Malaysia - nazis, hindus and butterflys

Jan 19th - I arrive into Malaysia knowing absolutely nothing about the place - everywhere i'd been so far i'd researched until I knew the name and phone number of most of the population. Malaysia had, for no particular reason, never been on the cards, but a couple from San Francisco, Zan and Matt, had convinced me to come see a Hindu festival called Thaipusam where people stick kebab sticks through their cheeks (or something) so here i am. I fly into Kuala Lumpur airport and get a bus into town. Having been on an island with a population of about 50 for the past few weeks, the modern metropolis of KL is quite a shock. I get out at the main bus station, all too aware i have no idea where i am, and fall for the first tout i meet, a scraggly bearded, beatnik looking Malaysian with great English and a folder full of hotel brochures. He brings me a hop and a skip to a gigantic hotel overlooking Chinatown where the management looks at him suspiciously and tell me, once he leaves, that he's been bringing people to the hotel for the last week, and they still have no idea why. My room is small and sparse, though it has a bathroom and a TV with seven channels, all of which, crucially, are in Malay.

After a quick shower, i head out to see some of the town. I stop off and buy a SIM card at a stall on the street (two dollars - egads!) and give Matt and Zan a quick ring. They're up in the Camaroon Highlands and tell me i can get a bus in the morning right across the street from my hotel. Matt is a chef and Zan has been a waitress for aeons, so of course we have a long conversation about what i should get in McDonalds (we decide on the "Prosperity Burger". It turns out to be shite). I head off into Chinatown but unfortunately everything is closing. There are still plenty of stalls with everything from socks to knives to DVDs but the main shops (and main bargains) are closed. I walk around some more of the area before heading back towards my hotel. Nearly there, i spot a gang of Hindus lining up and chanting. I start chatting with some random Canadians who tell me it's preparation for Thaipusam. As i get to the top of the line, i see men smashing coconuts off their heads, and little girls setting coconuts on fire before smashing them with gigantic blades. Very odd. I head back to my hotel where i ring my brother in law Slatts, and realise Malay mobile to Irish mobile calls are around 1c a minute. Result! I proceed to ring pretty much everyone i know for about $2.

The next morning i go online before i leave and find a short email from Dane, the Lithuanian guy from Don Det, to say Joe's come off his bike and messed up his teeth. I email back asking if Joe's still arriving to Malaysia the next day and head for the bus station, where i get a $2 ticket to the highlands. A few hours of winding hills later, and I’m 4500 meters above sea level, in a town where they grow flowers and tea. The scenery is amazing, gigantic mountainsides covered in patches of white and red. I meet up with Zan and Matt and check into their hostel where they have a strange appropriation of a hammock - a half eggshell hanging vertically from the ceiling which you sit into and rock. Noisily. A bite to eat and a few beers later and i'm right at home. We spend the night up at the hostel's bar, which has a pool table, a bonfire and, crucially, a large table where we rope in two Germans, some English, and a Dutch guy named Mark for a gigantic game of shithead (backpacker card game). A good night is had by all, with the exception of mark, who is repeatedly crowned shithead.

The next day we decide to go see a butterfly farm. We have breakfast with Mark who tells us he's been out for a run with the Malay Olympic running team that morning - they left at six, ran up and down mountains until nine when they stopped for breakfast. Mark, ready to drop, says thanks for letting him come along and they say "but we've only started, it's now time for the afternoon 25k run!". I go to check my email quickly to find out when Joe’s arriving. I have an email from Dane with a phone number for Joe, which i ring. The phone is answered by Sara, one half of the welsh couple who went on the bike trip with Joe and Dane. I won't go into specifics but she says Joe's in hospital and in fairly bad nick. I offer to come up to help out, she says it's up to me, but at the moment there's not much i can do. I go talk it over with Matt and Zan and we decide best thing to do is go visit him in Bangkok after the festival. I arrange to meet matt and zan at the butterfly farm and go back to email a few people. Somehow i get in touch with Lisa quickly and she says she's in Bangkok and will try head over to see Joe.

I head back onto the main stretch and hail a cab for the butterfly farm. The driver is an old Indian man who looks about 100 years old. He's driving this huge old BMW/Merc looking car, and on the dashboard is a small swastika. I get talking to him he tells me he came to Malaysia in the late 40's and bought the car imported from Germany. He's very proud of the car and, seeing my camera, asks me to take his picture with it.

I arrive up to the butterfly farm and meet matt and zan. We expect a farm with hundreds of butterflies flapping around the place, but it seems it's only a title - the place has every type of garden non-animal you could imagine, from stick and leaf insects, to snakes, lizards, spiders, and of course, butterflies. The guy who shows us around is a young Indian who lives here on the farm. He says he's not paid very well, so keeps a secret vegetable patch on the hills and lives from that. After a long tour of every insect, we decide to tip him $10, and his eyes go wide. He thanks us in a variety of languages and we head out. Seeing no taxis, we decide to hitch, and get picked up in about four seconds by a huge Lexus. The driver tells us he lives in Kuala Lumpur and drives down many weekends to see his son and grandchildren. He says the area is 50% holiday makers and 50% Muslim, evidenced by the number of robed, turbaned, bearded dudes ambling about.

We pass another day or so playing cards and having the odd drink before heading back down to KL. The journey is set to take 3 hours, but after about an hour we pull into a garage and a mechanic hops in and strips the gearbox apart. I get out and chat to some of the people outside who say the gearbox has cracked and will need replacing. Sure enough, a small crane is wheeled in through the door of the bus, the gearbox is lifted out, and a new one is craned in. After about 25 mins we're back on the road... for about 3 minutes, when the driver pulls in for his lunch. We spend half an hour at a road stop before heading back on the road.

We get into KL, meet up with London Mike who's come down for the festival from Thailand - a 24 bus ride. Poor sod. We try to find the skytrain station to take us to Matt and Zan's friend Chrissie’s apartment, but after a spell, give up and ring a taxi. Eventually we get to the Chrissie’s place, a huge sky scraping apartment block, and hop into the lifts. 80 odd floors later and we're at our adopted home for the next few days. The lads had met Chrissie a few weeks beforehand and after a night's drinking, she'd offered to let them (and whoever was with them) crash on her floor for the weekend of thaipusam. A Malaysian herself, she'd never been to the festival, and would accompany us the second night. We dropped our bags and headed out for food and drinks, ending up at Chrissie’s new job as a hostess where we sat around playing cards and watching mike's (astounding) range of card tricks before heading back to the apartment for a few more drinks.

The next day i decided it was time to get my first tattoo. We get the name of a good tattoo shop from Chrissie and head off. For a long time I’ve wanted to get something related to The Fest, the punk festival I’ve been attending religiously for the last few years and had a year before settled on the logo of the label that puts it on, No Idea, but never had the guts to do it. I print off the logo from the internet and go to the shop, a small booth in a very big shopping mall. The tattooist is pretty sound, a short Malaysian with huge dreads and tattoos on his face. He goes off to sketch out the stencil as mike gets more and more giddy at the prospect of seeing me in pain. Eventually we’re ready to go and i head off into the back room, take off my t-shirt, and he presses the stencil onto my back between my shoulder blades, just low enough so it can‘t be seen. After a few minor adjustments, he’s ready to start. Mike’s foaming at the mouth at this stage, and has his camera out videoing me, waiting for the squeals. The needle buzzes, i wince, it touches my skin and... I smile. It’s like being drawn on with a pen (albeit a pen being pushed rather hard). As soon as i smile, mike closes up his camera and leaves mumbling to himself about life being unfair. Zan goes off shopping and Matty, trooper that he is, stays on, talking away to keep my mind off the increasing pain of the needle on my shoulder blades. After about 45 minutes we’re all done. I thank the tattooist and get my photo taken with him before he hands me back the printout of the logo, saying "i give you this to assure you i will never copy this design for anyone else - no two people should have the same tattoo". I don't have the heart to tell him i know probably twenty or thirty people who have the exact same tattoo!

That night is the first night of the Thaipusam festival, the Hindu festival that we came for. Mark's already been over for the day and says it's pretty nuts but is supposed to go crazy at midnight with a fireworks display followed by most of the gory stuff that we're there to see. The location for the festival is the Batu Caves, about 20km outside KL central, so we hitch a cab (BATU CAR TO THE BATU CAVES!!) and arrive to find the place absolutely teeming with people. I later find out the attendance this year is a paltry 600,000 people, half the normal attendance. How they fit in 1.2 million people i've no idea, the place is jammers and getting around is an absolute mission, but worth it when we see our first participant outside the main gate. At first it appears to be a mad turbaned guy walking along with a Buddha and various incense sticks on a cart being pushed behind him, until we realise the cart is actually attached to him - he has approx 30 hooks run though the skin in his back with ropes hanging off them, with which he's pulling the cart. I catch a look at his face and his eyes are bulging out of his head, though not so much in pain. He stops briefly and someone hands him a huge machete, the blade of which he runs along his tongue a few times and smacks off his back a few times before going back to dragging his cart.

We head into the main area to find there are actually two lines for the participants heading from the front gate up to the steps of the caves and back. Alongside run two more lines for visitors. We stand around to watch the participants expecting more hooks and such, but there's actually a wide range of things the participants are doing, from carrying small urns on their heads, to carrying 12 foot wide floats of peacock feathers that suspend above their heads from huge steel structures affixed to their wastes, many with forty or fifty small hooks coming off them. Some of the participants are in weird trances, screaming and smoking cigarettes, or laughing and dancing around. All the while the air is thick with incense and most people are either praying or chanting.

At 12 the place goes a little quieter and the fireworks begin. People start to chant and cheer, but the fireworks are actually pretty bland, and go on for about ten minutes. Then a huge line towards the main cave appears. We join the line and shuffle along until we get to the entrance where robed ladies are handing out goat’s milk and putting incense stuff on people's foreheads. We get a small cup of goat’s milk each into our hands, drink half (which tastes horrible) and rub the rest on the first step, get our forehead incense, and begin the climb. It's about 1200 steps to the top, and i feel every one! The steps are about five feet wide and about a foot deep, so it's a precarious climb, especially seeing as the steps are absolutely rammed with people - you always have one hand on the person in front of you so as not to fall forwards, and you always have one hand on your shoulder from the randomer behind you. Every so often the line splits into two where someone has collapsed or someone is taking a rest. There are actually three sets of steps, one going up on the left, one down on the right, with the middle reserved for participants carrying the giant floats of steel and peacock feathers. Those things must have weighed about 250 pounds, but each participant had members of their family around them chanting "ray ray" (or something that sounds like that), and if they falter, the family chants harder, everyone around them joins in (including us), and they get the strength to continue.

At the top of the steps is the entrance to the main cave, a huge cavernous opening in the cliff face. The first part is about a fifty feet wide and a hundred feet high, but you're soon into the main cave, about five hundred feet high and just as wide. At the centre are the participants, getting "de-tranced" and having the hooks removed from backs/shoulders/faces/chests. Further on is a third, smaller cave, with the alter that the participants deliver their floats or urns to. We walk around a while before heading back down to the main area below.

On the way down, myself and mike somehow get on to the subject of the song we want played at our funerals. Mike wants some Stevie Wonder mush, whereas i want Truth Is a Menace by my friend's band North Lincoln. He asks if i've actually told anyone and, realising i haven’t, i decide i should put it in my blog. Job done! I mention we don't generally play songs at funerals in Ireland, so we decide i should be buried with a small ipod with the song on repeat. Ha, costing my family money even in death.

Malaysians are incredibly friendly, often starting conversations out of nowhere with passing strangers, especially if it means they can practice their English. One such conversation is with a local Hindu dude who we ask about the ubiquitous "ray ray" chant. He says the main Hindu god reputedly crossed India in one step, using his giant stick/staff, which was called something that sounds like "ray ray". The chant goes up when people are faltering, to remind them of their leader’s great journey. He also explains that the reason for the comparatively low turnout this year is an act of political protest - despite the huge Hindu population of Malaysia, the government never puts any money towards the festival. This year being an election year, the government has made a huge deal of contributing funds towards it’s running and advertising, but has actually funnelled the money through bogus organisations who have instead spent it on the re-election campaign. Naturally, Hindus are incensed and thus are protesting by not attending the festival. Hence, the previous year’s attendance of around 1.2 million people has been halved for this year’s event.

We decide to check out where the trance dudes are coming from, so make our way towards "the source" (a name we made up ourselves, obviously), which is about a kilometre from the main area, through stalls and, oddly, a funfair complete with dodgems and two gigantic Ferris wheels. When we get onto the main thoroughfare, it's jammed, with people literally shoving each other to get through. There are two loose lines of participants, one for people in light trances, carrying urns, and another for heavy trances, carrying floats or dragging carts. It's not long before we see our first spiritual freak-out.

One guy of about 25 has been pulling a cart with a statue and some candles via about 50 hooks in his back. When we get there he is hunched down spitting out what looks like blood, with a crazed look on his face, while people chant lightly around him. A member of his family takes the ropes off the cart and holds them in his hand. After a minute, the "mobile chant crew" shows up. This is about eight guys with various drums, and a guy with a megaphone. The drums go off, the megaphone guy starts some weird chanting/singing/screaming and the guy on the ground stands up. Someone rubs red incense on his tongue and pours water down his throat (hence, the spitting blood), and he leans forward hard as the guy holding the ropes leans backwards hard, holding the ropes in each hand, while the skin on his back stretches out off each hook. It's an incredibly intense sight, and it quickly gets a lot more so. The guy gets more and more into his trance until his face looks like he's heavily drugged, at which point people line up to have incense rubbed on their foreheads by him. He does three or four until, with some randomer standing in front of him waiting for incense, he suddenly starts screaming. He puts his two hands up parallel to his face, fixes the guy in a stare and starts a low growl. They lock hands and butt heads. The hooked guy's growl turns into a low scream, which gets higher and higher. Suddenly the randomer reels off him, screaming with his eyes rolled right back in his head. The hooked guy crouches and stares with his tongue out (think: Hakka) as the randomer rolls around the floor screaming, before passing out and being carried off. All the while there's drums and singing and chanting. The hooked guy starts to lean into his hooks, and takes several steps forward, with his family member trying to pull him backwards, but to no avail. He reattaches the hooks to the cart, they set off, the mobile chant crew disappears, and we're left looking at each other thinking "Christ, did that really happen?"

We make our way down the road and every so often, we hear the mobile chant crew start up, and, along with everyone else, start running in that direction. Nothing is as intense as above, but there are some crazy sights. A woman near one freak-out suddenly goes into a trance and starts flailing around, sticking out her tongue and staring at people, before collapsing and being dragged off. Another woman suddenly starts screaming and wailing before passing out. Several men rolling naked along the street with family members pouring water on their wounds as they go by. It's all very surreal and i'm acutely aware that i wouldn't believe any of it had happened had i not seen it myself.

We finally get to the source, which is about a square kilometre of grassland surrounded by a river. Hundreds of men and women are bathing in the river, and there's a makeshift barbershop set up with plastic chairs where people are having their hair, beards and eyebrows shaved off. There is a white canvas sheet covering the ground, but it's hard to see underneath all the hair. We see a group circled around, and go check it out. A man is crouched down, his face in pain as another man is putting fifty or so hooks into his back, each with a small fruit about the size of an avocado hanging off it. Eventually he signals to the man that he has as many as he can bare on there. He stands up slowly, and the chanting begins. Someone arrives with a platter of incense and puts some on the man's face. The chant is slow and rhythmical, eventually getting faster and louder. The man bounces on his heels with his head down. After a few minutes he stops bouncing, his head snaps back and he screams into the air. His face is completely changed. He starts "spitting blood" around and staring into peoples faces. He is turned towards the path and his family accompany him as he makes his way to the caves.

We split up as there's too much going on to stay together. I see a young guy of about 18 try in vain to get into his trance for about five minutes, until he is abandoned by the people with him who leave him, standing there with twenty five ropes hanging off his back, to get into his trance alone. He stares at me a long time, making mad faces, but i have nothing to give him back so i wander off. I meet matt and zan who have just seen another guy go into a trance, motion to a pile of burning coals on the ground, and then his tongue. Someone picked out a white hot coal with a set of tongs and placed it on his tongue. He growled as it hissed on his tongue, then tipped his head back and swallowed it whole. I'm super pissed that i missed it, but there's too much going on to dwell on it. We see more people go into trances, people scream and collapse, mobile chant crews with people going off one on.... Intense doesn't cover it.

At about 5am we head back to the main area. Hundreds of thousands of people have travelled to Malaysia for the festival, and many are too poor to have somewhere to stay, so there are thousands of people stretched out sleeping on the floor. We pass hundreds of couples standing with a sheet held out between them, where passing people donate money to cover their expenses. At around 7am we make for Christine’s place, and pass out.

The next day we get up very late, mooch around the neighbourhood for a while getting food and essentials, before heading back to this caves, this time with Christine and her boyfriend Matthew. We get there after midnight, and much of the madness is over - it's mostly just people carrying urns or floats. We head back to the source, but now it's just drums and chanting, with the odd dancing freak-out. In the main area i pass a beggar with no hands and, feeling immensely sorry for the guy (Christ, no hands) give him ten dollars. Half an hour later we're in the incredibly overpriced convenience store (7/11 in the city sells chocolate for about 10c, here it's around $4) and i see the man drinking a can of coke, tilting it with his wrists. I'm a little annoyed that probably the whole $10 i gave him has paid for a coke (rather than food or stuff for his kids), but it's his money now, so it's none of my business. We hang around for a few more hours, going back up to the caves, before heading home around 6.

The next day is camp relaxo. We get a pizza breakfast, hang out by the pool playing cards, have a few quiet beers, and watch some DVDs. The following day, myself and mike are due for Bangkok. We say goodbye to Matt and Zan as they're off to the Philippines, which zan is especially excited about as that where her mother is from. We thank Christine profusely for her hospitality, hop on a bus, and off to the airport we go.

Next stop - Bangkok, Round III!