ENDURING TWO EIGHT-HOUR FLIGHTS for a one week sojourn seemed absurd – an unprecedented folly in our travel history, but a romantic idea to celebrate an anniversary and briefly escape winter. Anyway, we intended to squeeze every breath out of this glorified long-weekend, starting from the minute we skipped out of the doors of our respective places of employment on Friday evening…
After whizzing home for a quick freshen up we grabbed our limp-looking bag (weighing in at a record breaking 8.5 kilograms), jumped on a bus into the city, then the train to Kingsford-Smith which cost almost as much as our flight! I went from offering advice about a runny nose to standing at the Air Asia check-in counter in less than an hour and a half – not bad!
We killed the next couple of hours stretching our legs and wondering about the medicinal benefits of ‘Essence of Kangaroo’ and ‘Sheep Placenta Capsules’ which we found amid the bottles of Johnny Walker and Bombay Sapphire.
Our Flight took off just a few minutes late, soaring high over the city, entombing us in hellish discomfort for the duration of the journey to Kuala Lumpur. The seats were so small that even I couldn’t assume my usual sleep ‘asanas’, so we arrived tired and wretched at 4am, still a long way from any place of recovery. I extracted my treasure chest of medicaments and took an assortment of headache killers.
Outside the concourse we located the Transnasional stand for the Melaka-bound bus and waited for two hours in that insalubrious corner of the LCCT until a coach miraculously appeared and a myriad of ticket-holding Melakans materialised from nowhere. In a blur of confusion we boarded and were efficiently swept south through a sea of palm oil plantations, arriving two hours later feeling proportionately worse. With my last reserves of strength we found our way from the terminal to the nearby Pasar Besar, the city’s wet market, for some essentials – a pineapple, mangoes, a couple of starfruit and some mangosteens – five ringgit very well spent.
FINALLY OUT OF THE CACOPHONY we wheeled on bus number 17 into town, alighted at a suitably downtown-looking locale and staggered into the flophouse we had wisely pre-booked. Jiong Guesthouse was unwelcoming to say the least, our host was a surly and begrudging character who told us in no uncertain terms that our rudimentary lodging wouldn’t be ready until 2pm. So we recovered in the reception lounge as best we could with our fruits, then ventured back out amid waves of nausea to find something to eat.
Aside from a plate of greasy buz in Inner Mongolia, the ‘chicken ball rice’ at Kin Men Restaurant was probably the worst meal we’d ever eaten. Despondent, we returned to Jiong where our room was ready and crashed for a couple of hours, waking to find the world a better place…
We ventured out again and wandered down to Jalan Hang Jebat which was thronging with weekenders from KL and Singapore. We drank the life-giving goodness of a ‘green milk tea’ all icy and frothy – and so our resurrection began. Further along, past the two storey shophouses of Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lok, we stumbled across Popiah Lwee. The popiah was “sudah habis”, but the Nonya laksa placed down in front of us was the best ever – it was like tonic to our souls and we left wiping the orange gravy off our smiling chins.
Durian was in season, and we browsed the shops selling everything an aficionado could imagine, from ice cream and dodol to chocolate! We continued our snack-tracking with a fresh durian pancake, after an aniseed flavoured ais batu campur, and washed it all down with a cooling soy milk. By the time we headed home, Jalan Hang Jebat was jammed with hungry pedestrians, and the 7:30pm call to prayer signalled that iftar had begun – Melaka was going off and we were feeling very content to be a part of it.
THE JIONG MAY HAVE BEEN a flophouse, but it was clean and comfortable. We slept well and wandered out into the quiet streets at daybreak, hungry for breakfast. Dim sum was an obvious choice – Low Yong Mow was already active with diners and bamboo steamers promising something delicious. We had pork xiao bao, prawn dumplings, yong doufu, and fried bittergourd stuffed with fish cake among the plates spread across our table, and the green tea which it was all about, gave us a great kick start to the day. Thus fortified we ambled across the river in the morning cool to Bukit Cina, the forested hill covered in Chinese graves dating from the fifteenth century, a tranquil and beautiful place which we shared with a few early morning joggers and the birdsong of golden orioles, coppersmiths and jungle mynas. We could see Melaka waking up below, but the Chinese tour groups thronging the ancient temple at the foot of the hill didn’t venture beyond it.
Back at our lodging we found a more affable fellow behind the reception desk and decided to stay another night – a second night was just 40 ringgit, and moving is such a pain. With that decided we began our next excursion at the small wet market we’d found on our way to Bukit Cina – the durian merchant was a multi-lingual joker who sold us a one kilo durian, opened it for us and entertained us while we ate, sucking on the creamy segments and some extras which he offered to us. By now we were in our element – Malaysia is such a great place to travel – good food, good people, good atmosphere, and we could communicate with almost anyone in either English, Malay, Chinese or a campur of all three…
We mooched around the town square, colourful with trishaws garishly decorated with plastic flowers and giant butterfly parasols. Pedalled by elderly gents they belted out Malay pop and hip-hop tunes as they wheeled around Chinese tourists snapping wildly with their cameras as we snapped shots of them. In a lame bid to work up an appetite we climbed Bukit Saint Paul to view the original resting place of Francis Xavier – enough of an excuse to then have some lunch.
Nancy’s Kitchen prepared authentic Peranakan cuisine in a beautiful old shophouse. There we feasted on delicately crunchy pai tee (little fried hats filled with pickled turnip, slivers of fresh salad vegetables and topped with crumbs of soft tofu), ‘ayam candlenut’, ‘jackfruit lemak’, and the surprise star of the show, ‘sweet potato leaves with belacan‘. We thought we were full, but just around the corner we couldn’t pass ‘Jonker 88’ without joining the queue for a refreshing cendol. Hunks of frozen coconut milk were shaved into bowls of green cendol and red kidney beans, then liberally doused with condensed milk and syrupy black gula melaka. We squeezed inside the old teahouse packed with pleasure-seeking weekenders and enjoyed what was perhaps the best cendol we’d ever tasted.
We siestaed again to recover from the heat (31 degrees ‘feels like 41 degrees’ is still easier to recover from than 11 degrees ‘feels like 4 degrees’) then took ourselves for an afternoon stroll along the river which wound past our back door. We sat in the shade watching metre-long water monitors swim amongst the mangroves near Kampung Morten, a suburb of traditional Melakan wooden stilt houses.
Back in town dusk signalled time for the night market to begin, and it was easy to decide on the asam laksa recommended to me the previous evening by a lady we’d shared a table with. This laksa was sour with tamarind and flavoured by chunks of sardine nestled amongst the plump rice noodles; pineapple, cucumber and lettuce completed the dish perfectly, and further down the street an eggcup full of green tea ice cream rounded off my meal. Dave opted for turnip cake stir-fried with egg and bean sprouts and an icy kelapa muda. We spent the remainder of the evening back in the old town square. Between watching the whistle-stoppers and photographing the tricked-up trishaws we were well entertained, though our pictures really needed the hip-hop sound effect.
The cold water sluice was more welcome on that night than the first – it usually takes a day or two to re-accustom to the shock of throwing a bucket of cold water over oneself, but all afternoon I’d been looking forward to the cool down – it was sheer bliss!
THE NEXT MORNING WE WERE drawn back to Low Yong Mow for dim sum like bees to a honeypot. A storm brewed outside with lightening and giant raindrops as we sampled an entirely different array of tidbits including fried turnip cake, vegetable dumplings and stuffed tofu skin. The storm withdrew back to sea as we packed our bag and headed off for the bus station.
The local number 17 bus took a painfully circuitous route for the return trip – for forty minutes we were talked at by ‘Alan’, a local man with verbal diarrhoea and otic anorexia who regaled us with his own tales of misadventure that tolerated no interjection on our part. We arrived at the terminal only in time to see the 8:30am Transnasional to Klang just pulling out…
So we left on the 9:30am ‘S.E. Super’ bound for Lumut. For two and a half hours we sped along the Lebuh Raya pausing only to take on passengers in Seremban, and fuel in Shah Alam before reaching our stop. Our driver barked “Klang” at us with such ferocity that we didn’t dare offer any niceties as we scrambled off the bus at a station in the middle of nowhere…
A helpful station attendant offered advice on our next move and we opted for the more entertaining alternative. We headed off to wait with a group of people by the roadside where we caught a local bus into town. From our set down point we solicited information as we zig-zagged our way across town in search of a suitable onward connection. There was just time for a quick lunch at a strategically located curry house before embarking on the next leg, so we hungrily ate delicious roti canai with a thick lentil and vegetable curry, and teh ais all dispensed with laconic indifference for a mere five ringgit and fifty sen. This was a predominantly Indian town, so here we felt at ease with Tamil faces looking after us. There was even a Chetty lady behind the wheel as our journey resumed on a slow ride north – the forty kilometres took one and a half hours as we stopped for passengers ad nauseam, so it was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived in Kuala Selangor.
We spotted the sign to the taman alam and jumped off the bus to follow the shady roadway five hundred metres to the nature park, a quiet sanctuary of tropical green. We checked in and were ushered to a spacious wooden bungalow in the forest by a sweet young lady named Anis. Apart from a flock of babblers and some squirrels, we had the place to ourselves – a perfect antidote to city life.
Once settled we set off on the forest trail to check out the nature reserve. An artificial wetland had been created near the estuary of the Sungai Selangor – not only a haven for birds, we also spotted water monitors, silver leaf monkeys and long-tailed macaques. The mud flats teemed with amphibious mud skippers, and in the mangroves were crabs – iridescent blue ones, tiny bright yellow ones and mud crabs with a single huge orange claw. Amid the nipa palms and secondary forest we saw woodpeckers, cuckoos, kingfishers, prinias, magpie robins and bulbuls. In the waterways were herons, swallows and egrets, and brahminy kites flew overhead.
We decided to make an excursion that evening, and the girls in the headquarters office arranged a pick-up for us. So at 7:30pm we met a taxi-wallah named Shankar who drove us ten kilometres out of town to Kampung Kuantan where we then waited for complete darkness to descend. The village had a well-organised co-operative of boatmen – we teamed up with a Dutchman named Rocco and his young son Julian to share one of the flat bottomed wooden row boats which paddled us silently out onto the river. We didn’t have to go far before the trees around us were lit up like Christmas trees; of the two thousand species of fire flies, we were witnessing the only one in which the entire colony illuminated in perfect synchrony with each other. As we paddled along the river bank we were surrounded by the kilip-kilips tiny blue lights flashing on and off in a romantic effort to find a mate as tiny bats flitted amongst them.The fact that two days previously a six metre long crocodile had surprisingly been found just a couple of kilometres from where we were completely slipped my mind for that magical half hour boat ride…
There was a different species of kilip-kilip flying around in the forest surrounding our bungalow when we returned – all was peaceful, the monkeys were asleep, and the frogs and crickets chirped ambiently all night.
AT THE CRACK OF DAWN we set ourselves up in a hide overlooking the wetland for some early morning wildlife spotting. Dave’s best prizes included a Malayan bronze cuckoo and the little heron. In the mangroves we were excited to stumble upon a troop of macaques hunting and feeding on crabs while we were hunting a difficult-to-identify woodpecker.
Time got away from us and it was after 10 o’clock when we suddenly realised how hungry we were. In town Auntie Kopitiam filled the spot with a hearty nasi lemak with ayam rendang, sup mee, thick sweet iced coffee, and a vibrantly orange coloured iced tea, all laid out on a marble topped table – a quintessentially Malay breakfast.
Reinvigorated, we then climbed Bukit Melawati, the small hill next to our forest sanctuary. From behind the old Dutch cannons we could see to the Straits of Malacca with the wetlands in the foreground. We were lucky to spot a perching serpent eagle, and silver leaf monkeys played in the trees attracted by the Chinese tourists dispensing treats to them – they were particularly fond of snake beans. It was not ideal from an ecological point of view, but presented an excellent opportunity to observe them and their young, tiny orange coloured babies clinging to their mothers and springing around in the branches.
Emerging later from our midday siesta we were hungry again. Our meal times had become rather erratic, it was 3 o’clock so we were unsure what to call this meal, but inspired by the crab-eating macaques, we set off towards the seafood restaurants in the fishing village across the river from Bukit Melawati.
We lucked a well timed cloud to protect us from the heat as we walked for twenty minutes to our target at Pasir Penembang. The Chinese restaurants were built over the water with the river breeze drifting through, and even though it wasn’t particularly meal time, the eateries were well patronised with enthusiastic diners. We were attracted by the fish tanks at Restoran Makanan Laut Jeti – a menu board outlined the days catch and we chose the ikan kerau deep fried and garnished with a sweet and sour sauce; cap cai with school prawns; and delicious chilli mud crabs. Soon we were eating with as much vigour as everyone else, smashing crab claws and splattering chilli sauce. To our left we could hear Tamil and smelled curried fish cutlets, to our right we could hear Mandarin and smelled whisky and battered grouper…
Stomachs content, we browsed in the fishy souvenir shops afterwards wondering whether Australian customs would allow aromatic prawn floss, freshly dried shrimp kerupuk, or the locally fermented belacan we were coveting – mmm, probably not – we wandered back sucking on jackfruit ice cream to Bukit Melawati from where we watched the sun set. It was busier in the evening – we sat on a bench with Virar, the wizened old leader of the one thousand strong monkey troop, watching the activity and chatting with Arunan, an air halia vendor who also did a line in snake beans. His company was somewhat more companionable than Virars, who periodically smelt as you would expect of one with an exclusive diet of beans.
A couple of hours passed by in a flash, the sun dipped, we imbibed a healthy ayurvedic air halia, and reluctantly retreated to our homely bungalow in the forest.
WE WERE BACK DOWN IN the wetlands the following day at dawn for one last spot of bird watching before we left. We took in the sounds of the forest waking up from one of the towers, but the thrill came on our return when we surprised a terrestrial water monitor in a dry canal. Everyone froze – the lizard was a huge specimen, one and a half metres long with a torso the same size as mine. He didn’t move a muscle and once our eyeballs had popped back into their sockets, we crept off well pleased with the start to our day.
Once packed we headed off, making a pit stop at Auntie Kopitiam for breakfast where every element of our ‘kaya set’ was prepared to perfection. The half-cooked eggs were just the right consistency with rich orange yolks, the roti soft on one side and with minimal crunch on the other, the coconut jam freshly made with dark gula Melaka, and the coffee rich and strong served in thick rimmed cups. Our day was going well.
Next we followed the instructions given to us by the angelic Anis, walking a couple of kilometres to find the bus terminal and an old ‘Selangor Omnibus Company’ rattler just firing up for departure. Our driver was a smiling Tamil man, the conductor a hungry Malay woman, and our fellow passengers an ethnic smorgasbord ranging from Orang asli to us! Together we made our way to the capital, luxuriant oil palm estates eventually giving way to new housing estates, suburbs, and then the city with its twin towers barely visible through the smoke haze.
On Lebuh Pasar Besar our conductor jumped ship, issuing animated directions to us as an afterthought as she hurried away through the crowds. Luckily we already had our bearings and jumped ship ourselves a few hundred metres from our pre-determined hotel hunting ground. Our luck held – at the first hotel we tried, we found a vacant room which suited our needs perfectly.
THE LOK ANN WAS AN OLD Chinese stalwart – our eighty ringgit room was spacious and fan-cooled with four metre ceilings and big windows looking out over the intersection of Jalan Sultan and Jalan Petaling. The lights and noise pervaded our space, especially one night when we were rudely woken at midnight by some kind of film shoot going on below us – the lights, camera and action for what looked like a rowdy commercial for ‘3 in 1’. Our stay in this room jutting out into the razzamatazz of the city melted into a blur of exploring, shopping, and eating sorties. We ventured far and wide, buying and tasting the things we fancied, enjoying what remained of our ‘long-weekend’. Our meals were as diverse as our shopping locales, taking in the spectrum of cuisines – Malay, Indian and Chinese; and the gamut of locations, from uptown to downmarket. Every one of our comings and goings was met with amiable discourse from our friendly landlords – old ‘Steven’ took delight in testing out our Mandarin, always wanting to know what we’d been eating!
We got around mostly by foot, but Dave prides himself on conquering public transport. He specialises in city buses and took to KL’s user friendly bus system like a duck to water. Within hours of our arrival we began zipping all over town, just by using his wits and powers of observation…
In the streets of Little India, Ramadan sales made for a less leisurely but more profitable shopping experience. Not only did the centres offer generous discounts for Id, but stalls consumed the footpaths almost completely, and were congested with groups of conservatively dressed women shuffling along, flinging hijabs and fingering frumpy tunic sets, making a leisurely stroll almost impossible.
The big malls peppered across the city made good places to cool down, and during the heat of the day we pottered around in them. From Sogo to the Mid Valley Mega Mall we didn’t leave any of them empty-handed, adding bags of tea dust, broken orange pekoe, durian candy and lunch boxes to the growing pile of shopping booty on the floor of our room.
One morning we crossed nasi ayam off our holiday wish list of dishes at the Tang City hawkers centre with a delicately assembled and flavoured ensemble of rice and roasted chicken. A good way to begin a day of city mooching. A walk to Chow Kit provided some early morning exercise and the huge wet market there provided plenty of sensory entertainment. The warren-like interior was crammed with people and produce – everything from freshly slain buffaloes to the sweet jellies, beans and fruits ready-prepared for ais batu campur. Petai beans were popular and mounds of dried fish and squid lent an overwhelming pungency to the air. From amid the exotica our purchases were quite sedate – rambutan, finger bananas, freshly peeled nangka, and freshly ground coffee specially roasted with sugar, margarine and salt to conform to local (and acquired) tastes. These goodies went well with the guava, red jambu and belimbing already in our larder.
It was still early and the nearby market in Jalan Haji Taib was still wiping the sleep from its eyes – the ideal time to peruse the ‘baju bundle’ stalls before crowds made the alleyways unbearable. Passing up the second-hand underwear and Barry Manilow T-shirts, we bagged some real bargains, my lined denim jacket was just ten ringgit, and we walked away with Dave’s upmarket ‘501’ for just 35 ringgit. The previous evening we’d been shopping at the opposite end of the spectrum in the glitzy Farenheit 88, and here we were bargaining in a genuine flea market…
We continued our shopping foray ambling back along Jalan TAR becoming more and more over-loaded as we got distracted by rugs and local groceries until Dave was looking like a pack horse and we were forced to return home to re-group. A pit stop at Jai Hind in Jalan Melayu helped us go the distance – stand outs on our thali were the okra bhaji with tomato and onion, fresh acar and an aloo gobi the likes of which were uncopyable in my own kitchen at Home.
Sandwiching our Indian lunch, that day was finalised with another Chinese dish ticked off on our ‘must-try’ list when we enjoyed an almost medicinal bak kut teh. Presented in a bubbling clay pot was a broth heavy with herbs and five-spice, dark soy and dried prawn. There were cup and enoki mushrooms, wongbok, and a tender fillet of sliced pork, a uniquely Malay/Chinese dish, and the circumstances in which we ate it were also very Malay – next to our sidewalk table sat a Muslim newspaper vendor who spent his long Ramadan days watching patrons savouring this delicious pork soup! In fact the local Muslims had little choice in the matter of fasting – it seemed that the state forbade them from eating in public during Ramadan and signs in the food courts pointed this out to anyone who might have been considering exercising free will. Anyway, it was just past the time of Iftar when we rounded off our soup with another Malay creation, a kaya bao from the cranky auntie next door to home at the Restoran West Lake…
Starting another day further afield, we found our way to Imbi Market on the outskirts of Bukit Bintang. We were well hungry after a journey by bus and on foot to the neighbourhood market where locals packed in for breakfast. The hawkers food court was busy like an ants nest churning out delicacies as fast as they could be consumed, and we sampled as much as our stomachs would hold. The kari mee was rich and creamy with tofu puff, sprouts and Hokkien mee, the popiah was crunchy with peanuts and egg crisps, the yong taufu a complete meal with kuay tiao, stuffed wing beans, chillies and lotus root all doused in bright red sauce and sprinkled with sesame seed. The teh tarik was hot and frothy orange, and the dan tart flaky and buttery with a creamy, eggy custard so steaming hot we had to wait for it to cool…
Brickfields was also a great place to spend a few hours – it was like a cleaned and polished version of India. We ate at a ‘banana leaf’ restaurant with a comedic couple from Singapore (“But don’t you have ‘chicken 65’????”), and strolled the streets painted with flowers around Jalan Travers and Jalan Tun Sambathan. We bought shoes and beverage preparations like ‘teh harimau‘ and ‘teh wangi ros’, and I was repeatedly complimented on my “very nice kurta”.
Our own neighbourhood in Chinatown provided a more vanilla experience than Chow Kit or Brickfileds. Jalan Petaling attracted an eclectic assortment of people, and no eccentricity raised a local eyebrow, from the pretty hijra lady boys to the young lads dressed more for the Cronulla riots than an outing in a foreign city (just how far from their lodging did they venture looking like that?). We did however find some more interesting wildlife in the nearby pet shop – just who would really buy a naked musk rat or a baby hedgehog? And we did make some fragile purchases in the Kwog Yik Seng crockery shop.
Near to the Sri Mahamariamman temple, Vivavineya provided a deliciously southern Indian breakfast in surrounds that had us eating some words of Hindi. Appams, puris, it all looked great, and I put away three idli with sambar and coconut chutnis, while Dave wolfed down two roti canai, big and flaky fresh with a teh tarik – all for less than 6 ringgit.
In a bid to burn some kilojoules before our next meal we utilised the skywalk from Bukit Bintang to KLCC park, a lap of which, beneath the imposing towers, was the only exercise we’d taken in days. Still enough of an excuse for a quick refreshment afterwards in the Kedai Kopi Lai Foong. ‘Three layer tea’ was an imaginative concoction of gula melaka, evaporated milk and tea – the icy layers difficult to amalgamate but easy to drink, especially with an egg tart topped with strawberry paste.
To fill the time until lunch we made an excursion on the LRT to Taman Jaya for a mooch around the Amcorp Mall, a more grass roots shopping experience. The Saturday morning flea market was in full swing, and we savoured gob-stopping onde onde to tide us over as we poked around amongst the bric-a-brac. There was, however, an ulterior motive for visiting Petaling Jaya – local blog recommendations saw us in an unlikely-looking food court under a nondescript car park for a lunch of nasi kandar. Zainals stall dished us up lashings of distinctly Malay curries kandar style. The lembu in its black sauce was melt-in-the-mouth, the ladles of curry were fiery hot, and the yam croquettes were sticky and delicious. It felt a little strange to be served lunch by cloistered ladies fasting for Ramadan – but it was their livelihood and they very warmly invited us to visit again…
Back in town we whiled away the afternoon with a bit more browsing and snack-tracking – an ‘ABC’ at Yusoof dan Zakhir complimented our lunch nicely with a good combination of peanuts, corn and cincao black grass jelly, under a tower of rose flavoured shaved ice.
After that we were spent and ready to call it a day, we ambled home past the Sri Mahamariamman Mandir when a puja attracted our attention and we ended up spending the next couple of hours inside the temple, privileged to be watching the sacred ceremony. Musicians accompanied the mahapuja with raucous wind and percussion, and the darshan included an extremely lavish offering of prasad as we watched about one hundred litres of milk being poured over the stone image of the god Mariamman. That was followed by various spice nectars, several litres of curd, melted ghee, a pot of honey, the juice of dozens of coconuts, then oranges squeezed and rosewater poured, turning the dairy and incense aromas in the air to something wonderful. Bells rang and a sacred flame cleansed each successive offering until a procession led by the musicians circumbulated the mandapa in finality.
It was a very nice puja, and in total contrast to the lion dance we’d witnessed several days earlier at the Chinese temple across the road. There thick smoke burned our eyes and our lungs as the crowd was buffeted around by the erratic movements of the lions, while drums and gongs crashed in reverence to their gods.
Reinvigorated, we ended up rounding out the day with a bit more of a wander. We took in the atmosphere of the Masjid Jamek at the time of maghreb. The mosque was full of devotees set to break their fast inside the airy pavilion, the cry of the muezzin signalling the relief of iftar after another long, hot day. Their benevolent god was a little more demanding.
The city was now alive with even more people eating – in restaurants, at food stalls, in the street – it made us feel hungry again, so we polished off a couple of slices of martabak manis and a durian at a fruit stand. For some reason the sight of foreigners eating durian creates great interest…
The next morning we had to leave. We really wanted to get on a bus to Ipoh, but instead we had to head for the airport. At 6am the streets were very quiet, the foodscape was bare, with not even a sniff of it in the air as we headed to Pasar Seni train station, the morning call to prayer sending us wistfully on our way. Sentral, Salak Tinggi then LCCT International Terminal, the glorified tin shed which served as the Air Asia hub, all passed by in a whirl, and before we knew it, our week-long jaunt was over. We walked forlornly across the tarmac to the waiting Airbus bracing for the eight long hours to follow.
Tomorrow we wouldn’t be in Ipoh, but at work in Sydney.