It’s humid here; the kind of humid that makes me wonder if there’s even a word for ‘dry’in the local dialect. The kind of humid that makes Ohio in July seem light and breezy. But, they seem to hang their laundry outside, and I don’t know how these women are dawning the hijab or burka, plenty of them are, but I with my backback am sweating like mad.
Nonetheless, day two out and about included finding a new train station to get to Chinatown. Seems that’s also a universal term for ‘copyright infringement;’ stalls upon stalls of handbags, sunglasses, watches, and jerseys. The Central Market had more traditional wares and is converted from a wet market-which I would have loved to see. Not thinking, I spent the last of my local currency on a few small gifts. I also left my trusty map at the stall. Luckily, I realized this and wove my way back to the stall and found it. There was a woman selling Belgian Waffles, but alas I had no ringgit-she had what seemed to be adulterated ToB Waffles with reese’s or oreos and one with ‘milkflakes’ (frosted flakes, I think).
From there, I wandered. Taking the long way to the butterfly park, arriving hot and sweaty. At least today, I put a hankey in my bag to wipe my face. The butterfly park didn’t take credit card for the $8 admission, they did however take USD, except my USD was in my money belt on my waist, and I was wearing a dress. So, I went to the bathroom, located my cash and exited to pay my admission. Thankfully, they made change in ringgit and didn’t charge a fee-that might be a pro tip: pay for things in USD and get the change in local currency. No exchange fees. Also, wearing a dress might be a bad idea. The butterfly park was nice-think Krohn Butterfly Show but outside and bigger. From there, I made it to the bird park.
The bird park was pretty phenomenal-free range birds everywhere and some in changes. However, one may forget that with birds everywhere comes bird scat…everywhere. It made me nervous, always checking above my head as I witnessed others’ close calls. Just as I was finishing at the bird park, a thunderstorm hit. I took cover in a little shelter with, by my approximation: a French couple, and Australian family and another family group-the women in burkas with a son about 12-14yo who just wanted to play in the rain. After about 30 minutes and no sign of it letting up, I decided that I had seen most of the park, but didn’t have a plan for what to do next. I walked with my umbrella back to the birdpark restaurant where I had had Malaysian Curry for lunch. They had wifi, so I sat on their covered steps with my phone figuring out where to go next.
I really wanted to have a beer. Sit at a bar, maybe chat with strangers and not have to think too hard. My guidebook recommended an Irish pub in a fancy hotel. I figured it couldn’t be bad-hotel bars are usually chatty places and if my guidebook recommended it, it couldn’t be all bad. Well, the place was empty, save a family finishing a meal. I ordered a beer and proceeded to watch NASCAR (?!) and a monster truck rally while singing along to Piano Man and a variety of classic hits from the 90’s. I ordered a Ruben out of jest. Nothing was screaming at me on the menu, and what’s not to love about a comparison meal. It was kind of terrible. I mean, the sandwich was fine, for a sandwich with pastrami, lettuce, tomato, cheese and mustard-but a Ruben?! Come on now, people! I think the wait staff (all male) thought I was somewhat of a unicorn-all alone and ordering a second beer, asking for the wifi password and jotting things in my journal. As I closed out my tab, the manager came over to tell me that they couldn’t accept my credit card because I didn’t meet their 100 MR minimum. Ha. I had like 20MR in my wallet and the bill was somewhere around 60. I never asked because most places had a 50-60 minimum and I knew I’d meet it with a couple of beers. So, after showing him my empty wallet, he apologized and said, ‘it is fine.’ Ran my card, and all was well.
I’m still confused about tipping here. My guidebook says ‘no need,’ and there’s a ‘service charge’ on the bill, but then the credit card receipt has a line for it. So, I leave a little, nothing like what I leave at home. I guess, if nothing else, I’ll (likely) never be back, so I’m just ‘that customer’ for one night. I should probably just ask someone…
She's Doing What?! 