How did I end up attending Tai Chi with two Malaysian grandmas on a random Tuesday morning?
To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that they were gathering their chi to the tune of the 1997 Celine Dion classic “My Heart Will Go On,” and I was loving every second of it.
I was spending the weekend in Penang, Malaysia, staying with extended relatives of my host family. Georgetown, Penang couldn’t have been more different from the small town of Kampar, Perak where my host family lived. Georgetown was filled with sweeping skyscrapers, congested traffic, and beaches spotted with rainbow umbrellas that led right up to the turquoise water. Imagine Asian Miami, if you add Chinese temples and Bubble Tea shops on every corner.
“You’ll be staying with my godsister,” Mr. Tham had explained to me on the three-hour drive from Kampar to Georgetown. “You may call her Madame Choo.”
Madame Choo sounded like the name of someone who I wouldn’t want to mess with. I pictured a small, stout woman with hair pinned in a tight bun, a ruler constantly poised and ready to smack my hands if I spoke out of turn. I shuddered at the thought, wondering what I was in for.
A few hours later we pulled up outside of a white, three-story building on the outskirts of the city. Mr. Tham parked the car, and I was relieved to learn that Madame Choo was not in fact a Trunchbull-style character but rather a perfectly normal grandma, with closely cut grey hair and an affinity for her five cats. She graciously introduced me to Tofu, Momo, Snowie, Kiara, and Magnus, fed me a plate of fried bananas, and excused herself to bed for the night.
At 7:30 on the dot the next morning, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“Good morning!” a voice rang out, and I cracked the door with my mouth still full of toothpaste to find Madame Choo standing outside. She wore pink socks and a coordinating visor, her shirt emblazoned with tiny Eiffel Towers. She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling under the hot pink brim of her cap. “It’s time to go,” she said, turning on her heel and heading towards the stairs.
Our morning started at the local market, where Madame Choo ordered us both fresh roti canai. Ignoring the two savory curries, Madame Choo immediately dunked the bread into the side of brown sugar, coating the chewy flatbread in the sweet granules. She looked up at me as I tried to visually gauge which curry wouldn’t burn my taste buds clean off.
“So I’ll be honest,” she said, “I’m probably not the best guide of Penang. So I’ve recruited some help.”
‘Help’ was a small, spirited woman by the name of Yoke Lin. She had dark hair cut in a bob and stood in a constantly sassy stance, one hand on her hip and the other raised and invariably ready to sassily toss her hair over her shoulder. The lines by her eyes revealed her age, but she walked with the confidence of a young schoolgirl, making her appear many years her junior. I knew immediately that I liked her.
“Hello hello, I have arrived!” she announced when she met up with us in downtown Penang. She wore a lime green blouse and carried a small purse, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if a chihuahua in a matching outfit had popped out the top.
Yoke Lin gave Madame Choo a playful shove.
“You old lady!” she joked, and she and Madame Choo erupted into a fit of giggles. I watched as they interacted with the wacky ease of best friends, and I thought of my own best friend back home. Julia, with her highlighted hair and always-perfect-eyeshadow, was clearly the Yoke Lin in this scenario.
The next thing I knew we were all packed into Madame Choo’s tiny red car, winding through the crowded streets of Penang. Yoke Lin, who was born and raised in the city, was shouting directions at Madame Choo as we drove through the traffic. Madame Choo turned left, then right, then left again, until we finally headed straight towards the city center. The car straddled the center line, and a chorus of car horns erupted behind us.
“Geez!” Madame Choo exclaimed. “I’m an old lady, relax!”
Yoke Lin turned around in the front seat to face me.
“She’s a master!” she said, nodding her head towards Madame Choo, who was currently crossing 3 lanes of traffic as a symphony of horns serenaded us. “She’s been practicing for years, just wait until you see! No, it’s a left here!”
The car screeched to a stop outside of an ordinary-looking yellow building. Beside the building, a group of about five people moved together in a continuous flow, sinking low to the ground, one knee bent as the other extended, then rising again, hands moving in a waving motion and meeting each other in the middle. They stopped mid-movement when Madame Choo exited the car, excitedly waving us over.
“Sifu!” shouted one woman in a light blue shirt. Her hair was bleached blonde, her lips painted a raspberry red. She stood at about half my height but as she grasped one clenched fist with her opposite hand and bowed low to the ground, I got the feeling she could beat me up if she wanted to.
Turns out Madame Choo was not just a 76-year-old grandma, she was also a full-fledged Tai Chi and Kung Fu Master. This woman could take me out with a broadsword, a pair of nunchucks, a spike-encrusted fan, or even her bare hands. Clearly Madame Choo really wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with after all.
“Show us a set! Show us a set!” Yoke Lin clapped her hands in delight, and after a short period of initial reluctance, Madame Choo was making her way across the parking lot, swinging a wooden pole above her head with impeccable ease and swishing a fan through the air so fast it made a satisfying clap every time it reached its final position. I was completely awestruck.
“Yoke Lin, you should do a set with us!” It was the tiny blonde woman. She came over to stand with us, dodging a roundhouse kick from Madame Choo in the process.
“I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I absolutely couldn’t!” Yoke Lin tossed her dark hair dramatically. “After all, you need an audience! I’m excellent at being an audience!”
So Yoke Lin and I watched as the group gathered in place for their Tai Chi set. A man at the front quickly pressed a button on the old-school radio placed nearby, and soon the sounds of a penny whistle rang through the air. Celine Dion’s theatrical vocals began, and the group began to move in unison to the rhythm of the song.
I was loving every second of it. Beside me, singing along to the lyrics, it was clear Yoke Lin was loving it too.
The rest of the afternoon we spent exploring Penang Island. Yoke Lin and Madame Choo took me to the touristy Armenian Street, the Baba Nyonya Museum, and to eat the famous Goh Swee Kee oyster noodles at a nearby food court. We bustled through temples and wandered through markets. Yoke Lin even won a free drink at a food stall.
“It’s because of my elegance and charm,” she stated, and she and Madame Choo shared a look before bursting into giggles again. It was clearly a regular occurance.
Many giggles later, Madame Choo swerved into the bus station, where I unloaded my backpack and stood on the street corner across from my two new Malaysian grandmas. They both hugged me in turn, backpack and all.
“Take care of yourself!” Yoke Lin gave me a tight squeeze before disappearing back into the car with a flourish.
“Goodbye Ginna,” Madame Choo gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder. “We’ll miss you! Don’t forget about us!”
I don’t think I ever could.
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Virginia Taylor (Ginna) is a travel writer and photographer exploring the world until her boots wear through. She’s currently on a mission to explore all 32 departments of Colombia, though she formerly called the Middle East home. Want to know more? Visit the About Page.