Getting out to the bus on Jalan Imbi the traffic cop
at the thoroughfare handling the last of the morning peak cut an interesting
figure. On the taller side, smart navy uniform, with over-sized operatic white
gloves. There may have been motor-cycle boots, though the bike was no-where
visible. Somehow the fellow seemed too much of a nice guy standing there
against the traffic. Possibly the chap had positioned himself less than ideally
between the right-turn lane and the oncoming rockets darting past menacingly.
The sudden acceleration and switching taking place had one concerned for his
safety. As the light was changing to red he raised his glove slowly in the usual
way and turned the palm outward more slowly still, giving everyone more than a fair
chance to get by him. The big wide mitt stood high and prominent, but to little
purpose. The cars continued to dart through regardless. Pushing the glove Stop,
Stop failed to help. Of course there was no camera, just as there was no
off-sider backing up. Big red. Blood red. Still opportunity was taken by the
drivers to get through. Who the fuck was this jerk anyway?
After more than a dozen got through on beaming red the poor man raised his other hand and extended his forefinger, stabbing at the overhead. Red, red, red!
On the man's face a kind of bashful plea. Possibly he had spied the mat salleh in the panama trying to cross on the little green man (jogging here).
Needless to say, could never happen in Sing'. They have the rattan in Malaysia too, but in Sing' they would use it. Old man Lee would send an Aide out to make sure the full force of the law—as stipulated in the statutes—was used on the first half dozen offenders. End of problem. Something to be said for clear lines of authority; something else for a modicum of liberty and freedom.
— Eleven motor-cycle deaths per day alone on the roads in the past six months
After more than a dozen got through on beaming red the poor man raised his other hand and extended his forefinger, stabbing at the overhead. Red, red, red!
On the man's face a kind of bashful plea. Possibly he had spied the mat salleh in the panama trying to cross on the little green man (jogging here).
Needless to say, could never happen in Sing'. They have the rattan in Malaysia too, but in Sing' they would use it. Old man Lee would send an Aide out to make sure the full force of the law—as stipulated in the statutes—was used on the first half dozen offenders. End of problem. Something to be said for clear lines of authority; something else for a modicum of liberty and freedom.
— Eleven motor-cycle deaths per day alone on the roads in the past six months
in Malaysia
— Palm oil and rubber still make up around 15% of GDP. An industry honcho pooh-poohing Western influenced enviro and dietary concerns. With the popularity of KFC and Maccas it may in fact be a lesser problem.
— The Bronze Olympic diving medalist from London—who was also the Malaysian team's flag-bearer at the Games—prominently hailed in the media for her feat. Possibly the fact she was a Sabah girl added to the marketability. The ruling party of Najib, shortly up for re-election, has its electoral stronghold in fact in that outlying province on Borneo. Much contention there over immigrants from the peninsular—a mini Tibetan scenario. There was no thought in Malaysia to put their less than gold-bright Olympic competitors onto a leaky boat out at sea.
— Interesting glimpses of history in the museums. During the Emergency here in the forties and fifties the British overlords moved 500,000 Chinese into barracks accommodation behind barbed wire in order to deal with the communist menace, inspired by the nations to the north of course, uncle Ho and Mao. Ten years the Emergency lasted—ten years of camps behind wire, roll-calls, strict rations. Helps put in perspective the anointment of LKY in the island province to the south. All democratic naturally.
And on the very cusp of departure, the last afternoon, an accidental stumble led to the discovery of the remarkable wet market of Chow Kit, at fifty or sixty years old—clearly untouched in that time—the oldest in Malaysia. A young Chinese stall-holder who gave the information offered an implicit apology for the ramshackle conditions. Two or three dozen passes along the stalls on the roadway had led to the presumption that that was Chow Kit Market. Fruit had been bought at various points on a number of sides. Over the fortnight there had seemed no reason to venture further.
Late afternoon on Sunday a glimpse of activity beyond the outer stalls led to a further foray. Once inside under the low, sunken ceilings the aisles stretched as far as the eye could see. In a downpour it would certainly be action-stations pretty quick-smart among the stall-holders. The place had a subterranean aspect from the sagging overhead and the dimly lit interior. The lights that there were seemed to be ad hoc, strung up by the stall-holders themselves individually. Other light came through prospects to the outdoors and overhead where the roofing terminated. Under-foot the floor was all uneven, with channels, drains and pools creating hazards.
Yet somehow much of the vegetables seemed to glow brightly, of themselves it seemed, from their own vibrant colour and freshness. Even plates of garlic and ginger presented spotted highlights from the plates laid out. Brilliant red chilli of course. Fish of all varieties and sizes were presented on bench-tops on beds of ice and swimming in shallow tubs. A man stood hanging a long, twitching, elongated fish over a block, slicing away a short fin while he straightened out the terms with an African woman ordering. Chinese sold packets of noodles. There seemed to be a complete absence of Indians, either buyers or sellers, whereas on the streets of Chow Kit there were many. Some of the dark-skinned Malays carting and wheeling various produce in the aisles carried their own perfection of form as a counterpart to the goods on display.
The array was all pleasantly and comfortably bewitching until the first large calf's head appeared all at once on a counter almost at one's elbow. In the shock the misplacing of a hunter’s trophy scrambled in the brain. The rictus of raised lips and clenched teeth gave one something further with which to contend. With the innocent approach and lack of warning the shock was substantial. There were a number more heads further on. It appeared the calves’ heads had been skinned. This was not the case for the smaller goats' heads closely bunched further along. A few hides were hung, some offal and innards on trays. Stout but short calf legs hung from a rod in a dense cluster, the hooves losing the impression of hardness. Possibly the heads were smoked after skinning, or washed with some kind of resin, in order to produce the unusual latex-like yellow tone. There was some kind of standard treatment involved that was different for goats. In the company of the men and women who stood by these remnants from morning to night it was certainly not possible to blanch and feel queasy. Under no circumstances.
— Palm oil and rubber still make up around 15% of GDP. An industry honcho pooh-poohing Western influenced enviro and dietary concerns. With the popularity of KFC and Maccas it may in fact be a lesser problem.
— The Bronze Olympic diving medalist from London—who was also the Malaysian team's flag-bearer at the Games—prominently hailed in the media for her feat. Possibly the fact she was a Sabah girl added to the marketability. The ruling party of Najib, shortly up for re-election, has its electoral stronghold in fact in that outlying province on Borneo. Much contention there over immigrants from the peninsular—a mini Tibetan scenario. There was no thought in Malaysia to put their less than gold-bright Olympic competitors onto a leaky boat out at sea.
— Interesting glimpses of history in the museums. During the Emergency here in the forties and fifties the British overlords moved 500,000 Chinese into barracks accommodation behind barbed wire in order to deal with the communist menace, inspired by the nations to the north of course, uncle Ho and Mao. Ten years the Emergency lasted—ten years of camps behind wire, roll-calls, strict rations. Helps put in perspective the anointment of LKY in the island province to the south. All democratic naturally.
And on the very cusp of departure, the last afternoon, an accidental stumble led to the discovery of the remarkable wet market of Chow Kit, at fifty or sixty years old—clearly untouched in that time—the oldest in Malaysia. A young Chinese stall-holder who gave the information offered an implicit apology for the ramshackle conditions. Two or three dozen passes along the stalls on the roadway had led to the presumption that that was Chow Kit Market. Fruit had been bought at various points on a number of sides. Over the fortnight there had seemed no reason to venture further.
Late afternoon on Sunday a glimpse of activity beyond the outer stalls led to a further foray. Once inside under the low, sunken ceilings the aisles stretched as far as the eye could see. In a downpour it would certainly be action-stations pretty quick-smart among the stall-holders. The place had a subterranean aspect from the sagging overhead and the dimly lit interior. The lights that there were seemed to be ad hoc, strung up by the stall-holders themselves individually. Other light came through prospects to the outdoors and overhead where the roofing terminated. Under-foot the floor was all uneven, with channels, drains and pools creating hazards.
Yet somehow much of the vegetables seemed to glow brightly, of themselves it seemed, from their own vibrant colour and freshness. Even plates of garlic and ginger presented spotted highlights from the plates laid out. Brilliant red chilli of course. Fish of all varieties and sizes were presented on bench-tops on beds of ice and swimming in shallow tubs. A man stood hanging a long, twitching, elongated fish over a block, slicing away a short fin while he straightened out the terms with an African woman ordering. Chinese sold packets of noodles. There seemed to be a complete absence of Indians, either buyers or sellers, whereas on the streets of Chow Kit there were many. Some of the dark-skinned Malays carting and wheeling various produce in the aisles carried their own perfection of form as a counterpart to the goods on display.
The array was all pleasantly and comfortably bewitching until the first large calf's head appeared all at once on a counter almost at one's elbow. In the shock the misplacing of a hunter’s trophy scrambled in the brain. The rictus of raised lips and clenched teeth gave one something further with which to contend. With the innocent approach and lack of warning the shock was substantial. There were a number more heads further on. It appeared the calves’ heads had been skinned. This was not the case for the smaller goats' heads closely bunched further along. A few hides were hung, some offal and innards on trays. Stout but short calf legs hung from a rod in a dense cluster, the hooves losing the impression of hardness. Possibly the heads were smoked after skinning, or washed with some kind of resin, in order to produce the unusual latex-like yellow tone. There was some kind of standard treatment involved that was different for goats. In the company of the men and women who stood by these remnants from morning to night it was certainly not possible to blanch and feel queasy. Under no circumstances.
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