lens)