M-whY

Dr Fwa and Mrs Fwa were wating downstairs for me at 7:30am, to drive me to the bus station.

"Where does your guidebook say the bus departs from?"

"The corner of Lavender and Kallang."

"I don't think there is a station there, but we can check."

We drove to the intersection, and like they predicted, the bus station was nowhere to be found. Fortunately, they knew of another place to catch buses. At Beach St, a whole line of travel agnets were selling coach tickets to Malaysia. I bought mine and sat on the steps waiting for my bus. Dr Fwa and Mrs Fwa disappeared for a few minutes and came back with breakfast. At quarter past eight, fiftenn minutes before departure, I thanked them for their hospitality and boarded the coach.

"Have a safe trip," waved Mrs Fwa. "We'll be following your website!"

Singapore and Malaysia are linked by a causeway. This would be my first border crossing over land. On the Singapore side, we disembarked, and the coach drove forward a couple hundred meters, where we'd be picked up after clearing immigration. I collected another stamp and pocketed my passport for easy access. I'd be going through the same procedure again on the Malaysian side.

In the past, many Singaporeans used to cross the causeway every weekend. Gas in Malaysia is several times cheaper than in Singapore, so for many people, buying a full tank across the border saved them a day's worth of wages. This was costing the government a million (Singapore) dollars a day. New legislation was passed, requiring all vehicles to be filled with half a tank before leaving. But half a day's wages still ain't bad, and the weekly exodus continued. So the law was changed again. As it stands currently, three quarters tank is required to leave the country.

Across the water, we were dropped off to clear Malaysian immigration. I reached into my pocket for my passport. It wasn't there. For a second I panicked. Where was my passport?! I just used it a couple minutes ago... where could it be? I gathered my wits and retraced my steps. Then it hit me. While fumbling for my camera, it must've slipped out of my pocket. Therefore, it had to be on the bus. I turned around, but the bus had already driven off and waiting for us on the other side.

I approached the immigration officer. "Uhh, I think I left my passport on the bus."

"What's your nationality?"

"American."

He looked at me for a moment, and then escorted me across the border. I retrieved my passport, and another stamp later, I was officially in Malaysia.

Being in Singapore also ruined my sleep pattern. The city slept late, and so I fell into the bad habit of sleeping late as well. I was still tired after waking up early this morning, so for the rest of the four hour ride, I dozed off. We arrived in Melaka around lunchtime, and I caught a local bus into town. I wasn't quite sure where to get off, and the other backpacker on the bus looked a little lost too. But Melaka must get a lot of tourists, because the bus driver told us which stop we wanted.

"So do you know where you're staying yet?" asked Jessica, the other 'lost' backpacker.

"Not sure..."

"I heard the Traveller's Inn is pretty good. Want to check it out?"

It was only a block away, and the rooms were clean enough. The owner was fun and outgoing. He showed me a couple card tricks, and after my persistent begging, showed me how to perform them. Jessica and a couple other people lounged around the common room, watching a rerun of Malaysian Idol on TV. I joined them for about twenty minutes (which makes it twenty minutes more than my total viewing of American Idol). There was one competitor on the show that sang horrendously and danced even worse. I'm a klutz on the dance floor, but even I can move better than that!

"I think he's going to be voted off this time," commented Jessica.

"They should keep him on though, just for comedic purposes!"

I only had a day in Melaka, so I didn't stick around to see if Jessica's prediction was correct. I decided to head out instead and see what the town has to offer.

Melaka (sometimes spelled Malacca) began as a small fishing town, and in the 14th century, attracted the attention of a Hindu prince from Sumatra. From then, it quickly grew into a busy port for trading ships. The Portuguese arrived in the 1500's, and were initially well received. But for some reason, relations became hostile, culminating in a Melakan assault against the Portuguese fleet. The Portuguese prevailed, but their reign didn't last very long. Control was passed into Dutch hands in 1641, who ruled for about 150 years before trading the port to the British for Bencoolen (another port) on Sumatra. It remained under British jursidiction until 1957, when Malaya achieved independence. (Malaya didn't become Malaysia until several years later when Borneo states Sabah and Sarawak joined the group.)

Melaka today is one of Malaysia's top tourist destinations. Buildings throughout town reflect the area's historical past, from the Dutch architecture of Christ Church to what remains of the Portugeuse fort, porta de Santiago.

The most important artifact is probably the large red Stadhuys (pronounced Stadhouse), built by the Dutch to serve as a town hall. Now converted into a museum, I wandered through the many rooms of exhibits. Further up the hill stood St Paul's Church, built by the Portuguese, and used by the Dutch until their own Christ Church was built. Several tombstones lay inside the ruins, marking where prominent persons rested.

The most noteworthy of these historical figures has to be St Xavier, an early missionary to southeast asia. Upon his death, he was temporarily buried at St Paul's Church, for a period of nine months. When sailors were finally ready to move the the body to its final resting place in Goa, India, his coffin was exhumed. What the sailors found inside was a corpse that had miraculously resisted decay. The pope at the time ordered that St Xavier's right arm be cut off and brought to Rome for canonization. Legend has it that when the limb was removed, blood still flowed from the severed arm.

In 1652, a statue was erected in honor of St Xavier. Here, the story goes that on the eve of the statue's commencement, a tree fell over, toppling Xavier's figure. It was pulled from the wreckage, in relatively good shape, except that the right arm had been broken off. Today, the statue stands, sans right hand, and the grave where St Xavier was first buried remains open, covered by a wire mesh. (I remembering seeing this hole in the ground, but didn't think much of it at the time. I didn't learn this story until later.)

Now this could all be dismissed as fairy tales, except for the eerie fact that the decay resisting corpse still rests in Goa, where it's open to public viewing once every ten years. Some people call it a miracle, others claim the body must've been expertly mummified somehow. I don't know what to think of it, except it's pretty freaky stuff!

Later on that night, Jessica, Chris (another backpacker staying at our hostel), and I went down to Chinatown to check out the night market. We were warned that there wasn't much to see. We walked by temples holding karaoke nights, tried some local cuisine, and watched a small part of a cultural show. That was about it.

On the way back, we passed a sign with a funny slogan. "Experience historical Melaka means experiencing Malaysia."

I hope that doesn't mean I've already seen best Malaysia has to offer!

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!