Whisky Wilderness

The Return to the Wild

"Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die"

~ Isaiah 22:13 (Old Testament)

It was straight out of an episode of the Simple Life. City girl takes on kampung life. (I hope I didn't embarass myself too much!) After an encounter with a really good old friend, I suddenly found myself speeding down the North-South Highway with no end in sight last Friday. But as I was with a bunch of drunken boys for a weekend that promised a grand old time – I was hardly complaining.

Okay, the little-known town of Muar (little known to me, the bona-fide KL-lite and city girl to the bone) was in sight. I’d known the Don (as we really did call him) since our first year of University. He was the main man, the centre of everybody’s universe that kept the whole jing-bang gang of us together. We had come from across the globe – Malaysia, Kenya, Oman, Egypt, Tanzania, and yes, there was even one sole English representative. Initially, we did not have much to bind us together.

The Don soon took care of that. He’d gathered us together in his tiny kitchen, serving up platter after platter of mouth-watering dishes. (I still blame him for my extra 10 kilos I gained at university. I have yet to lose it!) True, we had to wait for "dinner" – he’d only start to cook when we arrived (booze in tow)! Often, we’d have to wait till the wee hours of the morning to actually partake in the feast.

But what a feast it was!

We’ve come a long way from those endless nights where the only thing we had to worry about was if the bottles were going to last the night. Death, family circumstance, financial woes, work worries, relationship pains have all settled in since, but in my one weekend with him and his friends, I learnt that despite it all, nothing dampens the human spirit.

He’s a true inspiration. His friends and family welcomed me with open arms. I was amazed at such warmth and ready acceptance. But that just goes to prove what a guy he was, and his well deserved good reputation. There’s nothing anyone wouldn’t do for him, for there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them. We all owe him, in some way – for brightening our lives as he did. I only hope that no one ever lets him down, for he deserves nothing less than 100% loyalty.

We’d reached Muar in record time. My father was freaked … a normally 2 and a half hour drive took barely 90 minutes. I was slightly freaked too. Never had I even seen the speedometer go past 120, let alone 180. The Ford Explorer was absolutely FLYING. And it didn’t help that what was between the driver and the front passenger seat was a six-pack. All I could do was shut my eyes and pray.

I broke my long-held vow of never getting into a car where the driver was drinking. Thankfully, I survived. I will not be doing that again anytime soon. (And will not apologise for it!) Drinking whisky makes driving risky! For all my so called "wild ways"- as I'd frequently been accused of by my more sober and grown-up friends, I never felt more a dull bore as I did this weekend! Those boys put me to shame!

There were two other boys on this trip – mates of the Don, who despite not (really) knowing me before, were my instant protectors and big brother stand-ins. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for me – taking me all over Muar to see the sights, buying me anything they thought I may like, ensuring I was kept happy and well.

I was. It was a weekend orgy of food and drink and as the Irish would say – great craic (fun/laughter). We never stopped eating, and took breaks only to pour yet another drink. I let down the "Muar Gang" by barely having a couple of glasses, when they were opening bottle after bottle. I’m more of a vino/vodka girl when all they had was whisky. And I’m only 5’2". I can’t eat a hell of a lot … and didn’t exactly do the massive amounts of food they had justice.

But I had a brilliant time. You know what they also say … whisky makes you frisky! We created such havoc in the streets of Muar with all our drunken carousing. I had not had that much of carefree free-wheeling fun in far too long. Thank goodness there’s still room in our almost-thirty lives for such reckless cavorting! I doubt Muar town will be forgetting our visit anytime soon. I sincerely hope the friendships forged this weekend will last.

The Don flits in and out of our lives, but I rest safe in the knowledge that all I have to do is call.

The only (slight) mar would have been Liverpool barely salvaging a draw with Everton, and my poor Crouchy not really performing. (Okay, I’ll admit it; Peter Crouch at 6’9", is far too tall for me.) However, the weekend thrashing of the Spurs more than made up for it. I’m not a United supporter, but Rex lives and breathes Tottenham Hotspurs. Knowing he’d be in the depths of despair and it would be the Singaporean Slut who'd have to deal with his sulks and guaranteed surly mood makes me feel a great deal better about the whole thing!