Sage Advice

Well, there's no better way to gain some hard-earned lessons than by making huge mistakes, right? It just so happens that I'm really good at that. Making huge mistakes, I mean. In fact, over the years, it seems I have developed a skill for it that surpasses human ability. But, here's the thing:

When it comes to Malaysian Immigrations, there are "rules". They're not exact. They're not always the same. They are tricky. AND, they are mysterious. But, alas, fear not for you can discover them... eventually. That is, IF you make enough mistakes. Alternatively, you could read this blog. You know or talk to a foreigner who has managed to live in Malaysia for more than two years.

Ok, I've been here two years this trip. It'll be two years at the end of July. So, what's my secret?

TENACITY.

No, it's not a city where everyone plays tennis.

Seriously though. You must have brass balls to get through Immigrations these days. NOT that I do. I was thoroughly intimidated this trip. I mean thoroughly.

You know the drill: You show up at the little window, waiting behind two guys and watch the Immigrations officer behind the little window. (He's smiling!) Yes! Heck, he's practically enjoying himself stamping those guys passports so quickly.

Now it's my turn. The smile evaporates. Poof! Just like that. He's frowning now. Uh, oh. No! Don't turn your back! Don't... Too late. He's turned around and talking to someone else. I hate that. Back to me.

"Eskoos me, ma'am? You mus' follow me please."

I hate that, too. Off to the back room for the fifty questions. But, first, wait until the last person finishes her high-pitched rant and rave, begging for her visa. Ahyo.

Immigrations Officer: (first question, as usual) "What are you doing in Malaysia?"

It really doesn't matter what you tell her. It really doesn't matter how much money you're earning online and bringing into the Malaysian economy. So, don't even bother with that line of arguing. Sooner or later, she will say,

"You must have a 'proper visa'."

That's the buzz word that rings in my head over and over as I visualise the Grim Reaper standing over me with his curved thingy. (What is that, anyway? A parang? Or what? It's pretty sharp.)

Now, here again, I'll give you some advice. DON'T ask her what a proper visa is. Just accept the fact that the so-called visas you have been getting stamped into your passport (by who? Oh, yeah, by Immigrations) is, in fact not proper. It's just not... "proper".

She told me I had "abused my social pass". Now, I guess that means I haven't been smiling enough?

Ok, so next question.

"Why don't you go back to your own country?"

Me, "Um..."

"You keep going to Third World countries and then returning to Malaysia. You should go back to your own country."

(Gosh, I thought it was a free world. Have I ever been mistaken. But... did she just use the word "Third Word"? Aren't these the "Developing Nations" or something, now?)

I am told to wait. So I sit. Then a man comes out with a really sober face (unlike the jokers who were enjoying a good laugh behind the counter while I fought for my three months) and he says,

"I'm sorry ma'am but we have decided to refuse you entry into Malaysia. You must go back to Singapore. Is that ok?"

" Um, NO!", I'm thinking, but I say, "But, Officer, all my belongings are in Malaysia. I don't even have a change of clothes with me." (Singapore? Are you mad?)

He says, "Ok, well, we can give you one week to go back and pack up your belongings." He disappears and comes back. "We can give you two weeks. Is that alright?"

Me, (relieved) "Yes. Thank you."

Somehow, you come out of there feeling abused, accused, exposed, incriminated, humiliated and totally brow-beaten, yet GRATEFUL for only two weeks!

Beaches in Malaysia

In one month, I had the privilege to visit three beaches. It's unusual for me to go to any beaches because I live in a land-locked town. But, I found myself visiting Malacca one day and on the way home, went to a beach. It was night time, so I don't know whether the water was clean or not. I didn't go in!

 

Then, a friend of mine and I drove to another beach the same week. It seemed to be very out-of-the-way. We drove through villages and palm tree groves and on and on. But, it was worth it! The beach was astounding! And there were free inner tubes in a pile right on the beach, so I grabbed one.

The water was just so warm and the gentle motion of the tides was so soothing. I wanted to live there forever.

But, the best part was when we were leaving! We saw herds of the cutest monkeys you can imagine. One of them had a teensy baby on it's stomach, clinging to it. Oh, my!

Some people who seemed to be locals were giving them junk food. The monkeys loved it. One of them had a big pink round piece of junk food that he was treasuring and showing it off in front of his peers. Next time, I'll bring some peanuts.

Then, there was Port Dixon.

I always thought that beach was filthy, but this time, we found a nice, clean white sandy beach. Although I didn't go swimming, I did go to visit the seaside resort there called the Grand Lexis. It was inspiring. We just walked around it and sat down in one of the airy dining rooms for a coffee.

Port Dixon is fun. It's got all the mod coms.

Reflexology

While I was living in China, I got into getting foot massages. Once I got a full body massage but I did not respond well to it. Maybe my body didn't like being pushed into new positions or something. It caused a bad neck for a while. But, foot massages were just the ticket. It seemed they'd massage you from the waist down anyway.

So, when I came back to Malaysia, I went for a Reflexology treatment in Kemayan Square. It hurt! But, afterwards, I felt like I was walking on air. That was a few years ago.

Well, a couple of days ago, I was in the Tesco here in Seremban and I happened to walk past a sign in front of a massage clinic. It said "Reflexology 20RM for 30 minutes", so I went in.

The people were very nice. The gentleman was from Myanmar and the woman who gave me the treatment was from Indonesia.

Man, was she strong! I wanted to cry out a few times as she worked on my toes. But, it was a good pain. I'll definitely go back again. I think she pushed a few pints of blood back up to my waist. Maybe next time, I'll get a full body massage. There's a first time for everything.

So far, January has been a victory in the health department for me, as well as for the two friends I jog/walk with. We have been walking our butts off lately. I hope. One of my friends measures the kms and at an average of 4 per walk, I think we've done well over 50kms just this month! Good for us!

Black Mold!

Where I'm from, black mold is anathema. It's forbidden. It's dangerous and unhealthy and just plain not allowed. I think the building inspectors won't allow you to sell your home if it has this dreaded infection in it.

Am I right, Canadians? (I'll look it up later, but I believe you certainly are not allowed to rent to people if there is black mold in your house because it's such a health risk.)

So, here I am, living with black mold all around me. Yike.

It's rainy season. It was rainy season when I moved in. I guess I didn't think anything of it. Mind you, it did feel a bit damp. But, as time went on, I started to find mold in unexpected places.

I opened my suitcase and found an old leather pouch that was just hairy with greyish-black mold. It's like when a peach gets moldy. You know what that looks like?

Then, I started to see it growing other places, like on shelves. It was growing on a shelving unit I had cleaned only a couple of weeks ago. So, it seemed like this stuff was growing super fast! Like, what IS that, anyway?

I started feeling like I was in the middle of an epidemic like in that movie starring Dustin Hofman, "Outbreak". It started seeming to me that this fungus growth was just multiplying faster and faster beyond all normal expectations.

It's everywhere! It's everywhere!

I went into the spare room and it was growing in patches on the back of the wardrobe. The wardrobe had been sitting there for less than two weeks, after I'd given it the once-over. But, the back, having been close to the wall must have gotten to just the right temperature and conditions for the mold to prosper.

I climbed up the ladder to clean the fans in the livingroom and discovered there was more black dirt and mold up there than was suspected. Could it be that the fans literally distribute the spores?

Heck, if mold were a plant, I'd have a green thumb. My house must be providing all the right conditions for it.

At first, I'd just look down and see dirt. "Oh, my, is that ever dirty! Look at that black d-- THAT'S not dirt!"

The bathroom tiles are rife with it. In that situation (white tiles with black mold growing between them) it's obvious. But, in the rest of the house, it can disguise itself as dirt.

When I first moved in, I filled a squirt bottle with bleach water. Then later, I made a Dettol squirt bottle. NOW, I added Grape Seed Extract to up the power. But, a friend of mine went out and bought a bottle of stuff at Cosway especially for mildew and mold. (It smells a lot like ammonia to me.) My friend has a mold problem in her shoe cupboard.

The thing is that, Malaysians don't seem to be worried about it at all.

It really is everywhere here.

Today, I spent an hour cleaning one wooden chair. There are three more chairs to clean. Then the rest of the furniture. Then, by the time I'm finished, I'll have to start all over again. Like how they continue painting the San Francisco Bridge! ... The never-ending story...

But, I, for one, refuse to co-exist with it.

Prices in Malaysia

Is it me or have the prices sky-rocketed in Malaysia?

Last year, (or was it six months ago?) I bought a tiny bottle of TeaTree Oil for 15 RM. Now, the same sized bottle costs 30RM! In many cases, chocolate bar prices have also doubled. I haven't checked out all the prices on all the items at Jusco, but I'm beginning to think it will be a similar story.

I went into the DVD shop to see if I could find those cheapo 10 ringgit movies. You used to be able to find DVD movies for 9.99RM. Not any more. They start at 19.99 and go up. Yes, you can get "Buy One Free One" for 19.99 if you look hard in the sale box. But, most older movies cost 49.99RM! Phew.

Looks like I'm cutting down on chocolate and movies. I guess that can't be bad. So, I have the economy hike to thank for something.

Somebody tell me: "Where can I shop that's cheap?"

Maybe I'll check out the night market (Pasar Malam) and see what their prices are like.

On the bright side, I found a cheap book on sale today. Since the book is 994 pages, I asked the attendant if it was the correct price on the back. It said 13.90. He said,

"No, that's the pre-twenty percent-off price."

"Oh, so it's cheaper?"

"Yes."

"I'll take it."

It actually worked out to be about a penny a page. (And I mean Malaysian cents, ha.) Not a bad price for a complete and unabridged copy of "War and Peace". It even has a colour copy of "Napoleon Crossing the Alps" by Jaques Louis Davide on the front cover!

If you haven't read "War and Peace" yet, you can pick up a copy upstairs in Jusco at the MPH sale!

The Punjabi Moving Man and His Helpers

Maybe I should have titled this one, "Leaving Kampar Again", but, really the most impressionable experience I have had in my move is the Punjabi movers. They turn everything upside-down. Don't ask me why cause I sure don't know. But, they do. They do.

First off, I'm expecting to pay around 500 to 700 ringgit for a truck to Seremban. Not. He told me flat out that one truck would cost 1,000 and that I needed TWO trucks. (Only, here, they call them lorries. Maybe that's why they cost so much.)

Two truck loads of stuff that mostly doesn't belong to me. But, even if I owned it all, I sure wouldn't want to PAY someone to break up, damage and destroy my belongings. Would you?

The English-speaking older man had brought with him three others who were also Punjabis. Two of them could speak little to no English and so, had no idea what I was yelling about, I'm sure. But, as soon as the men set foot in my house, it's like there was a fire in the house. Their motto was

"Get it out FAST! The faster you get it out, the more money you'll make!" --or something to that effect. The boss wanted to get into Seremban before the traffic, so that was the priority.

Obviously, my furniture took third or fourth priority. I swear these young guys were trying to make a show of their strength by taking large pieces of furniture, such as the china cabinet and turning them upside-down! But, it wasn't until we reached Seremban that the real nightmare began.

I guess I'd been too busy rushing like mad to finish wrapping and packing last minute things at the house to notice how the furniture was being treated. It seemed fairly well-organised.

But, once in Seremban, I noticed the house afire attitude had escalated and my belongings were taking the brunt of it.

"NO! NO!" I wave my arms at a young Punjabi in a turn-it-around motion and trying to talk to the real estate agent as one of the movers turns the china cabinet upside down! Later, the agent laughed when he went into the bedroom and saw the cabinet sitting with its feet in the air! He had one of the men turn it around, but all the shelves had fallen first one way, then the other, bending the corners. Yike! (Don't tell my son.)

Coffee tables went in the bedroom with the dining room chairs. Dressers in the living room. It's gonna be a long week!

A wardrobe got turned on its side and dragged across the gravel, scraping the thin fake wood grain to crap. Big gouges were made in shelves and cupboards. Ho hum. Lesson learned:

Rent furnished housing. Don't buy your furniture here but if you do, NEVER move it! Unless, of course, you do it yourself.

Going Bananas at Tesco!

Ok, so this is one to keep me humble. I was shopping at Tesco and, as I so often do, I was carrying my list of items, checking them off one at a time, adding the price beside the item.

Now, I know you're thinking, "Wow, what a conscientious person." But, really, if I don't do this, I end up going to the check-out counter with all my stuff and not having enough cash in my wallet to pay for what I picked up. It has happened to me.

It's embarassing when you have to ask the poor check-out guy, "Could you please put that back? and add it up again?" ...and "...oh and could you also put that back and add it up again?" Then, "Still too much la? Ok, put THIS back."

Last time I had to put back my nice fresh-looking brocoli. But, anyway, all that to say, I was shopping and checking items off my list. It was a very long list. (I like to get value for my taxi fare by buying everything in one trip, too.)

I had made one trip to the scale. (Oh, you guys in the West don't know this, but here in Malaysia, you have to take your produce to the scale to get the price marked on it before you check out at the cash. That's something we USED to do in Canada when I was a kid. Did I date myself?)

So, I'm totally absorbed in "The List" and I'm standing there at the scale, having passed something to the lady and totally forgotten WHAT I'd handed her. But, when I saw this Indian man pick up his bananas, I thought I suddenly remembered what I'd handed her. I suddenly put out my hand and shouted at the man!

"WAIT!"

He looked at me like I was insane. Truly insane. (He could have been at least partially correct in his thinking.)

"Are you SURE those are YOUR bananas?" I asked, thinking to myself, "You PEOPLE are so stupid, you don't even focus on what you're handing to the scale lady. You should probably pay more attention..."

But, something about the way this guy is looking at me begins to open an area of consciousness I had been unaware of. Then, it suddenly dawned on me!

He had his bananas in one hand and a strange, insulted look on his face and I quickly said,

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He didn't say a word. Not one word. Either he was too shocked or just couldn't speak English.

And he's gone. Poor man.

(I mean, it's not like I was mad at him or anything. In my mind, I was actually problem-solving, thinking he'd accidentally picked up the wrong item since our items were being weighed at the same time. Easy mistake. But, it could be that I had that "English Teacher authority" in my voice or something because, he stopped dead in his tracks when I spoke to him. Of course, how often does a Canadian woman walk up to you in the supermarket speaking English in accusing tones? Like: never.)

And I'm feeling like an idiot. Which is not unusual. It's the same way I felt today when the chicken lady was making a chopping motion to me. She was pretending she was mute or something and I'm standing there shaking my head, pretending I'm mute. We're both looking like idiots. I even said something in her language and she ignored me. She was really into the mute thing. So, I got into the motioning too. Waving my hands to shape a perfectly uncut roasted chicken. "Satu." and "Bole." (Meaning, "one" and "can" because in Malaysia, everything is "bole".)

Yes, so as he's walking away and I'm bleary-eyed and blinking at "The List", I finally, FINALLY realized that I'd weighed in my bananas previously. I was the one who hadn't been paying attention. After the rather unpleasant altercation with the Indian man, the scale lady held out the item she had priced for me. Heck, I STILL can't remember what it was.