The streets of the old city of Melaka crowd close together, a leftover trait from those days where we didn't need to make room for anything other than the mobility of humans on foot, or perhaps horses.
Some of the shop-houses have since been converted into modern shops, advertising "antiques", but a careful eye could pick out that antiques make up for less than a small percentage of the items on display — many more objects have been imported from Thailand or Indonesia, where the labour is cheap.
When in our history did it happen that our shops need to be full of things? Was it meant to convey a successful business? Wouldn't it have just shown many things remained unsold? Was there a point in the psyche of selling and buying where we realised no one would ever walk into an empty shop?
These shops are far from empty; they are overwhelmingly full of trivial, useless things with little physical value. One assumes the value of things is what the acquirer places upon it at the time of purchase, and that value bears no relationship to the price one actually pays.
We walk down Heren Street, where the old nyonya houses are mostly derelict, looking cold, old and empty. Any similarity to Herenstraat in Amsterdam has probably never existed. Occasionally, a tired, old face would peer out from within an open window, staring into the no-longer human space they might soon inhibit.
This street has the weight of ghosts. The scent of a violent past still lingered. I took his arm and steered him towards Jonker street, where the soft lights from the waking night market has begun to keep darkness at bay.
Where are the young people? Have they left this ancient town for sprawling skyscrapers? All the ones we have met were either travellers or visitors from other towns, intent on spending their money stuffing themselves with famed, local food.
One gets the feeling that only ghosts live here now.