Paint Me A Pretty Butterfly

I did the unthinkable when I was in Penang last month: I went to the Butterfly Farm. I know, what the %@#$!@, right? I’m not the sort who visits places like this, especially not smack in the middle of the afternoon. The CNY sun is notoriously merciless and will roast you to a crisp. But something possessed me to visit it anyway.

Although I had my doubts at first – I mean, it was the BUTTERFLY FARM, for god’s sake – we wound up having a pretty decent time.

Sure, it was unbearably hot, but after catching sight of the first butterflies at the entrance, something took over me and I transmogrified into something of a novice nature photographer, finger poised on the shoot button of my trusty digital camera, all bug-eyed, waiting for my next butterfly shot. These are some I managed to get …

… and some funny signages on how not to behave here lest we upset the butterflies.

For instance, don’t torment the butterflies by stealing their lunch!

Oh yeah, I also made a little friend along the way.

Hard Rock Hotel, Penang

I’m no Led Zeppelin groupie but I’ve always loved Hard Rock Café. Love the food; love the vibe; love the music. So naturally, when we headed over to Penang last month, I wanted to stay at the Hard Rock Hotel. The hotel with a difference. Not just another typical cookie-cutter hotel with prosaic elevator music and beige drapes, no sireee. Nope. This is a hotel for ROCKERS! Which of course, is something I’m not, but the tagline does say: Love All, Serve All.

By ‘All’, I don’t take it to include … kids. But there are lots of them. And quite a hearty number of them accompanied by grandmothers. Not Tina Turner-type grandmothers. Just plain regular ones.

Thankfully, I am distracted by the nice airy lobby, flooded in sunlight. Straight ahead, the lobby opens out to the pool area. Bright blue skies, purple beach towels, towering palm trees, an ultra-colourful water slide, the air filled with a happy chorus of shrieking and squealing.

Such a family-friendly place. I have nothing against families. I think families are like, nice and necessary (for society) and all that, but where’s the Rocker Vibe? Hmm, maybe it’ll hit us once we get to our room.

Because apart from the Beatles busts at the entrance …

… the rock star concert memorabilia lining the walls …

… and the statue of the King of Pop himself in the parking lot, there isn’t any other ‘rocker’ element. At least not as much as I’d expected.

We get the key to our room and hop into the elevator, which ironically, is deathly silent (and air-cond-less too, I might add).

We get to our room and I am … disappointed. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a perfectly decent room but it’s the kind of room I’d expect in a … Regular Hotel. It’s – of all the safest colours – white and beige. Sure there are the occasional punches of red but it’s hardly what I call wild. The room is small too. Where are all the rock stars? Where is Freddie Mercury? Guns N’ Roses? Bon Jovi? I finally find a painting of Elvis Presley above the sink. Hmm. I am not overtaken by an urge to wear leather pants and line my inner rims with kohl, I’ll tell you that much.

It isn’t all bad though – the view is great and the bed, sublime.

The next morning, we get up and head down for breakfast. We get to the restaurant and whoa, it’s like stepping into a Chinese restaurant. It is so noisy – a mass of hungry, wild-eyed holiday-makers filling up their plates furiously, cutleries clanking, grandmothers jabbering, kids whining – and everywhere you turn, people are rushing in every direction.

There’s even a tray of dirty dishes piling up by the door.

Despite breakfasting in this gourmet war zone, I have to say, it’s a great spread. The food rocks. Every guest is extremely well fed.

Speaking of food, later that day, I have a burger at the Café and it is deeee-lish. I slurp it all up.  *smacks lips*

After a couple of days, I begin to make peace with the fact that, while Hard Rock Hotel isn’t as rocking as I’d hoped, it’s still a pretty neat place to stay. I’m no rebel rocker anyway so I stop griping. (I listen to Lenka, for god’s sake.) Once I get over that, the hotel kinda grows on me.

One of the things I wind up enjoying most about the hotel is the hustle and bustle. There’s a sense of openness … hominess … it’s unpretentious … and unapologetically family-friendly. I feel at home there in a way I never did in any other hotel. I’m giddy with the feeling that here, I can probably get away with anything, you know, like shuffling down to the lobby in my bathrobe.

I also like that there’s always something going on and always something to do: live bands perform every night …

… there are shows by the pool …

… you can ride horses on the beach, go parasailing, and of course, do the banana boat ride. I hear that there are also classes held throughout the day – aerobics and that sort of thing. That’s great. If only somebody had told me about them. I find out only upon checking out, so I guess guest communication can do with a little improvement.

While there were some teething problems and they do have a way to go before they can claim to offer ‘Extreme Rock Star Service’, I did enjoy my stay there. So, while my time at Hard Rock Hotel wasn’t exactly what I’d expected, I can tell you one thing: it sure beats staying at the Holiday Inn.

2 Nights In Old Penang Guesthouse

I’ve stayed in plenty of hotels but this is the first time I’m staying in a restored pre-war shophouse turned guesthouse. I admit that I had my misgivings the first time my friend mentioned that she’d booked us into the Old Penang Guesthouse at RM25 per pax per night. I mean, at that price, let’s face it: it’s certainly no 5-star hotel. Oh yes, we’d also have to share the common bath and toilet. What? No en suite?? I brace myself – this is gonna be one rocky ride.

Pic by Susan Ng

We arrive at Old Penang Guesthouse on Love Lane on Saturday afternoon. I instantly like what I see. I can’t help it.

Pic by Susan Ng

I’m a sucker for those antique wooden shutters, grilled windows and accordion-style folding gates.

Pic by Susan Ng

Once inside, I fall in love with the mosaic-tiled flooring that’s apparently over 100 years old. Swoon.

Pic by Susan Ng

There’s an open-air central courtyard, with sunlight streaming in – perfect for your morning cup of steaming kopi-o and a slice of kaya toast.

We troop upstairs to our rooms. Mine is room number … 4. As you can probably tell, there aren’t that many rooms. The place is pretty small so that homey vibe is well and alive here, which is nice. With one wall painted a nice bright turquoise, the room is air-conditioned and is extremely clean (something I’m very grateful for). News for couch potatoes: there’s no TV in the room. TV-watching is all done downstairs.

We check out the bathroom area. There are two sinks, two bathrooms with heaters and one toilet. Everybody does their stuff here, so be prepared: you might just find yourself brushing your teeth in the morning next to some half-naked angmoh guy. The upside is, like the rooms, the bathrooms and toilet are very clean. The downside is … um, there’s only one toilet. You do the math.

Speaking of downsides, it’s impossible to sleep here. When my friend told me to bring earplugs, I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t. My first night (ie. pre-marathon night) is pure agony. I can hear every single footstep, every single wail from the TV downstairs, every single conversation, every single whiny kid, every single freaking thing. Obviously, this is no place for your honeymoon.

We spend two nights here before leaving home for KL. It’s a little easier to sleep that second night – maybe I’d just gotten used to the noise. Who knows.

Before we leave however, we find some time to take some customary dorky shots outside the guesthouse. The dorky shots turn out pretty great actually, which is why I’m posting one of them here. Isn’t it gorgeous? Like traveling back in time.

Pic by Susan Ng

Iosodunnowai

I have a condition. It’s called Iosodunnowai*. It’s a condition that results from three things: a distorted sense of your own capabilities; susceptibility to the influences of the environment; and a general absence of brain activity at the time of decision-making. Put these three together with an activity that you would – under normal circumstances – never ever dream of undertaking in a gazillion years, and there you have it: Iosodunnowai.

I realised this last weekend when my Penang Marathon pack arrived. As I sifted through the contents of the courier bag, it hit me that the 21K I’d so enthusiastically (some say psychotically) signed up for months ago, is now just one week away! As in 7 days!! As in 168 hours!!! As in 10,080 minutes!!! As in … well, you get the picture.

I must’ve been drunk or something when I signed up back in May. No, wait. I wasn’t drunk. I was just over-confident and seduced by my friend’s enthusiasm (“Come la!! You’ve done so many 10K runs, don’t you want to aim higher? Don’t you have any goals? Any ambition?? Don’t tell me you’re going to remain a 10K runner all your life??!!”). Also, my brain wasn’t functioning particularly well that day.

So yeah, I’ve suffered from bouts of anxiety over the past few months whenever I entertained thoughts of my impending doom (usually when I decide to go eat thosai and drink Milo at the mamak instead of going for my run) but it was different back when it was several months away. Now that it’s THIS WEEKEND, I’m experiencing the true extent of Iosodunnowai.

“You signed up for the 21K?? Why are you doing this to yourself la???”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“You psychotic or what?”

“Iosodunnowai.”

“Have you been training?”

“No. I spent the last few weeks eating donuts and sleeping till 10am.”

“My god!! Some more now you’re going to attempt the 21K??!!”

“Like I said, Iosodunnowai.”

The realisation that one suffers from Iosodunnowai is usually followed by a feeble attempt to extricate oneself from the infernally dumb decision one has made. Which is what I’ve been trying to do these past couple of days. The way I see it, I have three choices:

1. Avoid all association with the event. By not wearing my bib and bright orange running vest, people will assume I’m a phantom runner and will not laugh at me if I wind up last.
2. Wear the running vest but conveniently forget my bib. That way, race officials won’t be able to tell which category I’m supposed to be in and will therefore, not stop me when I sneak into the 10K Fun Run route.
3. Stay at home.

The only real options are the first two. I can’t stay home simply because there are three people out there who have also signed up for the run and will kill me once they get back from Penang. So you see, I’m in a rather tight spot.

I think I’ll wear pink.

……………………………………………………………………..……………………………………..

* Iosodunnowai is known in English as “I also don’t know why”. It’s a common response Malaysians give when they’re asked why they’re doing something incredibly stupid/suicidal and is usually delivered with a shrug and grimace.

I’m Delusional And I’m Liking It!

It’s official. I am suffering from DSS: Delusional Disorder Syndrome. That’s the only plausible explanation for why I just did what I did. What did I do, you ask? Um, I signed up for the Penang Bridge International Marathon. (Loyal reader: “Cheh, big deal …”) Wait, wait, I’m not done. I signed up for the PBIM 21K. (Loyal reader: “21?? You siau or what? Lu ai si ah??”)

See, I’m right: I am a crazy person. Not only do I suffer from DSS, I also suffer from a chronic case of DFFOL (Do First, Freak Out Later). I’ve had it ever since I was a child. Some people admire this – they call it a sense of exuberance, passion and boundless enthusiasm. Some people just think I’m plain nuts.

I’m beginning to be convinced that I may fall into the latter category. I was filled with exuberance, passion and boundless enthusiasm when I happily keyed in my credit card information and registered myself online. The reality of what I did didn’t sink in until oh, a few days later when I suddenly realised three things:

1. The 21K starts at 3am, which means we have to be at there at 2am. Omg.
2. 21K is very, very f-a-a-a-a-a-a-r. It’s 52.5 loops around a 400m track! It’s from PJ to Damansara! It’s 21,000m! Okay, now I’m freaking out.
3. The qualifying time for 21K is three hours, which means I’m supposed to run that whole distance in three hours or less. I’ve never even walked 21K and now I’m going to run it?? Omg.

But you know what? I think that thinking is the enemy. Which is why I plan to put a stop to thinking. That’s right. I’m going to stop thinking. Forever. It has brought me nothing but grief – the vicious cycles of over-analysis, tortuous self-debates, why this why that, what if this what if that … I’ve discovered that the more I think, the more self-doubt creeps in. Doubts like:

• Are you sure this isn’t just another one of your harebrained schemes to prove something to the world?
• You’re not as tough as you think la, remember that time when [insert unfortunate incident here]?
• Even [insert friend’s name here] is only doing the Fun Run, you think you’re better than him/her/them meh?
• What if you wind up Last in the race? Really no face la, especially since you went and announced it on your blog like a big shot!
• Eh, it’s very intimidating to run with real marathoners, you know. These people are fast!
• What if you get a headache / stomachache / toothache / leg ache / bad hair day? How to run like that?
• You’re jumping the gun la. You should wait until you’re ready and sure you can do it before going out there and embarrassing yourself and your mother / father / brother / sister / dog / cat.

Yeah, these thoughts plague me every now and then. But being a sufferer of DSS, DFFOL and an avowed anti-thinker, I’m able to rise above these debilitating thoughts. So I’m here to say yes, I will be attempting the 21K and I will finish it and I will look back and be glad I did it.