From Johor Bahru, Malaysia. Benjamin is the perfect model of Asian self-effacing. Him and his friend Kwang-Leon fetched us from the airport in the middle of the night (not getting bed until 2AM). Our accomodations are basic, by American standards -- a sheet covered mattress on the floor, foam for a pillow, and long towel for a cover. But we are blessed to be able to stay here for free. And more: guided tour around Johor Bahru by Benjamin that started this morning with a spicy-kick-in-the-pants Malaysian breakfast. Pigeon eggs smothered red chili sauce and rice cubes soaked in curry-peanut sauce. Not your typical I-Hop faire.

Abram and I hadn't planned to spend any time in Malaysia, but our hosts were so insistent that we agreed to see their university, dine in a traditional Malaysian "coffee shop" (what we in America might call an out-door cafe), and walk through a couple of American-like malls.

All said and done, it is not all together different than our own country. Byt then, most big cities anymore are mixing pots of culture and attitudes that life has a similar pace ot it. One thing Malaysia is is hot. And humid. It was smokin' in the 90s today with humidity levels probably pushing 95%. Our clothes clung to our bodies. Our skin was like glass-surfaced rubber. Ever now and again, walking down a street, you could catch a whiff of breeze that would cooly bring a smile to your face, if but for a moment. Luckily, Benjamin's car is air-conditioned (in fact, it doesn't appear to have an option to turn off the A/C...). After even 10 minutes out of the car, we would rush to close the doors and pump up the fan when it was time to go. Just after lunch today, it started to sputter rain. Abram and I slowed down to enjoy the freshness and cooling sensation of the small water drops. But Benjamin just spend up and called back tpo us to hurry and get in the car. Acid rain was not healthy, he warned. We quickly consented.

His car is a Proton -- the Malay national car. It looks like an Alfa-Romeo knock-off with a bit of Renault thrown in. In fact, most of the Proton models we saw on the sreets bore a striking resemblance to those one might find in Europe or America. The idea of intellectual property -- such as design -- clearly is not a concept that means anything over here.

And its not just the car designs either. The stores on the first two floors of the mall were normal enough. But the higher we went, the dodgier they got. Shops of pirated DVDs and software blatantly showcased their wares. Malaysian packed in teh aisles flipping through movie covers in clear binders. Just hand an attendant the number associated with your movie, and you get a freshly-burned DVD; minus 7 Malaysian Ringit, of course (about $1.50). I considered purchasing a few, but they would have been confiscated anyway on re-entry to Singapore.

After meandering through the mall and streets of JB, we returned home to rest before dinner. Abram and I journaled, played the piano and relaxed in the living room. They don't wear their shoes indoors here and it was re-energizing to cool our feet on the cold marble floors.

Benjamin announced that we would be taking us out to a famous Chinese seafood joint for dinner. JB is well-known for their seafood, apparently. Even Singaporeans flock across the border to treat themselves to these delicacies. Abram and I exchanged looks of concern -- neither of us wanted to be hugging the "porcelain throne" that night. With ample of supply of Immodium, though, we reasoned we could contain that beast. It was hard to turn Benjamin down, and just after dark we ventured out into the JB swamps.

Let's just say that even driving up this place did not inspire confidence. It was located in a fishing village. Music blasted from the small wooden huts strung together haphazardly with thin particle board. It looked as if the homes had been built slowly: as the owners found a piece of wood lying on the ground, it would be attached to the house. A few boards later, a new room! The rooves were corragated metal, tied together with cheap rope. The floors and adjoining boardwalks, creaked and sagged under our weight. I made a point of walking on the cracks -- if one board broke, at least half of my foot would be resting on another piece of wood.

The restaurant sat out on the water, resting on stilts. We followed Benjamin and Caroline out across the dock, exchanging looks that screamed, "Umm... okay... How do you feel about this?"... "I don't know, how do you feel about this?" Clearly, people were enjoying their meals despite the ship-shop construction. Live fish and crabs swam about in their cages, hoping to avoid the probing of the wooden tongs that would snatch them into a pot of boiling water.

We were guided to a table and sat down, exhausted from jet lag and a long day. Then Abram saw it. There was a rat crawling the rafters overhead! "Am I the only one that saw the beast?!" he whispered to me. The rat wasn't the only animal in sight. Lizards crawled over a neon sign proclaiming "WELCOME!" to all the diners. Large bags of leftovers and garbage were littered about the restaurant, attracting bugs which traveled easily through the glass-less windows and cracks in the floor.

After ordering, the "waitress" (a large, sweaty woman in an oversized t-shirt) led us over to the tanks to select our dinner from the assortment of wildlife in the tanks. Abram and Benjamin selected the meatiest fish and crabs and we returned to our seats.

I heard the rats screeching above. "Reeech!! Reeech!!" In a moment of comedy (somewhat), I thought about asking our hosts -- oblivious to the rodent infestation -- "Oh! What kinds of birds are those?" But I didn't want to offend their sensibilities.

In the end, the food melted in our mouths. Fresh rockfish, coated in a cilantro-chutney, curried crab with red chili, deep-fried calamari coated in sweet oatmeal, seared bean curd and collared greens. Abram and I both agreed: it was the best seafood we had ever had!! So tender and flavourful! And still no need for Immodium. Let's see if we survive the night.