Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Day Eight

The Lord of Hell was on vacation, his face covered in order to ignore the reverie during the Hungry Ghost Festival. His absence left the gates of the Netherworld open allowing ghosts trapped in the spiritual realm to roam free, catch a show, visit relatives still breathing. While August wasn’t just for the living, it was still hot as hell.

We were two hours south in the city of Malacca. Settled in the 15th century on the narrowest point on the straits, Malacca was started by a sultan fleeing from Sumatra. According to legend, the sultan took shelter under a tree to watch a mouse deer defend itself against a pack of dogs. It managed to push one into the river while the others fled. The scene inspired the Sultan to found the town and he named the future city after the tree he was resting beneath, the Malacca.

The Portuguese colonized the city in the 16th century. Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier lived in Malacca during this time. The Dutch arrived and conquered in the 17th century and held power until it was ceded to the British in 1824. The area was ruled by this foreign power for more than 120 years until Malaysian independence.

The city retains the look of a place that has exchanged numerous cultural hands. The narrow streets, still lined with cobblestone, are barely wide enough for the cars that zoom by. The buildings in the historic centre are only a few stories and are stuck in the past: curio-stores are filled with knick-knacks from every era, tiny eateries serving a wide range of foods. Boats float down the canals as tourists crane their necks to observe the passing buildings.

There’s a reason Malacca is on the World Heritage List. We hiked the hill up from Fort A Formosa – one of the oldest European architectural remains in Asia – to St. Paul’s Church where Xavier was briefly interred before being buried in Goa, India. The British turned the church into a fort. Giant burial markers centuries old leaned against the wall commemorating the ones who were fortunate enough to afford a tombstone. We ventured down the other side of the hill and explored Christ Church, built by the Dutch in 1753, and the numerous souvenir kiosks. Dozens of rickshaw drivers parked along the square, each bicycle-power contraption adorned with colorful flowers and flashy kaleidoscopes.

After lunch we walked around the Chinese district. The main draw was Jonker Street where we glanced at the various antique shops and made our way to the Cheng Hoon Teng Temple. Built in 1645, the Taoist temple is the oldest place of worship still in function in Malaysia.

It was here we learned about the Hungry Ghost Festival. Celebrated on the fifteenth day in the seventh month of the Chinese calendar, it is considered the time when the Lord of Hell takes a holiday leaving the gates open for ghosts to enter our world in order to receive food and drinks. This version of ancestor worship includes the burning of incense and the burning of joss paper in the form of material goods. Elaborate meals are thrown together and Chinese operas, dramas and burlesque shows are performed for the living and dead. A few empty seats closest to the food and in the front rows are left open for the deceased. The festivities this year are August 24.

Once the photos were snapped, trinkets purchased and the endurance to the heat spent, we boarded the bus and headed back to KL to celebrate our final night in Malaysia. Our closing dinner was held at a Chinese restaurant in the Central Market where we shared libations and stories and delicious food. Awards we dolled out and we wrapped up our time together in Southeast Asia.

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