Melaka

This one’s being typed on the hoof. It’s 10pm and a 7 hour bus ride from Melaka to Penang lies ahead. Normally this would be a source of discomfort but, shit, this bus was quite clearly designed by the Malaysian equivalent of Peter Crouch. There isn’t leg space so much as stilt space on here. Anyway, leaving Melaka behind having spent 3 days and two nights here. Spent my nights at the Jalan Jalan (Bahasa for travelling) guesthouse. Their dorm is a barrack-style institution but each bed has its own personal fan and this is essential down here. Weather has followed a consistent pattern each day - steaming daytime heat followed by a night of violent thunderstorms. If the thunder doesn’t wake you during the night, the conveniently positioned mosque next door will.
Reception is guarded by the affable Phil - an incredibly pale Dutch lad who hasn’t seen the sun since he got here it seems, probably some 5 years ago. He spends his day getting himself out of his head so that, by evening, his responses barely stretch to a nod as he watches a stream of DVDs with the volume turned up VERY LOUD INDEED.
What of Melaka then? Beautiful little city but if I’d known how little it was, I probably wouldn’t have booked a return ticket for 3 days. Melaka has, down through the years, had more men claiming it for a brief but ultimately worthless period than Katie Price. First there were the Portuguese, then the Dutch came sniffing and held the city almost apologetically, until naturally never wanting to feel left out in all matters colonial, the English took charge. But it’s the Portuguese influence which is still most apparent here, particularly with regard to some of the cuisine. The Dutch influence seems almost invisible except for the aforementioned Phil at reception, bonged out of his head.
Chinatown is where all the action is at in this city. The lengthy (and by night impossible to stroll down) Jonker’s Walk changes at the weekend into a bustling street market where you can buy anything from a Rubik’s cube to cute little wind-up drumming rabbits to almost anything you'd like to eat, but with noodles.
There’s a dizzying array of food stalls and Melaka has its very own distinctive Nonya cuisine - popiah (a spring roll filled with, eh, stuff) and a distinctive laksa are two of the specialities widely on offer here). It’s impossible to pass by a stall that doesn’t sell the local favourite - pineapple tarts. Each shop naturally claims to have the secret recipe for the best tarts but they all taste a bit meh to me.
Then there's Melaka's other ubiquitous feature - the trishaw. Tourist tat at its finest, the trishaws do a roaring trade escorting people around the various sights. They're impossible to miss, bedecked as most of them are in more shockingly bright plastic flowers and many of them kitted out with impressively loud speaker systems thumping out Bollywood-esque pop or - and perhaps this was just me - that vile Black Eyed Peas song on a loop throughout the day.