Sundown In Alor
5PM
It’s almost sundown and signs of life are scant along Jalan Alor, save for a quiet few. There are a few Thai masseuses seated at a corner stall for warm curry noodles — strength for those seasoned hands. Behind the stalls, workers prep for service, chopping onions, slicing ginger and dropping crushed ice into the metal displays, while restaurant owners count stacks of small change in their handy waist pouches. Tourists begin to step out from the budget hotels that fill the floors above, eager to spend the evening exploring bar haven, Changkat down the road.
I order a bowl of curry noodles and find myself a spot next to the group of Thai masseuses. At this hour, this streetside spot was one of the few places open. The aunty breaks the news to me that there are no cockles today and though devastated, I went ahead with the order anyway. Cockle-less curry noodles was better than no curry noodles. As I ate, I watched cars inch along what’s left of the mostly barricaded road to leave the city at the end of a working day. And as I slurped up the last spoonfuls of the milky white curry broth, Jalan Alor was just waking up.
7PM
The sky turns a just hue darker and the heat of a crimson sunset was now upon us. By now, establishments are up and running in anticipation of the first influx of crowds. Plastic tables and chairs are sprawled in ordered chaos from one end of the street to the other. White, red, yellow, brown — these colours outline an invisible border between competing neighbours, though for some, the sheer competitive aura is sufficient to mark territories.
Some patrons like to drop in early, before the hustle-bustle, before tour groups alight from double decker buses bringing noise and commotion, before tipsy bar crawlers wander in to fill the seats. There’s no telling which stall would do better tonight. Some nights, diners crowd the tai chow stall to peel through salted egg yolk prawns; other nights they devour plates of oily char kuay teow brimming with wok hei. Maybe Lady Luck’s shining on the grilled stingray stall tonight. Whatever the choice of grub may be, there are plenty tempting local eats at one’s beck and call to keep the crowds coming back once the sun has set.
Midnight
While the rest of the word is tucked into bed, that is when the neighbourhood finally flurries into full swing. Waiters would have long left the comfort in the back of the restaurant to double as fervent ambassadors out front. Armed with laminated menus, their loud, confident and persuasive chants fill the night air. “Come, come! Cheap cheap!” These waiters play pivotal roles in contributing to the unique pandemonium that defines this street. Tables are filled with food, drinks, soft chatters and loud laughs.
This is after all Jalan Alor at night, a place where foreign servers speak more Cantonese than a regular Malaysian Chinese, yet understand enough English to steer tourists onto their coloured seats; where a piece of smoky barbecued chicken wing can never be bland, not when eaten while taking in the street’s charming character. A simple stroll down the street offers wondrous sights, sometimes unfamiliar, but wondrous all the same.
A slew of street acts commences on the sidewalks. Amateur singers breathe life into echoey microphones, an ice cream man pounds the bucket to entertain, and fruit sellers perform stunning acts, like cracking open durians with brute force — all as night owls, both tourists and locals, watch on, the company of cheap beer and tasty munchies fuelling them till the early hours.
Along Jalan Alor in the deep of night, the lights never go out.
