The Spirit of Recycling

It was the start of the 7th month, and at the backs of restaurants, incense and gold-painted papers burnt fervently, with the ashes flying frivolously in search of their owners in after-life.

Cameron Highlands, at six o'clock in the evening, still stood clear of haze. The cooling 20 degrees celsius refreshed our senses; and despite having sat a gruelling 9 hour bus ride from Singapore to arrive a few thousand feet above sea-level, our inner fires were kept alive by fresh air and chilly winds. As I walked along the streets of the tiny town of Brinchang, I could feel the slow pace of the society and the curiosity of the tourists that made up more than half the population.

Out of the 10 eating places that we saw at one glance, 6 were in the business of "steam-boat". Ringgit $25 for 2 persons was a rather attractive price. Because the recommended stall was closed for the day, we settled for the stall directly next to it.

Bristling houseflies attacked from all directions. Even the heat of the flames under the cooking pot did not stop them from diving dangerously near to the boiling water. Such a scene would have warranted a call to the ministry of environment at my place; but certainly, in Malaysia, if hygiene standards were a little more enforced, there will be no more eating places left in this country.

Perhaps I was brought up in an environment of dust and grime; perhaps I had insight into the situation of the countryside and empathised with these Cameroners - I was not too concerned about the insects. We heartily devoured the food on the table. As our food gargled gently in our stomachs, and as digestion was driving our morales to a high point, the impossible occurred.

The waitress came over and asked, "Do you still need the garlic?"

She was referring to this small, half-finished bowl of garlic. We thought she was clearing the table.

"No, you can take it," I replied, smiling courteously.

That smile quickly got erased from my face. The waitress had taken this half-finished bowl of garlic and placed it on a table directly in front of us. It was to be used by the new customers. The customers, surprisingly, were nonchalant about the "used" garlic. I was very disturbed. Hygiene standards here were really beyond hope.

Indeed, I felt I was at another dimension at that time. So unearthly was that act of transferring that my mind just blanked out in disgust. Was I also eating leftover garlic just now? Was the soy sauce leftover too? How about the meat and vegetables that we cooked?

I had wanted to walk out of the stall and not pay. In Singapore, I think I would have been correct morally and legally.

We paid for our food, and wished the dinner had been less memorable.