The total rip-off tour of George Town, Malaysia

You have to carefully guard every cent when you’re on a lengthy but low-budget traveling adventure. In the interest of extending the trip as far as is comfortable, but still making it fun and worthwhile, you learn how to balance your expenditures and how to make hard choices.

In this spirit, Masayo and I rarely do anything that is typically “touristy”. Tours and events that are geared towards foreign visitors, we find, are usually overpriced. It can only be in the budget if the payoff is spectacular, or is something that is clearly a “can’t miss” experience.

Fortunately, if your forced frugality is matched with a laid-back approach to travel itself and a fascination with a destination’s people and life, you’ll find that tourist excursions are often anodyne, inauthentic, and rather brainless anyway: you pay over the odds to gawk at something which you struggle to enjoy because, hey, you paid for it.

In George Town, Malaysia, on an island in the Andaman Sea near the Thai border which we arrived at back on Day 88, Masayo and I made a rare exception to our unwritten rule: we signed up for a private tour of George Town.

It felt right: we would be leaving Malaysia soon, as my 90-day tourist visa was almost up. And we were tired of doing everything ourselves; this would be a true indulgence. A way to get a glimpse of George Town that we might not otherwise see, even if the mode of travel isn’t our standard choice. And maybe even to see how “the other half” travels – the “savvy customer” half that demands to be served and shown around to places.

In a rickety little bookstore down the street from our room at Malibu Café and Guesthouse, an older Malay man with a long, gentle face sat at wooden table. His books were interesting, but we were there because he also booked tours. We chose a simple tour around George Town – just the two of us, for the following day.

We were picked up the next morning in a white van by a cheerful Indian driver. Masayo and I sat in the back and we took off. What would we see? Who knows, but how exciting!

Our first stop was a place where local women were making batik cloth, dying sections in lovely designs. Several items of clothing and decorative pieces hung for sale on racks.

A humorless woman showed us quickly around, briefly demonstrating the process and with forced jocularity having me try on a shirt. It was all a little strange, and we obviously weren’t in the market to buy expensive batik clothing, but it was nice enough to see this little slice of local crafts.

Back in the van, the guide chatted amiably to us and we hit the next stop: a gold jewelry shop. We went inside, and finally the penny dropped for Masayo and I. This had nothing to do with touring local culture, this was just being shunted around to various shops as prospective customers.

Not only was it annoying, but they really had the wrong people if they thought we might buy something.

On the way out I pulled the guide aside and told him we wanted a tour, not any more touristy knickknack shops or anything. I said we weren’t interested in shopping. He understood and assured me all would henceforth be ok.

Our next stop was better: a cable car that leads up Penang Hill. The guide didn’t come with us, saying he’d meet us back at the bottom in about 90 minutes. So Masayo and I rode the funicular up to the top and looked out over the island and the sea. The views were impressive, though there wasn’t much to actually do up on the top besides buy junk food from little stalls, which we didn’t need. The walking paths around the area were nice, though.

When we got back to the bottom later, the guide met us and took us on a quick visit to a Chinese temple. We admired the jade green dragon art, the intricately carved wooden decorations, and the red candles dripping wax and sending smoke wafting through the afternoon air. A dog lying on the ground outside was enjoying himself too.

Finally it was time for lunch: an Indian restaurant, like the kind we’ve often been eating at already on this trip. It was good, as usual: rice and meats and papad served on a giant banana leaf. They gave us cutlery, but I didn’t use mine: all fingers, just like the Indian locals do!

While we ate, the guide disappeared but came back to pick us up. As we piled in, he apologized and said he had something personal he needed to take care of. With that, we rode to his house, where he picked up his wife and young son.

So now the five of us rode down the road. There was a DVD system in the van, and an Indian musical was playing. Dancers in colorful clothes swayed with expressive, meaningful moves and shot dramatic looks at one another, telling some grand, melodramatic story that eluded us. When I remarked that it was interesting, the guide asked if I wanted to buy the DVD from him.

We dropped his family off somewhere and headed for the next stop, which he apologized again for by saying it was a place you could buy crafts but it was also actually very interesting. This turned out to be a large weaving place, with gigantic looms in it. He was right: it was rather interesting – as far as unrequested souvenir shopping goes.

On the way to the next place, the guide was chatting on his phone when a police officer pulled us over: he’d earned a ticket for talking on the phone while driving, and knew he’d been caught red-handed. He seemed rather upset but accepted the ticket with resignation. I got the sensation that his own budget would have to be stretched to pay for it.

Our final stop of the day was at a strange place that had snakes everywhere. Different reptilian beasts lay, some slithering but most rather still, in hot pens. Someone who worked there showed us around half-heartedly, and for the finale tried aggressively to persuade us to buy a photo of ourselves holding a big fat snake. Absolutely uninterested, and feeling offended by the “GIVE ME YOUR DAMN MONEY” feel of the entire day, I steadfastly refused.

And with that, the waste of money tour finished. The guide took us back and we thanked him insincerely, vowing to be very careful in the future with “tours”.

Looking back on the tour of George Town, there was nothing really worthwhile about it. We could have made it to the funicular railway ourselves and done that without the pointless visits to gold shops and dodgy snake zoos.

This tour was really a series of commission-based attempts to get more money from us; the fee we paid for the tour itself apparently purchased nothing. It was quite a stark contrast to the wonderful tours to the Orang Asli settlement and the tea plantation we’d experienced in Tanah Rata, and has really put us off of tours for a while unless strictly necessary.

As far as I’m concerned, there are no good guys in this tale: the old man at the bookstore must be getting a cut of all this but know the tour is a sham, and the driver was so eager for commissions that he never planned on giving us any real tour of anything. All the shop owners were rather open in their disdain for us, which was detectable even through their fake smiles.

The final word on our experience on this trip may be that, in trying to find photos to add to this article, I barely have enough to stretch over the entire page. There just wasn’t much worthy of snapping pictures of. (In fact one photo on this page is from the day before the trip :P)

From now on, more than ever, we will forge our own way, make our own friends, and keep our days light and free. We’re travelers, not tourists. And we inadvertently proved that that isn’t just a theoretical philosophy… it’s actually true.

How lucky is the traveler!

Have you ever been unimpressed or even annoyed by a disappointing tour?

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