On my ride home from the airport my father asks if [...]]]> After over 7 months abroad I am back on my home turf, Chicago, for a little while anyways.  One of the best things about this city is its diversity.  To me, this means reconnecting with the countries I’ve visited by seeing where their immigrants eat, shop, and live. 

On my ride home from the airport my father asks if I want to visit a grocery store to fill in the vegetarian gaps of their fridge.  Well, it wasn’t just any old grocery store like Jewel or Dominiks, but an ethnic one, selling curry powder, pickle shaped spikey green vegetables, tortillas, and everything in between.  As soon as I find the Indian aisle I couldn’t contain my excitement.  Mustard seeds, jaggery, tumeric, idly mix, all varieties of lentils, and on and on.  The check out lady was even Indian and told me how to cook the bitter melon we bought.  Before I left Malaysia I stocked up on some spices, but was surprised to find that they weren’t much more expensive here, and still basically cheap.

This afternoon I went to a Thai restaurant.  As I have written, I am not a fan of this cuisine because of the lack of vegetarian options.  However, it was nice to be able to understand everything on the menu for a change and not feel like I was paying tourist prices, although for what they charge here, you could eat 4 meals over there.   I opted for my favorite standby, pad see yew, which was as good as I had in Thailand (but this time I actually got the extra vegetables I ordered– no translation problem here!).  The friendly young waitress was from Bangkok and studies accounting at DePaul University and we had fun talking about where I’d been in Thailand.  While waiting for my friend to arrive, I noticed a sign advertising mango & sticky coconut rice… yum!!   I mention this to the waitress and she said they don’t have any today :( but for some unknown reason, midway through the meal I am asked if I still wanted any!  Hurrah!  It was delicious, but a little tastier  in Thailand.

My next foray into Asia America came when I needed to buy basmati rice for a Malaysian dish “Cardamom Butter Rice” I wanted to make for the 4th of July.  Where else to go but Devon Avenue, or Chicago’s Little India?  I was so excited walking by the sari shops, I wondered if anyone could tell I was wearing a dress I bought in India.  As it doesn’t look traditionally Indian, no one gave me a knowing glance, but I still felt like I somehow fit in.  I walk into one grocery store and ask where the rice was.  They either had huge 20lb burlap bags of rice, or overpriced plastic boxes of 2lbs.  I ask the sales woman where I could buy it in bulk and I tell her I only need 1 cup of rice, not 2 or 20lb!  She says nowhere on Devon do they sell it in self service bulk bins, rather, they only sell “chat” or dried spicy snacks in bins.  I tell her I know I remember seeing it, and tell her if it was not here, then somewhere, where could it have been?  I get a memory flash of being in a grocery store in Bangalore where they sell it by the kilo.  She looks at me quizzically and says, yes, in India they sell rice and lentils in bulk, so then I tell her that is where I must have seen it and leave, hoping to find the 2lb rice cheaper elsewhere.

The sidewalks are thick with families, and older women in saris walking slowly to probably buy the huge boxes of mangos which are now on sale.  I find my way to Patel Bros Grocery, where I had been many times in the past.  The entrance is so crowded with people I couldn’t figure out why they are all out shopping on a Saturday night.  It even appeared there was a line to get in.  I see a man with a camera around his neck which made me wonder if there was a special event.  I ask an Indian man on the sidewalk why it’s so crowded, and I was informed, “Madam, this is a fine shop which sells dry goods and Indian spices.”  I thank him and ask if it wasn’t because someone famous was there?  He assures me not (darn).  I then approach and realize everyone is in line to get freshly squeezed sugar cane juice, and not to enter the store.  Once inside I said twice aloud, “Wow, it’s really so crowded in here” but get blank stares as no one was listening.  The store smelled familiar, like spices and incense, and all I could think was, “I am totally moving to India again”, and “I really wish I knew what to do with the stuff they sell here”.  One day I will learn to cook more than a basic dhal (lentils)!

I finally find the rice section but no small bags, so I ask a store clerk who informs me they only sell basmati rice in 10 and 20lb bags.  Upon further questioning, he says their sister store “Patel Bros Handicrafts”, nearby does carry rice in bulk.  Now while I have been to a sporting goods store in India which sells musical instruments, this struck me as odd.  I ask, “A HANDICRAFTS shop sells rice?”  He assures me it does (but maybe in reflection he didn’t really understand me).  Wha?  Am I in America or India?  I felt like I was having one of those conversations where we were both speaking English, but I was not understanding how the words could make any sense.  I buy some Indian cheese, or “paneer” and leave the shop, only to discover there is no rice to be had in the handicraft store.  This time, I didn’t even ask.

I then go to another grocery store and settle on a 4lb bag of rice, the smallest bag but still cheaper than the 2lb I saw earlier. As I am in line to pay, the thrifty side of me thinks I should have a look at all the big bags of rice at the front of the store.  Maybe they are a better deal.  So I get out of line and go inspect the 10lb bags.  They are all of different prices, so I ask an Indian looking couple if they knew the difference between the qualities of the rice.  The husband points to the one bag and says with an accent, “Zebra is a good brand, very delicious.”  Hmmm… rice tastes all the same to me, but I know Asians really can tell the difference.  I decide that 10lbs of rice would probably last until Halloween, and return in line to pay for the 4lbs.  In the end, I ran out of time to make the dish, so it didn’t get made on July 4^th, but on the 7^th and fortunately it was worth the effort.  Mmm…

My dear Malaysian friend Santhi had a business [...]]]> I’ve been told numerous times that on Malaysia’s Penang Island you eat, and on Langkawi Island you drink.  This has actually been my personal experience as well.   The food in Penang was interesting, inexpensive, and everywhere.   [For those in the Chicago area, you can visit Penang restaurant in the northern suburbs: http://www.penangarlington.com/]

My dear Malaysian friend Santhi had a business trip to Penang when I was on the island so I got a first hand lesson on local food.  She was practically drooling when we met up, anxiously awaiting her first meal of Nasi Kandar, or Indian Muslim food.  We ducked into an alley I had spotted and photographed during the three days I was in Penang before her arrival.  It was the place for people in the know, although by the looks of it, an outsider would never know.   A few shelves in a makeshift metal kitchen held bowls of brown and red gravy, trays of different kinds of meat and fish, rice of course, boiled eggs, greens, and tumeric cabbage with mustard seeds and carrot.  The draw are the gravies.  The server deftly flips his wrist as he dips into each bowl of gravy, making a brown brick pool of liquid over your rice.  Since I only had veggies, I was given only the red sauce.  We sat at metal picnic tables and drank teh tarik (“pulled tea”– sweetened with condensed milk and sugar and literally thrown from one cup to another to cool it) and iced lemon tea.  Santhi was in food heaven with a huge grin on her face.  She even licked her fingers afterwards.  The place was packed and everyone looked like they were eating the best meal of their lives.

Cendol is the dessert which is known to be delicious on Penang.  Imagine green jello shaped like short spaghetti noodles,  a mound of ice shavings, kidney beans, red beans, coconut milk, and brown palm sugar in the same bowl.   The textures and flavors all dance in your mouth and somehow it all makes sense and your tongue very happy.

Can you think of a spice you would like to eat?  There is one that exists on Penang and is among my favorites.  Nutmeg fruit is pickled, candied, and dried making for a an unusual snack available only on this island.  The first time I tried it I wasn’t sure what fruit it was, but it did make sense once I closed my eyes and concentrated on Christmas cookies.   When I toured the spice farms of Zanzibar 10 year ago there was no mention of the nutmeg fruit being eaten or used for anything, so perhaps is an Asian speciality.  At the market where I bought pickled nutmeg, other fruits such as mango, papaya and some others Santhi can’t translate into English were sold.

After 5 days exploring Penang, I arrived on nearby Langkawi Island, which is definitely not a backpacker’s paradise, except for the very cheap beer.  Rather, it’s a fancy resort island with a few hostels and guest houses, and without any public transportation. Fortunately upon arriving at Shirin’s Guest House I met a Chinese Malaysian gal and a Chinese guy who were looking for someone to share a car rental which is quite cheap.  We drove around the island in a few hours and even toured the fancy Four Season’s Resort and imagined staying in their villas.  The island is full of rice paddies, coconut groves, big green hills, and even home to the USSR Restaurant, owned by a Kyrgyz family serving authentic Russian food.  While the beaches are pretty, the islands on the east coast of Malaysia outshine this one with their turquoise blue waters.

Because Langkawi is a duty free island, the alchohol is cheap, meaning .75 for a can of beer at the convenience store or the same price for a glass of wine at my hostel.   As this fell within my meager budget, I had a glass of wine every night, which is the most I’ve drunk in seven months.  The food was expensive and touristy; Thai curry was hotter than anything I’d eaten in Thailand and the Indian food more expensive than Kuala Lumpur.  One night I did ride a bike off the main drag to a night market and bought veg noodles and peanut pancakes for about $1 which evened it all out.   The upside was bath water warm sea and white sand beaches full of shells so I was able to engage in my favorite pastime, which is a real addiction although I haven’t any idea what I will do with all the shells I have collected.  Perhaps you will be receiving a shell clock for Christmas one of these years… 

 Thanks Malaysia for a wonderful visit.

In order to remain in Thailand one is able to exit the country at a border post, and re-enter on a new visa, albeit [...]]]> Today my Thai visa expired.  I had no idea I’d be here a full month, but sometimes with traveling you wind up where you don’t expect.  Like today, for example, in Myanmar.

In order to remain in Thailand one is able to exit the country at a border post, and re-enter on a new visa, albeit much shorter, the same day.  Since I am in the very far north, I went to Mae Sai  and walked over the  bridge to Myanmar.  I didn’t feel nervous but the bottom of my feet were sweating so I guess I was excited.   Now I really felt like an adventurer!   I didn’t quite know what to expect on the other side other than blocks and blocks of markets which surround the border area on both sides.

Tourists at this checkpoint get a one day or two week Myanmar visa for $10 and are only allowed to visit the border town and two other towns which are a distance away.  The border office keeps your passport til you return.  My plan was to hop bus to Kentung and stay for  week.  It’s an old British outpost and supposedly very beautiful surrounded my mountains.  The other main draw is the hill people who live in the area, and who come to shop at the city market, making it a lively place.  I even had a recommendation for an excellent guide.

I was warned by the guest house owner where I stayed last night that the Myanmar government wasn’t allowing tourists to go to Kentung without a guide directly from the border as was previously allowed.  Of course this is not what I had in mind and unfortunately that is exactly what happened.  The rule changed in October 2009.  I would have had to take the guide in the tourist office at the border and either pay $20 for my place in a taxi with him, the driver, and a third guy, or pay both our ways on the bus round trip, plus $30 per day fee.  Not my idea of fun.  So I said I would only stay for one day, and was let out to roam Talchik as I wanted.

My heavy backpacks in the heat it made it slightly uncomfortable.  Immediately after crossing the bridge I thought “Wow, I am in Myanmar!” and was accosted my riskshaw drivers who wanted $2.50 to drive to the sights of the area.  I passed and wandered around the stalls of stuff for sale, and eventually sat down for veggie fried rice at an outdoor restaurant.  Oily as usual but at least it tasted fine.  The tea I ordered came with sweet and condensed milk already mixed in so I asked to have plain tea, which tasted even worse which befuddled me.

Carrying on and not ready to return to Thailand, I wandered around town some more.  I always want to see what is down that street, then the next one, and then around the next corner.  After going past the tree I told myself was where I would turn around I came across a small English school.

Inside what looked like a garage, three young teenage gals and about 4  eight year old boys were practicing writing English.  The teacher invited me to come in and I stayed for an hour talking to her and the kids.  It seemed that she is an English and Chinese tutor or teacher, and these kids are on summer break, and spending time practicing.  I learned that each of the three girls (one wore a “Michigan College” T-shirt, and the other “I love chocolate”) have an average of 5 kids in their families.  Their names were unfamiliar and I had a hard time pronouncing them.  They were shy but could answer basic questions.

The teacher was very nice and I had her write down all the phrases I think would be helpful for when I return to Myanmar.  When I asked how to say hello she wrote it down but said they don’t say it.  I got, ‘what is your name?’, thank you, how much, where are you from etc.  There was one little shnooker of a boy sitting writing his lessons, and his face was covered in yellowish paint.  I noticed others in town and this paint on their cheeks.  The teacher, “Doreen (Liza)”— which is how she wrote her names said it is supposed to be healthy for skin and a natural sunscreen.  She brought out the jar and started painting my arms and face.  I had one of the students take photos of this.  Doreen finished and commented how pretty I looked.  We exchanged  addresses and she even gave me the paint and brush.

She helped me hire a motorcycle (I as passenger) to take me to a non-impressive monastery where a few monk kids were wandering about, and a pagoda, which was shiny and gold.  From there I could see both Myanmar and Thailand which was pretty in its green folding hills.  I got dropped back at the border and met a kid from Connecticut renewing his visa.  No question asked, they just give you a new stamp and I have another 14 days.   I certainly hope to get to see more of Myanmar but have to return to Bangkok and fly to Rangoon after securing a proper visa.

I have to mention that last night I rolled into town and found my way to the most beautiful guest house I’ve ever seen,  on the river, and across the river (20 feet wide?)  from Myanmar surrounded my green mountains. There were no fences and anyone could swim across, and some kids were in fact  frolicking in the water.  It felt like a retreat, and my little bamboo chalet for $10 was so charming.   When I called for directions the woman kept hanging up saying she doesn’t speak English.  It was her daughter I had called before who said they had space so I knew it didn’t mean they were closed.  So I asked around for directions and headed along the road making guesses, and in the end was able to find it.  It was a good 15-20 minute walk, about one kilometer, which I will have to do again tonight but eat dinner first my taste for fried rice is getting old.