The Rocky Horror Picture Show

It's so dreamy, oh fantasy free me
So you can't see me, no not at all
In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention
Well-secluded, I see all
With a bit of a mind flip
You're there in the time slip
And nothing can ever be the same
You're spaced out on sensation, like you're under sedation
Let's do the Time Warp again!

That’s it for the continent of Asia; I shall miss thee dearly, much fun was had and knowledge of one’s self gained. It was all I hoped for, more than I ever wanted it to be and also far more challenging than I anticipated, though strangely Moorish – like those Fox’s Millionaire caramel shortbread bis-kwits (I miss them). It’s a peculiar feeling being on Cathay Pacific flight CX107 bound for Auckland; the pilot is an awfully well spoken Brit, the flight attendants are all fluent English speakers, food is strangely Western (mashed spud, gravy and lamb chunks), yet this is sadly another long haul overnight flight ruined by the wailing, spoiled, tantrum-throwing screams of an appallingly raised little girl. I’m awoken by sights of beautiful landscape, the kind I’ve never seen before. Grass almost luminescent in nature, rolling hills hiding violent forces beneath the surface and roads with such lack of cars to make you wonder why they were even built; the approach to Auckland airport makes for an incredibly scenic flight.



It’s a large city, sprawled across an even larger area of land, but surprisingly lacking in human beings. Hong Kong to Auckland is about as contrasting a difference as you might imagine; there are few tall buildings here, queues are non-existent, negligible traffic (the radio mentioned a traffic jam of a few thousand cars that may add an extra 10 minutes to your journey, for example), and sadly not a great deal to do, possibly as a result. The sky tower offers a walk around a metre-wide platform at a fair height, but comes in not far short of a skydive price; if I’m doing one, I’ll go all-out. Numerous Churches dotted around, along with the adverts on Radio for salvation, help with marriage and other crazy Christian money-making schemes litter the place. I wouldn’t mind, but the occasional TV adverts and even highway signposts make it something to seriously consider if you’re looking to immigrate. The dedicated radio station blaring College-rock tunes singing of Jaaasuuuuuus Aaaiiich Chriiiiist is the icing on the cake; it’s like stepping in to a Time Warp and heading back to the UK a good half-century ago; if not longer.

As a result, cynicism doesn’t seem to have affected Kiwis much; it’s not got quite that far out here yet and at 18,500km back to roots of Queen and Country (ergh), no wonder. What this means is that people are endearingly friendly and helpful; a Maori couple of behemoth proportions helped me push car from being stuck in the mud and wheel-spinning, and blushing is commonplace when striking up random conversation. So, swings and roundabouts it is then; in the UK everyone is an unfriendly git (that’s a nasty person, as opposed to the action of collecting something), trying to get (that would be the word for acquire), as much as they can and sneering at anything less than a six-figure salary. Here bar workers are happy to work in sleepy towns like Thames as “it suits me, no one’s in much of a rush to do anything”. I think I’d go crazy with this few people around in the outlying towns (nah, villages more like), that I’ve visited; lack of companionship and any even remotely attractive females, and I’m wondering what the suicide stats are like for this place.


This is banter of course (or is it), though it’s easy to see why so many Kiwis head to the UK or Australia as soon as they’re able. The bright lights, bustling cities, immense opportunity and travel options around Europe or SE Asia are a seriously flavoursome carrot dangling from the end of either flag pole, exhibiting the same tricolour emblem as motherland in the top-left corner. Plainly it doesn’t take a genius to understand why New Zealanders in London or Australia become overnight, instant hedonists; it must be like the first night arriving at University and Freshers night at the Union; just, every night. What is less expected is the sheer number of ex-pats I’ve met that have done the same in reverse, though with scenery like that in Paihia (pronounced something like Pie-hah), fihr plae toe ya maet.


Back to the radio, and I’m scanning through FM stations to find something with a half-decent tune to while away the next few hundred K of straight roads. Some are so long that the horizon is barely visible, and with cows (there’s more of them than sheep I rikkan), falcons occasionally eyeing-up rodentia in the fields and trees that are positively pre-historic, it’s absolutely stunning. To photograph it, I’d need to stop every few dozen K – though capturing on CCD simply can’t do it justice – it really is something you need to see with your own eyes. The scanning radio has landed on 96.4 and the DJ is talking about putting “pigs” on his face; I’ve conjured a strange image in my mind. It takes a few more sentences for me to realise that, of course – he meant “pegs”. Some of my favourites include “Ciptimbah”, which is actually the ninth month of the year, “Pit” which isn’t a large hole in the ground, but actually a domesticated animal of some kind, “Ghisst” used in sentences such as; “Oah, Ihyd nivorra ghisst it!”, and “Dick-Aids”, which though sounding like the source and cause of a rather serious disease, is actually the period of ten years. I’d love to know the origins of how the accent came about (there are hints of the Scottish lilt), but it is somewhat endearing, inoffensive and in a strange way rather sweet.


Travelling off-season and it’s fair to say the country is baron, void of life and decorated with wooden-built houses (having enough give to survive a relatively strong earthquake, but sacrificing longevity), and small towns that resemble something from 1940s America. The grid system is used extensively here, as are other American influences such as post-boxes on a stick featuring a flag to designate letter arrival, Laundromats and Subway shops in the strangest and most random locations: The first time I was asked; “Doe ya want chiddah, smoakd or taestee?”, I actually had to ask three times before I realised she was referring to cheese. Food is easy to come by, though savagely expensive considering the source of meat and dairy products is literally a few hundred metres in every direction; everywhere. Singapore featured Hawker Stalls selling curries of incredible quality for $4 – here it’s twice the price given the parity in currency. My first meal in Auckland at the International Food Hall on Ponsonby Road and I’m starting to feel the bite of developed country pricing. Worse still is the frequency at which Fish ‘n’ Chip shops are to be found; being the only influence of British cuisine (and possibly the only addition we’ve made to worldwide culinary offerings), they’re truly loved here. Most are owned by Japanese, who in addition to dominating this lucrative trade have also opened a vast number of Sushi joints. If you enjoy raw fish as much as I do, knock yourself out.

Remaining cheap in comparison with nearby Australia, though painfully expensive compared to Asia, hostels will offer you the loveliness of a 6 or 8 bed Dorm for around a tenner. Private rooms are usually around twice that, though centrally located hostels in cities will exacerbate the situation by another multiple. Of the four I’ve slept in, it’s become clear that the German government needs to be seriously concerned about emigration; for they’re all here. I’ve met many Deutsch whilst in Asia (usually the cheaper countries), though New Zealand – and Australia too I hear – are being surreptitiously invaded by young, fluent English speaking backpackers bitten by the travel bug.

One thing stands out here however, and that’s the environment; it’s incredibly safe and blissfully lacking in Vampitos, sweaty humid atmosphere, although frighteningly cold at night. Running in this weather reaffirms how much I love it and makes 10k an easy jaunt – my heart rate is 10bpm less at the same speed and there’s no need to carry water. With fellow runners to be seen everywhere, pounding the streets in the city or trails outside, it’s awesome how many ground pounders there are. Perhaps it’s due to a lack of acclimatisation; what with 8 months in Asia I’ve become used to sweating on a daily basis – here I can wear the same t-shirt as long as I like and it won’t stink. Well, it doesn’t smell just yet anyway.

Hong Kong version 2.0 beta

Personally I think Japan was cleaner; everyone has the same old one-liner about Singapore and it’s not particularly true. Whilst the advertisements of upset-looking youth on the metro talk about community service for dropping litter, in practice it’s something you actually have to be stupid enough to be caught doing. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, on to more interesting things.

A strict government, coupled with an excellent education system means that the mixture of faiths here causes little friction. Extremists of any cult are put off by the threat of swift and decisive police and legal response to such nonsense. This means I’m accepted and welcomed in to the mosque I chose to brave near my hostel; Muslims elsewhere take note. The Hindu temples are rather garish in design and feature numerous pigeons that litter the floor with the aftermath of free offerings from locals; so whilst it is necessary to remove footwear before entering, each time I felt a cold wet patch underfoot I became gradually more aggravated. Ornate decorations whilst colourful, depict all manner of symbolism, with my favourite being the fierce-looking individual brandishing a head on a plate complete with entrails.



Once the temples have all been ticked off your list, head to Chinatown or Little India (what’s wrong with “Indiatown”?), for food. Or visit Orchard Road to fulfil your recreational shopping desires, but nothing comes cheap. Catch metro to the bay and you can gamble awaya any spare change or head to the roof for a view; hundreds of enormous shipping liners moored waiting to despatch 25% of the world’s goods and a great deal of construction work inland.



And that really does sum up the place in a nutshell. It’s a small world in Singapore, where things to do can be counted on one hand, though thankfully it beats the nearest equivalent hands down; this is definitely Hong Kong how it should have been’ Hong Kong version 2.0 beta if you will. It’s still in beta as the construction craze is permanent and perpetual; buildings are only granted 99 year leases and are then fair game for ripping down and starting again. There’s no protection laws here to keep anything for generations to come; it’s all brand new. Back in HK and the lack of grass, trees or just about anything naturally occurring means it’s impossible to get away from it. Here is utopia in comparison, where the laws of land and buildings ensure areas of greenery coexist and complement the nearby concrete monstrosities. It makes the country a much nicer place to visit and means exercise is an option; MacRitchie reservoir offers beautiful scenery to traipse around, if a little hazardous should you become lost and end up navigating the virgin rainforest in near pitch black.

17k around MacRitchie Reservoir

I do wonder if a curfew exists; come 9pm and hoards of bodies can be seen heading to the nearest metro station for transit home. And when I say hoards, it’s a literal stampede of humans quick marching left right, left right all the way home, like a million little piggies. The police and military presence seems to increase numbers to match the new proportion, ensuring every good citizen passes through in an orderly fashin and doesn’t scream expletives at the ticket machine, waiting to retrieve one dollar deposit for return of metro ticket.



Policed and tightly controlled utopia it is then, but with Hawker Stalls offering delicacies – that whilst far more expensive than neighbouring Malaysia are arguably better – it’s somewhere to pile on yet more unneeded insulation for the coming winter that never actually arrives in Asia. The food is sublime, flavours from everywhere spiced and executed with a style all their own and even the Chinese stalls are remarkably good, considering the majority are owned by non-English speaking mainland Chinese. So visit for a break, shop till you drop jaw from the asking prices (a watch for S$534,000 for example), and stuff your face until those jeans no longer feel like a loose fit – but don’t expect this small area of independence to occupy your time for longer than a week; at most. The people are friendly and the women – well, visit on ladies night to see for yourself (it’s Wednesday) – bundled with modern conveniences and ease of transport to just about anywhere, make it attractive. For me it’s a nice place to pass through en route somewhere else, but in making Hong Kong look positively like squalor, I’m dreading a few nights in a cupboard-for-a-room, before heading to New Zealand.

Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough

Melaka




This must be the only country in the world where buses surpass trains in both cheapness and speed; I’ve seen mopeds overtake this train from Butterworth to Tampin. It’s painfully slow; 9 hours’ worth of sedentary procrastination followed by another by bus to Melaka and a further hours walk to find hostel mean that the ownder forcing what he referred to as “orientation” on me, is about as welcome as I feel in Mosques. But I’m here, and it’s my last stop through Malaysia before hitting Singapore and connecting out to HK for a few nights each.


This old UNESCO world heritage town is worth a visit certainly, but is decidedly lacking in things to do and see when compared to the island of debauchery to the north. History writes that just about every world conquering, sea-faring nation had a go, with our lot being the final answers to Malaysia’s song of “come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.” Herein are hence the remains of Churches, graves, offices and rows of houses that are unmistakably Dutch and Portugese in design. The latter managed to leave the traditional practice of shutting down come afternoon and sleeping for a few hours; so expect the town to seem desolate and abandoned come midday, and again after 9pm. Try to find the chicken rice balls that are so well known and spoken of, but ensure it’s early enough and don’t be disappointed by the literal manner of the food; avoid if you dislike overly salty grub.

Romantic couples stroll the streets during the mornings (for some hand holding and to whisper sweet clichéd nothings in each other’s ears), afternoons (for a coffee and read), and evenings for blow-out dinner. It seems backpackers almost entirely skip out the area, though there are some great things you shouldn’t miss out on. Thali for example, is rice served with three vegetable curry sides – and dhal if you so wish – on a banana leaf. Pick from a selection of small meat curries and combine for a taste sensation you know will be around 4000 calories too much for that day. It’s incredibly cheap too, so if you’re looking for flashpackers, it’s a good place to start.


The old pink town block featuring a clock tower, church and housing – converted to museum – is picturesque when lit up at night or surrounded by the bicycles with crazy flashing LEDs that put clubs to shame. Some have rigged a car stereo and battery to the rear, along with a few 9x5s to compliment the experience by deafening passengers with loud club music. The sites are aplenty, with numerous small Temples and narrow streets selling craft, antiques and random tat; though don’t waste a penny on the overpriced, short and only-barely-high-enough Melaka tower. It’s a shame the ferris wheel was undergoing maintenance.


Contrasting with the small old town is the surrounding modern and rapidly developing city of monstrous malls. Three are currently open, serving all fifteen of the locals that can afford the goods offered within, though with two further enormous buildings currently under development and a third shopping town underway near the bus stop, it’s a strange way to invest money, given the lack of affluence in the area. On to Singapore by train.

The Monster Gun

I do say I've found it, I declare. Yes, it's clear this is where recreation occurs and there is actually something to do. That must be why the small island of Penang was named "2nd must-see place of 2008"; why else go to Asia, if not to purchase a wife or tap some cheap Malay poontang.

In strange similarity with Bahrain is a connecting bridge (there isn't one to Langkawi; why bother as there's nowt to do there), which covers just over 8k of sea. It’s a clever bit of design and certainly necessary in order to facilitate ease of accessibility for customers. It's 10pm and the door of the pub I'm in has swung open. In its wake are four girls dressed shall we say, provocatively. Within a few minutes they've scanned the area for potential business and approached customers that have used whichever practiced code of solicitation is uniquely theirs. I've befriended a local Malaysian, who regales stories of western men picking up wives for themselves and then reluctantly converting to Islam (well, you know – you've kinda, gotta – havent you). It's a subtle and peaceful tactic by the cult to expand numbers, though as far as I'm concerned and quoting Harlem Nights; “Now you know that's some mean Pussy to make a man change Gods.”

If you're interested in other things to while away time there's always, let’s see; the Dentist College to visit for a free check-up. I jest; it's actually as serene a place as you could ask for, considering how densely packed in the numerous temples of Bhuddism, Hinduism, variations-on-a-theme-of, Christianity and Mosques are. Along the Kaptain Kelling road is the namesake mosque and several temples of other faiths. Passing by the Buddhist Yap Kongsi temple I notice it is closed, but an elderly couple are tending the plants that line it's small circumference. I'm sure they speak English (in fact the majority population are quadrilingual; Cantonese, Mandarin, Malay and English), and as the nearby mosque is praying I ask if there is any friction; "No, it's fine. They say their prayers. We say ours." I take a breath but decide not to retort; of course he'd say that – he's Buddhist.

This is, however, just how I pictured Malaysia before arriving in KL and it's annoying I've only 4 nights booked, for there is more than enough to see and do to occupy twice that number. Head to one of the numerous Hawker stalls for instance and pay around 80pence for a dish. Expect to receive less than the locals (test this and see for yourself), but it is good nonetheless. Damn good in fact; the food cuisine blend of South China, India and SE Asia makes for some awesome fried rice and prawns.

My first night and little India has to be seen, smelled and heard to appreciate just how rich with culture India must be; an aperitif of the continent if you will. The curry makes brick lane look positively amateur and whilst I'm sure I'll need to cover a half marathon to burn what I've just eaten, it is bloody superb. Exiting restaurant a local offers me help as I stand scanning my map, and shortly after gives me a brief tour of the area and sights within Georgetown in her car. No charge, no angle, no hidden agenda; just happy to help. She drops me at the bar street, where the majority of watering holes are located and wishes me a safe journey. One guess as to which religion she was.

Being a Muslim country, booze doesn't come cheap; so expect to pay London prices for a pint, which whilst silly in comparison with the food is thankfully served ice cold in a glass straight from the freezer. A few too many and stomach cramps beg for some nourishment, so we gravitate to a local place for chicken on the bone curry with rice. Eating with hands is messy work and almost as silly as using those wooden pointy things, but it's custom so I'm happy to give it a bash.


Rent a motorbike for a few quid less than in Langkawi and head off around the island for some great sights. Highlights include simply traversing the mainland-connecting bridge and back, the Lek Kok Si's enormous devotion to a multitude of differing worshipers and the largest goddess of mercy I've seen yet. With such grandiose square metre-age, several gigantic tat shops are difficult not to spend time browsing through. And along with the tram to gravitate your bone-idle legs to the top, a demonstration of the mainland chinese's devotion to religion (they paid for most of it).


Watch your step should you decide to visit the sight of a Japanese victory at the SE tip of the island. The war museum is decidedly slippery footing and also points a large finger toward the collective war crimes committed by crazed Samurai wielding fetishists. As the world’s “largest live museum”, it certainly gives you a feel for what it must have been like to soil pants and blow additional hole in eardrum each time you popped a cap in the “monster gun”; a 24-inch calibre anti-planet cannon, scuttled along with the other battery placements by the retreating British. Motorbike fans will enjoy the windy road of potential twisted and mangled limbs heading to the night market that is Pasar Malam, where Star Trek writers clearly experienced the joys of bartering and utilised the road name for an alien race; Batu Ferringhi. A heavy downpour meant a two hour wait to attempt the journey back, but watch your step if you carry a pillion passenger as it’s pretty tricky going. If you’re after some bling, take a stroll along the gold street to drop jaws at all the patrolling security guards, then realise that yes, it is indeed real and loaded.

For all intents and purposes this small drop in the ocean may as well be a separate country – it's nothing like mainland Malaysia, more laid back than the useless island of boredom to the north and cheaper than both. With ferry services to and from Thailand's southern islands, it's difficult not to recommend this island wholeheartedly. It was definitely worth throwing up twice on the ferry crossing to visit.