Malaysia Day Two: spas, dim sum, and a slow show of feat.

the thing about flying around the world for 22 hours straight… it never really catches up to you. and even though we tried our hardest to sleep in, we were out of bed by 5.30 am making coffee and eggs and watching as the three children met the sunrise with such great vigor we felt instantly aged.

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we soaked in the morning coolness with earnest, for by midday the heat was bearing down on our shoulders and cheeks, filling in the color we had lost in the winter.  donning our caps and our body crossovers stashed with water, we girls made our way towards town to take in a session of traditional Thai foot massage, partaking in the local customs of reflexology and pressure points, and slowly allowing ourselves to be immersed.

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the ladies washed our barren feet and then led us to a dimly lit room with soothing music and leather chairs.  they spoke to each other in Bahasa, often pausing to look at me, and then gaze at Rhea; the woman in a top bun marveled at my daughter’s beauty and wondered if she were my child, since her hair was so fair and her eyes so green. an hour later, I was new. and tranquil. and very hungry.

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winding through the leaky streets of Taman Perling, we soon found ourselves engrossed in Malay culture.  incense and kitchen grease and  dusty clouds filled the putrid air.

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a few storefronts in, we joined the boys en masse to order Ribenas and soup dumplings and rice noodles and spicy pan fried deliciousness.

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awash in fullness from the dim sum of dreams, we spent the afternoon lazily snoozing and haphazardly swimming and relaxing admist the expats on the island.

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eventually the sommelier and I awoke to the reality of empty stomachs and a quiet house.  the crows gawking at the rising moon, we made our way to the local market where we found some Bali bream and local cabbage.  TexMexMalay style tacos emerged, accompanied by the always reliable, crisp, yet dry Trimbach.

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it was a good day. on the agenda tomorrow: Downtown Johore, temples, and fizzy drinks.

selamat Malam, friends.

the Slea Head: Dingle Peninsula.

I awoke in County Clare a new woman: fresh with ideas, lightened in the day’s itinerary, laden in truth, and burdened in virtue.  I had slept.  And I had drank.

Working our way South, we discovered mountains veiled in foggy curtains, and dotted with sheep. 

And then there were the ferries across the River Shannon; cold winds, deltas, and large tin ships with ginger-haired captains.  Coastal waterways deserving of bistro lunches and convoluted American dollars awaited us in Dingle. 

We had arrived.

 

  The sheep welcomed us. #twistedsistergoestoIreland had become a truth… with Gaelic…

and seatowns. The beauty was overwhelming. The roads empty, we took our time circling the small island.   After an exhausting day, we were on to Killarney… the capital of Irish tourism… and breathtaking views.    

 

 

Slainte.