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Klang, or the royal city of Klang, has
far more history than KL. It appears on charts prepared for Admiral
Cheng He, known as Chi Ling Chiang though it is unlikely he ever
visited.
The original Klang station was north of
the eponymously named river, to save money building bridges, but later
the line was diverted and the station moved south. Today it lies next to
the main bridge that joins the two halves of the town. This south side
is historic Klang, the Malay village from where those miners were sent
up river nearly 150 years ago.
Raja Abdullah was appointed chief of
Klang and had a house built, Gedung Raja Abdullah. This large two
storied building backed on to the river but today is sadly neglected. It
is also dwarfed by the aforementioned road bridge. In it's time though
it was both home and warehouse for the Raja. He moved in in 1857. Things
weren't going well for him, a jealous relative laid siege to the gedung,
forcing Abdullah to flee to Melaka where he died in 1869. After the
civil war ended in 1873, the British arrived in the guise of Mr Davidson
who set up office upstairs in the gedung. The gedung in effect became
the town hall and held its first full meeting in June 1877. Members of
this council, appointed by the sultan included Tunku Kudin, the Malay
President, a couple of senior Malays, Bloomfield Douglas, Yap Ah Loy and
James Innes, husband of the Emily of vituputive words.
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Getting There and Away:
Easy! Take any of the regular Kommuter trains
that run from the new Sentral or board them at the more
atmospheric Kuala Lumpur Station. Takes about one hour. You can
also take buses from Klang north to Kuala Selangor |
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Gedung Raja Abdullah |
Klang Station |
Both images ©
www.the-spiceislands.com
Early visitors to Klang weren't too
impressed with it. Swettenham described it a village 'in a mud swamp on
the bank of a melancholy tidal stream.' Emily Innes drew apocalyptic
imagery when she described '...the sun drew a pestilential vapour from
the drying ooze, horrible, loathsome crocodiles crawled up the slimy
banks to bask in the noisome heat.' which has to be one of the best
descriptions of a place I have ever read. I am determined to use the
word pestilential again and again, so powerful is the image it portrays.
Say what you like about these early colonials, lacking the immediacy of
digital cameras or multi media messaging, they knew how to construct a
sentence, to paint a vivid picture using just the 26 letters as their
brushwork and paper as their canvas. Contrast Emily's description if you
will with something more contemporary. 'Fucking shithole' was my initial
reaction as I sought refuge from the rain.
Emily Innes was the wife of James, a
British official stationed for a couple of years in Kuala Langat, just
south of Klang. Her writing reflects perhaps the bitterness she felt of
living in such an isolated community, away from anything remotely
western. Isabellla Bird, on the other hand was travelling. And like
today an expat and a tourist can have two different takes of the same
subject, so did they. Isabella says, to her sister, that she is unlikely
find Klang in any 'atlas or encyclopaedia.' She goes on to describe it
as 'not interesting,' having seen better days, and covered with jungle.
Tigers and herds of elephants often came within a mile of the village,
and many snakes. Rewards were paid out to villagers catching snakes,
crocodiles or tigers. Today it sounds like eco tourist heaven, but
today's Klang is a far cry from Isabella's walk in zoo. I walked round
the old town, dodging errant motorcycles impervious to any road rules
that might exist. Traces of Klang's past can be found in the istana,
mosques, schools but in nearly every sense it is a satellite of Kuala
Lumpur. The rain increases its tempo just as I reach the station. I wait
patiently for the drab Kommuter back to KL, wondering how long a bullock
cart ride might take. |
