From Penang

Penang. What a cool and bizarre place. Mutually dependent terms, of course.

My visa is in process, and what I'll say about that is that doing it yourself emphasizes the extreme ease and relative affordability of having someone do it for you.

Next came a visit to the Malaysian Buddhist Association to find a copy of the teachings of the Buddha. A nice man running accounts outside the library told me to turn right down the road to the next shrine, where they would help me. I turned right, walked almost two klicks, and came to a T. I turned right again, and there was a temple ten minutes later. Most of it was closed for a ceremony from which came much chanting, but when I did find an open entrance, they looked at me like I were, well, what's worse than speaking English to Chinese, because they were fluent in both?

So I started walking the other way, hoping to find... something. Maybe another taxi for the ten minute ride back. Or a bus. A bus would be good. A bus stop, even. Which is how I ended up in the projects. Not the best place to be. Really fun because while I'm trying to go... call it North, the N-S streets are all little connectors between E-W arterioles.

After an hour, I'm not feeling very big but more than lucky. And, gasp, I find a bus stop.

Good thing, because I'm about to sit in the “sidewalk” [residential street] and massage down the swollen sausages of feet.

Sitting alone in a bus stop on the edge of projects in Malaysia is not the easiest or most comfortable way to spend an afternoon. Or to make time pass any more quickly. But people eventually came, as did the bus, and it was a relief.

Skip the rest. Right through dinner. Then, just as I'm cleaning up my dishes, a lady asks If she can take one of the empty seats. I nod, of course, and find myself surrounded by...start with “older women” in flowing silk and raffia, with lots of rhinestones and rhinestone-encrusted pumps. One of them had pink fluffies. Really, the only missing component was the purple or gold sequin or outlandish pheasant feather hats.

Boy howdy did they get down to business with me. Just imagine the neighbor kid's Texas granny grilling you before a date with her neighbor's cousin's granddaughter.

And then up walks this beautiful young woman in a black miniskirt which seems as much fishnetting as fabric. She will be tonight's entertainment.

“Oh, we didn't tell you? Tonight's dance night, aren't you excited? And this is my granddaughter, who's the singer!”

And what a time we had. I told them I don't dance, but that didn't fly. Not hardly.

It's worth noting that dancing holds a different place in this culture. As in Thailand, the people are utterly unencumbered by a sense of rhythm, at least as is perceptible to my western eyes. So the cha-cha-cha steps can be pretty well anywhere in the measure, and the ONE-two-three can vary between any of 'em. Most dancing is done with a partner, which means you're facing someone and sometimes mirroring each other, although it's quite alright if she's going cha-cha-cha and he's working his foxtrot.

And yes, I was still getting told to loosen up and shake with the music. My excuses were among the things that just don't translate.

And then there was a couple who took dancing seriously.

She wore wild stilettos and a pink minidress with rhinestone swirls around the collar and a rhinestone belt tucked under her belly. He had on white polyester pants reminiscent of a referee, tucked into screaming blue mid-calf socks and new-white with red trim sneakers. On top, he had one of those whispy-thin Oriental beards that almost touched his sternum, a conservative blue Western-style shirt, something reminiscent of an ascot but made with powder blue lace or hairnet, and a sky blue sash with puffy clouds wrapped under red suspenders.

He and his partner spent most of the tango strutting laps around the dance floor while spinning occasional circles. During “Rhinestone Cowboy”--good, meaty karaoke fare for this venue—he held his pointer fingers next to his eyes like antennae at half-mast, bent over as far as his belly allowed, and went slow running at his (presumed) wife. I did work out the charging bull, but I'll confess that it took a number of unsuccessful charges.

So, from Thai turf to the projects to a glory-years dance featuring hits from the American lounge lizard playlist. Love it.