Home is Where I Want to Be, Pick Me Up and Turn Me Round

Maybe it’s the fact that I turn 30 next year, my Sister is in the process of buying a house, my Mom just visited Juara and my Dad will be here in a few days, but lately I’ve been thinking about my sense of place. And since I’ve been with Alli for well over five years now, you could say I’ve been pondering our sense of place, too. Or maybe I’ve just been delving too deep into the Talking Heads catalogue. 

Since leaving my childhood state of Maryland in 2003, I’ve lived in a few locales: two cities in Colorado, including one where I did my undergrad; spent about four glorious years in Tucson, Arizona; and by the time we leave Juara at the end of this month, I’ll have spent a year total here. That’s 12 months in a Malaysian village with a population of about 350-400 people. The fact that Juara is on Tioman, a popular tourist island, means the village can sometimes seem a lot of larger than it is, but this is bar none the tiniest town I’ve ever set up shop in. To quote Dr. Funkenstein: “I can dig it.”

Juara Bay.

I’ve always wanted to live in a small town, err village, but never came close in the U.S. Fort Collins (CO) was the closest I ever came, but numbers there easily exceed 100,000. I just never thought my first living experience in a smaller setting would be in Malaysia.

A lot of the aspects of small town life I envisioned occurring in America also occur here, it’s just the nuances that are different. It’s not your car everyone recognizes, but your motorbike (you can literally recognize the sounds of ours, it didn’t get the nickname “Big Noisy” for nothing). Gossip is rampant, I just don’t understand it all, since my understanding of Bahasa Melayu is still miniscule. There’s no town dump, we just handle it like my Grandpa in Pennsylvania did, by burning it on windy days. Restaurants don’t have hours posted and when a wedding, engagement party or funeral occurs, the entire populace shows up.

Sometimes though finding your own space to unwind is a battle. You have to seek it out. You just can’t hole yourself up in your digs and marinate in a little R&R, well you could, but you’d probably sweat to death. Disappearing into the crowd in this setting is not an option. Plus, I’m a foreigner so I stick out double-time.

The foreigner tag is a biggie. It’s always tough moving somewhere where you’re not from. As our planet becomes more crowded, boasts and proclamations of local residence become louder. I always got a hearty chuckle out of seeing the cheeky “No Vacancy” or “Native” bumper stickers in Colorado. But I made a solid life for myself there. In Arizona I like to think I had some desert rat cred, due to the number of Gila monsters I picked up with my bare hands, street tacos I could scarf in one sitting and the 20+ year-old pickup truck I bumbled around in (no rust ya heard!). But out here it’s a whole different ballgame.

Trying to gel into a small Muslim village with strong community ties is not a cakewalk. But there’s no pressure on us to be anything we’re not, and as long as you respect the culture they have created for themselves then for the most part everyone has been welcoming, friendly, and at least, not too annoyed. Conducting conservation work can be the exception to this. Similar tensions have arisen all over the globe when (mostly) white folks pop into the developing world and start telling people what they should be doing in order to conserve this species, or preserve that space.

It is inherently arrogant, there’s no denying that. Imagine the reaction a New Englander would have if a Malaysian showed up in Gloucester telling them what to do with their cod, herring and salmon stocks. I can only imagine the colorful Massachusetts language that would ensue.

For the most part living here is also dealing with what you leave behind. I made some amazing friends in the desert and to walk away from that was tough. It’s not like visiting Malaysia is an easy task. Also, everyone in my family lives in the States, except for me. They’re scattered up and down the Eastern seaboard. I haven’t lived close to my sister in over a decade and as my Grandma nears the age of 95, there’s a solid chance I won’t be there to celebrate it. I wouldn’t be surprised too, if Alli or I become an aunt and uncle in the foreseeable future (as far away in the future as you want Tara). Are we going to be there for those moments?

So I then start to ponder if all of this is selfish on our part. Or are we running away from the type of life we were living in the U.S. The answer, somewhat, to both of those questions is yes. I love the pace of life here and the overall simplicity. I love leaving my doors and windows open at night, not having to lock up my possessions on a daily basis; leaving the keys to our motorbike in the ignition and never having to hop onto an eight-to-ten lane highway. And being sandwiched between the languid South China Sea and a stately rainforest is a colossal bonus, too.

Purple house and its resident chicken.

Alli and I are in the process of contemplating a return to Juara next year, where we would really sink our teeth in and set up shop for at least a couple years. The opportunity is unprecedented, with the possibility of it occurring in America near impossible. And the faith that people have put in us here is incredibly humbling.

David Byrne once proclaimed, in a much more famous Heads song all you readers probably know, that “you may find yourself in another part of the world.” And that “you may ask yourself, how do I work this?” Labeling this a once-in-a-lifetime chance may be a tad bit dramatic, but trying to pinpoint where I want to spend the next couple years is no small feat. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, but I’m leaning toward seizing the moment.

Kayaking to one of our favorite restaurants.

'The Devourer' Approves

While traveling I think people are mainly scared of three vastly different things: bathroom situations, language barriers and food. As you probably know I've spouted off quite a few words on the toilet subject already (revisit those entries here and here). I think we all know where I stand on that. As for language I don't have much to say, mostly because my Bahasa Melayu is still in a pitiful state. Plus, so many people and places in S.E. Asia speak English that wandering about round these parts is largely a breeze. Unfortunately, I'm too American for my own damn good. I can't learn a second language for jack squat. But I did take my first language lesson a few nights ago, so we'll see how that goes.

When all three of these issues collide that's when I think folks can really freak out. Just running the possibilities through one's head can get people's pits sweaty and their reservations ramped up about visiting novel locales. Apprehension quickly sets in. These three topics spook people into staying at home.

But it's all for naught. In my opinion, the toilets of the Malay archipelago are superb, people love it when you chit-chat or crack lame jokes in broken Bahasa, and the food is delectable. The cuisine over here has kept me constantly saying my favorite phrase: “satu lagi,” which means one more. Yes, I'll have one more portion of beef rendang, one more pulled tea, one more nasi lemak, wrapped in its tell-tale banana leaf. Why of course I'll have another skewer of chicken satay and grilled veggies, make it five actually. And don't forget to drizzle it all in peanut sauce.

I'm no hoity-toity gourmand. I just get a huge kick out of scarfing food. My reputation as “the closer” has even followed me to Malaysia. During summer camp, which just took place, I even picked up a new nickname: "the devourer," which has quite the nice ring to it, in a sarcastic, horror movie kind-of-way.

Luckily food is everywhere out here: restaurants abound, street stalls flourish in hectic cities, and in most villages you can plop down at a plastic table in someone's yard and eat a meal. Maybe even watch “Iron Man” with their son while you slurp your noodles too loud. Enough of trying to describe the scene out here in paragraph form. Let's have the pictures and, I hope, the humorous captions do the job for me.

Mee Bandung, one of my favorites from over here. Coincidentally the best version I've had hails from Juara. I try it everywhere, but it's never as tasty as here. Mee is noodles and Bandung is a city on the Indonesian island of Java. The noodle bowl is slightly sweet with crushed peanuts, veggies, an egg, chunks of chicken and squid, and fresh lime all dancing together. *** All photos can be enlarged by clicking them.***

The precision squeeze is key! Dani loves it too. I put her on game with this one. Mee Bandung is like the mole (delicious Mexican chocolate cinnamon chile sauce) of S.E. Asia. When it's on I can't get enough and nothing tastes better, but when it falters, and it usually does, it don't taste too good.

What else can I say about dude, I gets bizzay.

Bakso, an Indonesian staple found everywhere: from street vendors and roadside markets, on bicycles and at airports. It's like French Onion soup with veggies, spice and usually beef or chicken meatballs. The quality of the dish and meat vary, but just like Mee Bandung, when it's on point the taste is a doozy.

Three classics on the Juara eating scene (from left to right): crispy, deep-fried squid (one of the only times in life dipping things in mayonnaise is acceptable), spicy sambal chicken and veggie curry. Sambal is a sweet chile sauce packing flavor and heat. I dig it even if it induces hiccups often.

Gado-gado, another Indonesian go-to. I translate that to “whatever tasty veggies you got in peanut sauce.” We've had it with noodles, rice, boiled egg, tempe, or tofu. One translation we saw on a menu read “Peanut Sauce Salad.” That doesn't do this one justice.

The ubiquitous Nasi Lemak wrapper. You can find these mini-pyramids gracing many Malaysian tables in the morning. Do yourself a favor and eat like three. I do.

First, unwrap the banana leaf to get a solid look at what's inside: coconut rice, anchovies, sambal sauce, peanuts and usually, but not from this one, egg.

Second, take your right hand and get busy. Spread that sambal around. Don't think too much about it. The anchovies in it are salty morning morsels. Don't pick 'em out, these miniature fishes know what they're doing.

Third, consume with gusto. It's one of the classic Malaysian breakfasts, but feel free to chow down a couple at nighttime, in your hotel room, while your girlfriend looks at you oddly, judging your audacious appetite. I bet she wouldn't use that adjective.

You can score some serious Indian food in Malaysia and Singapore. On this journey we discovered butter chicken (top right corner). The sad part was that it took 28 years to first eat it.

Daniel behind a roadside Soto Ayam (chicken stew) stand in Bali, whipping us up a few bowls. I feel like this photo would give a Maricopa County AZ health inspector a heart attack. Peep the dangling chickens.

The finished product: rice, veggies, eggs, noodles, crushed onions, broth, spices and chicken. They don't waste no chicken here. You get bone, liver, chewy chunks, feet and whatever else was on the blade before they tossed it into your bowl.

Nasi Goreng Ayam. Another classic. It's either rice or noodles (or both) mostly every day out here. Feeling down about just plain fried rice? Top it up with some fried chicken. No matter where you go in Malaysia and Indonesia there will always be fried chicken available and, yes, it will always be yummy. These countries know how to fry.

Izzati, you got caught! Tom Yum chock full of veggies and fried squid. Double meal - take it to the stage!

Shaving ice for two classic Malaysian beverages. I bet some hipster in San Diego has this machine and on Wednesdays they make local-infused gin slushies with it. Probably sprinkles them with basil grown off their bike trailers.

On the left we have ABC, which contrary to stereotype (based on color) is not the Lady's favorite drink. Her go-to is Cendol, on the right and filled with coconut milk.

ABC all mixed up and ready to give you a brain freeze. The shaved ice goes with sweetened condensed milk, rosewater, sugary jelly-rice doo-dads, corn and kidney beans. Trust me, the corn and beans hold their own. For me those kidney beans not only are delicious, but provide a stream of fiber in a sea of diabetes.

Malaysia makes lovely drinks. One pet peeve of mine is that any beverage ordered-to-go comes in a plastic bag. I hate it. It's like getting an IV drip to sip on.

Malaysian kue, which are various pastries and gelatinous sweet treats. Sometimes rice is thrown in. Here we got a few takeaway ones, which I have already started to nibble on. I like the slimy green ones.

Izzati whipping up some Fishnet Roti at JTP. Roti is bread in Bahasa. I give her an A for presentation and style.

The rotis all rolled up, tiny airy pancake-esque nubbins that get dipped in curry sauce. Alli can eat like 10 of 'em. I've seen it.

Chocolate sweetened condensed milk. Like whoa! My consumption of this canned milk is already 478% more than when we were in the States. Finding this special can (the only time I've seen a chocolate one) on our scuba liveaboard in Komodo made for a splendid day.

Drizzling it on freshly-fried banana doughnut balls. From this session alone I think I created three cavities. Worth it? We'll see what my dentist bill is when I return to the U.S.

Alli around our spread on the liveaboard. Our cook never did anything fancy, but that didn't stop him from whipping up the best meals we had in all of Nusa Tenggara (Komodo, Flores and all those other forgotten islands east of Bali). We got chicken, noodles, three veggie dishes and bomber Flores mangoes.

Glutinous sticky rice in a bamboo log, which serves as its pot. You line the bamboo in banana leaf, shove lots of rice inside and cook it over the fire. This is what you call magic rice. You can eat it plain it's so tasty.

Izzati modeling a bamboo full of said glutinous rice.

Now time for some fruits: red pineapple.

Massive jackfruit growing right off the road in Juara. At special occasions here (weddings, engagement parties and Hari Raya) folks make jackfruit curry, a favorite of ours. The fruit is meaty and filling.

Sackful of durian! I've already blogged about these exquisite fruits here, but just to reiterate they are quite a bonus to living here. This old rice bag was filled with around 20 durians and in one day the small JTP staff ate 'em all.

We also were lucky enough to have Izzati make durian glutinous rice dessert. She turned the durian fruit into a creamy concoction with a texture similar to clam chowder, but don't think savory, think sweet, sweet jungle fruit.

Locally made banana bread by Alli. We had one bushel of easily over 100 bananas at JTP so she made lots of bread and all I contributed was my stomach space.

This is like the fourth photo of me hovering over food. I didn't get the name “the closer” for nothing. “Typical” Alli just muttered.

Babi guling! Aka suckling pig prepared in a variety of ways served all at once. A Balinese speciality.

Pork explosion: satay, fried skin (so greasy and good!), roasted belly and another mystery side we can't remember. It was pork though. And incredible. We even snuck some onto the plane on our way out of Bali.

Kek lapis from Sarawak, Malaysian Borneo. It's dense layer cake. Alli didn't like it, but I was a fan. Sadly this Oreo flavor tricked me as it was bland as can be. But the other ones I ate were lovely, especially the Milo one.

Sometimes you just have to consume a weird chicken bun on the public bus taking you to the Cat Museum (see here!).

Bun creeper. So steamy.

Kopi ice in Maluku! Beverages are big over here so I like to stop constantly and drink them, preferably strong coffee ones with lots of milk and sugar. While Indonesia has lots of robust black coffee I have developed a weak spot for the sweet. Alli is concerned I'm getting into Type 2 territory.

Malukan kue! Another yellow gelatinous cake, crispy brown sugar rice squares and a rice roll stuffed with salted fish and peanuts. A plate of these with your morning joe never hurt nobody.

In case you're worried Coca-Cola contains pork products they have a way of reassuring you.

I said I love beverages, especially fresh mango ones at the base of the Gunung Lukon volcano in northern Sulawesi.

A Sunday feast! We have a plate of roasted and fried pork, BBQ satay and cap cay veggies (fried in oyster sauce). And yes, a big bowl of rice too.

Lost in translation? This was the Ice Cream Sundae we ordered. A little bit of sundae, mixed in with shaved ice and fruit cocktail. No fudge or chocolate sauce, but that wafer stick thing was tasty.

Switching gears at the end of the blog here. This is not from SE Asia, but from Kathmandu, Nepal. Alli and I really dig the Asian breakfast (seriously - rice, hot sauce and egg is wondrous) but after over a year in Asia the American breakfast at our hotel blew our minds. Consider me patriotic, but all the six mornings I spent in this vibrant city started off with this plate. So simple and tasted just like home.

Yeah buddy.

If you read the post about things we miss then you know we were jubilant to see “Mexican” on that sign. They might have thrown some Nepali curry powder into the refried beans, but that didn't matter. The fajitas were huge and sizzling, and they actually came with “real” tortillas. Well, real enough.

Welcome to Asia where even the felines enjoy a bowl of rice for dinner. R.I.P. Bucket, you were a jolly jungle cat and would eat anything.