Whenever you think of shopping centers in our day and age, I suppose the ultra modern malls the size of stadiums with various brand names, come to mind. To a lesser degree, the big boxes like Wal and K-Mart qualify. I have already described the state-of-the-art Petronas Plaza, a shopper’s dream if I ever saw one. Markets can mean many things to different people. The Jmaa F’naa in Marrakech, for example, is a beehive of activity, although you won’t have the air conditioners and fancy restaurants to compliment your shopping day like they do in more developed cities.
Can you imagine, then, a souk in Morocco or a place like Jama F’naa selling Brooks Brothers suits or Adidas shoes (not the fakes that are so readily available there)? Turns out there is such a place in Kuala Lumpur. To get there, we board the cramped monorail which takes us into the middle of Bukit, a shopping district and tourist trap to a t. We stroll with the boys through dingy looking swing doors that could be the entrance to a vacant warehouse. The elevators hold no more than four people and barely function. The five story building itself has escalators, luckily enough. The shops themselves are no better than the holes in the wall you would find in Thamel in Kathmandu. Yet, the merchandise offered is undoubtedly the real deal. The soccer jerseys are genuine and priced accordingly. The brand clothes occupy bigger rooms and display prices for them I never considered.
I buy a remote controlled helicopter for Axl, a Japanese creation, sturdy and reliable. At a store selling sunglasses, I try on various pairs, but eventually shake my head when presented with the price tag. I am still too cheap to shell out a lot of money for anything, let alone clothes, shoes, or sunglasses. I must still be stuck in the 80’s, I guess, when my mom would buy things on sale for me and when I was genuinely convinced clothes should, or could never be too pricey. We continue to weave our way through traffic, the boys parting paths in the stroller like royalty.
We have lunch later at the Petronas Plaza, and the food is first rate. The cold beer is absolutely delicious in the muggy heat. The fountains dance playfully in front of Petronas Plaza, people line up on the stairs, each taking a seat, baking in the sun. It is a relaxed atmosphere that is contagious.
The last day is saved for Butterfly Park. That’s right: a butterfly park, where they charge you admission for watching exotic butterflies hover around plants in botanic gardens. Although admittedly charming, we are out of the place within 30 minutes, to continue at the nearby zoo. Again, here comes the paparazzi, click, flash, they simply have to have the white boy on film. I order fresh coconut milk and take in the vegetation of the place. This could have been little more than a jungle a few decades ago.
We’re nearing the end of our stay in Asia, but I think Malaysia has made the greatest impression on me. I can still see Axl playing in the park, kids splashing through the knee deep fountains, their parents sometimes eagerly joining in. I think about being wined and dined and eating Malay food, the family neatly together and soaking this all in. I will have missed quite a few destinations in Asia by the time we leave, but I’m glad I caught this one just in time.
Can you imagine, then, a souk in Morocco or a place like Jama F’naa selling Brooks Brothers suits or Adidas shoes (not the fakes that are so readily available there)? Turns out there is such a place in Kuala Lumpur. To get there, we board the cramped monorail which takes us into the middle of Bukit, a shopping district and tourist trap to a t. We stroll with the boys through dingy looking swing doors that could be the entrance to a vacant warehouse. The elevators hold no more than four people and barely function. The five story building itself has escalators, luckily enough. The shops themselves are no better than the holes in the wall you would find in Thamel in Kathmandu. Yet, the merchandise offered is undoubtedly the real deal. The soccer jerseys are genuine and priced accordingly. The brand clothes occupy bigger rooms and display prices for them I never considered.
I buy a remote controlled helicopter for Axl, a Japanese creation, sturdy and reliable. At a store selling sunglasses, I try on various pairs, but eventually shake my head when presented with the price tag. I am still too cheap to shell out a lot of money for anything, let alone clothes, shoes, or sunglasses. I must still be stuck in the 80’s, I guess, when my mom would buy things on sale for me and when I was genuinely convinced clothes should, or could never be too pricey. We continue to weave our way through traffic, the boys parting paths in the stroller like royalty.
We have lunch later at the Petronas Plaza, and the food is first rate. The cold beer is absolutely delicious in the muggy heat. The fountains dance playfully in front of Petronas Plaza, people line up on the stairs, each taking a seat, baking in the sun. It is a relaxed atmosphere that is contagious.
The last day is saved for Butterfly Park. That’s right: a butterfly park, where they charge you admission for watching exotic butterflies hover around plants in botanic gardens. Although admittedly charming, we are out of the place within 30 minutes, to continue at the nearby zoo. Again, here comes the paparazzi, click, flash, they simply have to have the white boy on film. I order fresh coconut milk and take in the vegetation of the place. This could have been little more than a jungle a few decades ago.
We’re nearing the end of our stay in Asia, but I think Malaysia has made the greatest impression on me. I can still see Axl playing in the park, kids splashing through the knee deep fountains, their parents sometimes eagerly joining in. I think about being wined and dined and eating Malay food, the family neatly together and soaking this all in. I will have missed quite a few destinations in Asia by the time we leave, but I’m glad I caught this one just in time.
