V and I went for a wander through Georgetown today - and as we mooched around, poking our nose into shops, eating curry, stopping for a drink at a hostel - I completely fell in love with the place.

Photographically, at least.

Not that I didn’t fall in love with it on other levels - it’s just that it’s such a photogenic town.

The colours, the light, the architecture (a mixture of colonial and Chinese, delapidated and not), the signs… and of course the things which are simply unusual to our Western eyes: tiny shrines holding burning incense sticks, scooters with trays of eggs strapped to the back, bananas hanging in mid-air… I can’t wait to return with the SLR camera that B leant me and really go to town. Quite literally.

I’ve uploaded the photographs onto Flickr here - and added them to the start of the Penang set here.

Meanwhile, here are some of the choicest signs:

For S:

For J:

For my American friends:

 And for everyone else:

My friend V arrived from London yesterday, and I’m doing a pretty good job of making her remain in jetlag, and thus keep my hours for a week.

She went to bed like a wuss at around 11pm last night; but tonight we were on true jetsetter/musician form, and ate out at 11pm. That said, we were completely unaware of how late it was. You know you’re a jetsetter/musician when you sit down to eat halfway through your evening, and the waiter says: “Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s last orders in the kitchen.”

I’m sure he said the “ma’am” bit, too.

V and I had spent the afternoon - I don’t do mornings, remember - eating brunch, lounging by the pool, investigating the mall, blogging for work (me) and sunbathing (V). I was astounded by how easily she coped with the furnace-like temperatures here; although, that said, her skin didn’t cope quite as well. Thus she is very red in certain places as I type this.

This evening, we went into Georgetown - starting the night, as has become my wont, at the E&O Hotel. We then went off exploring for food, walking through some of the fascinating smaller streets in Georgetown that I haven’t investigated yet. V was slightly alarmed by the idea of eating in a street cafe (don’t worry, by the end of the week I’ll have her eating dahl with her hands), so in the end we plumped for a very nice Asian/fusion restaurant on the main drag.

We sat outside, directly opposite this sign:

Sadly, it was a Sunday, and neither of us was wearing a mini skirt. But at least that prevented the awkward possibility of one of us winning the title of most Sexiest Girl.  

After Sugar Cane Special, here were the steps involved in yesterday’s lunchtime outing with Tennis S and Italian-German C, a woman who’s staying in the hotel, too.

First, food in a restaurant in Georgetown’s ‘Little India’, a fascinating area full of ramshackle shops and eateries and bright colours and Indian smells. We went for a famous banana leaf-style lunch (as opposed to a famous curry fish head), which goes something like this:

1. Place banana leaf on table.

2. Add rice:

3. Add dahl:

4. Add condiments and a piece of fried fish or mutton curry, according to degree of carnivoriousness:

5. Eat the following with your fingers (yes, fingers. Brick Lane Curry Nights will never be the same again):

6. Fold banana leaf to show that you’re done:

(Handily doubles up as a clutch bag.)

And for afters? Why, trying drinking a coconut!

Before:

During, part one:

During, part two:

During, part three:

After:

This is hard core coconut drinking, too. The coconut isn’t ripe - hence being green, as opposed to brown and hairy - and so the resulting liquid isn’t milk-like and coconut-tasting, but clear, and well, slightly sweet and nutty tasting. I can’t say I’m a huge fan, but still. At least now I’ve had coconut in more forms than a) a korma and b) a Bounty bar.

Oh, and look: there was a lovely man wearing a traditional Malaysian outfit in the exact same colour as a coconut. And he didn’t seem to be insulted by me making that observation, either:

I had my first Day Of Doing Something Proper Before Doing An Evening Gig yesterday.

At that Something Proper was Playing Tennis.

I really enjoy tennis, but am not so much a beginner, as an executive beginner. The last time I picked up a racquet - and actually played tennis with it - was five years ago. And the last time before that was about five years before that.

I’m also terribly unfit and do no exercise whatsoever (bar my 30-minute workouts in the gym here - if you can call walking while watching CNN ‘working out’ - and my daily, Flipper-like, splashing about in the swimming pool).

So naturally, when someone asked me if I wanted to play a game of tennis in 34 degree heat and gross humidity, I said “yes”.

It’s becoming my new answer to everything.

My tennis partner was S, an incredibly friendly, middle-aged guy who retired when he was 47 and now seems to be the male version of a lady of leisure. The venue was Penang Sports Club, of which he’s a member; an old colonial building which sports cannons on its front lawn (amazing what steps they take to keep out non-members) and multiple tennis courts on its back lawn…

… as well as a cricket pitch, which is about to host some of the matches of the Under 19 Cricket World Cup, and courts/halls for just about every other sport imaginable, as long as it involves a ball. Although, no, I tell a lie: they do have badminton courts.

Anyway, S was a good sport in every sense of the word, putting up with my lousy playing and not being too dismayed that the longest rally we had involved about six strokes, and took place once every half an hour.

He kept saying, “It’s the humidity, it’s the humidity. You must take it easy…”; and got quite alarmed when I started patting my chest at one point to indicate that my heart was racing, as he thought it meant I was having some sort of major chest pain.

If there was any sort of pain, it was more the embarrassment at my playing; and then my embarrassment at my embarrassment, when I realised that I was the only person shouting “Sorry!” every five minutes across the entire length of the courts.

Fortunately - because I did really enjoy playing - S hasn’t given up on me. He’s going to help me find a cheap second-hand racquet, and we’re going to start playing more. Next time, apparently, it will be doubles with the former British Consul to Penang, who we bumped into while we were there. A 75-year-old chap - and he’s most definitely a ‘chap’ - with a white handlebar moustache, he plays tennis at the club every day, and the first thing he said to us (in a fantastic Jeeves And Wooster-style accent) was: “He’s always grabbing my balls!”. Brilliant. I could have sworn I was in an episode of It Ain’t Half Hot Mum.

PS. There are more photos from Penang Sports Club - including shots of its Wimbledon-like lawn courts and comedy signage - here.

I didn’t stay in last night and watch Night At The Museum. Instead, I went out to explore and to get something to eat. Foraging, if you will.

Remember that scene in Lost In Translation where Scarlett Johansson goes out walking through the streets of Tokyo alone, just sort of quietly drifting through this alien environment? This should jog your memory, although I don’t remember her turning to camera and smiling at any point:

Anyway, that’s the LiT moment I had last night.

Just 100 yards from the hotel, there’s a tarmaced area which houses a whole load of food stalls - or ‘food hawkers’, as they’re known. I’d been down to see this place a couple of times before: the first time, at around 5pm I think, when it was pretty quiet; and then again one lunchtime, when it was very quiet. Because they were all closed.

So, realising that the best time to go to this place was probably the evening, I went down there last night. And this was the scene that greeted me:

It was unbelivable. Absolutely rammed with hundreds and hundreds of people, all eating out (or eyeing me suspiciously. I can see you, woman in red!). It was part funfair, part beer garden minus the beer and plus lots of food. Clearly this is what Malaysians - or at least Penangites - do for dinner: they go out to eat with friends, family or presumably work colleagues at one of these street food places, gathering together round rickety old tables on little plastic chairs (the people, not the tables).

The choice of food was similarly incredible - although I really need to revisit this place with someone who can actually tell me what most of the dishes consist of. Because, as the sign below proves, a translation into the roman alphabet doesn’t help much if you still don’t know what ‘Koay Teow Th’ng’ means in the first place:

That said, some stalls were more obvious:

Thoroughly confused by what I could and couldn’t eat, I ended up by opting for what looked like stir-fried noodles with prawn, being made fresh in a giant wok by a man who looked about 80. Or was that a giant man with a wok which looked about 80? Either way, it tasted amazing and looked like this (foreground only. I’m not a pig):

Looking for a soft drink to wash it down with, I was intrigued by this sign:

And the further explanation in this sign:

Yes, salt plus fat may equal flavour, but sugar plus lime equals… no, not Sprite, but ‘Sugar Cane Special’! Which is made by following the method below.

Step 1: Cut a hole in the box. Chop your sugar cane:

Step 2: Put it in your slicer-masher-blender-thingummy:

Step 3: Pull out the mashed-up sugar cane from the machine:

Step 4: Repeat steps 1 and 2 until enough of this mixture is produced:

Step 5: Sieve this mixture and add freshly squeezed limes and ice (step unfortunately out of shot).

Step 6a: Drink whilst wandering around, Scarlett Johansson-like, through the crowds. (Optional Step 6b: Photograph own hand):

There are more pictures from my night out eating prawns and drinking pure sugar here on Flickr. I walked the entire length of Gurney Drive and beyond into Georgetown, where I ended up watching a fantastically cheesy covers band for a short while (I think I left after ‘Smooth Operator’) before taking a taxi back - through the window of which I took this shot…

…which is, of course, my favourite of the whole night.

I was released from captivity today by S, a local bass player and all-round nice guy who, with his friends K and J, had invited me out to lunch.

We drove to a sea-food restaurant down by the water’s edge, at the end of a dusty little road full of ramshackle, shack-like little bungalows (a typical Penang residence, I’m finding) - and right next to a temple. In front of which there were enormous, pink incense sticks burning:

The restaurant itself looked like this:

And this:

And we ate this:

(Alongside clams in their shells, some sort of egg dish, baby pak choi, rice and spring rolls).

To avoid acting like Darryl Hannah in Splash, I took advice from the guys on how to eat the giant prawns. Those of you who know me will know that I have embraced fish-eating again after an 18-year hiatus; and so I’m a bit of a newbie when it comes to the art - nay, skill - of sea-food consumption. I learned that basically, with giant prawns, you pull their head off, remove their ’shell’, and eat the rest. I tried not to look as I pulled the heads off. It’s one thing to start eating fish again - it’s quite another to embrace decapitating an animal. Small steps.

(Incidentally, I’ll blog properly about the food in Malaysia when I’ve experienced more of it - ie. not just the buffets in the hotel restaurant. Marvellous as they are.)

I think today marked a turning point. I’ve felt slightly guilty for not exploring much beyond the hotel in the first 10 days or so that I’ve been here; but I think it’s been due to a combination of jetlag, rehearsals, getting used to the climate (trust me: it’s too hot to ‘just pop out for a walk’), getting used to this rather bizarre lifestyle, having those down days, and knowing that I’ve got two months to explore this place. I think also that it’s taken me a full week of work - tonight will be our sixth straight night of performing - to get used to the true musician’s lifestyle: namely, doing other stuff in the daytime and not going to work until 9 or 10pm. At first, I was clock-watching during the day, and would find myself sitting in my hotel room in my Little Black Dress, twiddling my thumbs, far too early. Now I’ve got used to it; and plan to go out exploring during the daytime, go take photographs, go on day trips, and not return to my hotel room until it’s time to put on that Little Black Dress and head down to the bar. Just like the pros do with their residencies, I’m sure. (I’m thinking Celine Dion, Tony Bennett and Jane MacDonald, here).

Today also marks a turning point because I spent time, erm, socialising. Like, erm, properly. And I’m going out tomorrow too, with another group of people. Short of that first supper out on my first night performing - and any chatting to people in the bar after my gigs - all my downtime has been spent alone. Which is fine in many ways - as I said before, I’m used to being alone, and often love and crave it - but now that I’m starting to go out with people, I feel like I’ll be getting a new, happier balance between social time and solitude. And of course, it will be great to start getting to know the people I’m meeting better, as I did today with S and his friends. Otherwise, as I told someone the other day, being out here risks feeling like one long party: full of introductions and smalltalk.

It’s quite a nice venue for a party, though. Here was the view at lunch today:

Not too shabby, eh?

Well, except for the bits that look like this:

Still, that’s the charm of the place.

I’m sitting here on the terrace of the Eastern & Oriental Hotel in Penang, their trademark drink the E&O Sling in hand, and this is the view:

It’s my night off tonight (hence the E&O Sling) and I’ve come into Georgetown to explore a little, and take some photos. My first stop being the very grand, very colonial E&O Hotel - built in 1884 by the Sarkie brothers, who went on to found the Raffles hotel in Singapore. Apparently Rudyard Kipling, Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham all stayed here; and I doubt it’s changed very much since those times. A cursory glance at the guests who have just dived into the pool seems to show as much: white hair and moustaches are the order of the day (and as for the men… boom boom!). A group of Brits has also just arrived. Looks like we’re still trying to run the joint.

But to last night’s gig - because it really was an utter delight.

The first surprise of the evening came when I went downstairs to the lobby, only to be faced with this:

Caramba!

Unfortunately - or fortunately - the photo doesn’t give you a sense of scale (and I refused to hand over my camera to someone to take a photo of me alongside it) - but this poster is, believe me, taller than me (B: you’ll be pleased to know that your photo looks great blown up this big). I love the way it commands people to LISTEN to me - don’t just HEAR me, goddamit! - and the way I’m “internationally acclaimed”. Hopefully after being in Malaysia, this will be a truer (ac)claim.

The second delight of the evening was meeting the owner of the hotel. Yes, *gulp*, the owner. I had completely forgotten that he was coming to see us - he apparently very rarely makes any trips down here, as he’s based in Singapore/London/New York (as multi-millionaire building magnates often are) - but sure enough, he turned up and introduced himself, and we had really nice chats in the breaks. He took my details, and told me that if I ever wanted to go to Singapore or Bali(!) while I was here, that he would “arrange things” (in the way that only multi-millionaire building magnates can). So yes, true to Lost In Translation form, I have propped up a bar with a rich, older man:

I wasn’t smoking, though.

The third delight was the band, and how it feels like we’re coming together. We’d tried out a few new tunes in the soundcheck/warm-up - I want to use that time every night to do one or two new songs with them - and last night, everything went fine. In a way, they sounded even loungeier and cheesier than ever before in their instrumental numbers; but hey, as long as it’s not like that when I sing with them, that’s absolutely fine by me. What was also hugely lovely to hear was the drummer, L, with a big beam on his face, telling me how much he loves playing the jazz numbers we’re doing, and hearing him tell the hotel owner how much he was enjoying working with me. Bless.

But the final, and truly most wonderful, delight was the audience.

When I suggested in yesterday’s post that I’d felt like a wedding singer - possibly, yes, The Wedding Singer - I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that what happened last night in the bar was a phenomenon which normally happens at weddings. People danced. And oh, how they danced.

A large group of Penangites in their 20s upwards - who had already requested a couple of songs, which we’d performed for them - got up and danced their hearts out, in a completely unabashed way. I told them that British people only do this at weddings, and I couldn’t stop beaming as I watched them. They were applauding us and blowing me kisses and shouting out “We’re your fan club!” - and when I stepped off stage at the end, was accosted by one of them saying: “Please come and join us for a drink!”. Next thing I know, a glass of whiskey has been shoved in my hand, and people are shouting “Cheers to Andrea!” and “Welcome to Penang!”. I’d heard about the legendary friendliness of the Malaysians, but this was really something. And much as I love my countrymen, I could never imagine a group of Brits being so immediately warm. By the end of the night, we’d arranged for them to take me on a trip up Penang Hill (no, that’s not a euphemism) next Sunday. So sweet.

And that, folks, was my second night.

Mind you, it probably helped that it was a Saturday.

PS. I’ve just finished writing, and the view now looks like this (I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘CS’):

And true to this post’s form, I didn’t take any photos. I figure I’ve got two months to do that ;-).

What I did do, however, is walk around the block - which included taking in the food hawkers’ market place, and exploring every single floor of the six-tiered shopping mall next door. Because much as I hate shopping malls at home, when you’re Abroad, they’re quite fascinating (at least for the first time you go).

I learned that there’s a supermarket on the lower ground floor (handy), a cinema on the top floor (equally handy) and a Crocs shop (not handy at all).

I also bought myself a cute LBD for singing in; and some trainers, as mine were too large and heavy to carry when every kilogram my suitcase was overweight was a potential £36 charge from Malaysia Airlines. And a sports bra, because I forgot mine - and because I plan to hit the gym A LOT in this hotel. Even though I avoid gyms as much as I avoid shopping malls at home. But suddenly they’re both attractive propositions, given that it’s VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY HUMID INDEED out there. Even more so than the Sun Centre in Rhyl, my only previous experience of a tropical climate.

So now I’m going to hop to said gym, before dressing for dinner and then photographing the lobby like a nut (you’ll see why later). In the meantime, let’s hope the hotel residents won’t be too freaked out by my gymwear (thanks, Melissa):

After sleeping for 12 - count ‘em! - hours, this is the view I woke up to:

And here it is if you look slightly to the left:

Since I got up, I’ve been unpacking and ironing - how thrilling!* - all to the strains of some terribly cheesy ‘radio station’ (clue: I don’t think it’s an actual radio station) I’ve found on my TV.

I was listening to my own music via my iPod dock - but it felt very odd, I quickly realised, to be listening to, say Lloyd Cole, in a hotel room in Penang, looking out at that view. In short: it feels wrong to listen to music from back home while abroad. I’m not sure if this is a phenomenon restricted to hot countries (I know that when I’ve been to Ibiza, for example, I am overcome with the urge to listen to nothing but Cafe Del Mar albums); or whether it’s to do with properly throwing yourself into a new place and a new experience. Although the latter implies conscious thought, and it doesn’t feel conscious at all. In fact, it just feels instinctively wrong to be listening to ‘Jennifer She Said’, and instinctively right to be listening to ‘Fields of Gold’ played on a Spanish guitar.

Hopefully that’s the only time in my life that I will write that sentence.

And on that (easy-listening) note: I’m going to answer some emails, then hop in the shower, get dressed, and go out exploring. I’ll be back. With photos!**

*Actually, ironing here is thrilling. Because someone calls you up ten minutes into said ironing and says: “Hello Miss Andrea, just checking you received your ironing board?”

**Although given this post, that’s not guaranteed.

So, I am here. And right now, you can picture me looking exactly like this. And I mean *exactly* like this. I’m jet-lagged, remember:

Things I learned on my journey:

- A 12 hour flight isn’t half as bad as it sounds.

- ‘When Love Breaks Down’ by Prefab Sprout is a really good song (thank you, S).

- Malaysia Airlines: Maverick does not count as a classic film.

- It’s still dark in the morning in Kuala Lumpur at 6.30am.

- Malaysia is hugely green, and full of verdant hills and palm trees. Not unlike a large Majorca.

- However, Malaysia is much hotter than Majorca.

- The twin towers in Kuala Lumpur are very impressive, even from a distance.

- The agent, T, is terribly nice, and looks like my brother, only younger and Malaysian. His wife, C, is terribly nice and looks like my second cousin, only younger and Malaysian. T’s business partner R, is also terribly nice, but doesn’t look like any member of my family.

- The Malaysian Department of Immigration is housed in a building which is enormously grand and modern, in a communist sort of way, and yet which houses crappy market stalls in its lobby. Go figure.

- We drove through a state in Malaysia which sits under a raincloud every day, rather like the geographical equivalent of Charlie Brown.

- Smoking is perfectly acceptable in public areas in Malaysia. How frightfully 20th century!

- The hotel is unbelievably swanky; and I have a gorgeous room with a king size bed and a sea view.

- A flute and tabla duo playing ‘Smoke On The Water’ is surprisingly good.

- Squid tastes better than I thought it would.

- I have been up for 30+ hours, save for snoozing on the back seat of a car/747.

- I am a bit delirious.

- The ‘Smoke On The Water’ thing really happened.