Customers browse this art gallery café warehouse.

I arrived in Penang

sleep-deprived while holding optimism on a short leash. Given my experience in Kuala Lumpur, I didn’t let myself open the gates to unchecked glee. Although my admiration and love of the art scene in Georgetown is well documented, I needed to check my hotel’s hygiene standards before I could relax.

I would have to wait several hours before I could do that. Having flown in on the first flight of the morning, check-in would not open for another five hours. The receptionist allowed me to store my suitcase behind the desk while I re-acquainted myself with the city.

The gift of getting lost—discovering this amazing space. Sorry, I don’t remember the name of it.

I last visited Penang in 2017,

where alleys thronged with tourists. Every restaurant, shop, gallery, temple, money-changer kiosks buzzed with business. Captivating street art painted by artist Ernest Zacharevic attracted sizable crowds, with long queues waiting to pose with his wall murals.

During that trip, I shopped at bazaars, purchased fresh samosas, sipped iced tea at a hipster café managed by a fashionista lesbian, smeared ripe green avocado on thick toast, passed a lively wet market, smelled the pungent herbs wafting out from a Chinese medicine clinic, traipsed through a large shopping mall, and devoured “tau sar piah”—pastry dough filled with sweet bean paste, deep fried to flaky golden mini-domes.

In other words, it was a hustling-bustling city.

If that trip was akin to a Jackson Pollack painting: radical thrown paint, constant motion, clashing colors—then this trip was like the preparatory pencil outline of a neighborhood: some parts of the drawing had been erased, other parts had specific detail such as a pharmacist selling cough syrup.

Weekend at Hin Bus Depot for the Hin weekend market.

As I strolled along familiar streets,

I noticed that I hadn’t seen another tourist for awhile. Granted, it was only 9:00am, but that had never been an excuse previously. I also noticed numerous “Closed” and “For sale” signs hung on aforementioned restaurants, cafés, and shops. Even the large wet market was now dry and abandoned. Covid-19 related closures had clobbered the city. My heart ached when I would discover yet another favorite haunt closed down.

I’d been walking for an hour when I realized that I was super thirsty, and I needed to pee. How could I be dehydrated and need to empty my bladder at the same time? It is a mystery. Due to these needs, I took some miscues by heading towards a shop that I thought was a place where I could either buy water or use the restroom, ideally both. But it would turn out to be not opened yet, or shuttered.

As I meandered the sparsely populated roads, I literally stumbled across a warehouse that housed a gallery, café, and boutique stores. It was the type of reward for ambling about without a map. Pity I don’t remember the name of the space, but it fit the spontaneous, whimsical artsy aesthetic of Georgetown.

This lady is taking a break in the shade at the Hin weekend market. Chalkboard menu features fresh oysters and Prosecco.

Having lingered at the warehouse,

I went in search of my favorite art-gallery-makers-market-live-music space, the Hin Bus Depot. I prayed it was still open. When I passed through the entrance, I realized it was not only open, but the hustling-bustling place I remembered.

It seemed all the tourists in Georgetown had gathered at the Hin weekend market. The place overflowed with vendors selling locally created products, locally made food, ice cream, and beverages. People crammed into the makers market area; queued for delicious meals, and sat back to enjoy the live music.

These Korean gals are serving up fan favorites: kimbab and japchae at the Hin weekend market.

As I relaxed in the shade, vibing with the band, I realized that the crowd was made up of foreign tourists, domestic tourists, and locals. Although my trip began with horrifying bug-infested KL, hanging out at the Hin weekend market soothed any misgivings. It confirmed that artists, musicians, and good food unify people and create community.

The band singing to an appreciative crowd at the Hin weekend market.

After a while, I decided to check out the gallery. Taking a seat on one of the long benches in the center of the room, I soaked in the current installation and the cool atmosphere.

Art gallery at the Hin Bus Depot.

It was time to check into my hotel.

The receptionist handed me my card key. I retrieved my suitcase and rode the elevator up to my room. Opening the door revealed a queen sized bed, wall-to-wall windows, a bathroom stocked with white towels and toiletries. The moment of truth: time to mop the floors on my hands and knees.

My wet wipe remained clean; I did not mop up loose hairs or tubes of KY-jelly. I peeled back the sheets to inspect the mattress: not a bug or stain in sight. I stepped into the shower and finally bathed for the first time since entering Malaysia.

Next, I collapsed into bed and finally slept horizontally after 48 hours of constant travel and movement. Thank God for Penang.

Bansky spotted on a building in Georgetown, Penang.