Over the years, I have given you some of the big reasons why I like living
over in Malaysia. The kids can go to a good British curriculum international
school with a demanding course of study in history and languages; the kids
don't have to put up with condom instruction with bananas beginning in second
grade; the kids are almost totally ignorant of American popcult; the wife loves
her "social position" of embassy parties (meeting the Thai queen) and weekly
meetings of the ASEAN ladies group, where it is not at all a rare thing to eat
lunch with the Malaysian queen; and so on.

There are also little events that occur. One such was last Friday
afternoon. I was down in the Chinatown area of Kuala Lumpur. You could hear
the Muslim call to prayers in the distance over in Masjid Jamek, and I was
rather contentedly wandering among pirated DVDs, one dollar Rolex watches, and
blue jeans going for $1.25 a pair. I veered off into a small street on the far
edge of Chinatown and noticed a restaurant specializing in "nonya" cuisine,
which is the food of the Straits-born or "Baba" Chinese. These Chinese dress
in the colorful flowing batik of the Malays, and they speak only Malay. Their
food is thick with cholesterol-laden coconut milk, and the curries are hot and
have that wonderful fragrance that gets the nose running.

So I walked into the little hole in the wall with its unadorned
concrete floor. There was an old record of a Shanghai Chinese chanteuse of the
1930s. Her voice was beautiful, the music giving you goosebumps. The place
was dark but furnished beautifully with heavy teak and rosewood pieces, and
there was an enormous portrait of Chiang Kai-shek on one of the walls. I also
noticed a smaller photograph of General Sun Li-jen of the 38th division and the
greatest of WWII Chinese commanders.

There was an old woman seated behind a counter, ancient, shrivelled,
listening intently to the records. I ordered a nonya laksa, which is an
incredibly filling and aromatic fish and noodle soup. Since there was no
air-conditioning I was soon bathed in sweat, eating the peppery, creamy laksa.
I unbuttoned my collar and loosened my tie.

Who was the old woman? Why the enormous portrait of Chiang? Why the
smaller picture of General Sun, who was by no means loved by Madame Chiang?
The old woman was speaking in Malay with the younger Chinese working in the
restaurant. One of them told me that the old woman was a sister of Tan Cheng
Lock, who was the Kuomintang representative for Malaya during WWII. Tan spent
the war in India, and he like the other Baba Chinese could speak only Malay and
English. Not a word of Chinese. He was instrumental in helping the British
defeat the Red insurgency in the so-called War of the Running Dogs from 1948 to
1960.

The lunch was enormous, the food scrumptious, the price came to less
than two dollars. My white shirt was soaked through. And there sat that
wizened old woman, who had once been a great beauty. Over 50 years earlier, at
the colonial era Hotel Majestic in Kuala Lumpur, she had danced with General
Sir Gerald Templer, the commander of British forces battling the Reds. She sat
there -- that old woman -- listening to haunting refrains of songs of which she
understood not a word.

-- Larry Parr

__________________________________________________ ______________
"FIDE has made its decision. Players who refuse to be drug tested will not be
able to play chess." -- Dr. Press, co-founder of the FIDE Medical Commission.

Larry,
Very good story.
Leopold


"Parrthenon" wrote in message
...
Over the years, I have given you some of the big reasons why I like living
over in Malaysia. The kids can go to a good British curriculum
international
school with a demanding course of study in history and languages; the kids
don't have to put up with condom instruction with bananas beginning in
second
grade; the kids are almost totally ignorant of American popcult; the wife
loves
her "social position" of embassy parties (meeting the Thai queen) and
weekly
meetings of the ASEAN ladies group, where it is not at all a rare thing to
eat
lunch with the Malaysian queen; and so on.

There are also little events that occur. One such was last Friday
afternoon. I was down in the Chinatown area of Kuala Lumpur. You could
hear
the Muslim call to prayers in the distance over in Masjid Jamek, and I was
rather contentedly wandering among pirated DVDs, one dollar Rolex watches,
and
blue jeans going for $1.25 a pair. I veered off into a small street on
the far
edge of Chinatown and noticed a restaurant specializing in "nonya"
cuisine,
which is the food of the Straits-born or "Baba" Chinese. These Chinese
dress
in the colorful flowing batik of the Malays, and they speak only Malay.
Their
food is thick with cholesterol-laden coconut milk, and the curries are hot
and
have that wonderful fragrance that gets the nose running.

So I walked into the little hole in the wall with its unadorned
concrete floor. There was an old record of a Shanghai Chinese chanteuse
of the
1930s. Her voice was beautiful, the music giving you goosebumps. The
place
was dark but furnished beautifully with heavy teak and rosewood pieces,
and
there was an enormous portrait of Chiang Kai-shek on one of the walls. I
also
noticed a smaller photograph of General Sun Li-jen of the 38th division
and the
greatest of WWII Chinese commanders.

There was an old woman seated behind a counter, ancient,
shrivelled,
listening intently to the records. I ordered a nonya laksa, which is an
incredibly filling and aromatic fish and noodle soup. Since there was no
air-conditioning I was soon bathed in sweat, eating the peppery, creamy
laksa.
I unbuttoned my collar and loosened my tie.

Who was the old woman? Why the enormous portrait of Chiang?
Why the
smaller picture of General Sun, who was by no means loved by Madame
Chiang?
The old woman was speaking in Malay with the younger Chinese working in
the
restaurant. One of them told me that the old woman was a sister of Tan
Cheng
Lock, who was the Kuomintang representative for Malaya during WWII. Tan
spent
the war in India, and he like the other Baba Chinese could speak only
Malay and
English. Not a word of Chinese. He was instrumental in helping the
British
defeat the Red insurgency in the so-called War of the Running Dogs from
1948 to
1960.

The lunch was enormous, the food scrumptious, the price came to
less
than two dollars. My white shirt was soaked through. And there sat that
wizened old woman, who had once been a great beauty. Over 50 years
earlier, at
the colonial era Hotel Majestic in Kuala Lumpur, she had danced with
General
Sir Gerald Templer, the commander of British forces battling the Reds.
She sat
there -- that old woman -- listening to haunting refrains of songs of
which she
understood not a word.

-- Larry Parr

__________________________________________________ ______________
"FIDE has made its decision. Players who refuse to be drug tested will not
be
able to play chess." -- Dr. Press, co-founder of the FIDE Medical
Commission.