The Influence
Fun facts and photos
Hi, Alex here. As you read The Influence you’ll inevitably come upon places that you’re either not familiar with or that you’ve already visited following the standard tourist guides; yet somehow missed experiencing the truly interesting bits. If you’re like me, you’ll be on Google regularly, looking for additional information to fill in the gaps.
While I encourage you, the reader, to do your own research, you may want to start with my take on each location, with photos whenever possible. Either by chance or design, wherever I’ve been I’ve always managed to come across people and practices at most hinted at in the Lonely Planet guides and never, ever even mentioned in, say, Fodor’s. But I guess one needs both sufficient time and an inquisitive mind combined with recklessness for that.
The layout is simple: each place visited in the novel has a heading, but as Kuala Lumpur is the base for the novel and as new locations within the city get mentioned later, there will be additional descriptions added there as the novel progresses.
Malaysia
Kuala Lumpur
An Asian megacity, forever in the shadow of Singapore and its achievements after the island state was unceremoniously kicked out of the newly formed Malaysia in 1965. Ever since, Singapore’s unstoppable economical and sociopolitical development (having a secular government, compared to Malaysia’s insistence on Islamic principles, makes a huge difference) has been a thorn in the side of Malay politicians who have wasted billions on prestige projects playing catch-up with Singapore. Still a third world country rife with corruption and cronyism, sorely needed funding for community and social development has over decades been diverted to unnecessary projects devised by megalomaniacs. I’ll give you a few examples:
How about the Petronas Towers, for a few years the two highest buildings (yes, not one but two!) in the world? Paid for by profits from Petronas, the national oil company and commissioned by one of the former prime ministers, Mahathir. Built for no other reason than to briefly put Malaysia on the world map and provide Mahathir with a top floor in one of the buildings as his personal office and entertainment space.
Surely Malaysia needed its own car manufacturer, you may ask. Proton, another Mahathir success (ahem), was intended to produce simple, cheap cars for the masses. They’re certainly still simple, so simple that they have a tendency to break down as soon as you look at them, never mind attempt to drive one. There are so many things going wrong with them that no car manufacturer ever thought were possible. But they are cheap, right? Much cheaper than imports? Ah… they’re not. Following the inauguration of the Proton factory, import duties on cars have steadily increased, so much so that you nowadays have to pay anything up to 300% of the original value in tax and duties. Believe it or not, there’s a local Volvo plant, with manufacturing and assembly done in the country, yet Volvo buyers still have to fork out a fortune in punitive taxation, all in the name of safeguarding the local automotive industry. Most of the collected taxes are supposed to go to Proton, for R&D and to keep prices competitive. Funny enough, as the import fees have gone up, so have the Proton prices, without any quality improvement whatsoever. It does make you wonder whose bank accounts all this money gravitates to.
More recently, Najib, the disgraced former prime minister, was caught stealing from the people in the name of advancing the country. Among his dubious accomplishments was the launch of the KL-Singapore bullet train rail construction and the humongous property development around the planned train station in KL. With a grossly overestimated budget and prime land forcibly bought for a pittance, guess who pocketed the difference.
But hey, this is Southeast Asia where anything can happen and regularly does. Money talks, just like everywhere else, except that here, politicians and business leaders (they tend often to be the same) assume that the populace is ignorant enough – bred and cowed into submission, and trained to appreciate the odd handout – not to pose any serious threat to the ruling classes.
Regardless of its criminally incompetent (or should that be incompetently criminal?) politicians and generally fucked-up civil servants, Malaysia remains a beautiful and fascinating place. The people are warm and welcoming. The capital matches any Western metropolis with its skyline and wide avenues and experience overload. And although it increases the pulse of residents and visitors alike, whether during a shopping spree or a night out, the hot climate also thins your blood and lowers your blood pressure to acceptable levels. Trust me, the endless shopping and eating and partying possibilities are just as good, if not better, while both cheaper and more relaxed, than in Singapore.
Bukit Tunku
The most prestigious address in Malaysia, said to be the equivalent of Beverly Hills, this is a heavily forested area of some nine square kilometres and barely three kilometres, as the parrot flies, from the city centre.
Property development is only permitted on already registered plots and usually involves demolition of an existing structure. In adherence to the Bukit Tunku guidelines – allowing a population density of no more than 40 people per acre – most new developments involve single family houses and occasionally a low rise, low density condo. The jungle areas are supposedly off limits, to preserve the multitude of wildlife thriving there. That’s the theory, of course. In reality, most of the remaining jungle covers quite hilly terrain and the low, flat areas are swampy and eminently unsuitable for human habitat – not least after a heavy rainfall when they all turn into muddy ponds teeming with mosquitoes and pit vipers. Even so, the odd developer may surprisingly get a permit depending on the size of the bribe before eventually realising that the battle is lost and give up, abandon the erected skeleton and hand it over to the flora and fauna eager to move in.
Desperate to own a house in Bukit Tunku but with nothing suitable on the market, affluent but clueless people have even bought slopes and swamps at a premium and attempted to build houses on stilts (ugly, concrete ones) with varying degrees of success. Many of these are now ruins, yet the owners refuse to sell as land values in Bukit Tunku are nowadays approaching house values elsewhere and just keep on rising. Instead, they let the buildings d
eteriorate and become eyesores, and are apparently allowed to do so by the city council. As always in this country, money and influence take precedence over common sense and rule of law.
It’s a strange place indeed, Bukit Tunku, with its unique mix of individually designed palatial houses and old ruins, all of them surrounded by near-pristine jungle.
More than a few architects deserve public hanging, drawing and quartering for designing houses that have no place here. Come to think of it, these monstrosities have no place anywhere in the world. But I guess the architects were just following the whims of their terminally vulgar clients. Look at the ugly concrete and glass box, or the elaborate gate dripping with gold paint and promising further excesses once you’ve passed through the faux-Roman columns.
Admit it – you didn’t believe me, did you, when I mentioned a castle in the second chapter? Here it is, Camelot, in its absolute ugliness. Nowadays abandoned (and rightly so, Arthur himself would’ve committed suicide if forced to live there) and for sale. Fancy a castle for a few million quid? I thought not.
There are many gorgeous houses here too, which I will attempt to get photos of and share with you, if and when I get the opportunity. It’s not easy. Some of them are so far from the solid metal gates and high concrete walls as to be hidden from sight by the dense jungle. With others, you get a veritable army of discretely armed Nepalese guards coming out to ask if you’re lost and remind you that ‘Sir, no photography allowed here.’
Stay tuned for more pics, not least of the amazing flora and fauna encountered while walking along the roads.
With so many ruins encroached upon by the jungle it’s no wonder that Bukit Tunku is reputedly the most haunted and spooky place in Malaysia. Not just the houses – even the roads are haunted. In addition to the usual gruesome tales of murder and suicide, invariably happening to high-ranking foreigners over the last century, people have apparently died ignoring an obvious bend in the road and instead plunging straight down one of the many ravines. 
It’s either blamed on the infamous ghost motorcycle rider that lures drivers to follow him, or the sudden appearance of a pontianak or kuntilanak (the equivalents of incubus/succubus in European folklore) in the middle of the road.
It always happens at night. Surely nothing to do with Malaysia’s national sport, practiced by all levels of society and eagerly adopted by most expats, called “Driving while sloshed”, sometimes followed by “Passing the fifty”. A very simple game, yet satisfying for both parties, it involves a financial transaction and the traffic cop that stopped you because of your erratic driving.
Once you realise how deeply superstitious the people here are, you begin to understand the significance of the shrines put up at the entrance of each property. Not only do they shield the inhabitants from malicious spirits, abundant as they are in the jungle and set on mischief whenever they can, these shrines – if taken care of daily, typically by adding fresh incense, rice, flowers and cigarettes (yes, cigarettes!) as offerings, and more or less sincerely prayed to – are supposed to bring good luck to everyone living in the house. The individual shrines may look different depending on the house owner’s current religious beliefs, including the nouveau-Christians’ obsession with crucifixion, but they all serve the same purpose: “Give me some slack, oh Lord, and smite my enemies.”
Are you keen on investing in hot property? Are you in possession of an abundance of funds and optimism, not too bothered with actual ROI calculations because you see this as a long-term investment? Or are you perchance someone like David Attenborough, with enough money to spare and looking for an exotic retreat? Then Bukit Tunku is the place for you. Malaysia is one of the very few countries outside the Western world that allows foreign ownership – not only of condos and houses but also land.
Sabah, Borneo
In the early hours of 1 October 1944, with the tragedy well documented, three Japanese cargo ships, Kokusei Maru, Hikane Maru and Hiyori Maru, were sunk by an American submarine, the USS Hammerhead, off the coast of Sabah. Known as the Usukan wrecks, these have provided unique environments for marine life in an otherwise barren part of the South China Sea with its featureless sandy and muddy bottom.
As a diver, you were able to experience everything at these three dive sites, regardless of your preference: from soft and hard corals, to crustaceans, to rare deepwater shells, to a multitude of fish species all the way from bottom feeders to apex predators such as barracudas and sharks. When you also consider the historical interest of the wrecks, it’s not surprising that divers used to come there from all over the world to marvel at these three dive locations. And also contributed significantly to the Sabahan tourism industry.
On another level, and even more important, the wrecks were also instrumental in providing local people with both food and income. The wrecks guaranteed daily food on the table, with any surplus catch sold for top money to the most exclusive KK restaurants.
Alas, the wrecks are no more. Gone, disappeared and erased, together with the marine life. No more exciting dives for people who travelled all the way from the other side of the globe just to see something unique. No more food and income for the local fishermen. Greed and stupidity may be annoying enough, unfortunately common traits for the overwhelming majority of humankind, but combined with political power these become lethal. And disastrous.
The true story will off course never be made public (this is Malaysia, remember), but here’s a summary of what is known: a Chinese marine salvage outfit (in other words, a Chinese pirate ship operating with the blessing of the fat panda) was hired by a Malaysian company for the looting… sorry, job. The Malaysian company, working hand-in-glove with a local university (you’d think that academics are above reproach, wouldn’t you?) claimed initially that this was a clean-up operation as there were reportedly toxic substances in the wrecks, leaking out into the surrounding sea. Really? Funny, then, that the marine life didn’t get decimated – if anything, it just went on proliferating until it was all killed in the end.
The most gross aspect of this affair is that the actual profits from this piracy act were likely minimal. Reputedly, the first thing pirates go for are the propellers. Cast in bronze, the material itself commands some 2,500 dollars per tonne. Now, I’m not an expert in water propulsion and my calculations may be wrong, but based on what I’ve found on Google, I’d expect that the Japanese ships’ propellers were somewhere around 30 tonnes each. Assuming two propellers per ship, and three ships, the total weight of these would be in the region of 180 tonnes. Thus, at less than half-a-million dollar value (even if you throw in the rest of the hull metal, and the odd artefact from the ships being individually salvaged and sold at an auction), this is high-seas piracy at its worst. Maximum damage with minimum gain.
If you want to read more about it and get justifiably irate, as well as query your local political representative about it, check out this story, or this one.
Singapore
Much can be said about this Lilliputian island state, for better or worse. I’ll skip the latter as I’d like to be able to continue visiting the place every now and then and prefer not to be turned away on arrival for spreading seditious propaganda. Or get arrested and caned for publishing what Singapore autocrats would deem fake and malicious news.
Speaking of that grossly inhumane and humiliating punishment, caning is still enthusiastically practiced in the former British colonies of Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei. Believe it or not, it was introduced by the British in the 19th century – so much for the Empire’s claim that they were civilising the world! Do look up the very few pictures of caning available on Google and shudder in righteous disgust. Then consider that caning in schools is still allowed and seen as character-building in Singapore, a progressive and developed country as its government would like you to view it…
But now to something completely different, and much, much more important. Where to sleep and feed in style while in Singapore:
Ever since Raffles was bought by DBS – A bloody bank, would you believe? – and renovated (some would say ruined beyond recognition and I agree) in the early 1990s, I’ve made Goodwood Park my choice home away from home each time I visit. Another decent bet is the Fullerton, of course, but only if you want to be within walking distance of the banking district (cringingly crass) and the bars and restaurants in Clarke Quay (boringly bourgeois). All three hotels are housed in beautiful old buildings, although Raffles has lost most of its old-world charm following the brainless renovation.
Goodwood Park started out some 120 years ago as the Teutonia Club, a meeting place for the numerous German expats who even then, I’m sure, were plotting about world hegemony. How appropriate, then, that the building was bought in 1918 by three Jewish brothers who later converted it into a luxury hotel. The establishment has an impressive list of world-famous guests (other than me), some of them even infamous. Before he caught religion and went gaga, the Sultan of Brunei used to regularly visit Singapore for a bit of shopping and, so I’ve been told, general cavorting with hookers in Brubaker’s, the in-club just down the street. Not happy with just a few suites, he would book a whole hotel wing for his extensive entourage. According to a former employee who shall remain anonymous for obvious reasons, there were incidents regularly taking place in that wing that would make the terrace scene from Singapore Fling seem like a kindergarten outing. Not to mention the furniture replacements and extensive cleaning (including the carpeting, hmm…) that would go on for days every time the royals left the premises.
Yes, you may die in Singapore if you’re not careful, but it will never be from hunger or thirst. Places where you may eat well are everywhere, ranging from top-notch, Michelin noted restaurants to hole-in-the-wall eateries and numerous hawker centres. If you’re shopping on Orchard Road, sooner or later you will discover the cheep-and-cheerful Lucky Plaza. Don’t you dare to ignore its basement – an unforgettable tour de force of Asian flavours! But if you’re hungry and care about your food, eat well before you visit Clarke Quay. Catering mainly for non-returning tourists and expats solely intent on getting drunk, most of the restaurants there serve overpriced and under-flavoured pap, and do it less than gracefully.
If you’re into seriously good food and prefer it to be seriously hot (Of course you are, why would you be reading this otherwise?) there is a lovely little place in Little India, Lagnaa, also known as ‘bare foot dining’. The dishes on the menu are all graded according to the amount and variant of chillies used and the resulting fire in your mouth. No, no, no – it’s not one of these boring ‘mild, spicy, hot’ restaurants – for these people chillies are a religion. The scale is from one to ten and if you’re a drop-in as I was, they won’t let you have anything above seven. Trust me, I begged them but to no avail after I finished the final dish, insisting that I could easily go to ten. If you don’t believe me, go check out their wall of fame, I’m up there. The good part is, once you get to seven, you qualify for their full moon parties where you can go all the way and… hey, just make sure you don’t have a bleeding ulcer.
The Philippines
Manila
If you love traffic congestion, by all means do visit Manila. Even Jakarta and Bangkok seem like a breeze after a ride between the less than grandiose Nino Aquino International Airport – a loose collection of ugly, concrete and rundown terminals, and Makati. Do bring refreshments with you, and an empty bottle if you have a weak bladder. Hotel limo drivers will usually have a selection of pre-loved but thankfully empty ones for your perusal. If you’ve forgotten something, don’t despair – you’ll have a couple of hours to get acquainted with your fellow motorists. Filipinos are a friendly bunch and will happily share their water, cigarettes or sandwiches with you. Or exchange business cards and life stories. You’d think it a bartering market, with miscellaneous items continuously being passed between the cars.
There’s less than nine kilometres of wide roads and avenues between NAIA and Makati, yet in that time you could easily fly between Manila and Davao, one of the farthest domestic destinations. I did mention the terminals earlier, didn’t I? If you’re changing planes at NAIA it’s prudent to find out your arrival and departure terminals beforehand and plan well ahead. You can’t walk between the terminals and will need to take a taxi – forget the shuttles. Add to it the mayhem inside – endless queues and security checks every ten metres (They don’t allow lighters at the airport, would you believe? I always carry several empty ones and pull one out together with the cigarettes, then act disappointed when they take it away.) – and you’ll need a minimum of three hours for any terminal change.
Once in Makati things start looking up. Sure, the streets are just as congested but you can walk almost everywhere. You may end up with a chronic lung disorder, however, so don’t overdo it. I’d suggest a stay in a well-placed hotel like Peninsula or Shangri-La and a quick sprint to the Glorietta mall. This one has everything a discerning visitor requires when visiting a country for the first time and wants to have a genuine experience. Taste a hamburger at Jollibee then decide to have dinner at TGIF instead. Have a coffee at Starbucks before you check out the souvenir shop selling local handiwork proudly made in Indonesia and China. End the evening in one of the cinemas showing the latest mindless action tat from Hong Kong.
If you want class and history I recommend the Manila Hotel instead, situated on Roxas Boulevard, with the smelly port on one side and the ruins of a Spanish fort, Intramuros, on the other. It’s outside Makati but has the benefit of being close to Ermita, Manila’s classic red light district. Despite decades of upstanding politicians doing their best to clean up the area, it’s still wonderfully sleazy, with new bars and go-go joints popping up nightly. It’s only a fifteen minute walk, almost cool and refreshing after sunset. Getting back to the hotel may be a challenge, as you’ll hardly remember the country you’re in, let alone the name of the hotel. Let the bar girl you picked up haggle with the taxi driver and help you to your room. Don’t forget to give her a substantial tip in the morning, on top of what she charged you, to cover her three children’s education and medical costs. Do remember that nothing comes for free, and giving is always more charitable than receiving.
The highlight of your visit, if you stay at the Peninsula, will undoubtedly be sitting at one of the multitude of bars in the foyer and watching politicos and other self-important people preen themselves, surrounded and endlessly toasted by admiring toadies. And let’s not forget the unique experience as you walk back to the hotel following your less than memorable visit to Glorietta, along the pavement and perfectly pruned bushes outside the hotel and blissfully unaware of coming challenges. Running the gauntlet of tall and slim exotic looking women with outrageous hairdos and makeup, and clothes that give a new meaning to indecency. Promising you activities that you’ve never even considered in your most frivolous fantasies. In a husky and anything but girly voice, if you get my drift. You’ve been warned.
Once you’ve done all of the above you can leave Manila satisfied that you’ve seen and experienced everything there is.
Zamboanga
Although less congested than Manila or Cebu City, at first glance Zamboanga is nothing to write home about. Just another boring Southeast Asian town with city pretentions, with unremarkable and dreary modern architecture sharing space with squalor and chickens and rabid dogs. But you will get pleasantly surprised if you persevere long enough to sample its charms.
You may wonder initially why its inhabitants persist in praising it and singing songs about it, calling it the Pearl of the Orient. Or Zamboanga Hermosa if they’re inclined towards Spanish. (Unless you’re a linguist specialising in Southeast Asian languages you won’t understand a word of the local lingo, but even so you’ll get the difference from Manila-speak. Lots of Spanish words but with very different pronunciation and semantics.)
But you begin to appreciate the place as you recline on your lounger by the Lantaka Hotel pool with a never-ending supply of umbrella-topped drinks, and watch the perfectly calm sea across which colourful vintas ply their trade. Do not miss visiting the Santa Cruz island, visible in the distance, with its unique pink coral beach (if you insist on knowing everything, it’s created by an abundance of Tubipora musica growing in the shallows) and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience a sunstroke – even if you spend all of your time in shade. I know I did.
A bit about the Zamboangeños: Just like in Manila (or, for that matter, the whole country), don’t think for a moment that the people in charge are original Filipinos (or Pinoys, as they affectionately call themselves). Yes, they may brand themselves as such, but below the surface you will inevitably discover Spanish genes. And further down, Chinese, just like in any Southeast Asian country. They may pretend to be assimilated, having taken on local names and customs and even religions, but at heart they are Chinese and behave as such. It’s all about money and controlling it, at any cost. There are a handful of clans in the Philippines hiding behind Spanish sounding names that have always run the country and its finances. Presidents come and go, unrest and civil wars may take place, yet these families always manage to stay on top, ruthless and single-minded. Very much like Thailand and its military and banking elite.
Sulu
I have no doubt that the only reason for the Sulu islands to have remained undeveloped is because of the miscellaneous bands, groups, and otherwise organised criminals that prefer the archipelago to stay that way. Not unlike Northern Ireland where the PUPs and the Provos pretended for decades to be aligned along religious lines when in reality both sides were a bunch of thugs in control of drugs, weapons and prostitution, and making a killing out of it to the detriment of ordinary people. As is the case anywhere in the world, it is the rich and powerful (and megalomaniacs) that incite and command the unwashed masses for their own profit.
The answer to the troubles in Sulu – and poverty of its people – is simple: offer secular education to all children, with scholarships for secondary and tertiary schools for the bright ones; provide meaningful work for all adults, at least enough to comfortably feed a family and secure their dwelling; but most important – get rid of the goddamn religious claptrap fed to the people by priests and imams who convince the bleating sheep that ‘our god is the only one’ and worth dying for. For what? A highly hypothetical afterlife which will supposedly obliterate the poverty and injustices that these folks are suffering in the one and only lifetime they will ever experience?
But let’s get away from politics and religious warmongers, with most of you sighing in relief – I can hear you, you know. The Sulu archipelago is the most beautiful, diverse and untouched part of our planet. Blessed by being close enough to the equator to avoid typhoons, with very moderate dry and wet seasons, it can be enjoyed any time of the year. Its islands and reefs are a true paradise, with more marine species than anywhere else and beaches that you’d be certain were photoshopped until you saw them for yourself. And not least the most welcoming people in the world, accepting you as you are and eager to make your experience last a lifetime. With the freshest seafood possible, washed down with San Miguel beer and the odd Tanduay rum shot. Can it get any better than that?
Are you game?