This is a story about a haircut, some bad news, life in Kuala Lumpur, and crocodile poop.

Before I set off for my first trip abroad to India many years ago, I harbored visions — visions of mystical women in colorful saris who would place their hands upon the crown of my youthful head and say, “I see great things in your future.” Through osmosis, I would absorb their wisdom and they would enlighten me with the path I might take to achieve such great things.

Instead, 14 years later, as I sat in a barber’s chair in Kuala Lumpur, a man named Deepak, a Gujarati Indian barber from Mumbai decked out in too-tight jeans and a checkered shirt, placed his hand upon the front of my head and told me I was going bald.

Where did I go wrong?

The Chop, The Bad News

My haircut at the Indian barbershop began innocently, as most haircuts do. Deepak began with a few zips of the electric clippers in the back and on the sides, then he grabbed for the scissors to cut the top.

Chop, chop. Cut, clip, cut.

After a few sprays of water from his pump bottle and a comb-through, he delivered some astonishingly unsubtle bad news: “Hair very thin. In four, five years — all gone.”

In all the countries I’ve endured a haircut, never has a barber had the courage to deliver such bad tidings. But that’s what I love about barbers, Indians and especially Indian barbers: when it comes to bad news, man, they give it to you straight.

I was shocked. The blood drained from my face. I squinted into the mirror. “Really?!?!”

Deepak didn’t just answer “Yes.” He didn’t even waggle. He went full bore and gave me the side nod, which as much as said, “You’re in deep shit, cue ball. You’d better find yourself a Ferrari and start ridin’ out that midlife crisis.”

Deepak finished. It wasn’t the best cut. Wasn’t the worst, either. But I bore him no ill will. In fact, he was a rather nice guy.

Life’s Important Questions

As I stroked my impending baldness with my right hand, Audrey began taking a few photos and we engaged Deepak and his colleague Suppeiyav.

They asked to look at the photos we’d taken. Meanwhile, Balaji, one of their friends from the neighborhood dropped in to say hello and read the newspaper.

Eventually, the five of us convened a circle and covered all of life’s critical questions:

Where are you from?
How old are you?
How many hours does it take to fly here from your country?
Do you have children?
Why not?

I love barber shops.

Low Cost Airlines: The Engine of Migrant Labor

A good deal of our time was then spent exchanging information regarding low-cost airlines to and from India. We found out that Kingfisher is good, but only flies within India. We know Air Asia is inexpensive, but discovered it now also flies to once unlikely cities such as Trichy. Tiger Air is OK, too.

We even got a run-down on which airlines allow you to drink their beer for free. (I don’t believe there are many of those left anymore.)

In a fit of excitement, Balaji spoke up, “Sometimes you can find Air Asia to Chennai or Trichy for under 300 ringgit return ($100). Need to pay attention to sales.”

He, too, had figured out how to play the low cost airline price game.

Low cost airline talk at an Indian barber shop in Kuala Lumpur may sound trivial. However, it’s a key variable in the movement of migrant labor. Like many of the Indians you find in Kuala Lumpur, these men live and work in Malaysia, but their wives and children all live in India. For Balaji, a 15-year resident of Kuala Lumpur, cheap flights mean he can now afford to visit his wife and two young children every few months, rather than just once every year or two.

A Doozy of a Massage

Amidst our talk of airlines and southern Indian food, Deepak looked at me once more and pointed to my hairline: “No shampoo. Only conditioner once a week.”

“OK,” I said, figuring that this untimed dose of advice was an indication of just how advanced my hair loss had become in the few minutes since I’d left his chair.

I felt uneasy.

Suppeiyav, sensing my discomfort, waved me in the direction of his chair: “Massage!”

I hopped up and instantly he began squeezing my neck, pounding my shoulders and back, and tugging around the few tufts of hair I had left. Then he administered a stunning barrage of “prayer chops” — his hands placed together, thwhacking every inch of my skull.

I began to see stars, quite literally.

As I prayed for the massage to end, I was reminded of a recent comment from a friend on Facebook. “In India,” he said, “Indian barber means a head and neck massage that will make you see stuff that isn't actually there.”

When Suppeiyav finished demolishing a few billion more brain cells, I found myself struggling to get up from the chair. I had forgotten my name. Well, my middle name at least.

Don’t ask me why I was searching for my middle name. A mild concussion will do that to you, apparently.

A Chinese Perspective: Traditional Medicine

When we returned to our guest house later that evening, we ran into a Chinese Malaysian man who’d taken up residence. A permanent fixture of the joint, he was also a font of practical local knowledge. We needed a notary public. He knew of three nearby. We wanted an acupuncturist. He told us of a tea shop in Chinatown with a connection.

Then I mentioned that the barber told me I was going bald.

“Oh, my friend was going bald. He uses crocodile shit.”

You have got to be kidding me. He didn’t just say what I think he said, did he?

Before I could respond, he followed up with, “I heard your foot was hurting. Are you diabetic? My friend’s foot was hurting and he went to the doctor. The doctor told him he was diabetic and he had to have his toe cut off.”

“Let’s get back to the hair loss. Tell me more about the crocodile poo.” I redirected.

“I think he uses it once a week. I don’t know where he gets it. I can ask him.”

“Thanks. I think I’m OK. I’m trying to cut back on the excrement treatments these days.”

I ran my fingers through my hair — out of habit, or perhaps in anticipation of it slowly vanishing.

If only I could find those mystical women in colorful saris, perhaps they could help me find the wisdom to go bald gracefully.

The post The Bad News Barber of Kuala Lumpur appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Every morning and every evening, just down the block from our guest house in Kuala Lumpur, the local Hindu temple comes alive with the daily puja (prayer).  Worshippers line up to break coconuts, families gather to share blessed meals, Hindu priests prepare to dress Ganesh, and the sadhu attempts to sell 3-D calendars sporting likenesses of Hindu gods.

Each time we pass, we are drawn in by it all.

 From every corner, to every corner, something beats with the pace and pulse of life.  And if for a moment you begin to think “This is chaos,” you take a moment and realize there is something deliberate and purposeful in just about everything you see.

To us, it seems as if there's something new each time; we are attracted by the novel.

To those inside: they are drawn in by the familiar.  

For them, this is their rhythm, their ritual.

Sri Ganesar Court Hill Hindu Temple does not appear in most guidebooks or maps. Outside of morning and evening prayer times, temple keepers busily prepare for the next ceremony by arranging coconuts, tying flowers, preparing milk, and cleaning every inch of the floor.

Although we stuck out like two sore thumbs (i.e., two white folks with bulging backpacks), everyone made us feel welcome and comfortable with their smiles, their nods, and the bits of conversation they offered.  While walking around the temple, we really enjoyed the feeling of community.

So next time you happen to be in Kuala Lumpur near the Puduraya bus station, drop by the Hindu temple on Jalan Pudu Lama in the morning (4:30-9:30 AM) or evening (4-8:30 PM).  And when you are finished soaking it all in, stop by the South Indian banana leaf restaurant next door for an incredible masala dosa.

The post Panorama of the Week: The Rhythm and Ritual of a Hindu Temple appeared first on Uncornered Market.

We don't know about you, but when we think Malaysia we think street food. And hawker centers (awful name, but that's what they're called) are where the action is for street food fanatics like us.

Take a lap around, scope out the stands surrounded by the biggest crowds of locals, and figure out your eating strategy for the evening.

Perhaps start with some Penang curry mee (coconut milk based soup) or char kway teow (fried noodles) and them move on to sambal satong (squid and okra in a sambal sauce) and finish off with some cendol (crushed ice and coconut milk dessert).

And the proverbial icing on the cake after a delicious multi-course feast like this? Your wallet is only a few dollars lighter.

Compare prices of hotels in Penang, Malaysia.

The post Malaysia, I Like to Eat on the Street appeared first on Uncornered Market.

From stink bean squid sambal to giant prawns in huge buckets of satay sauce, Malaysia delivers an experience of culinary and cultural diversity. Here's a wee taste of the wide-ranging (Malay, Chinese, Indian and Indonesian) bites you might find when traveling in Malaysia.

You know, the Chinese are funny people: so long as their eyes are open, they are looking for food.

— an ethnic Chinese Malaysian man sizes up the Malaysian appetite for street food

Truth is, this quote applies to just about everyone in Malaysia. And why not? Like many of its neighbors in Southeast Asia, Malaysia is home to the holy trinity of street food enjoyment: availability, quality and price.

Each region of Malaysia features its own culinary specialties. Here are a few favorites from our time in Penang, Kuala Lumpur, and Melaka.

Penang Eats

The key to effective dining in Penang: find a “hawker center” and start sampling. For the uninitiated, hawker centers are organized areas of street food vendors, outfitted with plastic chairs and tables.

Penang Curry Mee

A signature Penang soup that features yellow egg noodles (mee), vermicelli (bee hoon), bean sprouts, fried tofu and prawns – all simmered in a light coconut milk-based curry broth. Although curry mee may look similar to curry laksa, the curry mee broth is usually lighter and less heavy on the coconut milk.

Char Kway Teow

Think Malaysia's version of pad Thai. Fried flat noodles, shrimp, fresh onions, bean sprouts, chili paste and a dose of scrambled eggs come together in this classic, delicious, and inexpensive Malaysian comfort food.

Assam Laksa

Rice noodles, cucumber, onions, cabbage and chilies served in a fish broth and capped off with a spoonful of dark prawn paste (hae ko). Although we prefer traditional curry laksa or Penang curry mee, assam laksa is certainly worth a try, particularly if you are new to the Malaysian table.

Chee Cheong Fun:

Fresh rice noodle rolls covered with prawn paste, peanut sauce and pepper sauce. Savory, zippy, nutty and sweet, this blend comes to the rescue of once bland-tasting rice noodles.

Masala Dosa

A typical southern Indian dish composed of a flat, crispy chickpea flour pancake filled with potato and vegetable masala. Drench your dosa in vegetable sambar, and cilantro-mint coconut chutney – then roll up your sleeves and dig in…with your (right) hand.

Indian snacks

Samosas (fried dough pockets filled with veggies and spices), chana masala (chickpeas mixed with spices and red onions), vada (spicy, savory donuts made of chickpea flour), and many other tasty Indian bites are available along the streets of Little India in Georgetown. Alternatively, try the friendly chana masala vendor next to the food court on Penang Hill.

Kuala Lumpur Eats

Although Kuala Lumpur has developed and gone high-tech, its people have thankfully not abandoned their street food roots.

Curry Laksa

The first thing out of our mouths when we checked into our guest house in Kuala Lumpur: “Where can we find the best curry laksa?”

It pays to know who to ask. One of the employees walked us to his favorite stand just around the corner. Curry laksa, another coconut milk-based curry soup, features thickness – thick noodles, fried tofu, roasted eggplant, shrimp, bean sprouts, and a Southeast Asian stew of tasty bits that we couldn't identify. Spicy, rich, heavenly.

Dim Sum

We are all about dim sum – anywhere, anytime of day. So when we passed by this stand with steamer baskets stacked high, we couldn’t help but stop for a bite, or two…or three.

Sambal Sotong

Rich, roasted, and chock-full of tender squid, this dish had us coming back for more. Sambal sauces feature varying degrees of heat and sweetness depending on what's inside. Generally, you'll find some combination of tomato, shrimp paste, tamarind, chili paste, garlic, and lemon grass.

Stir-Fried Greens:

After all the rich foods like curry laksa and sambal satong, a simple dish of quick-fried greens with crispy-fried garlic, a pile of fresh rice and a small bowl of chili sauce was exactly what we needed to balance out all the coconut milk coursing through our veins.

Melaka Eats (Malacca)

It’s actually worth spending a couple of days in sleepy Melaka (Malacca), if only to sample the Nyonya culinary specialties fused from Malay and Chinese influences (dating from the intermarriage of these two cultures centuries ago).

Satay Heaven

There ain't no satay like Capitol Satay.

The sequence: choose your dumplings and skewered vegetables, meat, and tofu from a display case, then settle into your seat – for you are about to be served. Known as satay celup (steamboat satay), the style of satay service at Capitol Satay has a whiff of hot pot influence. Instead of steaming with broth, your pot bubbles with a spicy, peanut-laden satay sauce. As our pot evaporated, waitresses were quick to top us off with buckets of ground peanuts and spicy masala.

The clincher for this place to go down in the Uncornered Market eating experience hall of fame: when a gaggle of giggling waitresses delivered gigantic prawns to our table…for free.

Where to find it: Capitol Satay is located at 41 Lorong Bukit Cina in Melaka. There’s usually a line outside, so come early, pace yourself…and smile, for you too may be treated to a dose of giant prawns.

Laksa Lemak Nyonya

For every region of Malaysia, it’s own version of laksa. To our taste, Melaka laksa might just take the prize. A thick coconut milk soup loaded with fish balls, fried tofu, cucumber, spring onions, lime, and a dollop of chili sauce on top. Embarrassingly, we licked the bowl clean.

Tau Kua Rojak

Another typical Nonya dish featuring a balance of salty and sweet: fried bean curd (tau kua), cucumbers and pineapples topped with peanuts and rojak sauce (sweet and tangy, made from tamarind paste, shrimp paste, chili pepper, oyster sauce and brown sugar).

Cendol

The sweet send-off, cendol features finely crushed ice with gula melaka (or palm sugar) and coconut milk. The fluorescent gummy worm-like dough bits – themselves called cendol – are made from green pea flour and the pressed juice of the pandan leaf. Think of it as an exotic take on the snow cone.

The post Snacking in Malaysia appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Obstacle-removing turtles, cavorting monkeys, remarkable chana masala and free shoe repair. We didn’t find entries for these in our guidebooks, but we did find them on the streets and in the hills of Penang, Malaysia.

Guidebooks certainly give us places to go. But the most memorable moments of cultural experience, introspection and human kindness often pass somewhere between all the “must see” stars plotted on tourist maps.

You've probably heard this all before. It's hardly an epiphany. So why do we bring it up?

Aside from the fact that we occasionally enjoy belaboring the obvious, the following occurred to us over breakfast one morning here in Penang: not only do these exceptional experiences not always happen at tourist sites, they almost never do. The strongest impressions we carry with us seem to be made somewhere in the “white spaces” of our travel itinerary.

Similar to the way in which we related our perfect day in Kyrgyzstan, we share what constitutes a delightful day – tucked in between tourist sites, errands and blog posts – here in Penang.

Obstacle-Removing Turtles

With a day of tropical heat behind us, we crept our way up the steps to the foot of Penang's Kek Lok Si (Buddhist) temple and followed a young couple of Indian descent carrying bags stuffed full of greens.

After an abrupt turn, we and the couple faced a concrete pool teeming with turtles. The pool had been drained of its water and the turtles were making quite a racket – crawling about, on top of and over one another. By far, this was largest collection of turtles that we’d ever seen in one place.

[If you are wondering why the pool was drained, it's apparently part of the turtle caretaker's daily practice to manage turtle buildup and prevent the turtle stench from becoming ghastly. Turtles are stinky critters, particularly when they commune in the hundreds.]

Anyhow, the young couple explained that they come regularly to feed the turtles. They shared with us a few handfuls of the bounty of greens they brought with them so we could join them. As the turtles munched away in a feeding frenzy (yes, turtles can become agitated), the man explained that he had recently visited an astrologer and was told to feed the turtles at this temple at least once a month. This would help, as he put it, “to speed things up…to remove obstacles in my life.”

At the end of this lesson in the spiritual value of turtles, our newfound friends walked us around to the baby turtle section on the opposite side from where we entered. They gave us a few more greens worth of turtle fodder so we could further remove any obstacles in our lives. (We were grateful – we will take any help we can get.)

Several other visitors showed up with bags of cabbage and vegetables to feed the turtles. Before long, quite an array of turtle feeders had assembled: young and old, Malay, Chinese and American.

Attention was quickly drawn to two turtles that had fallen on their backs; they were desperately trying to right themselves. United in a common cause, all the visitors cheered them on, as if our voices might somehow help. Despite our best efforts, the turtles only managed to slowly turn themselves around in circles. An older Chinese woman sidled up to us and indicated that the pool would fill with enough water later that evening, enabling the overturned turtles to right themselves and move freely once again.

“Don't worry, they will be OK,” she assured us.

After this simple, enlightening tortoise encounter, we wondered whether we really needed to continue up the steps for a glance at some gilded statues and a renovated temple. To preserve the moment, we decided against it, waved good-bye to everyone like old friends and walked back to the street to catch a bus back into town.

As twilight descended, we looked back at the temple to find it swamped in strings of flashing lights. Temples occasionally opt for patches of bright lights, but this looked a little too much like a casino for our taste.

Who knows? Maybe we missed out on the best temple ever.

Chana Masala

After hanging out at the top of Penang Hill with a group of cavorting monkeys searching garbage cans for food and occasionally hissing at tourists, we went searching for some food of our own near a cluster of food stands formed into an outdoor cafeteria. Each time we stepped in the direction of one of the stalls, we were inundated with shouts of “fried rice,” “fried noodles” and “fruit drink.” We understand that hawkers must hawk, but we really don't appreciate being shouted at or physically tugged at, particularly when we’re feeling peckish.

Turned off, we escaped in the direction of a lone food stall we had noticed earlier. An Indian man presided over colorful, attractive jars of dried snack bits and a steaming mound of chickpeas. He politely acknowledged us and entertained our questions about the different dishes he offered. He described his chana masala simply: chickpeas mixed with onions, lime juice, spices, dried peppers and fresh herbs. Aided in part by the colors and the steaming, fragrant ingredients before us, we decided this would be our lunch.

He carefully prepared the chana masala in front of us and smiled as we photographed it and gushed about its wonderful smell. We were not disappointed. It was excellent, unique and like none we’d had before. It bore the stamp of wonderfully simple ingredients combined in remarkable ways to deliver something smooth, yet rich in texture and complexity.

Not to mention, being treated like human beings also goes a long way with us.

Free Shoe Repair

When my Bangkok faux Diesel sandals started to tear at the front buckle, it was obvious that their repair would be more than her sewing kit could handle. The shoes were only two months old. Having paid only $6 for the pair, I could hardly begrudge them. Her previous pair of Diesel-like sandals had lasted a whopping nine months. She wanted to get her money's worth this time too.

It was time to call in the pros.

We poked our heads into a dark, narrow shop along Chulia Street in Penang’s Chinatown district. Bags and other custom-made leather bits hung from the walls and ceilings. We didn't see any shoes, but there were enough tools, sewing machines and coffee jars filled with bits and bobs, zippers and hooks, that it appeared hopeful.

The man at the front counter barked at us that it was not a shoe repair place and shooed us away. As I appealed to him for a shoe repair shop recommendation, an older Chinese man seated at back motioned us to his work bench.

Through his bifocals he inspected the shoe and its dislocated strap and went to work immediately: a little industrial strength glue here, a little there – all secured to the sole with heavy-duty thread. Within minutes, the shoe was as good as new – or, at least “$6 on the streets of Bangkok” new.

I asked him how much she owed. He paused, looked at us, and then said “no charge.” We thanked him profusely and left the shop on a humanity high.

It wasn’t the money we saved that mattered. That would have amounted to a couple of dollars, at most. The shoe repair guy could have easily tried to overcharge us. Instead, he gave us something: a simple story about the better side of human interaction on the travel trail.

Where to Look?

While we do enjoy beautiful buildings and temples, intangible experiences like the ones above leave lasting impressions. They also serve to outweigh the petty thefts and moments of discomfort and inconvenience.

These moments are impossible to plan. Use your guidebook to guide you, but keep yourself open for life's lessons and surprises…on the way to your next destination.

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