The Marvellous Melting-pot of Malacca

South East Asia is full of unexpected and vaguely incongruous colonial left-overs. The French have left their mark in some parts of Vietnam where old men favour berets over the traditional coolie hat as headwear; there are places in Indonesia where you might find aged locals speaking Dutch; Catholic churches are everywhere and in Malacca, Malaysia there is a fort and cannons – thanks to the Portuguese.

Much of Malaysia dishes up a vibrant multi-cultural melting pot in its architecture, cuisine and faces on the street but nowhere is this more evident than in Malacca (which is often confusingly also spelled Melaka). The Portuguese conquered it in 1511, the Dutch ruled from 1641 to 1798 and from 1826 to 1946 the British took their turn. As a result Malacca isn't really sure what it is - its many colonial leftovers intertwine with Asian themes, creating a confused canvas at times but I can tell you in one word what it is – wonderful. Malacca makes me smile.... a lot.....but I don't think it always intends to.

For starters, there is the strange, ongoing competition staged every day in Malacca. Bicycle rickshaws can be found in vast numbers, all eager for paying passengers and although there are lots of visitors there aren't always enough to go around. So, how to make your rickshaw stand out among so many? Cover it with paper flowers of course.

But what happens when your rivals also cover their rickshaw with flowers?.......simply put more flowers on.....and maybe attach some sort of music system to blast out a tune as you pedal along. The result is a town full of rickshaws so overladen with flowers you wonder how there is even room for a passenger and a cacophony of sounds which merge the worst of Western cheese with emotion-fuelled Asian love songs.

And while we're on the theme of music we may as well cover the Malaysian obsession with karaoke. I come from a country where karaoke is synonymous with party fun, not always alcohol fuelled but almost always delivered with tongue planted firmly in cheek. Here the total opposite is true – a karaoke performance is something very, very serious (but don't be fooled – this doesn't necessarily equate to higher quality) and it is everywhere.

At the end of Jonker Street, a huge stage is graced every weekend by an endless succession of 'singers', sometimes accompanied by friends (or maybe total strangers, I never did find out which) who enhance the performance with a bit of ‘dancing’. Occasionally a Westerner takes the stage and then the watchers in the square go wild and a hundred simultaneous camera flashes turn the Malaysian night into day.

But Malacca dishes up enormous doses of elegance and serenity too. The river which runs through it and on out to the ocean is lined with little cafes and restaurants where visitors refresh themselves while watching life on the river. Boats pass by laden with smiling waving people and the whole look and feel transports me all the way back to Europe – I could be sitting beside a canal in Amsterdam.

When pretending I'm in Europe grows stale I go for a wander through Malacca's old quarter where there is no forgetting I'm in Asia. Streets squeeze between rows of shops and houses where Chinese characters are elaborately carved into thick wooden doors. Red paper lanterns swing in any breeze which makes its way in and tucked in between everything else are the tranquil temples. The calm which seems to hang around these streets is disturbed occasionally as a blaring rickshaw pedals through but otherwise they are mostly hushed.

Malacca is perfect for aimless wandering and my stroll today takes me past the 34 metre high replica of a Portuguese ship which houses the Maritime Museum. I grab myself some exotic and unidentified fruit from the market (I'm not all sure which part of it I'm supposed to eat) and take a slow meander up to the roofless ruins of St Paul's church perched up on the hill. I pass the evocative and crumbling stone facade of the Porta de Santiago on my way – all that is now left of the Portuguese fort which once stood here – thanks to those pesky Dutch who were none too gentle with the fort when they invaded.

As I sit in the sun at the top I start thinking which of Malacca's culinary delights I will take for my lunch. This town presents me with a very real problem every single meal time. First I have to narrow down the options from Chinese, Indian or Malaysian and then I have to decide which of the many wonderful eateries or street stalls to grace with my custom. I am leaning towards nasi lemak today – a classic Malay dish of fragrant rice steamed in coconut milk and pandan leaf and served up on a banana leaf but I may have changed my mind by the time I get to the bottom.

But it’s not quite lunchtime yet so I make myself comfortable at Dutch Square underneath the shadow of the bright red town hall (which perfectly matches the bright red clock tower and the bright red Christ Church) to watch the rickshaws. Singly they make me smile, gathered together like this they make my week.

I'd always said that towns and cities weren't my thing but that was before I arrived here. Gentle, colourful, quirky Malacca is my kind of town.

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