Christmas in Malacca

Do you sometimes wish you could just escape? Disappear without a trace? Go somewhere where no one knows and cares about you? Where you could submerge yourself in the strange and unfamiliar world of others?

Do you sometimes dream of far-off exotic places?

Destinations where history will mesmerise you and inspire you to dream about exotic spices and wooden ships and warlords with black powder rifles and curvy swords and bloody battles and pirates and promises of riches so real that it makes you wish you were born centuries ago in this very location.

Malacca is such a destination. By the time you leave the bus at Melaka Sentral, you know you are somewhere special and unique to the last detail, for you have just arrived in the oldest Malaysian city in the Straits of Malacca. An entrepôt that attracted a assemblage of cultures, east and west, in search of influence and wealth. Today the city is a World Heritage site into which Malay, Chinese and Indian culture have been blended into a social tapestry that is both unique and fascinating.

Given its rich history, it is not surprising that tourism is a prominent part of contemporary Malacca. There are lots to see and do and everyone is queuing for the obligatory kitsch-but-colourful rickshaw ride. If ever you wanted a flamboyant public outing, this would be your vehicle of choice.

The food is simply to die for.

From the fine dining hall of a large hotel serving Baba Nyonya dishes, through the food stalls of the local markets, to the small informal eateries of Chinatown, I have had not a single bad or average meal.

It is possible that my food experiences were distorted by the city’s magic spell. It is hard to tell so many years later, but it is as if I can remember every single meal I ate during my little sojourn.

A highlight was the leftovers of an elaborate Christmas meal on the floor of the hotel room at midnight opening cheap but honest presents.

Malacca, like most of Asia, does not have much to offer in terms of Christmas spirit. My companion at the time devised a game where each partner had to search and purchase small theme-based gifts for the other in a specific neighbourhood, with a specified budget and within a limited period of time.

Quite a challenge I assure you, seeing that the winner would be whoever arrived back at the designated meeting point with all boxes ticked.

If I remember correctly, we chose a letter of the alphabet with which all gifts had to start and we had to find eight or nine different items. Food, I do remember, was one of them.

I do not rush through new neighbourhoods.

In fact, I do exactly the opposite. I stroll and stop, and sniff and poke. I touch and I taste and I listen and I explore with all my senses.

So, by virtue of my natural travel methodology, and the fact that I suffer from what was back then an undiagnosed adult version of ADHD, I was bound to loose this challenge without putting in any special effort. My shameful loss was predicted in the ancient Chinese scriptures and in the clouds that congregated over the eastern part of Chinatown.

And did I lose! By at least an hour or more, meaning the size of my time deficit approximated the size of Strait of Malacca.

Which, of course, annoyed my fellow participant to hell and back.

I survived a persistent series unfounded allegations that I ignored the rules and thus as such failed to make a competition out of it before making a booking at the hotel to dine on the fine fair of Peranakan Chinese cuisine also known as Baba Nyonya.

To this day, it was a Christmas meal to remember.

But so was my regular breakfast dish of Char Sui, Chinese-style BBQ pork. That is if you could overcome your rice-for-breakfast prejudice.

I suppose you could say that, with this dish, memories of Christmas in a foreign land came unusually early for me this year.

• 500 grams pork fillet

• 1 1/2 tablespoons honey

• 1 1/2 tablespoons hoisin sauce

• 1 teaspoon oyster sauce

• 2 tablespoon light soy sauce