Chinatown might not be at the top of your must-see list on a trip to a new city-especially when the trip is halfway around the world to a city most people have never heard of.
Still, if you ever travel to Kuala Lumpur, you must visit the city`s very special Chinatown. And go there at night.
Most people have a better chance of picking the winning six numbers for this week`s Lotto than of going to a globe and pointing out Kuala Lumpur in less than 30 seconds. Malaysia`s capital isn`t exactly a hot destination.
The easiest way to find K.L. is to find Vietnam on a world map. (Because more than a million college-age kids of the late `60s and early `70s spent at least one spring break in the region, it is a place that is woefully familiar to many of us.) Trail your finger west and you will come to a peninsula. The country that anchors the base of this finger jutting into the South China Sea is Malaysia.
They don`t call it Southeast Asia anymore. Apparently, a British PR firm in Hong Kong was hired to do an image facelift and the region was renamed
”the Pacific Rim.” Not a bad moniker, actually, because starting with Malaysia and continuing through Indonesia, Brunei and the Philippine Islands, a rim of sorts is formed at the base of the Asian mainland.
I visited K.L. as part of a business trip that included a four-day conference at the Hyatt Sujana right outside of the airport at Kuala Lumpur.
(Even on the other side of the planet, they do meetings at airports.)
Virtually every minute was carefully orchestrated for the 140 conference participants-all sessions, meals and even a half-day of sightseeing were done as a group. The resort was so wonderful, the food so superb and the people so congenial, it was not possible to complain (very much like being a white-collar guest at a federal penitentiary).
For one evening, however, we were on our own for shopping in K.L.`s Central Market and dinner in Chinatown at food stalls. My reaction was not a happy one. Finally, the shackles come off and with all the incredible things to see in this romantic destination, we`re dumped off in Chinatown! What a treat.
At 6:30 we were herded into a pair of buses and dropped at the Central Market with instructions to be back at 9 p.m. or find another way home. You have to take these people seriously, because everything runs on time, including the airplanes. They will leave without you.
With the exception of a major purchase at the Selangor Pewter store
(Malaysia is one of the world`s largest producers of tin, which is used to make pewter), shopping was not productive. The place had a great pet store, but one should resist buying any tropical birds, fish or insects because getting any critters through customs could be a bit tricky. On to Chinatown.
Howdy, partner
K.L. appears to be a very prosperous city in what is supposed to be a Third World country dependent for survival on exports of rubber, palm oil and tin. On one level it was all very disappointing. With a name like Kuala Lumpur, the city is obligated to be a community of thatched shacks on stilts in the water, with all residents armed with machetes to battle the relentless encroachment of the jungle. Instead, it is a modern metropolis with a closer kinship to Houston than Haiphong.
Please understand that K.L. is surrounded by sparse wooden structures that house its working class. They are rudimentary residences where as much of the living is done out-of-doors as in, because as the tourist guides say, it is always summer in Malaysia. During my short stay I did not observe homeless people or abject poverty so common elsewhere in the world (like West Virginia). The standard of living is low, but it appears most people are employed, well-fed and have places to call home.
Even with my limited exposure locally, I viewed my chances for finding adventure in K.L. to be very slim. At least I would have a little time alone. So, I walked through darkened, quiet side streets into this older quarter of the city in the direction of Chinatown.
Swell smells
As I was to learn, the heart of Chinatown is Petaling Street, which runs for what appears to be about five or six city blocks. As you approach, activity around you swells rapidly, and it as though you are sucked right into the mainstream of buying and selling. You are instantly mesmerized by the frenzy of sounds and scents, the colors and people. As you are pulled along, traffic builds so that you must dodge Toyotas and families of four picking through the crowd on 50-c.c. Yamahas (and everyone wears a helmet). Once your senses revive, you begin to differentiate these stunning stimuli. Now you smell the mingling of exhaust and sweat. Now you see the filth of the street. Now you hear the squeaky voices of children hawking everything from Tiger beer to slices of fresh fruit. You look around and realize you are the lone American in this hubbub of humanity.
This is the way it is supposed to be. Finally, here is a remnant of what Asia must have been like before the proliferation of glass-clad office buildings.
The side streets are where you will find the food stalls and small, open- air cafes. The food vendors work mostly from pushcarts equipped for cooking. The first I came upon was staffed by an old Chinese woman selling chicken legs. They were wonderful-a light delicate crust, nicely brown and hot. I salivated instantly, but pushed on because there was so much from which to choose. Beef, pork, seafood. There was satay-a hot, spicy Malaysian style of barbecue. And, of course, there were all manner of Chinese dishes available. Virtually everything you can imagine.
Desserts were plentiful. All types of fruits were on display. Some vendors specialized in pastry, others candies. There were stands that sold only a murky brown liquid that I was told was an elixir that could cure anything from a headache to impotency. I passed.
I was starving, yet I must have walked around for at least 45 minutes looking and trying to decide what to buy first. I ended up back at the beginning. This chicken would put the Colonel out of business in a month. It was light and delicious and cost less than one U.S. dollar.
One thing you must understand about eating in K.L.`s Chinatown: It ain`t pretty. My chicken lady simply reached into the glass-enclosed warming tray, grabbed a leg and handed it to me. I stood there and ate the thing ravenously, and she ripped off a piece of paper towel from a roll (the coarse stuff you get at gas stations for cleaning your dip stick when you check the oil) for me to tidy up with. I wrapped the chicken bone in the towel and looked for a garbage can (I did not see a single one in Chinatown). The lady took my bundle from me and simply tossed it on the street behind her cart.
Dinner for one
I moved on to sample more. As I walked by an outdoor restaurant, a grimy little boy in short pants and thongs grabbed my arm and literally shouted,
”Hey mister, you wanna beer?” Held fast in his clutches I had little choice, so I ordered a Tiger beer (one of two regional brews-the other is called Anchor). He brought back a huge bottle and popped the top with great fanfare.
After draining the Tiger, I continued my trek, finally stopping at a steamboat establishment consisting of a dozen round tables and a pushcart. The proprietor seated me and immediately brought a large metal pot filled with broth that he inserted in a cutout in the center of the table. Then he lit a burner connected to a small propane tank under the table. He cleared away a couple of bowls full of similar liquid by simply dumping the stuff in the street. Sitting over a propane tank was unnerving and the cavalier approach to sanitation was an effective appetite suppressant, but I managed to hang in.
Minutes later, he returned with another magnum of Tiger and a tray laden with delicacies lanced by wooden skewers. He explained through pantomime that you take the skewers and place them in the broth to cook. Pull them out and eat them after applying to taste the mustards and hot sauces he supplied. Take what you wish from the tray and pay for only what you consume. Then dip a bowl into the pot and drink the heady mixture that results from mingling chicken and beef and pork and prawns. All of this, and for some reason I ordered fried rice, too. The tab was roughly $4 U.S.
Tourist trapped
Finally, I was full and ready to hit Petaling Street for the 45 minutes remaining before the bus was ready to return to the Hyatt. In the evening the street is closed to traffic and is transformed into a continuous, stall-after- stall temporary shopping center. Each vendor stakes out his territory and actually builds a crude showroom complete with display walls, counters and even electricity. Lights are strung overhead for blocks. The stalls are crammed with merchandise-mostly cheaply made goods and knockoffs of brand-name products.
A narrow passage divides stalls on either side of the street. Along most of the way, there is barely enough room for one person to pass in each direction. This is not a place for the claustrophobic. Jam-ups occur frequently and you may find yourself stuck for three minutes in a stall featuring lady`s underclothing.
This is the place to look for copy watches. There is easily a selection of 10,000 fake Rolex, Gucci, Rado, Piaget and even Seiko watches from which to choose. Good luck trying to get your illicit purchase home, however: U.S. Customs can confiscate them.
After 10 minutes in this arcade, I`d had enough and decided to return to the bus. Time was getting short anyway, so I planned to duck out at the next opportunity. Problem was, I couldn`t get out. It seem like I walked on for another 20 minutes, bumping into people, pushing overhanging clothing out of my way. I suddenly felt hemmed in-trapped-and I wanted out badly. Finally, after an eternity, I was free. My shirt was soaked through from an overdose of local color.
Finding the unexpected
Two days later I had an opportunity to return briefly to Petaling Street. This time I brought along a camera, and some of my photos are reproduced here. The amazing thing is that Chinatown in K.L. assumes an entirely different character during the day. All of the clothing and watch stalls are gone, and autos and motorbikes ply in their stead. On the fringes of the street, however, the wares of the stores spill out to the curb. Vegetable and fruit stands appear magically. You can buy native varieties such as rambutans (a red, furry fruit), purple mangosteens, langsat, ciku and durians. You can also purchase Malaysian coffee and specialty Chinese foods packaged to go.
The food stalls are gone when the sun shines, too, along with the waste from the diners of the evening before. Look in the alleys, however, and you will find food stalls jammed with people. You might even stumble across an outdoor barber shop.
Chinatown is a jewel, but there is much, much more to see and do in Malaysia. This country is a diamond in the rough that will someday, in my opinion, become a hot vacation spot. Get in now while it is still dirt cheap to enjoy the place. –
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For a travel planner, contact the Malaysian Tourist Information Centre, 818 West 7th St., Los Angeles, Calif. 90017; (213) 689-9702.
