As much, I cried – in joy – this afternoon of December 2, 2008 at this reunion with the loved one. Only to cry – in pain – some more, at finding the beloved is forever gone.
Lest the wife hit me for some suspected high infidelity, let me strip off the romanticism and go to mundane journalism. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia’s capital city and not another lady, is the beloved above referred.
Yes, it was a totally different KL I landed to and I stayed in for a whirlwind sojourn of four days. But of course dummy, KL could not have been trapped in some time warp for over 23 years since you’ve been there. I told myself. A bit embarrassed that my gushing over the city produced some amused looks in my sponsor, the articulate Bessie Cagulangan-Rustia of Creative Travel & Tours and her Malaysian partner, the amiable and accommodating Michael Lim of My Axis Travel & Tours over afternoon tea and roti at an eatery in a sprawling complex at Putrajaya, billed in tourism collaterals as Malaysia’s “intelligent garden city.”
Putrajaya in fact is the new federal government administrative center, divided into so-called precincts where located practically all the government central offices as well as commercial, residential and recreational areas. It is a virtual city all its own connected with bridges that are an art by themselves. (A travelogue by Joey Pavia here, complete with photos, will do more justice to the place than my mere words here).
Awe-inspiring for its magnificence is the old rose-hued Putra Mosque that could have well been transposed from the Iran of old.
Of stately grace and commanding respect is the green-domed Perdana Putra that houses the main offices of the prime minister, the deputy prime minister, the ministers and their deputies.
I ran short of breath taking in the wonders of these magnificent edifices and more. To think that the greatest architectural wonders – to me, that is – in 1985 were only the ancient railway station and the more ancient Bandar Raya, all other buildings and structures all too bland and square in their design. The loftiest too then being Wisma Dayabumi which is now but a toe to the Petronas Towers.
On to the heights of Genting Highlands on my first night, the 20-minute cable ride eerily enveloped in fog and soundtracked with the creaking, croaking, hissing sound of the jungle over a hundred feet below.
To the complex of hotels, a casino, malls and theme parks at the peak. Tourists – mainly Chinese – what no Koreans? – checking in and out all hours of the day and night.
There I cried, again. Looking at happy families enjoying the best of times – in togetherness, tour guide-towed retirees, and teacher-led school kids having the time of their lives at the different a-la-Disney rides at the theme park.
I cried, in envy of them. For not one Filipino did I, and my group of seven, meet at Genting Highlands, and for that matter in all of KL in all those four days.
Realization comes with a sudden jolt: so where were all the Filipinos we were with in the Air Asia flight from Clark to here?
Possibly in the domicile of some expatriate executive. Maybe, in a palm or rubber plantation. Perhaps, in some videoke bar, or – God forbid – in a hidden brothel.
Aye, there lies the chasm of a difference in our travelling ways.
These foreigners leave home for leisure. Filipinos do out of necessity.
Theirs is a tour, ours a diaspora. One – in the case of the family tour packages – enhancing family solidarity. The other – ours – ever cleaving family unity.
Getting too depressed now. Got to stop. Or the pleasure of travel I most assuredly will lose. Yeah, a fix of expresso will do. Good there’s a Starbucks – three of them at Genting, and open 24 hours at that! Plus The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaves too.
