Mullets and Sandalocks, Oh My!

Posted by Katherine Stern ,
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After a short two week visit in Katy, I'm back in KL. I had a great time with family and friends, Madison's wedding was beautiful, and the two weeks flew by quicker than I anticipated. I got more than my share of Mexican and Italian food and pretty much every other food, which will be right up there on the list of "most missed things from Texas" besides my people of course. My wonderful husband decided to get up at 5am this morning and sacrifice his "always early to work" status to meet me at the airport so I didn't have to make the ride back alone. After the 22 hours of flying, my tailbone is a little shorter and my rear end flatter than a pancake. However, I have no other complaints this time, so I consider this trip a success.

My sister dropped me off at the airport in Houston, and I feared I could be dealing with another Charles De Gualle experience as I had in Paris. I should have known things would go smoothly when as soon as I walked through the double doors, the TV screen with my flight number and check in line was immediately in front of me shining on my face, so there was no searching or asking directions from people who had no idea what they were talking about.



As I stood in line I tried to come to grips with the fact I was leaving the land of shorts and summer clothes (to be replaced by jeans, large floral tunics, and entirely too much body covering fabric for this heat in KL), and the man's tooled leather belt with his wranglers who stood in front of me would be the last I would see probably until Christmas. The southern hospitality I was shown when the airline employee didn't charge me $100 for the extra weight my bag was bearing, will be missed.



I boarded the plane to Amsterdam with several Dutch speaking people and wound up sitting next to a husband and wife who were both sporting a mini mullet. They were not from the United States. Of course I slept half the plane ride to Amsterdam, and arrived at the airport prepared yet again to get the run-around at this huge airport. But, with the bright yellow signs everywhere there was no way to make a mistake at this airport.



While following the signs, I realized I should have moved to Holland instead of Malaysia. Me and my blonde hair were actually the majority, and so much that people would first speak to me in Dutch thinking I was from there! That was a nice change of pace. Shockingly I found the transfer desk and made it to my gate with 2 hours to spare. My entertainment for a while was the two women doing exercises and stretching like they were about to compete in the Olympics, which was then interrupted by "that guy" who we've all seen at the airport. The one who thinks they can be rude to anyone for any reason and cause a scene large enough that he has the attention of every traveler in the airport. Thankfully he wasn't screaming at me, but a poor airline employee instead. In the end, the airline employee won the fight with his soft voice, and things settled down. I used the rest of my time to walk circles around the airport to try to get the swelling in my feet and ankles to go down. For some reason this has happened on every trip so far, and I'm still walking around with cankles as we speak. So, a note for the next traveler with a long flight: don't wear tight shoes, and especially don't wear really cute strappy sandals that end up looking not so cute after your feet swell so much they start leaving indentions in your skin.

I left the land of blondes to board Malaysia Airlines. This time I had two Spaniards sitting next to me who did not have mullets thank goodness. However, they were sporting sandals with socks. There has to be a name for that because there were so many people wearing sandals with socks in Amsterdam. I think I will call them sandalocks. I did not get the memo that this was the way to travel. But, now that I think about it, maybe the socks act as a protective agent against the sandal straps when your feet swell? I'm going to stick with the old saying, beauty is pain. But really, what happens when those individuals wearing sandals with their socks step into a giant rain puddle?

Anyway, I took some Tylenol PM when I got on the plane, so I was oblivious to everything that happened from there for the next 9 hours, including the awesome snack pack they passed out only to those people not sleeping. I woke up with my mouth wide open and the pillow drenched, so I'm sure I was a source of entertainment for the sandalocks wearing Spaniards. But the trip went by very quickly, and I was on the ground in Malaysia by 6am, and back to the apartment in no time.

A few adjustments to the apartment are 1. the drain is fixed so there has not been anymore leaking, and 2. Paul bought a grill with the diameter of a dinner plate. It's so small he has it sitting on top of the patio table. I think we will be lucky if we can grill two steaks at once this weekend. In Paul's defense, he had to carry whichever grill he bought from the store to the house, so he was forced to get a dinner plate sized grill out of practicality, not because it's the cutest little miniature grill you've ever seen.



And to pick up where I left off last time about some fishy business with a certain friend we will call Jane Smith for our own protection in case somehow she learns our last name or finds this blog, here's a quick summary of what happened while I was in Houston:
Jane Smith stopped by for a quick visit with Paul to find out if he could be so nice to buy 7 tickets to fly the family out of the country the following day to "fix her business" because accounts have been frozen due to some money laundering allegations.
That's an extremely condensed version. But, Jane Smith's family is still not back, and some people are speculating that she and the family are gone for good running from money issues. Of course several people have said there's no telling what she's involved in, but I'm just hoping she doesn't have a machete mafia after her (guns aren't allowed here in KL) because I would hate to get drug into any of that business being her neighbor who now knows where she was planning on going. I'm praying that things stay very quiet here around the apartment and Jane Smith and her family stay wherever they ran off to. And, in case you had any doubts, Paul did not buy any plane tickets for her. Should she return, I'm thinking the best friend-neighbor idea she claims her father had is not going to work out so well.

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Oui Oui Paris!

Posted by Katherine Stern ,
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To pick up where I left off, I'm now back in Katy for only two weeks to be in Madison's wedding and I get to see my friends and family while I'm here. While there are plenty of personalities in and outside of the family I could blog about, including my own, I think I'll hold off on that for now and write about the 24 hours I spent traveling from KL to Houston. For any of you who may be making the trip soon, this could become a "what not to do" travel guide. My trip itinerary was to fly from KL to Paris for 12 hours and 45 minutes, stop at Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris for 3 1/2 hours, and then from Paris to Houston in 9 1/2 hours. While just over 24 hours, it was plenty of time for me to learn a few things, and add to the list of what not to do.


The day after we returned for Bali, I left for the US at 11pm. Malaysia Airlines is a great airline to use when departing from KL, because they have a booth located at the KL Sentral LRT station where you can buy tickets, check in bags, and check in for your flight without having to worry about all that when you get to the airport. This allows you to bypass all the lines and jump right on the train and not think about anything else. Be sure to get to KL Sentral at least 2 hours before your flight though, or else you'll probably get the hairy eyeball with no explanation why from the woman who lets you into the check-in line as we did.

KLIA, or Kuala Lumpur International Airport, seems fairly new and is pretty large and easy to navigate. All the signs are in English and Bahasa, so I had no problems there. We've discovered that when going through customs there are lines longer than the Nile you have to wait in for foreigners, UNLESS you happen to be a Malaysian visa holding expat or wife of, as it was in my case. So, I'm able to go in the line of a Malaysian passport holder which always throws off the custom's agent since for some reason assume I'm not from Malaysia. This past time I felt a little tricky when the woman was trying her hardest to get it through my head before I walked up to the counter that I was in the wrong line. When I flashed her my Malaysian visa she very quickly realized that she was wrong, and rolled her eyes because this meant she had to sit down and stop talking to her friend to check my passport. I was through customs in less than 30 seconds.
Once at the gate for the plane, I looked for a place to sit. All the chairs were occupied by people sleeping, who obviously weren't on KL time. I discovered if you walk far enough there are reclining chairs with foot rests where you could get some serious napping in as many people were doing. It seemed like it was the unspoken rule that at this hour of the night in the reclining area, cell phone use was frowned upon, because I got a few frowns from those around me when I continued to flap my gums in the reclining chair, oblivious to the silence around me until I got off my phone. oops. Once on the plane, everything over the speaker is done first in Malaysian, and then repeated in English. The flight attendants are always very nice and so far the planes have been as nice as a plane could be. The food is usually descent enough, though it's always some sort of chicken with rice and something spicy. This flight I lucked out and woke up to a package full of snacks after eating a full dinner and before a full breakfast. I don't have too much to report about the flight from KL to Paris, because I slept 10 of the 12 hours. I was the best seat partner the man next to me ever had I'm sure. Now the Paris airport and trip from Paris is a whole different story. In my defense, the following pity party is not another story of User Error! This time it's all the Paris airport.

We landed in Paris at 7am Paris time, and I followed the signs from my terminal to the connecting flight terminal. Apparently 7am is too early for Parisians to work in the airport, because I could not find a single person to verify that I was going in the right direction. I still had to check in with Air France and get my boarding pass, by that's easy as pie right? After all I've done that many many times, just never in Paris and I had a whopping 3.5 hours to get it done. I thought to myself, "how hard can this really be?" All the signs were in English, and I found a restroom, so there was no reason to panic. I could and would make it to my flight with no problem I was determined. I made it to the connecting flights terminal after taking the underground tunnel for several minutes only to find no one working there. I took the tunnel back to terminal one where I started, and found one woman standing around who didn't appear to be working, but looked like she probably was supposed to be working, so I asked her where to go. She sent me back to terminal 2. So I made the trip back through the tunnel and found one man at terminal 2 finally. He said I was in the wrong place and sent me back to terminal one. I found the same woman who helped me before who then got mad at me for not being in terminal 2 as she had directed me. I had to explain to her in a fairly heated argument that I was just trying to get to Air France and get a boarding pass as before. Finally something clicked in her head I guess because she quit being mad and told me I have to leave the entire airport. By this time I'm a little nervous that I have no idea where I'm supposed to be and my multiple visits to terminal 1 and 2 have eaten away about 45 minutes of my time. Thank goodness my bag I checked back in Malaysia was going straight to Houston, or that would have been another story entirely.

I went through customs, and exited the airport. I made my way through all the families waiting to pick people up, and followed a mob of people waiting for the elevator. I was quickly shoved in the elevator in between 10 other people with their giant carts of luggage by a woman speaking French and ended up again underground, with only one woman working in the airport. She however was much nicer and was very confused about where I was supposed to go. She just kept saying I was there too early. She disappeared for a few minutes and finally returned telling me I needed to take a train to the last stop. Again I took a tunnel to the train stop, where I was squished in between many many bags and travelers speaking French. I moved with the mob when they got off the train at the last stop ten minutes down the track, up the escalator to a busier part of the airport. I followed the signs to Air France, and when I got there I gave a huge sigh of relief and told the Air France woman I needed to check in. She looked at me funny and said I was in the wrong terminal. By this time I've decided this is one time where I will not write it off as a User Error. Is it that hard to tell me where to go to check in for a flight?

Finally I made it to terminal A as I was instructed from the last Air France employee and let out another sigh of relief. My time at this point is winding down and my patience was non-existent. I went to check in at the machine to skip the line since I didn't have a bag to check. Of course there was a group of people mad because the machines were broken. So I had to stand in a very long and slow moving line to wait to get my boarding pass. After 45 minutes of waiting, an Air France employee comes and whisks away all those going to Mexico, which happened to be everyone in the line behind me, and puts them in line in front of me because they have to catch a flight at 10:30. Funny that they were in such a hurry to get them checked in when my flight left for Houston at the exact same time. The British and American people in front of me started throwing a fit and raising a ruckus with the Air France people, then tried to cut in front of them, pushing me into their line so that we all got to check in before the Mexico people, and it was just a giant mess. The British woman behind me claimed that line cutting like this happens all the time in Paris and "It's just a cultural thing. This would never happen in my country." I felt as if I was almost going to be in the middle of a riot. In the middle of all this I overheard someone say that it was a French holiday that day, making the matter even worse. While not very helpful for travelers, perhaps that explains why no one was working in the airport that morning? So I was pushed and pulled and told where to go, and pushed backwards, but finally jumped my way through the line to check in. All I wanted was a boarding pass. Is that too much to ask?

Finally I got my golden ticket and rushed through to the customs line with an hour and a half left until my flight took off. This time I had to go in the line for foreigners, and you talk about a slow line,... this one didn't move. At all. For an hour. There was one person working the customs line for French passport holders, and zero for Foreigners. As you can imagine, people were furious. We stood and didn't move for longer than you can imagine. The customs workers again would whisk people away that for whatever reason they thought they should be at the front of the line, and there the rest of us stood. This group was seriously on the verge of a riot. People were screaming, fists were pumping up in the air, fingers were pointing, and I was just waiting to be pulled in to a group of angry people and trampled. The man in front of me just kept screaming with his fist in the air, while little girl behind me said, "Mommy why don't you yell at someone?" The mother's response was, "Well, if I had someone to yell at I would but no one is working!" Finally I guess the employees got off their brunch break at 10am and started letting us through. I rushed to go through security and was greeted by a man who I am pretty sure had no idea what deodorant was. I threw my shoes on halfway without buckling them, grabbed my bag and ran to my gate. I got there with only 5 minutes to spare and was greeted with the same orderly looking chaos. No one knew where they were supposed to board, and all the Air France people kept changing line locations and trying to move people even though no one could hear them. Long story not so short, I made it onto the plane after 3 hours and 25 minutes of running around all of the Paris airport.

The flight was filled with mostly Parisians speaking only French. The man next to me was a photographer at the World Cup, so I got to preview his images from the field level as he edited them. The food on the flight was good, and they served French bread and butter and cheese with each meal. The high school kids congregated at the back of the plane where the Hagendaz ice cream was sitting, and the girls beside me reminded me once again that there are fewer and fewer women everyday who shave their legs. I watched a few shows on the TV, and busted out my Sudoku book for a while when I was knocked out of my intense concentration by the tray of food the flight attendant dropped down my back. That was really minor compared to the time I had at the airport, so when the flight attendant was apologizing profusely in French, I assured her it was no problem.

A little over 9 hours later I landed in Houston. I was greeted by my mother who I was relieved still only spoke English, and was reminded how clean the streets were here in Texas. After telling this long story to Paul, he told me "Oh I talked to a few people today. All of them said to never fly through Paris." I guess that was a lesson I had to learn from experience. Since then Paul's been getting along fine as a "Single Mom" as he calls it since he is now responsible for all the house duties as well as work, and I've been more busy than I thought here in Katy. Some very very interesting fishy things have been going on in KL with a certain neighbor, but it looks like it's a story that might be better off shared at a later date. I'm going to have to leave you hanging.

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Bali Hai

Posted by Katherine Stern ,
,

I've figured out the motive behind my neighbor, Lynn's persistent nature in getting close to Paul and I. She told me her father's dying wish was that she become best friends with her neighbor since she has no living close relatives. So in order to do that I guess she felt the need to plan a shopping trip to buy an Indian outfit for me to wear to my friend's wedding this week, who is not Indian, complete with bangles to the elbows on both arms. So we were scheduled to do that upon our return from Bali. She also thought it was a wonderful idea to book a hotel room for us for a weekend somewhere four hours away, without us knowing, to surprise us so that we could celebrate our anniversary with them and the five kids the entire weekend. Too bad we booked a trip to Bali.

If any of you grew up on the Rogers and Hammerstein movies as I did, you would probably have been singing along with me on the way to Bali. "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair, and send him on his way!" Not that I wanted to rid myself of Paul, but it seemed appropriate seeing we were going to Bali, and that's the one song I remember from the movie South Pacific. Our trip to Bali consisted of good times, and of course those moments Paul and I would rather not remember. I'll go ahead and give you this precursor. If you're thinking of going to Bali, save your time and money and go to Hawaii instead. Kauai, Hawaii to be specific.

We started the morning off waking up at 6:05am, an hour past our alarm went off and 5 minutes after we were supposed to walk out the door. We scrambled to shower and take out the trash, zipped our bags up and booked it. Me with my carry on, and Paul lugging the one suitcase packed with both our things, people probably thought we were crazy almost running across the street dragging our luggage in the darkness of the pre-dawn morning. I believe Paul reached the full appreciation as I have for nice straight, clean sidewalks. The wheels of the suitcase didn't exactly role easily across the tile/dirt/cobblestone but we eventually made it to the subway. Conveniently, the subway took us all the way to KL Sentral where we could check our bags, check in for our flight, and take a 28 minute train ride to the airport. Paul is also beginning to realize that we really don't NEED a car.


We took a straight flight for 2 1/2 hours to the Bali airport, made it through customs, and planned to walk around the corner with our bag to find our taxi. Instead, a man who came out of nowhere, grabbed my bag at the same time I did and signaled me to follow. We did of course since he had our belongings for the weekend, as he walked our bag around the corner about 30 steps away. He quickly turned around and with no hesitation held out his hand to Paul and said "$10". Paul afterwards said he was impressed that I'm catching on and not giving my money to everyone who asks because I was very quick to say "no way!" So we settled on a $3 fee for the walk around the corner and walked outside of the airport to be greeted by a mob of taxi drivers. Paul managed to find the taxi driver waiting for us, and then had to manage to find me in the mob. We successfully got into the taxi that smelled like incense and began our drive to the hotel with the taxi driver narrating our drive there. We learned the food Bali is known for is baby gulling or suckling pig roasted whole on a stick over fire, and made plans to take a day long tour around the town Sunday and end it with a sunset dinner on the beach. Little did we know the what would have been most exciting part of the week would not be happening due to some unexpected circumstances.

In between our rides to and from the airport I took notice of the poverty of the people in Bali. The only places that weren't run down shacks that we saw were the shopping mall and hotels. Men were pushing food carts down the street barefoot, and women had opened up "restaurants" in the middle of vacant property. The Hindu religion and Asian culture had a tremendous impact on the architecture, and the smell of incense was everywhere.

We were told not to step on the offerings in the streets, but didn't realize that the offerings would be so prevalent. On every sidewalk and road there were little plates with flowers, food and incense. There were these statues below, scattered throughout the town on the side of the road to put the offerings on, and most were covered with umbrellas.

And, walking among all the people were wild dogs which were obviously used to the people, but looked like they had been fending for themselves.

The hotel was very nice, although it could have done without the one woman who thought it was okay to tan topless next to her topless 8 year old daughter who apparently was learning by example. The water at the beach turned out to be low tide every day after about 1:00, so instead of swimming we watched the Indonesian people wade fishing with their Chinese pointy hats about 300 yards out. After realizing the beach wasn't really for swimming we planned a boat trip out to a nearby island for the next day.




The next day we woke up ready to experience Bali as most people think Bali is. We were driven by taxi 45 minutes through moped traffic and realized in Bali, the cars drive on the line so that the mopeds can drive on either side.

Most drivers drive with one hand on the horn and one on the wheel and are not afraid to use the horn. They very casually drive, honking every 15 or so seconds. I think this is what prevents the road rage drivers. I might start using my horn more to let out some of that bottled up frustration when I drive. We made it to the catamaran sail boat and sailed out past all the morning fisherman who would wave as we passed. The water got more blue the further we went from the mainland. One of the reasons we chose this boat trip out of the five choices we were given was that the pamphlet claimed you could fish for the two hour boat ride to the other island. Of course the first thing Paul did when he got on the boat was ask one of the crew members about the fishing, and the chance of catching something.

The guy assured him that usually they catch one or two good size fish on the way over each day. Paul's excitement about this was quickly extinguished 20 minutes into the ride when he went to ask when the fishing started, and realized the boat did the fishing for him. The one rod on the boat was tied off, so it wasn't actually an interactive fishing experience. Paul decided it would be better to spend his time sleeping.


While he did that, I realized I was better off laying flat on my back in the center of the boat to lessen the affect the waves were having on my motion-sickness prone self. This was my view:




When we finally arrived at the island we got massages by two Balinese women. Paul verified afterwards my masseuse was the only one with callous like sandpaper on her hands. I believe I got a complimentary body exfoliation with the massage. Afterwards we watched people snorkel in the very cold water, and Paul slept some more. He deserved every hour of sleep he got that weekend after the long week he had before.




The water at this island was a little clearer, but still the picture of Hawaii sticks in my head and was constantly competing with these beaches. Hawaii still wins in my book. The day was very relaxing and enjoyable, and was a nice break from city life. That evening we got back on the boat with the same 5 people we road to the island with: 3 Germans and 2 Russians. And that was just as interesting as it sounds. The Germans spoke a language that sounded much harsher than Spanish, the only foreign language I'm accustomed to hearing, and the Russians held up their end of being just exactly as I would expect any Russians to be. The man was extremely tall and looked like he would win any fight with one punch. The girl looked snooty, even though I don't think she was or meant to be, and neither of them cracked a smile the whole day even during the two thousand four hundred eighty seven pictures they took of each other posing. In addition, the girl's hairy legs really added to the whole tough Russian character I so was hoping for. And to top it off, the one word I understood them say throughout the day was vodka. Needless to say, little communication went on between us and anyone on the boat, making for a nice relaxing ride to the island, but some other things got in the way of a nice relaxing ride on the way back.

The water was very choppy heading back that evening, and the wind was very very strong. I chose to stay seated if I had a choice so not to fall over from the rocking boat. The wind however, picked up so much that it started blowing the vinyl mats for laying out on the boat, almost overboard. I attempted to save the day by catching one in the air right before it went overboard, and was thanked with a slap in the face from the mat which was uncontrollable in the wind, and then the boat proceeded to throw me on the floor and I tumbled and rolled a few times. I was the only one laughing at myself. Paul said he wasn't laughing because he thought I was going overboard. Thank goodness I didn't, and now I know Paul might actually try to prevent me from going overboard! I thought sometimes there were days he would choose to have me walk the plank. Glad I was wrong.

The next day I woke up with a bad sinus infection, and Paul seemed to not feel too good as well. We had to cancel our trip around town and stayed in bed the entire day. The taxi driver took us to a pharmacy where they gave me some medicine which I later realized was an herbal something or other, which explained why it had to be taken every 30 minutes. Ineffective to say the least. Being sick on vacation wasn't exactly what we had in mind. The following day we slept late, still feeling sick, ate lunch on the beach and left for the airport.

Upon our return, I somehow missed Lynn taking me to get an Indian dress to wear to my friend's wedding this week, which I'm sure Madison will be thankful for, and quickly unpacked and repacked and made the 22 hour flight to Houston. For the 5 people who we chose not to believe who said Bali isn't what most people think, I'd have to agree. While beautiful, if you're going to take the time to fly 24 hours, be prepared that it's no Hawaii. If you're dead set on Bali, check out the island Lombock. This might be the very best part of Bali. We didn't make it that far.







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When it rains, it floods.

Posted by Katherine Stern ,
,

Well, here I sit as the water rises in my apartment. Again.

If you're wondering how in the world this happens twice in two weeks in a second floor apartment, let me tell you. A downpour started outside with thunder and lightening to accompany the water, making the scene very dark and dramatic. I decided against using my umbrella as a lightening rod to get to the bank, and decided to stay home and that I should probably check and make sure it wasn't flooding on the patio. But it was. The water was just barely coming out of the drain, and within a matter of about 2 minutes and 21 seconds, the water was pouring in everywhere.

Simple as that, that's how it happened. I was scrambling to find all the towels we own to prevent what happened last time from happening again. I made a barricade at the patio door with towels and they were soaked in no time. I used all 4 beach towels to barricade the water further back with no success. The water was coming in the apartment so hard it was actually pushing the towels out into the hallway! I was mopping like crazy trying to get the water into that wonderful bathroom drain again while I waited on the apartment contractor to get here. Finally when he arrived, he looked at the mess in disbelief and pulled his pants up to his knees, waded in, and did a very, very bad thing. He opened the door to the patio, which in turn let in the 7 inches of water that was standing outside. So in came an even bigger flood and he called 5 other men for backup.

Thankfully, they told me not to do anything and took the mop from me which they replaced with a large shop vac. The guys are still here, coming in and out trying to clean up all the water. The furniture has been moved out of the room, fans are going, and I think they are all wondering why this issue wasn't fixed the first time. Since they told me not to work, I'm sitting here on the couch looking awkward and feeling like they think I'm prissy and stuck up just watching them. But, what else can I do? I surely can't fix the plumbing problem, so I blog. At this point, if we could move to a different unit quicker than the plumber can get here, I would pack up my things today. Not that I'm dying over here or anything, but it's a bit of a hassle to have to move furniture, bath mats, and anything else on the floor every time it rains, and I have a feeling the plumber is still going to be a while. Since it rains here every day, literally, I think my odds of this happening again aren't looking so good.

On a different note, Lynn, my neighbor, likes to drop by my apartment anytime. So, she came over for a while before we had dinner, and she had no problem filling every ounce of silence with words. The first thing she asked was the size of our house and wanted to know if it was bigger than hers. We've realized people here have no reservations about asking questions like that or how much you pay for a house, or how you pay for it, or how much money you earn, and other similar questions. So it's becoming not so shocking when people always compare the things we have to what they have. From Lynn's conversation, I learned all about Muslims and her previous marriage, her current marriage, and other much more personal things that most people wouldn't even share with,... well not with anyone really. After getting an earful, the one thing that was a big shocker was she told me the apartment manager's wife was not pretty and that he could have done better. What was more of a shock was she told the apartment manager the same thing to his face! I guess Malaysian people can say very bold things without it being offensive because that same manager was joining us for dinner at Lynn's house, with his not-so- pretty wife.

For dinner that night, Lynn insisted we come try a Malaysian dish which is similar to Nasi Lamek, but a little different. It was interesting when we got there, the five children, with the three month old being carried by the 12 year old sister, answered the door and told us we should sit and wait on their parents to finish praying in their bedroom. Apparently the call to prayer was later than usual, so their prayer was lasting later than usual that night. When Lynn and her husband Eese came out, she was wearing traditional Malay clothing with her head covered, and Eese was wearing a sarong. It looked like flannel skants (skirt pants). Immediately they started asking what fruit juice we like to drink and insisted we drink something. So when I finally said grape juice was good, they made the 12 year old make it for us. She came out with a serving tray and a pitcher and glasses with ice, then proceeded to serve us all the drinks. You could tell she practiced this quite a bit. By the end of the night someone, who prefers to remain nameless, said the kids were like indentured servants. Not only did they serve drinks, but cooked the dinner, cleaned up everything until the place was spotless, and the 15 year old son made and served hot tea after dinner. Lynn claims she has a week left of confinement where she can't do any work since she gave birth three months ago.

Our Malaysian apartment manager and his wife joined us with their one month old son. So while we sat on the couch in between the two couples, they spoke Malay over Paul and I, and our heads were going back and forth watching them talk but not understanding a single word. We were surprised at how modest the two women were at covering their heads, but had no issue breast feeding the entire night with no modesty revealing everything to us. It was almost like a National Geographic tribal show viewing. As for the food, of course there was enough rice to feed an army, which we then topped with three sauces, peanuts, fried baby anchovies, fried chicken, boiled egg, cuttlefish, and zucchini. The thing that got me about that meal was the baby anchovies. All I could think about was that they looked just like the guppies we had in second grade sitting on our tables that we got to watch grow. Now the guppies layed there in my bowl staring at me with their now crunchy eyeballs. I had made up my mind before I went that I wouldn't knock anything until I tried it, so I forced myself to try the guppies. They tasted as bad as they looked, so I did some shoveling with my spoon until the little guppies were hidden under my chicken bone. I discovered eating a fried chicken leg with a fork and spoon is quite difficult when I almost shoveled food from my bowl halfway across the table on accident since they don't eat with knives. For dessert we had what Lynn called caramel, but it was actually something very similar to flan. After that we moved back to the couch and had to have fruit for a second dessert. It was a fruit which we never tried and they referred to it as what sounded like "Nah", which also means stupid in Thai. In the process of peeling this pink spiky "stupid" fruit, Paul finally got his thumb through the peel and shot a hard line of fruit juice straight into the back of the 7 year old boy's head. I didn't know what reaction was appropriate since the kid just turned around and looked at him like, "what just happened?" but Paul could not stop laughing. It was one of those laughs that once you start you just can't control it. Finally he got it under control and I was wishing I could laugh just as hard with him. By the end of the night we heard so many stories of their many different houses, people they know, and all their connections they claimed, spoken half in Malaysian and half in English, we were a little relieved to call it a night.

A little humor for those of you who know very well how Paul dresses in his down time, and even more humor for those of you who give him a hard time about his camo, academy shirts, and fishing hats. Paul went into the office on Saturday wearing his regular. His cap, fishing shirt with the back and armpit vents, shorts and flip flops, while carrying his orange backpack. His coworkers have no idea that they were lucky he wasn't wearing his boots and jeans. So when he walked in Stephanie, the same girl who hopes she doesn't develop an allergy to eating tree worms, said, "Paul, where are you going? Camping?" Paul said no, totally confused as to why she would be asking that. Stephanie had to explain "well, you're wearing a hat, and you're carrying that backpack, and your shirt,..." Paul just laughed.
Here in Malaysia, they don't have fishing shirts, and you don't wear a cap ever pretty much. Then another coworker in the same day asked, "Paul, why are you wearing a hat?" Paul's response was "My hair". (Basically he had a fro and didn't want to do anything about it.) And the coworker not understanding said, "Why!? What happened to your hair!?!" Paul just laughed. Apparently his wardrobe will always be a topic of jokes and misunderstanding. Poor Paul.

My week has been consumed with cooking it feels like, which has been pretty entertaining. I'm trying to freeze two weeks worth of food so that Paul doesn't starve when I go back to the states next week. Now he has no excuse for eating chicken rice for two weeks straight. And now that the flood kind of threw off the plans I had for the day, I'm going to be running errands like crazy tomorrow to get everything done before we go to Bali on Friday! I'm really excited about this trip, and feel like it's so odd that we could decide today to make a quick trip to Bali for the weekend. It's like we're just headed to San Antonio or something since it's so close. You can be sure I will have some pictures to share when I return. For now though, I'm off to try pioneer woman's recipe for meatballs, while praying that the house doesn't flood tomorrow.

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Third Time's a Charm!... Well, almost.

Posted by Katherine Stern ,
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This little blog seems to be turning into a What Not to Do guide, along with a food diary. To keep with that theme, I've got some more tips I learned from experience, along with lots of talk about food.

After flagging down a taxi to take me to meet the same people for coffee that I left with the bill last time, (Yes they forgave me and we've met a few times since! Wheww!)I opened the door and asked how much he would charge me to take me to the Pavilion. He said it was metered, so I got in and immediately got a tip from the Taxi driver on what not to do.

After apologizing for correcting me and asking for permission to give me advice, he instructed me not to ask how much a taxi driver would charge. I did learn to do that from Paul who I thought was a pro at taxi bargaining, but I guess I was wrong. The driver said if I ask how much they charge, they will not use the meter and will overcharge me. Keep in mind, not all taxis are metered here. His advice was to just open the door and jump in, take the ride to my destination, and then ask how much he would charge. That made no sense to me at all seeing that once you've arrived you're obligated to pay for the ride you received even if it was overpriced, and at that point wouldn't it be to late to wait for another taxi that was offering a fair price? So I asked, well what happens when they want to charge 20 Ringit to the Pavilion like a driver did to me once? The driver's response was, "Oh well you just don't take that ride!" I was thinking, well how am I going to know not to take that ride if I didn't ask what he charges? I think there was a disconnect somewhere between the two of us, so I just acted like it was an epiphany and said "OOOhhhhh ok!" and left it at that. I'm still confused what he meant, but apparently I'm not supposed to ask how much they charge.

As for flood incident, the plumber has come by three times unannounced and each time he comes in he snaps a picture of the drain with his camera, and leaves. Not sure what that's all about. They said he might come by next week to fix the issue. Hopefully we don't have any heavy rain this weekend.

This week was like Christmas in July! Our airfreight finally arrived! I never thought I would be so excited to see our soap dispensers, towels, and silverware.





The moving guys were in and out in a total of ten minutes with all my things unpacked and boxes and paper out of sight. It was quite convenient, but not without a little accident. I watched them unpack as one of the guys sliced off the tip of his finger with a box cutter. He started bleeding quite a bit and I could see a large flap of skin hanging. Of course all my band aids were somewhere in the boxes they were opening, so all I could offer was a paper towel and he ran outside. The other movers acted like nothing happened, got their business done, and left. That was it, and I had the whole day to sort through my towels, put our sheets on the bed and eat with real utensils!



I have made friends with our neighbor Lynn, who stopped by the other day to introduce herself. She is from Malaysia, and her husband is Thai. They have 5 children from ages 18 months to 15 years. She said all the children were curious to meet us, but she came alone so not to overwhelm us. She offered any help that she can give as far as advice, places to go, things to know, and anything else to help us transition in KL. Turns out her husband used to play soccer for Thailand, so he's extremely into the world cup stuff going on right now. Lynn also said I should go karaoke with them sometime. That would be very interesting to say the least considering my vocal abilities. Lynn came by a second time yesterday to bring something she said was similar to a pancake. It was a Malaysian food that's like a banana and coconut pancake steamed in banana leaves.



It was pretty tasty, and she said next she'll make curry puffs for us. Of course with her empty plate sitting on my counter I had to return the plate and favor with something I cooked, which leads me to my next sad story.

My oven and I had yet to make up from the last spat as of yesterday. My second attempt at chocolate chip cookies was a let down yet again, as the oven once more was victorious. Of course I ate more than my share of cookie dough before the baking started, and these were going to be some excellent chocolate chip cookie bars, which I knew Lynn and her 5 children would love. I don't have too much to say about this attempt except that when you assume your oven has preheated because there's no indicator you end up with something like the picture below. And no, there's not extra cocoa powder added to make them extra dark.




So with cookies burned almost to a crisp and nothing for Lynn's family to munch on, I decided before I give up that the third time is bound to be a charm. For the most part, I was correct. My third baking experience was with Texas Cornbread, which seemed suitable for the family that just brought me some exotic food. I think Texas Cornbread might be exotic tasting to them???? So anyway, I made the walk to Hock Choon this morning, working up a sweat to get there of course, bought everything including what looked like the closest thing to cornmeal, but hard to tell because the writing on the box was in another language. I loaded up my bags, made the haul back working up even a bigger sweat through the construction zone, mud, grass, broken concrete, you name it. Good thing I had my all terrain shoes on. By the way, I never thought I would be thankful for nice sidewalks like we had in Katy. So, I made it back, started chopping and mixing, and I cried like a baby while cutting the onions even though I wore my sunglasses while chopping. (I heard that keeps the fumes from the onion from making you cry,.. well this time it did not work, I just looked like a weirdo wearing sunglasses in my kitchen while cooking.) So after my sweat and tears went into this cornbread, (thankfully it lacked any blood) I went to add the last ingredient which happened to be the cornmeal, and I realized it was actually corn FLOUR. I should have known that there would have to be an issue or it just wouldn't be a typical cooking situation for me!

Well, I baked it anyway optimistically thinking maybe I've come up with a new recipe, but so disappointed that if it did turn out, it would not be like my mother's which is basically like eating a savory cake where you can't stop eating until the last bite is gone. I think my oven must have felt sorry for me because it decided to cooperate. So, I've got the preheat thing down, and the plug stayed in the wall this time thank goodness. The cornbread actually turned out pretty good, but I'd say it was more like something you'd find at an Indian restaurant. A little more mushy, not really fluffy but with the same flavor as cornbread. I'm going to say it's the Malaysian version. I'm just thankful it's something edible!




While it sounds strange, it was actually good and good enough to return the plate to Lynn with some for her to taste. When I left Lynn's apartment after dropping off the food, her son said "Thank you Auntie"! Apparently that's the proper way to address a female who's older than you. So, I'm an Auntie here in KL!

While on the topic of food, which you can tell I enjoy so much, I got a dragon fruit at the grocery store today for you to see. One of the best parts about this fruit is it dies your lips and fingers bright pink for a while. After taking a picture I quickly devoured it.





In addition, we've been incorporating some Chinese cooking techniques into our diet. I had to buy a pot to cook in before our air freight got here to cook, and it came with a steamer basket. So, I've been steaming things like these bbq pork buns that Paul had for lunch. They aren't quite like a dumpling because the dough is much more fluffy and bread like than noodle like. Still they are equally as delicious, and probably equally as artery clogging.



Last night was the big Brazil game as you probably know. Here, unless you're fair skinned you root for Brazil, so we couldn't miss out on experiencing the game with two guys from Paul's office who are from Singapore. Afterwards we went to an Indian restaurant for the first time since we've been here. It was open to the outside on all four sides, so basically it was like the entire restaurant was on a patio. Paul's co-worker ordered four plates for us to try and most of it was really good. I had no idea that I liked Indian curry, but I think that will be a place we go to again if we can figure out what to call those items we ordered. Oh and once again, the entire table was vegetable free even though many Indians are vegetarians as we learned from Derek.




While we ate we learned a few things from Derek about Singapore. They compare the drive from KL to Singapore with the drive across the border from Mexico to Texas, even though they've never been to the states. They say when you get to Singapore the roads are all flat and clean with perfectly landscaped medians and street lights everywhere. A little different from what you get here in KL. Also, there are only a few months out of the year where it rains in Singapore. In KL it rains daily for the most part, year round. And what really got Paul's attention is that the Chicken Rice in Singapore is better! At that we might have to make a trip to Singapore.

When digging through a suitcase that was air freighted, I found my charger for my point and shoot camera! After charging it up, I came across some pictures from our Taipei trip! Now talk about Christmas in July,...
So, below are the pictures from our trip that are kind of fun, and again, click on any to enlarge.





This pretty much sums up the way I felt for the first two weeks abroad. Everyone was looking at me wondering what genetic disorder I had that my hair skin and eyes lacked pigment.





A home-made broom







The morning street market just opening. I got this photo after almost being run over by Paul behind me, who was almost run over by the moped behind him, that was almost run over by the delivery truck behind it that was winning the run-0ver-race due to its size.


Overall it's been a good week for me. I finally won over my oven, met our neighbor, ate some new foods, and got our airfrieght! For Paul, it hasn't been so exciting because he's been doing nothing but working for a deadline Monday. So for a little encouragement, I'm feeling a trip to Bali in the near future la! (Malaysians end lots of sentences with "la" for some reason. I'm not sure the correct usage, but it's kindof a slang word. I'm trying to incorporate it into my vocabulary along with Terima Kasih.) Also, I hope someone's going to enjoy a big juicy burger to celebrate the 4th. Hock Choon doesn't sell burger buns. I'm coming up with a plan B.

Happy 4th of July!

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