A Shawarma, A Stroll, and Jimmy Choo

We strolled down Jalan Chulia, eyeing a few potential spots, but Parichad had her mind set on a kebab—or more accurately, a shawarma. She’d seen me enjoy one the night before and fancied trying it herself. Turning onto Jalan Carnarvon, we spotted a food vendor offering the same type of shawarma as the one we had seen earlier on Jalan Chulia. A quick chat with the vendor, a glance at his prices, and our order was placed—Parichad went for a hot chicken wrap, while I opted for a beef burger with all the trimmings. Feeling indulgent, I also ordered a plate of French fries, smothered in creamy cheese sauce. Oh, the guilt and the joy of such a sinful choice!

As we waited for our food, we were bombarded by other street vendors shoving their menus in our faces, despite our repeated insistence that we’d already ordered and needed nothing more. Their persistence went from slightly annoying to downright irritating, but we remained polite. Once our food arrived and we began to eat, the harassment continued, vendors still pushing their menus at us. I couldn’t help but think how absurd it was—why would anyone who’s already eating want to order more food?

Just as we were getting into our meal, a young man approached, menu in hand, asking if we wanted to order drinks. We politely declined, explaining that we planned to grab something elsewhere after our meal. But he wasn’t deterred. He insisted that if we wanted to sit at the table—one of the public tables on the roadside—we had to order a drink. It was a con, plain and simple, and I wasn’t having it. He clearly hadn’t learned never to try and bullshit a bullshitter. I pushed back, and thankfully, as I felt my blood pressure reaching a peak, the vendor we bought our food from stepped in to back me up, sending the guy on his way. But the whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth. It wasn’t a pleasant end to what should have been a simple meal.

Afterwards, we wandered through the backstreets, with Love Lane among them, winding our way around the large block where our hotel was located. As usual, something interesting caught our eye—something amazing, really. Parichad was ahead, as she often is, while I lagged behind, captivated by some street art. It was more than just art; it told a story. Crafted from iron, on the side of an old house, it read, "This is the place where Jimmy Choo, the fashion designer, served his apprenticeship." I was stunned. Could it really be true that this unassuming house was where such a globally renowned figure got his start?

Later, back at the hotel, I did some quick research. It seems there’s some debate about whether this was the actual house where Jimmy Choo learned his craft, though his father did own a house on that street, and it’s said that Jimmy worked there. The council had marked it on the building, which gave it an air of authenticity, though absolute certainty eluded us. Still, the discovery was fascinating, a reminder of how serendipitous travel can be.

As we wandered through the dimly lit backstreets of Penang, taking in the quiet charm of Love Lane and the surrounding roads, I couldn't help but notice a small group that seemed to mirror our steps. Two women, dressed casually but with an air of elegance, and a young girl walked just ahead or behind us, always within earshot. They appeared to be exploring with the same curiosity and sense of adventure that guided us. What caught my attention most, though, was the unmistakable lilt of a French accent as they chatted among themselves. They seemed to be enjoying their night, just as we were, soaking in the sights and perhaps seeking out their own little discoveries in the winding streets of George Town.

The next day, as we caught our bus from Penang Island at the main terminal, ready to head back to Kuala Lumpur, I was still reflecting on the pleasant surprise of discovering Jimmy Choo’s beginnings. The bus rumbled over the iconic Penang Bridge, connecting the island to the mainland, where we made a brief stop at the bus terminal to pick up more passengers. To my astonishment, I saw the same two women and the young girl from the previous night boarding our bus. I nudged Parichad and whispered, "Look, it's them again. What do you reckon they were up to last night, wandering those backstreets near our hotel, and now catching the bus from the mainland? How extraordinary!"

It was a curious coincidence, one that added a layer of mystery to our trip. Were they travellers like us, enjoying the serendipities of Penang, or was there something more to their journey? The encounter left us with more questions than answers, but that's the beauty of travel—the unexpected connections, the fleeting glimpses into other lives, and the stories that unfold, often without resolution.

Moral of the story: Sometimes, the most unexpected moments come from the simplest of plans. A casual stroll or a bite to eat might just lead you to discover something extraordinary. Never underestimate the power of wandering, even if it’s just to find your next meal.

© Peter Pickering 2024. www.peterpickering.com

Our last night in Penang felt like the calm before the storm, knowing we’d soon be heading back to the bustle of Kuala Lumpur for our final week in Malaysia. Exhausted from a whirlwind day, we retreated to our hotel room for a well-earned rest. I crashed for a couple of hours, waking around five-thirty, feeling the kind of hunger that creeps up on you slowly but persistently. Parichad and I both agreed that despite our weariness, we couldn’t ignore our stomachs. So, we mustered up what energy we had left and ventured out in search of food.