1. Remove sleeping attire and retainer.
2. Unlock luggage locks.
3. Shower.
4. Get dressed.
5. Insert gas-permeable contact lenses.
6. Brush teeth with bottled waterânot tap!
7. Apply facial 45 SPF sunscreen.
8. Apply body 45 SPF sunscreen.
9. Put on lip gloss and foundation (with 45 SPF sunscreen).
10. Blow-dry hair.
11. Put on money beltâsecure with safety pin.
12. Apply insect repellent.
13. Take multivitamins.
14. Take malaria pills.
15. Take charcoal stomach pills.
16. Pause for a much-needed rest.
17. Put
The Genteel Traveler's Guide to Malaysia, The Savvy Sojourner's Malaysian Guidebook,
and laptop into briefcase.
18. Add camera.
19. Add Melaka City Walking Map.
20. Add bottle of water.
21. Add another bottle of water.
22. Add Kleenex.
23. Add Traveler's Friend Hygienic Seat.
24. Put on buttpack containing a small amount of American dollars, emergency electrolyte packet, antibacterial soap, Handi Wipes, and more Kleenex.
25. Lock locks on each piece of luggage and secure all of them together via cable to bed frame.
26. Put on hat and sunglasses.
Total Prep Time: one hour, thirty-five minutes.
Total Weight of Briefcase: twenty-five pounds.
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While Grandma Gerd showered and dressed, I went to the downstairs lobby to type up the first couple chapters of my novel on my laptop. Typing up each day or so as a separate chapter to email my friends meant maintaining strict discipline. Especially if I was going to finish the novel by the end of the trip. Since Grandma was taking forever, I easily completed chapter one.
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Sarah realized she'd have to be especially patient with her eccentric aunt Aurora, who was unlike anyone she'd ever met. Quirky did not even
begin
to describe her ⦠.
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Azizah lent me some
ringgit
to use at the Internet café across the street.
“Your grandmamma always lose wallet and borrow from Azizah.”
The café was a tiny room with four computers, four chairs, and little else. Three stations were being used by Malaysian students checking their emails before going to school.
I already had emails in my account. From my friends:
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Denise:
Nulla dies sine linea!
Laurel:
We're charting your journey in Denise's atlas. That way, we can experience your summer vicariously, starting with Melaka (formerly spelled “Malacca,” which I prefer. Much more romantic) to wherever you end up.
Amber:
What's the food like? Guess who I saw at the 7-Eleven? Yep, John Pepper. Told him you were in Southeast Asia. He was impressed. :) Asked if you got malaria shots. I told him they're not shots, they're pills. (He bought a Snapple and a package of CornnutsâRanch Flavor.) Gave him your emailâ*grin*.
Laurel:
Let us know the second he sends you anything!
Denise:
Don't forget to include history in your backstory for added resonance. Like: “Melaka traded with China, India, and Indonesia. Later it was colonized by the Portuguese, then the Dutch, then finally by the British. You can see the influences from all six countries on the streets of Melaka.” Let us know if you need research ⦠.
Laurel:
Did you know that the word “amok” as in “to run amok” is Malay?
Denise:
Don't waste time emailing us messagesâjust email your chapters. We're here waiting to edit. NOW!
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And from my parents:
Â
Mom:
I hope you can actually receive this over there in Malaysia. Are you okay? I keep visualizing you stranded on the side of the road somewhere. Has Gertrude shown up yet? You tell her she is supposed to maintain physical contact with you at all times.
All times!
And you let us know immediately if/when you feel uncomfortable or in danger. Call us anytime!
Anytime!
(There's no time like the present.)
Dad:
Vassar, please email your mother ASAP. She hasn't slept
since you called ⦠and you know how testy she gets when she's tired. And remember: You can't make your messages too positive. Were all ten suitcases present and accounted for?
Â
I emailed my friends the first chapter. Then I emailed Mom and Dad to reassure them I was fine:
I'm doing great! Malaysia is great! The guesthouse is great! Grandma Gerd is great!
It was overkill, but I didn't want Mom's Breakdown #2 on my conscience.
I returned to The Golden Lotus just as Grandma Gerd came down the stairs.
“Time to hit the trail!”
I couldn't answerâincapable of speech. For she was wearing the green rice bag as a skirt! She twirled around so I could get the full effect.
“A real eye-catcher, eh? I hemmed it and sewed in a waistband”âshe lifted her shirt and snapped it against her flat stomachâ“and voilà !”
She looked absolutely ludicrous. A rice bag lady. “Are you sure you really want to wear that ⦠in
public
?” I asked.
“Don't think I've forgotten about you, Vassar,” said Grandma Gerd. She handed me a plastic bag. Inside was a rice bag skirt just like hersâonly blue with white Chinese characters and a pink lotus.
Mom and Dad brought me up to be polite to my elders.
“Thank you. It'll be great for ⦠for special occasions.”
If Grandma Gerd saw right through me, she just smiled.
As if I'd ever wear matching rice bag skirts!
“You like it, don't you, Azizah?” said Grandma as she posed in front of the counter.
“Your grandmamma, she is very artistic genius,” said Azizah. As if she knew genius, she with today's orange headband-blouse-nails-eye shadow combination.
“You want one, too?” Grandma asked Azizah.
“Please, no. I am not the rice bag shape,” she said, pointing to her ample hips.
Oblivious to my frozen horror, Grandma Gerd headed outside. The thick, woven material didn't give with the movement of her legs. Instead, it hung like a tube around her bottom half. Two Malaysian schoolgirls passed her, muffling their giggles. A Westerner in a rice sack! What a preposterous sight so early in the morning!
Mortification!
I reluctantly followed her.
How embarrassing, embarrassing!
To top it off, she was wearing her Vietnamese mollusk-shaped hat. Did Grandma Gerd know just how strange she was? Don't odd people always think they're normal? Like how G. K. Chesterton said a madman always thinks he's sane. And how all madmen were missing a sense of humor. But that was just it: Grandma had a very developed sense of humor. I wouldn't call it
good
per se, but most definitely
there.
So she couldn't really be completely insane. Perhaps just a small thread of insanity wove through the rice bag fabric of her being.
I guess I should be thankful she at least shaved her legs.
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After I changed some of my American dollars into Malaysian
ringgit
at the bank, Grandma took me to a shabby but clean
kedai
for breakfast. Without consulting me, she ordered two plates of
nasi lemak
âcoconut rice, fried anchovies, peanuts, sliced egg, cucumber, chili, and curry. Not exactly the ideal way to start your day. I steered clear of the chilies and ordered a Pepsi.
As I dug in my leather briefcase for my Pepto-Bismol, Grandma asked, “Do you really have to lug that thing all around? Look at that red indentation you're already getting on your shoulder.”
“I want to have my laptop handy for any chance moments of inspiration.”
“Suit yourself. Well, kiddo, today you're on your own.” She stood up.
I snorted Pepsi out my nose. “On my own?”
“To explore Melaka by yourself. Solo travel is a crucial part of the travel experience. Meet me at MCT at dinnertime.”
“MCT?”
“Modern Component Technologies. Any trishaw driver knows where it is. See ya!”
“But, wait! I don't have plans! Or an itinerary!”
“Lucky you!” And with that, Grandma Gerd threw her woven bag over her shoulder, adjusted her rice bag skirt, and stepped out into the traffic.
The
kedai
proprietor gazed at me impassively as he tooth-picked
his teeth. I gulped down the rest of my Pepsiâwithout iceâand shakily opened my guidebook. The print blurred before my eyes.
Focus, Vassar! Focus! This isn't a big deal! How hard could it really be? After all, you're a Latin scholar! You have a 5.3 GPA!
I thought of how apt today's Latin quote was:
Certe, Toto, sentio nos in Kansate non iam adesse.
Loosely translated: “You know, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.”
I frantically flipped through the pages and paused at a glossy photo of a trishaw driver.
That's what I'd do: hire a trishaw guy to peddle me around Melaka. Trying to be subtle, I pulled up my shirt and burrowed into my flesh-colored money belt. Supposedly, these things helped you be discreet about the amounts of money you were carrying around. But so far they seemed more awkward and inconvenient. The proprietor watched me with mild interest as I scattered a hundred
ringgit
across the floor of his establishment. After picking it all up, I painstakingly counted out the exact amount for my
nasi lemak
and Pepsi.
“Terima kasih,”
I said.
“You bet,” he said.
There was no problem procuring a trishawâa mass of them converged upon me as I exited. The faces loomed in at me:
“Trishaw, miss? Trishaw?”
“Uh, how much?”
“Cheap, very cheap! Where want to go?”
“For a drive around Melakaâa scenic drive,” I said.
“Sure thing,jump in, miss!”
I chose the ancient specimen with arms and legs the size of broomsticks. I'd barely climbed onto the lumpy red vinyl seat when the old man sprang onto the rust-encrusted bike and away we went. His scrawny legs pumped like pistons. I removed my laptop to type some in-action descriptionsâwhich was a touch precarious, thanks to all the potholes. But as Dad always said, typing was always more efficient than writing longhand.
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Sarah bumped her way down dirt roads, passing pigs and chickens. Unpaved roads ⦠evident lack of city planning ⦠disorganization ⦠no structure ⦠but charm ⦠occasional whiff of sewage. Houses on stilts. Mirrors nailed to outside windows, which served to scare away evil spirits. Did she just see a giant monitor lizard crawl out of a drain into the river?
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Onward, the driver pumped parallel to the river. Past
kedai
after
kedai
made of rusty tin and clustered with locals and backpackers alike drinking
kopi
and bottles of Tiger Beer. A large house caught my eye. It was like any other traditional Malaysian
kampong
. But what captured my attention was the sign: MR. TEE-TEE'S VILLA: A LIVING MUSEUM, ENTRANCE FEE: YOUR GENEROUS DONATION! Another sign read: ALL OUR WELCOME!
I quickly thumbed through my guidebook to find the page of Useful Malay Phrases.
“Berhenti!”
My driver stopped short as if he'd been shot.
As he got off the bike and squatted next to the trishaw to smoke a cigarette, I searched
The Genteel Traveler's Guide to Malaysia
, then cross-referenced it with the
The Savvy Sojourner's Malaysian Guidebook.
Mr. Tee-Tee's Villa wasn't mentioned in either. Dare I risk it?
A grungy college-age backpacker with green hair and a Canadian flag on his pack wandered up to the entrance. So there was another tourist. I took a deep breath:
Come on, Vassar, be adventurous.
A short yet dapper man, who couldn't be a day under seventy, waved at us both from the doorway.