I didn’t notice until last night the strong Muslim influence in Ipoh. Across a broad avenue from my hotel is a giant Mosque complex, and as the sun set prayers were broadcast loudly from its skyscraper-like concrete minaret. For almost an hour a clear male voice called hauntingly to the clouded night. It was beautiful, calming, peaceful to sit on the terrace and enjoy the sound even though I couldn’t understand a word.

My hotel is obviously staffed by Muslims, and the function last night was for a hundred women in colourful headscarves. The guidebook, which is now three years old, says there should be a pub in the station building but there’s no sign of it now (though it was not rated well, so perhaps it died a natural death). I felt the urge to have just one or two sundowner beers and went looking for some at six different stores and service stations nearby, to no avail. Very surprising, as in Singapore and Melaka beer is widely available.

I resorted to the only pub this side of the bridge, the Miners’ Arms, an odd British-themed joint run by Indians that was extremely quiet on a Monday night. After two very slow drinks while reading I went back to the hotel, and as I headed to my room I noticed a middle-aged German man sitting on the terrace with a large bottle of Tiger beer in front of him. I went up and asked him where he got it: “a 7-11 about ten minutes walk away”, he replied. I cheerfully said I wasn’t that desperate, and sat a few tables away from him and got out my book again.

After ten minutes I noticed some movement to my left: the same man was holding out a warm can of Tiger to me with a smile. “If you want it,” he said, and I accepted gratefully. He returned to his room so I went back to my book, but when he came out again I went over to him and we chatted for an hour about our travels past and present.

This morning I was awoken around 5.30am by more prayers, a different voice not quite as melodic as the night before but still the same calming, gentle call. Welcome too, as I don’t have an alarm clock and wanted to be up early for my bus. I’m sitting alone on the vast terrace as I type this, the sun still not up as the city slowly wakes, feeling more relaxed than ever.

You know how you sometimes stumble across a town while on your way to somewhere else and discover it’s a hidden gem? Ipoh is not one of those places. The guidebook says it is used by most travellers as a transport interchange, but if you stay around there are some good things to see. There are some fine old colonial buildings in the Old Town, but they take all of five minutes to enjoy. The rest of this area is faded, grimy, often derelict and choked with traffic fumes. And apparently this is the good side of town: the New Town across the river is where most of the modern hotels and restaurants are, but it’s also the heart of Ipoh’s reputation as a prostitution hotspot. Hence I’m staying on the old side…

The day started lazily enough, and though my bus here was almost an hour late it was worth the wait. There were just 27 seats in it, each a full-sized armchair recliner with good aircon and window views. I can’t read on buses, so after a quick doze I woke to notice our driver was weaving erratically across lanes and following the vehicles ahead far too closely. It was hard to relax when he was forced to stomp heavily on the middle pedal whenever the vehicle ahead feathered their brakes.

After two hours there was a driver change, and the second guy could read the traffic better and followed at a safe distance. But he was hell-bent on making up lost time and was travelling too fast for the conditions (it was raining heavily the whole way). I was screaming mentally in my head “slow the fuck down!” every time we lurched or bounced harshly, which was every few minutes. It was enough to keep anyone awake, except for the first driver who snored like a drain directly behind me for the last three hours of the journey.

Anyway we made it in one piece by 3.30pm, and I was thoroughly underwhelmed by my first look at Ipoh. Even though I was tired of travelling I resolved to get the flock out of there and head straight on to Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands, only to find the 5pm bus was full. A short trip to the other bus station where there was another option to Tanah Rata, but not until 6pm. That would see me arriving around 9pm, in the dark, without anywhere to stay. I opted to overnight in Ipoh and get the 8am bus tomorrow.

I’m staying at the Majestic Station Hotel in the train station because it’s the closest place to tomorrow’s bus, and it’s an opulent if somewhat tired remnant of past prosperity. It’s known locally as the “Taj Mahal” because of the giant dome above its all-white exterior, and the room is nice enough. The guidebook proved useless for evening options as all their recommendations are either closed down or awful, so I’ve hunkered down in a modern franchise cafe with fast wifi to do this post. It’s lucky that all I wanted to do tonight was curl up with a good book – there truly is little else to do here. I was warned on check-in that there is a function tonight on the vast terrace outside my room, fingers crossed that the warning is misplaced!

Melaka is a delight. Nestled on the southwest coast of peninsular Malaysia it has a strong history, with successive waves of Portuguese, Dutch and British colonialism leaving their mark. But surprisingly its real heyday was barely a century ago, and the legacy of Chinese prosperity – the well-maintained streets of shophouses in the centre of town – is what gives Melaka its charm.

Tourists from Malaysia and afar throng here, and while tourism is a big industry this is still a living city with its own rhythm. Wandering the streets of Chinatown is the best pastime for me, though there are plenty of museums (even a stamp museum!) to keep you distracted if you wish. And then there’s food… Melaka is famous for Nonya cuisine, a blend of Chinese and Malay styles that is mostly Chinese but gentler and less fiery than its mainland origins. But there are plenty of authentic Malay and Chinese options, plus superb Indian and Portuguese-Malay fusion food can also be found.

All of my meals so far have been at least good, sometimes excellent, and include amazing satay chicken at Geographer Café (twice already and will try again today) and a Nonya meal at Restoran Peranakan of fish cooked in curry, chicken rendang and sautéed chinese greens. Today’s lunch was chicken curry with rice at a jam-packed no-frills Indian eatery, where all the food is served on a banana leaf and you mix and match as you like. Most people here were eating with their fingers and I was about to do the same, however when a tub of cutlery was placed beside me it took all of second to pick up a fork. It really is a much more sensible way to eat. And the food was brilliant: clear spicy flavours that reeked of freshness, and a bargain at just RM6 (A$2). Tonight I will probably search out some more Chinese food, perhaps fish ball soup or teow chow which is considered a local delicacy.

I had originally intended to stay here just two days but I’ve extended to a third, because I really like it here. After wandering during the day, there’s nothing better than plonking yourself at an outside table at the Geographer Café and watching people at the Jonkers Street night markets set up every Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I’ve had some good random meetings too:

– on a local bus a Bangladeshi man who is in Melaka studying for his doctorate, who for six years was the HR manager at Grameen Bank (the micro-bank that won its founder the Nobel Peace prize several years ago). He has a Swiss wife but they cannot bring themselves to live in each other’s country, so they are going to Nepal to set up an NGO. As you do.

– at the Geographer Café last night: Todd, a 41-year-old Canadian who is living the dream by yachting his way around the world – very slowly. He’s nine years into it and has only made it as far as Malaysia, though he did spend a year or two in Australia. His partner Catherine is a 29-year-old French-Canadian and also an adventurer, having travelled the world in her previous life working for an aid organisation. We ended up going to Me and Mrs Jones, a piano bar of sorts where Catherine jammed with the band and Todd sang, before heading back to the Geographer for (too many) more drinks. Great people, a top night.

Today’s hangover is currently being nursed at the Discovery Café, at a shaded outdoor table close to a busy road where I’ve just watched a minor traffic bingle between a car and a bus. It’s the first genuinely nice day (the last two have been cloudy and often rainy), and I will head out this evening to take some photos in decent light. Tomorrow: a long bus journey to the Cameron Highlands, a tea and wilderness area where I plan to go bushwalking and chill out (literally) in the mild climate for a few days…

I’m typing this from a rambling hotel in the heart of the Chinatown district of Melaka, one of Malaysia’s premier and historic coastal tourist cities. It’s dark and humid with light rain just beginning to trickle on the rooftops, and so far I haven’t seen a single mosquito.

The flight to Singapore was uneventful, though we were delayed for almost two hours by a small storm in Sydney. Last night’s hotel was predictably bland, but it was chosen for its proximity to the bus station more than its charm. Today’s bus ride was comfortable and relaxed, and even though I had to try three different hotels before getting a room for the night it’s been a lazy start to the Big Trip. Exactly what I wanted 🙂

I’ll spend at least one more night here before heading to the Cameron Highlands in the centre of Malaysia for a few days, then it’s big city time again in KL before the flying to Vientiane. That’s when the “real” trip starts: Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand. Bring it on!!