Last night in George Town and we decided on an Indian, but so many to choose from! One looked a little different from the rest, and seemed to be well-frequented by the locals, so we went in and sat down. We couldn’t make much sense of the menu, but everything everyone was eating looked delicious, so we ordered chicken masala, rice and vegetables, and waited to see what would turn up.
Two sheets of waxed paper were placed in front of us, and shortly afterwards out came two packages – sort of like pancake jiffy bags, stuffed with something. No cutlery. Big stainless steel pots of curry sauce in the middle of the table, and away you go. Quite tricky, tearing off chunks of the packages with just one hand (you do not use your left), and with the curry sauce added, it all got quite messy. But we got the hang of it pretty quickly, and it was all absolutely delicious. When we’d finished our packages (which I think was just the chicken masala part of our order) we told the waiter it was wonderful but we couldn’t possibly eat any more. He was of course entirely unfazed, and gave us the bill: with two slightly strange but very nice pink iced drinks (still not a clue what they were) and a big bottle of water, it came to 24 ringits – £4.
Then a good night’s sleep, apart from the fireworks outside (Chinese new year-related, perhaps?), and off to the ferry terminal for the boat back to the mainland. Then onto a bus, to come to Kuala Perlis, where we’d originally planned to catch the ferry to Langkawi Island – and will, tomorrow, since sod’s law made today the only day of the week with no 4.30 ferry, meaning that the earlier ferry was also totally booked out.
So now we find ourselves marooned in Kuala Perlis – a scrappy nowhere of a town, with that tired, listless shabbiness you tend to find in places that exist only as stepping off points to somewhere else, where we’ve just had (in the only restaurant we could find) the first genuinely bad meal we’ve had in Malaysia. Well, mine was ok – lacklustre, and with more bone than chicken, but not entirely devoid of taste – but Virle’s fish soup was actively nasty, the ‘fish’ consisting of what looked like worms, and tasted like what I imagine worms might taste like, if you were ever unfortunate enough to be served any.
But a distinctly underwhelming day did offer a sublime experience for afters: sunset down at the front, with colours worthy of Turner, as the muezzin sang out from the ‘floating mosque’ of Al Hussain. With a friendly pussy cat to share the experience.
Allahu akbar.
