Welcome to Malaysia

By Art Segal - Everywhere in Kuala Lumpur, one sees the sharp contrast between ultramodern glass-and-steel skyscrapers and decrepit old wood-frame buildings. Shiny new luxury cars pull up at five-star hotels, while most cars are ancient. Giant cranes dot the skyline. Ten-foot-high steel fences hide slums, which of course are visible from upper floors of the luxury hotels. To me, it's a poor country pretending to be rich. “It's been that way for at least fifteen years,” said a Canadian living in Thailand. Hopefully, Malaysia will not be another Philippines. Approaching the city by train, you see mile after mile of shacks with chickens, goats and dogs running loose, trash heaps and garbage strewn about. Suddenly you're surrounded by skyscrapers, wondering what happened, and you glide into the ultramodern railway station where women in traditional clothing line up at McDonald’s.

History Museum in Singapore, (Art Segal)

Only 800 people a day are allowed up on the crosswalk at the Petronas Towers due to engineering concerns, so you must arrive early in the morning. To me, the towers—now a national symbol—are ugly. I wonder how many Malaysians have visited them. Probably a small percentage. At the cultural center, I could not attend a concert because I was wearing sandals. So I walked to Menera Tower, where the observation deck is open all day (You need a reservation to enter the restaurant.). The views are great, but they are much like towers everywhere, with a cafeteria and gift shop.

The Bird Park in KL doesn't match the standard of Singapore’s, but it does have many parrots and other birds zooming around under the wire mesh. Walking on a path, I felt a sharp peck on my left foot and was shocked to see a peacock, its feathers fully spread, attacking me. Perhaps its young were nearby. I hastened backward but the angry bird rushed toward my foot again. I took off my pack and held it out, but it jumped onto my pack and attempted to peck my arm. So I walked backward as fast as I could. The peacock finally gave up.

In Malacca a few days later, a white South African friend and I were looking for the Information Center. Someone said, “It's there” pointing to the Police Department. We walked in hesitantly, and two uniformed officers asked, “May we help you?” “Yes, we're looking for St. Paul's Church.” “Let me show you on a map.” This depot is called, “Tourist Police,” which raised a few questions in my mind: Do the Tourist Police protect tourists? If so, why? Or do they protect citizens from tourists? Outside, a huge sign reads, "Melaka Tourist Police Bamboo Shoot Café.” Such a sign in the U.S. would not remain in place more than 24 hours; a private business using a government endorsement would result in court injunctions and lawsuits. I wonder how the owner of a competing café feels about it; maybe he isn’t wealthy enough for his own Tourist Police sign.

On a river tour in Malacca, our guide apologized for the dirty water, saying, “The government has asked people not to throw trash into the river, but unfortunately they continue to do so. I hope you will see improvement if you return after four years.” Why four years? I thought, “It's not only trash they, and factories, are throwing into the water, my friend. He pointed out mudfish and lizards slinking out of the water, onto broken walls and trees. We saw dilapidated buildings and piles of trash at every turn. The guide told us stories and made jokes, as if these sights were wonderful. Seeing black sludge flowing into the brown water, we were amazed that Malaccan officials would actually run a tour there without first doing something to clean it up.

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