At dusk on the fourth day of our journey, we cycled into sultry Melaka, most coveted geisha of Malaysia, once the sweetheart of the Chinese, then the Portugese, the Dutch and finally the British. The streets are narrow, like cobblestoned Amsterdam, but flanked with mosques, chinese temples and Malay and Chinese eateries. In Jonker Street's night market we get swept along on a tide of Asian and Caucasian tourists, all of us hungry for a piece of Melaka's beauty, all of us ill-satisfied, all of us pouring over her like a swarm of cockroaches.

In the morning Gill and I wake to a rumbling thunderstorm, and from below the pouring eaves witness a glimpse of Melaka's quiet charms. But as soon as the rain stops the tourists swarm in and the city drowns before our eyes. We flee the masses, heading for modest Tampin, settling for the unsung geishas of Malaysia, content that we would at least have them to ourselves...