2 posts tagged “malaysia”

The train ride from the Malaysian border was pleasant, though not exciting. I booked a first-class berth, and had the room to myself until bedtime, when a nice young local guy who had booked the other berth in my cabin boarded. I had dinner in the room -- passable Thai food -- and got a pretty good night's sleep. The train left at 2:40 PM yesterday and arrived here in Bangkok at about 9:40 this morning. I got in a taxi and headed straight for the Atlanta Hotel.

The Atlanta is an exceedingly quirky place. (Here's an L.A. Times article about it.) It was built in 1952 by a German expat, and is currently owned by a British expat (who also happens to be a law professor in the UK half the year). Its original decor survives, so it's full-on late-40s Deco, especially in the lobby and restaurant. (Pictures forthcoming; this internet cafe runs Windows 98, so it can't read my camera's memory card.) The tenor of a late-40s expat hangout is preserved, as well; there's a guests' writing room, in which no children are allowed, and the restaurant is open only to hotel guests and those well known to the management.

The Atlanta is similarly picky about who stays there. There is a large "No Sex Tourists" sign by the front door, and non-guests simply aren't allowed in. This is in contrast to many of the other hotels in the area, where no questions are reportedly asked about young women headed upstairs in the temporary company of visiting foreign men. The rule is spelled out in detail in a sign behind the reception desk; among other things, there is a sign that says -- I kid you not -- "NO CATAMITES." I assume, due to context, that they mean catamites-for-hire; I'd be surprised and pretty offended if they prohibited all May-December male-male couples.

I checked in to a lovely room on the top floor of the five-story hotel, in their lowest class of room, without A/C. (There was nothing else available.) The staff was quite helpful, carrying my unreasonably-heavy-for-bellhop-carriage bag up the four flights of stairs and handing me an iced tea for the walk up. This is, without doubt, the nicest $15-a-night hotel room I've ever stayed in. It's spacious, relatively cool (thanks to a powerful ceiling fan) and has its own bathroom.

After getting settled in, I headed to the hotel's restaurant for lunch. I had a pretty good red curry with rice and a pot of tea. The restaurant's feel was just right; late 40s dinner music, bongos and all, wafted through the air as I read the Bangkok Post at my table.

I sat next to a photo of His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej playing sax in a trio with Louis Armstrong on trumpet and Benny Goodman on clarinet, while a young George H.W. Bush looked on. (Some Googling indicates that the King participated in a jam session at Goodman's apartment in New York in 1960, but doesn't mention Armstrong or Bush. I wonder if the photo is doctored. I hope not; a photo of the King jamming with Benny Goodman is plenty cool without any additions.)

The title page of the guidebook I'm using has a quote from Ian Buruma's essay about Thailand, "Fooling Yourself for Fun." It ends, "So what if people want your money. And if the city is a little crass... Here the king plays jazz." Reading this back in the States, I thought it was a poigniant, evocative fiction. I'm a tad disappointed to find out that Buruma's brilliant rhetorical scheme was merely a statement of fact.

After lunch, I headed for the Chatuchak Weekend Market. I was, I'm afraid, inadequately prepared. I was expecting your standard weekend flea market, maybe a little bigger. What I found was acres of market under a permanent roof. 9,000 stalls. They had everything from the expected souvenirs and "antiques" to pets, furniture, and lots of clothes. Because the stalls were small and, presumably, cheap to start up, there were a lot of young local designers showing their creations. The t-shirts were particularly awesome. I bought one featuring a stylized exploded diagram of a Lego astronaut.

Leaving the market, I got thoroughly lost in a beautiful adjacent park. I took a taxi to the skytrain station, heading to Silom, where I am now. I'll be having dinner at a highly-regarded Indian place then heading to the Bamboo Bar for a set by jazz singer Paris Lane and her quartet. The bar's website makes it look a little cringeworthy, as the decor appears to have a Stanley-and-Livingstone motif, but word is it's the best jazz club in town. Regardless, I expect no bargirls. (Good thing, too; they're specifically prohibited by a sign behind the reception desk at the Atlanta.)

I've just arrived in Tanah Rata, the biggest town in the Cameron Highlands. It's a great relief to be out of the heat and pollution of Kuala Lumpur. I'm staying at Father's Guesthouse, and while I've only been here half an hour, it seems ideal. This view of my room's door, from the inside, might give you some idea.

 

I'm in the common room now, with trashy early-90s electronic R&B on the stereo. (Heavy on C&C Music Factory and Bel Biv Devoe.) The smells coming from the restaurant are enticing. And, best of all, it's beautiful and 72 degrees outside.