Danger in Kuala Lumpur

I remember Kuala Lumpur as a dangerous city, non-discriminating to native or tourist alike. The Department of Tourism reported casualties that resulted from purse snatching: the victim would be walking with a handbag or backpack slung loosely over the shoulder, and a thief on a motorcycle would grab it coming from the opposite direction. Not only were valuables lost, but the victim crashed backward into the cement, suffering from cranial damage and sometimes even death. Blood was spilled for petty gain there.

I trembled every time I stepped outside of my hotel, an upscale architectural wonder with a fantastic view of the Petrona Towers, courtesy of Marriott points from my corporate days.

Yet Kuala Lumpur was one of the most intriguing places I have ever visited, harboring an amalgam of the colorful heritages of Malay, China, and India. Sandstone and creme-colored mosques heralded the Malay's Muslim roots. Varied tribes and the richness of their costumes were showcased in festive dances that enthralled the eye. Chinese cuisines sizzled with the poignancy of taste available only in Hong Kong or Shanghai. Indian woven fabrics and handicrafts populated the open markets, and some women graced the streets in saris.

Although Singapore boasts a melting pot of the same cultures, Malaysia offered a startling sense of authenticity. KL was unabashed and uncensored compared to its very hygenic and commercialized neighbor. Here the curry was spicier, soy sauce was tangier, and racial tensions were more pronounced. The Chinese-Malaysians were clearly the nation's economic backbone, driving business and commerce. Indian-Malaysians constituted the mercantile class, small shopkeepers. For the most part, indigenous Malaysians have been relegated to more labor-intensive work.

Resentment of the races was so thick you can cut through with a knife.

And it was the most attractive culture I have ever experienced.

What is it about danger that we find so irresistible? I was drawn to streets here more than anywhere else, like a moth drawn to a flame. Here I had a greater chance of being knifed by a stranger than anywhere I've been. Yet, I was intrigued.

Perhaps it is only at the risk of destruction that we discover courage. Perhaps it is the challenge of finding what we are made of, testing the "mettle" of our souls. Perhaps that realization is worth perishing for.

Perhaps it is just plain stupidity.

Perhaps it doesn't matter.