KL: Day One, Morning.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - A much needed respite after spending the morning trekking solo around KL, particularly considering the heat. It’s currently 32 degrees out, with the humidex pushing that up to 43 degrees. Yeah, it’s warm. Throw some curry on me, I think I’m done.

I had nowhere specific to go this morning as SCS is busy presenting at her conference, but I knew she really wanted to show me around KLCC (Kuala Lumpur City Centre), where the Towers are, so I didn’t head there. How to start the day was a bit of a dilemma considering I was keen to start discovering, but, being ‘on vacation’, I also really had no reason to hurry. So, it was a casual breakfast buffet in the hotel where I got my fill of food spanning a number of cultures.

Then it was off into the tropical heat, headed wherever my feet took me. A battered prison in the middle of the city, the blue-domed mosque and the famed Petaling Street, or China Town. I was also drawn to KL’s sports stadium, which was surrounded by extremely tall, spiked fences and seemed rather austere. The guard let me poke around inside a bit and it seemed nicer, if not very colonial on the inside.

As much as I expected this experience to be a smorgasbord for the senses, there were times they felt a bit overwhelmed. The noise was abundant: horns, people speaking in many languages, Christmas carols (yes, even though this is a predominantly Muslim country, Christmas carols), motorbikes and trains. It even seemed you could hear the heat. Smells of fresh fish, incense, diesel pollution and various foods blended in the nostrils like the mixture of cultures that are so evident here. Strains of Celine Dion, P-Diddy (or whatever he’s calling himself these days) and John Lennon mixed into Christmas carols – with too much bass – and Indian sitar. And then one figure (besides myself) stands out in the sea of dark faces: Santa Claus.

China Town was an experience unlike any other thus far. “Nike”, “Adidas” and “Mont Blanc” pens everywhere, interspersed with clucking chickens who didn’t know the end was nigh. Buckets of left over parts and fish heads hanging, grinning maniacally. A man, sitting on a butcher’s table, getting a deep tissue massage (were they planning to relax him prior to quartering him, I asked myself). A woman asked where I had bought my hat and looked at me incredulously when I replied, 'Canada'. Another man walked three or four blocks with me, telling me how his sister is moving to Toronto in the new year to be a nurse. I became a little skeptical when he later asked if he could meet me in a particular spot this evening.

“…Colonial stone crumbles into glass:
Commerce, the new imperialism.”

I long ago learned to not look as much like a tourist by walking as though I belonged and by not pulling out a map every twelve seconds (that’s my excuse if I get lost, anyway). It’s funny here, because regardless of how much I keep myself from gazing at the tops of buildings or wandering too aimlessly, I still stand out. In a country predominantly populated by Malay, Chinese and Indian, I come across as being pretty pale. And tall. I suppose the camera doesn’t help my cause either.

Day One. Oh, and Days Two and Three Thrown In.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - 44 hours door-to-door. And that’s not considering the difference in time zone, multiple curry dishes, nor the two hours spent hosing down in the shower to scrape off those parts of the trip that decided to leech into my skin. Curry was but a part of that equation. After the day we had yesterday, I felt dirtier than Rick Solomon after One Night in Paris. And just as unfulfilled.

We arrived at the Hotel Istana in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia tonight around 20:30 local time (13 hours ahead of the time back home – and after having left on Saturday at 12:30 EST), on the heels of a circuitous route through Toronto, Paris and London, the last of which was an unexpected stop. 35 straight hours my eyelids kept running, clicking like shutters, until I was finally able to sleep on the twelve hour flight from London to KL.

Our flights were significantly delayed in Toronto, Paris and London – oh wait, that’s three for three – and cancelled in Paris. After much pleading in both English and French with Malaysian Air representatives in France – even pulling out the fact that SCS has a presentation first thing Tuesday morning for the Prime Minister of Malaysia – we were finally able to get seats on a flight to KL from London, England, leaving ten hours later than we had originally intended. But of course, we had to get to London first. And our bags had been lost because of complications with the cancelled flight from Paris. More than an hour later, they appeared in the nick of time and we ran to the gate just seconds prior to closing by surreptitiously jumping a few lines. Naturally, the terminal from which the plane would be leaving was miles away.

Oh, but wait – theme of the day – when we got to the gate, we found out this plane, too, had been delayed 90 minutes. At that point, it really didn’t matter as we would have been waiting several hours in Heathrow anyway, so it gave us an opportunity to see the newer (and nicer) terminal in Paris. And an opportunity for SCS to catch a Charlie nap.

The situation in France had been a bit of a farce and SCS and I had initially been laughing at our welcome to the country. The airport was beyond dated. And far beyond efficient. When we got to the desk to check in and to get our tickets, we were told the flight wasn't on the board yet and that we'd have to come back in an hour. So we made our way back down through the creepy caverns and back to the terminal's central hub to have a coffee and a pain au chocolat (I believe I have finally swayed SCS to the dark side on those at this point). When we returned to the gate, we were told that we were being given lunch at the Hippopotamus restaurant downstairs because the flight had been delayed three hours. No problems. Asking directions six times, we were finally able to make our way down to the restaurant in the 'Shopping District'. Which included a McDonald's, another restaurant, a pharmacy and a convenience store that had different names depending on which door you entered. Not much of a 'district'. Best of all, we were able to waltz out into Paris without ever once going through immigration or customs. So much for post-911 security.

The centre of the terminal was open-air and consisted of several glass tubes with moving carpets criss-crossing each other and taking people to different levels; that said, no matter where you were trying to access one, it was always going in the opposite direction. SCS likened it to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Hm, Charlie and Chocolate -- likely her two favorite things. And the sign in the elevator helpfully pointed to the floor for "Halls 2-24" and to another floor for "Hall 5". Must be a pretty big Hall. It turns out that one of the Malaysian Airlines planes from the previous day required repairs, stranding those passengers. They, in turn, took our flight, causing two days' worth of nightmares. The worst part is that we found out later they knew all along we weren't going to be flying, but didn't tell most people in enough time to make alternate arrangements. There were some pretty unhappy folks.

In the air, I saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up, and some fireworks over the Thames in London, as well as the Millennium Ferris Wheel. Flying over KL, you could see palm tree plantations as far as you looked, all ordered in perfect lines.

The hotel provides us with a great view of the Petronas Towers and is very nice, though we each described it as “worn”. We didn’t get to see much of KL on the drive in, though the Moorish architecture is one thing that certainly stands out. That’s what the next couple of days, and feet, are for – Discovery!

Heathrow.

London, England - Heath Ledger, having a fight? No. Heathrow, as in the airport in London, England. It turns out that this ‘traveling around the world’ thing can swallow quite a chunk of time. And be mildly exhausting. I might be approaching a personal record for longest time without sleep as I sit here in waiting to board my third plane of the day – 33 hours and counting. And I still have the longest stretch ahead of me.

“Wait a second,” you might be saying to yourself if you had seen my itinerary prior to the trip – “Heathrow? I thought you were going through Paris?” Been there, done that, too; got to practice my French again. Quite a bit. Vociferously even. The City of Lights, well, wasn’t shining too brightly today.

Actually, it started comically enough as SCS commented that the service, architecture and cleanliness reminded her of many developing nations’ airports. Except that this one was still worse. Circular white tile reminiscent of public washrooms, unwashed in many years. The walls, made of some, formerly white, asbestos-seeming material. Also unwashed. Ludicrously layed-out, we repeatedly had to make our way to “Satellite Four”, which was found down a long, undulating tunnel. At the end? A single wicket at one of the farthest extremities of the airport. But no plane. [Boarding Call]

The blocks, above are from a floating piece of art installed in the Pearson International Airport in Toronto.

Mon-Train-All. Day Four.

Montréal, Québec - Oranges. Yes, oranges. And lots of 'em, too. Of course, we could have used the vitamin C to help make us feel better this weekend. This morning, my face felt like an acupuncture session gone awry, my sinuses like the crumbling ruins of Rome.

Sniffling away is not the most pleasant manner in which to spend eight hours on a train, which we did last night, getting back just before two in the morning. While the rain had mostly let up, it was still a grey day in la belle province. We did a lot of walking again, making it up to the Jean Talon Market, apparently the largest of its kind in North America ("Aha," he says to himself: "I knew there had to be another reason for so many pictures of fruit. That segue wasn't quite complete!")

Actually, I found the market to be patently underwhelming. Sure, there were many stalls of fruit, some particularly rancid cheese shops and the meat available at the charchuteries was no doubt top-notch. Nonetheless, there weren't really any bakeries (no Montréal-style bagels?) and frankly, no restaurants. No artisans, either. Those are just things I've come to expect from an excursion to the market.

It was, however, a veritable cornucopia of colour and the produce looked great (which really is the point, isn't it?), but from a tourist's perspective, once you've seen one pile of oranges, you've seen enough. Except in this case, I guess -- I liked how differently the merchants displayed their produce. In the end, the walk was salvaged by a couple of pains au chocolat and a panini avec porc et brie. Really, it all comes down to the food, doesn't it?

Speaking of which...

Mon-Très-All. Day Three.

Montréal, Québec - Très all, yes. Everything. Yes, that's it -- I think Montréal has a little bit of everything. Except these days -- apparently -- sunshine. That's right, it was still wet and cold this morning. And grey. SCS's sinuses continued to stage a revolt most of the day and my back continued to do its best bed-of-nails impression.

I'd have to say that one of the funniest parts of the today's adventures, though, came tonight when we went into Chu-Chai, a high-end vegetarian restaurant. And I, of course, was carrying some greasy smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz's. I tried to explain it away by saying that it was only smoked tofu, but the hippies weren't buying it. So we agreed I'd buy them all a round of green tea and a side of granola, and call it a day.

So, yes, I did make it to the world-famous Schwartz's tonight for some smoked meat. My arteries aren't thanking me for it, but my stomach is. We waited in the line-up for a bit (which is apparently always there, regardless of the time of day) and felt kind of foolish when we figured out that we didn't need to wait for take-out. Two smoked meat for me; a turkey for SCS and an order of fries to share. Mmm, greasy goodness.

The meat didn't quite melt in my mouth like yesterday's at Dunn's, and it was quite a bit fattier. But mighty tasty. Home cut fries. Yum. And only $4.95 for a sandwich. I've been telling my arteries that they should just suck it up and experience the local gastronomical delights. Food, it just seems to be the focus of this blog every once in a while.

It was a day of a lot of walking, and we made it down to Vieux Montréal, where I finally had my first chocolate croissant of the trip. Shocking. Considering I pretty much lived off the things when in France a half-lifetime ago. Actually, this was a croissant filled with almond paste and covered in chocolate. Yes, it was just as horrible as it sounds. The architecture was incredible and SCS and I were particularly amazed when we thought back to just how old some of these buildings are. We also passed Notre Dame, where Céline Dion got married. Thankfully, our ears have been spared. One more day to go.

Mont-rain-al. Day Two.

Mont- réal, Québec - It's wet, it's cold and it's grey. Add to that the fact that SCS and I are both sick (her moreso than I) and that the vertebrae in my back have decided to go all Ralph Macchio on each other, and the first whole day in Montréal hasn't been all sunshine. Did I mention that it's wet?

Actually, it looks like a pretty cool city, and that's not just because I'm seeing most of it refracted several times over in the raindrops plummeting earthward. The spirit of John Bonham using my noggin as a bongo drum.

SCS had her presentation today, so I had a couple of hours to swim through the streets and take in some of the sights for myself. Being that fatty meat products don't do for her what they do for me, it also gave me the chance to gleefully gorge on some Montréal smoked meat at Dunn's. My goal is to make it to Schwartz's -- widely regarded as the best smoked meat in Montréal, if not anywhere outside the Big Apple -- but the hike would have been redundant today considering it's up near where we're staying (and not right downtown, where we were). Still, artery-clogging goodness. Such a boy. Melt-in-your-mouth like chocolate. Okay, not like chocolate, but melt-in-your-mouth, nonetheless. The waitress asked if I wanted the lean meat. Such audacity. Are you kidding? Fries, sure! Swiss cheese? Um, yeah. Coleslaw and a pickle? Is there any other way? (I do need my healthy option, too, you know -- duh!)

Lunch for me was late, and dinner, early, so I wasn't overly hungry when it came time to have a chicken breast, roasted red pepper and brie sandwich on a ciabatta bun at Boccacinos. And yes, more fries. All this after a great breakfast this morning at the B&B, which was comprised of little soufflés, toast with homemade peach preserves and chocolate banana bread. Yeah, it's been a tough day for that stomach of mine.

With the aching back, I had thought a massage might provide some nice relief. I think it was the "body-to-body" part advertised at the place to the right that I thought might get me into a bit of a trouble. Thought the loophole of filling out a job application might help me get away with it, but, well, um, no, apparently not.

The French? Well, it has come back just nicely, thanks. Neat how the human mind works sometimes.

Montréal, Je T'aime. Night One.

Mont- réal, Québec - So, after having spent eight hours painted into a train seat to get here, I finally got my first taste of Montréal tonight. Well, not really a first taste because we had such difficulty deciding where to eat. Not that there weren't plenty of options. No, and they were all full, with line-ups queuing down the street, even at 10:30. It was particularly funny to see people on every corner though, carrying bottles of wine sporting brown paper bag sport coats. In Montréal, you can take your own wine into the restaurants. On our entrée into the city (mmm, entrées), we did see a place called a "Hotdogeria". I'm not kidding. A veritable cornucopia of mystery meats, I am sure. Needless to say, we didn't head there. Also saw a mannequin sporting a sweater with a bump. Had never seen a pregnant mannequin before.

For whatever the reason, I was still surprised to hear just how many people actually converse in French here. With how bilingual the city is, I had somehow expected that there would have been a greater split. Thankfully, mon francais est retournée en force.

Above: If the fact that you sterilize your glasses is your selling point, I think I might just not be visiting your establishment.

Below: However, if you present chocolate you have for sale like this, je retournera d'es que possible.

The buildings here are magnifique. We have a great little B&B and have remarked how neat the architecture of the apartments is around here. Somehow, the facades of each place seems a little different from the one beside, despite them all being attached. Stained glass here, a round porch there. Or a turret. I look forward to getting out to soak in some more of it tomorrow.