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Journalism of Courage
The murky green waters of the Malacca Straits, visible from atop the hill, fidgeted uncomfortably in the Saturday morning heat, and hulking ships made their way across the narrow shipping lane that connects the Indian and Pacific Oceans, as economically and strategically important as the Suez or Panama canals.
Nearby, in the crumbling remains of St Paul8217;s Church, I came across another very familiar name8212;St Francis Xavier. The Catholic missionary, who lies embalmed and with a missing toe in Goa, was for a brief period laid to rest in the church before being shipped to India.
As I walked down the hill, mildly surprised, and acknowledging my own tenuous link with Asia8217;s shared colonial past, Malaysia8217;s 8220;historical town8217;8217;, ravaged by nearly every imperial power for 500 years, was stirring itself awake. The first of the sightseers were besieging the fortress, roti canais were being dished out at roadside eateries and scooterettes buzzed about.
Gripped by a bout of touristitis, that gnawing anxiety which makes you want to visit every place listed on a city8217;s map, I hailed a becaq, a colourful Malaccan cycle rickshaw.
My wizened old driver took me around the old city8217;s narrow, winding streets to the town square where stands the salmon-pink Stadthuys, a Dutch palace, and the over 200-year-old Christ Church. The former was, to me at least, well-manicured history, which is why I went into the high-ceilinged church and sat watching a dusky, roly-poly teen of Indian origin practicing a kind of Jesus pop for Sunday8217;s service.
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STRAITS TALK
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8226; Malacca, one of Malaysia8217;s 13 states, is four and a half hours by bus from Singapore and about two hours from Kuala Lumpur. |
8216;8216;Readyaah,8217;8217; she asked her accompanists8212;a little guy with a guitar, a keyboardist and an eager drummer8212;in typical Straits Settlements English, before launching into the number. A priest looked on in appreciation, and sunlight shone on a Last Supper on glazed tiles.
My ride took me across the Malacca river, past Chinatown, a riotous burst of colour with blood-red and gold-bordered lanterns the Chinese New Year had just passed, elaborately painted windows, and graceful two-storeyed houses lining its narrow streets.
In the Indian quarter not too far away, I spotted a Chettiar stationery shop, a Noor Mohammed sari emporium and a Gujarati Samaj, all part of the Indian diaspora long before the word itself was coined and way before it became a mainstream media staple. Malays of Indian origin, especially Tamils, I reckoned, still retain the sartorial flamboyance of their native brethren, as a car ingested a Malay Tamil family off for a weekend shopping jaunt.
My driver/guide dropped me off at a Hindu temple, but I skipped the familiar-looking structure and walked instead to the adjacent Kampung Kling8217;s mosque, among the oldest in Malaysia. The dome, that defining element of Islamic architecture, is replaced here by a three-tiered roof, and a pagoda-shaped minaret pointed at the sky. The interiors held even more architectural novelties8212;a chandelier and sturdy Corinthian pillars, though neither of them manage to dent the austere piety of Islam.
It was late afternoon by the time I exited the mosque8217;s compound, and lunch, I decided, had to be at the Medan Portugis or the Portuguese Square, a tiny settlement which houses about 500 descendants of a Portuguese-Malay communion, who speak Kristao, a mix of old Portuguese and Malay.
The Restoran de Lisbon, which stands at the edge of the sea, is empty except for a garrulous Malaysian out entertaining an English friend. I ask restaurateur Peter d8217;Silva, who insists he is all Portuguese, about the kind of food he has at home and he suggests the Chicken Debal. An insipid, warm breeze floats in, as I wait for lunch with a Tiger beer for company.
The food arrives and the red curry debal is supposedly a corruption of devil is of a fiery nature, with a flavour similar to East Indian cuisine. Drenched with rice, it makes for a burp-inducing meal that shatters my two-day-old resolution to keep off cigarettes. Before long, as another beer appears on my table, I8217;ve lit up and am emitting satiated, nicotine-tinged sighs towards the murky Straits.
