Replete with old world charm, Georgetown (commonly referred to as “Penang proper" by many), which some also dub as the Pearl of the Orient, strikes across me as an unpolished gem whose innate beauty is better appreciated upon deeper exploration and observation. Protected by its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a joy uncovering the soul of the city as I traipse through the intertwining network of roads that form its central core.
In a radical departure from our usual travelling habits, my mother and I decide to stay in a boutique hotel located in the heart of the city. Sipping a cool fizzy welcome drink offered upon arrival, I was impressed by the chic period deco complemented by artworks of local artists in the reception area and terrace. We were to enjoy hours of uninterrupted peace reading in the breezy veranda over the next few days. Our room was quaint, designed in the Anglo-Indian style, stocked with handsome thick-wood furniture and embellished with warm-coloured linen, carpets and yet more paintings. The lovely crew here takes pride in their work and their warm hospitality made us feel very much at home. Leaving the tranquil, lost-in-time vibe of our hotel premises, we head out and take a walk in town.
Coming from a highly urbanised Southeast Asian city with few vestiges of its own straits-time history left, I feel as though I am walking in a living capsule of our ancestors’ past here in Penang; rows and rows of shop houses in which businesses ranging from coffee shops to warehouse distribution are run, trishaw riders ferrying people on the streets and hawkers selling cheap authentic street food in pushcarts, just to name a few. I start to see, in flesh, the stories my parents always tell me about their childhood days and understand, a little better, the sense of displacement the folks of the older generation feel living in my hometown.
I ask the old lady who brought us our cendol and rojak for directions to the popular waterfront hawker centre. Soft-spoken and speaking with a distinctive upward lilt, a typical accent shared by many other Chinese in this region of the peninsula, she responds readily and starts making small talk with us about anything Penang. During my time here, I sense an earnest in the locals, a natural instinct to put you at ease and a readiness to help all the way; from the girl at the soya bean shop who, with her friends nearby, gave us helpful bus directions to the taxi driver who spontaneously turned back to drop us off right in front of our destination even though he overshot by only a block. Contrary to popular belief, the drivers are very polite by any standard. A gentle people, there is a comforting kampong air in this historic township, a feeling that even though their good-old days as a free port are over, that they will still consciously preserve their old-town past and atmosphere for many years to come.
As the sun starts to set in this port town, the mosques make their last call of prayer for the pious Muslims to break fast as I lie in bed, snug comfortably under my plush quilt watching the London Olympics action live. My mother begins to feel peckish from the conservative feasting during the day in this foodie’s paradise and we thus head out for supper.
In the neighbouring lebuh, a food street emerges as hawkers begin dishing out local dishes in their individual pushcarts by the roadside and hungry customers start devouring their food on makeshift tables set up in the arcades of the shop houses. As I munch on a fried snack and watch the motorcycles and cars zoom by, I cannot help but admire the resourcefulness and hardiness of the people who eke out a living in these harsh economic circumstances while still taking pride in serving simple quality fare.
Like what my mother always loves to say, “When it’s time to come home, it’s time to come home.” As I return the keys and bring my luggage to the waiting taxi, I turn back and take in once more, the sights of the place that made my stay here nothing short of beautiful. The taxi driver shifts his gears and begins to head off to the airport. John Mayer is crooning, “Say what you need to say…” as I watch the shop houses whizz by in front of me like film frames off an old strip of photographic film. Penang, a place with a deep-rooted respect for the past, and whose inhabitants touch my heart with their kind spirit and simplicity. I know deep down that I will love to return to this little jewel of an island once again.
~ the end ~
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