By ten in the morning I gave up pretending it wasn’t hot. Not pleasantly tropical. Not “oh this is lovely and balmy.” This was the kind of heat that wraps around you and given half a chance, will strangle you. It turned walking into a strategic activity. Shade became my best friend. All the while, I kept reminding myself that at home in New York City a blizzard was brewing. Freezing cold or sweltering heat? I’m not sure which is worse.
I started the day at Kellie’s Castle, about half an hour outside Ipoh. Rising out of the lush green landscape, it looks like someone dropped an odd fragment of Scotland into Malaysia and forgot to finish it.
Built in 1915 by William Kellie Smith, a Scottish planter with grand ambitions, it was meant to be a lavish Moorish-style mansion complete with rooftop tennis court and elevator. He died before it was completed. What remains is romantic, eccentric, and gloriously impractical in this climate.
The arches are beautiful. The open staircases dramatic. The rooftop views wide and shimmering. The sun, however, was merciless. I moved from shadow to shadow, lingering wherever a wall blocked the glare. I had to laugh at windows that faced into brick walls, blocking any airflow.
Back in Ipoh, I was fully committed to a new travel strategy: explore, then immediately reward myself with something iced.
Ipoh has become a street art destination, both in the old city and in newer sections. There’s even a “mural art lane” covered end-to-end with impressive paintings. In other areas of the city it felt like a treasure hunt, the murals aren’t clustered. Instead, I had to search carefully to find them. Thank you Chat GPT for providing a map. I would locate a mural, photograph it quickly, and then look around for the nearest café, or at least shade.
Many of the best-known murals were created by Ernest Zacharevic, the Lithuanian artist who also helped transform Penang’s street art scene. (I’m going to Penang tomorrow and will search for them.)
Ipoh is famous for white coffee, drunk by locals either hot or iced. On this super-heated day, I drank the iced version only. My drinks arrived in tall glasses beaded with condensation. The coffee is roasted with palm oil margarine, something that sounds odd, but tastes delicious. I took my time drinking it, enjoying the overhead fans warding off the heat.
One of the city’s specialties is cendol, a layered iced dessert built for tropical heat. This scorching day seemed like the perfect time to try it. A huge serving arrived looking like a snowstorm in a bowl. On a bed of shaved ice were red beans, coconut milk, palm sugar syrup, and bright green rice flour jellies that resembled short strands of spaghetti. It looked artistic, but began melting almost immediately into a sweet, soupy mess. With it, I ordered strawberry ice milk, which turned out to be something resembling an overly sweet shake. Two sips and I reached for my water bottle. There was no way I could handle that much sugar.
At one stall I paused to watch a woman expertly shaping thick rounds of dough, pressing in fillings before slipping them into hot oil. The kaya puff’s scent was divine. The very friendly proprietor insisted I try them (two cost less than a dollar). The pastry had a faint green tint from pandan, an herb that gives the dough a subtle fragrance, slightly grassy and gently sweet. Malaysians use it much the way we use vanilla. One pastry was filled with potato, the other with curried meat. Fresh from the fryer, they were warm and slightly crisp at the edges. With it I ordered iced milk tea, which fortunately wasn’t terribly sweet. My previous snack had more than filled my sweet quota for the day (and maybe the week).
Between cafés, I wandered through Concubine Lane, once home to the mistresses of wealthy tin miners, now a lively stretch of stalls and snacks. In the shops selling packaged foods Malaysians’ love of durian (the stinky fruit) was reinforced. There were many brands of durian biscuits, durian paste, durian flavored white coffee mixes, durian candy, and more. I didn’t buy any.
Ipoh is not polished. Paint peels. Pavements crack. Fans hum. But that is part of its charm. It feels lived in, very un-Disney-like, which is how I view some city’s tourist areas.
By 3pm I called it a day. All I wanted was air conditioning. I reminded myself a blizzard was brewing back home in New York. Freezing or sweltering, take your pick. For now, I decided to embrace the heat, in carefully measured doses.