A dizzying day of merging cultures in Cameron Highlands

Sometimes when you travel to a certain place you learn not only about the local history, but also get some unexpected glimpses at life in other lands. Cultures merge and mix, integrate and fight, are absorbed and repelled; the remnants of the clash of peoples are still alive in many places if you only open your eyes and ears.

On Day 77 of our Southeast Asia trip, Masayo and I experienced some unexpectedly disparate cultural displays in and around the town of Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands section of central Malaysia.

Would that life were more full of long and satisfying days like this one.

It began with a tea-themed tour given by Kumar, whose tour to the Orang Asli village had been so much fun a few days earlier. The tea tour began early, before daylight: from our room at Father’s Guest House we stumbled into the pre-dawn gloom and climbed into Kumar’s 4×4 vehicle with a few others.

The first stop was a tea plantation somewhere up in the misty hills. The weather was cool and the workers began at dawn, skimming the top of the tea leaves and putting them in bags or in baskets carried on their backs. They walked up and down the rows of deep green tea plants along neat dirt tracks. Everything was impossibly well-manicured – indeed, constantly “manicuring” these plants is the whole point.

While Kumar explained the process of gathering tea for production and laid out sandwiches and drinks on the hood of his Jeep for us, the day got slowly brighter and brighter. With each passing minute, the light dissolved more of the brown-grey mist and revealed more hills at increasing distances, eccentric and undulating shapes full of tea plants doggedly following every curious contour.

With the name “Cameron Highlands”, and the cultivation of tea everywhere, the British influence on this part of Malaysia was clear. It also helped explain why there were cafés in Tanah Rata with British flags in the window serving scones and jam. The British no longer administer Malaysia, of course, but their presence here continues in the local culture.

We drove out of the tea hills along a narrow and winding path and Kumar took us to a short jungle walk nearby. Climbing a tower, we got a view of the endless hills of Cameron Highlands, and Kumar led us through the underbrush and gave mini-lectures about the plants in the area – including an amazing variety that ingeniously forms large red and white cups to trap rainwater for its own use.

Kumar then drove us down to the Boh Tea Center, a touristy but very nice place where they process the tea for sale to consumers. You can watch the factory through large glass windows, and afterwards sit on the patio of the restaurant/cafe and gaze out at more rolling, tea-becloaked hills.

Masayo and I got some cups of tea (of course), plus cake and samosa, and sat gazing at the view. By now the sun was high and the tea plantation was spectacularly green, iridescently so, under the deep blue sky with its white puffy clouds. It was a scene of strikingly bold primary colors, right out there in front of us. Photos came out nice, but are no substitute for being there and seeing it live and in person.

That evening, as the Indian woman who staffed the reception desk at Father’s Guest House had promised us, a street festival broke out all over Tanah Rata. It was called Panguni Uthiram, a kind of Tamil-Hindu full moon festival. (Those who love exotic scripts will enjoy the Tamil version of the celebration’s name: பங்குனி உத்திரம்).

Without much cultural knowledge or context for us to refer to, Masayo and I wandered with the crowds, mostly of Indian people dressed in brightly colored outfits, amid a procession of joyous and noisy vehicles. Women’s gowns sparkled in turquoises, lavenders, and yellows, and mustachioed men sat in dazzlingly lit, flower-strewn trucks, looking hot and endlessly beating drums and playing Indian flutes.

People passed around plates of food, and many went out of their way to make it clear that Masayo and I were welcome to try it too. We smiled and nodded gratefully and partook ourselves: the spirit of the fair was so inviting and thrilling it was hard not to get caught up in it all.

Malaysia has many Indian people, and it was nice to see the local Indian community in Tanah Rata getting to do their thing all over the streets in town, as the local Malays and Chinese, and occasional foreign tourists like us, joined in or at least stood by the road gawking appreciatively. Who doesn’t love a good evening jamboree?

The festival inched through the streets for a while, and the climax came when people grabbed hundreds of coconuts and smashed them to the asphalt in jagged white and brown chunks. The cacophonous destruction of the coconuts ended as some lit incense or candles and clasped their hands in prayer. The scent of coconut milk added yet another ingredient for the senses.

It had been a long but illuminating day, and it will probably take a while to ingest it all. From the grungy early morning fieldwork, to the muddy Malaysian flora lessons, to the indulgent British Raj tea break, to the wild and colorful Tamil street carnival, it was an experience like no other. We hit the pillow dazed and happy.

What interesting merging of cultures have you experienced?

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