Perfect time capsule
Sekeping Kong Heng, a newly unveiled guest house in Ipoh's Old Town, gets our columnist pondering over adaptive reuse in her hometown.
I FIRST met Ng Sek San about a year ago.
I had heard of him, of course – a fellow Perakian who was practically a legend in the landscape design field, and noted for his avant-garde architectural style.
He bore a startling resemblance to the monochromatic caricature from his website. Long, wild, curly hair, dark glasses, a narrow face – the typical, physical trademarks of an artist.
We shook hands and exchanged a few unmemorable words, I forget what, after fellow Perakian Wai Leong said, "Meet my friend, Alex the writer."
A slice of to Ipoh
It would have remained that one unmemorable encounter at Garden Villa if he hadn't expanded his small coterie of retreats (www.sekeping.com) – Serendah, Tenggiri, Seapark and Terasek, all of which bear the suffix Sekeping, a Malay word meaning "a slice" – to Ipoh.
He had made adaptive reuse of an abandoned building sandwiched between the most famous coffee shop in Old Town and a former optical shop whose combined age exceeds two centuries. It now bears the moniker of Sekeping Kong Heng. It's almost like having your own little flat in the historical heart of Ipoh, but with less hassle, and with people to clean up after you, to paraphrase a Guardian article I read once.
My first encounter with a Seksan creation was at Seksan Design, his office-cum-gallery at 67, Jalan Tempinis Satu, Lucky Garden, Bangsar, the venue for Sharon Bakar's Readings.
The strange-looking sculptures and art installations scattered throughout the premises – great conversation pieces – fascinated me as much as the guest writers did.
Grand old lady Kong Heng and "Bangsar Boy" are as different as night and day in terms of history and function.
Kong Heng is in a buzzing neighbourhood that dates back to the 19th century during Ipoh's golden age. It must have smelt of old money once: across the street is Concubine Lane, where tin mine towkays unwound over wine and women.
Bangsar Boy, on the other hand, sits in a serene oasis on the edge of the fashionable Bangsar Baru and could very well be the well-guarded hideaway of some reclusive nouveaux riche.
But both, I'm told, are emblematic of Seksan's signature post-modern style.
Driving Miss Alex
The thought that such an avant-garde premise now exists in Ipoh drives me to Kong Heng's doorstep one sunny afternoon.
The security manager has gone out, I'm told. And they've not officially launched it. Some wrangling and wheedling later (fine, I dropped some names), I slip through the side door.
I'm immediately struck by the play of man-made architecture – steel cages, the dramatic contrast between muted shades of grey and black and brown – and lush greenery; how the long, boxy spaces flow and morph seamlessly into each other. It's unlike anything I've seen before.
I can tell it's Seksan's work at a glance. Like its more glamorous cousin, Kong Heng feels more bohemian than slick, more intimate than elitist.
What happens next can best be described as trippy.
I climb up a steel staircase that connects all three storeys. On the first floor, I come face-to-face with several old louvred doors that lead to a dormitory enclosed by steel mesh – not unlike a prison cell. Instead of regular beds, guests will sleep on single mattresses without bed frames. Not only that, they're practically exposed to wind, rain and sun. Talk about embracing the elements!
Shades of grey
Totally agog by now, I stroll over to the corridor that branch out into eight bedrooms, all in the same industrial shade of grey. It's all terribly Wong Kar Wai-esque, I think. I push hopefully at several doors. No luck. None of them budges. Disappointed, I prepare to cut short my visit, when something else catches my eye.
On the side wall of the outermost room, the grey palette is broken by a single brown shutter.
I run my fingers tenderly over the window; it's reminiscent of the 19th-century Nyonya shophouse my grandma used to live in.
On impulse, I push down one panel gingerly so that I can peek into the room through the crack. The thin wooden board feels crisp and fragile, almost like a biscuit. I withdraw my hand hurriedly, terrified I'd break something.
I amble over to the balcony. Just across the street, I can spot the entrance to Second Concubine Lane, where weary miners escaped to the arms of their mistresses. I look down into the narrow strip between the coffee shops Kong Heng (which this residency is named after, obviously) and Thean Chun, dubbed conjoined twins by my friend Shaoming because you can sit in one and order from the other.
Through the cracks of the leafy branches, a man ran from one shop to the other, plates of chee cheong fun precariously lining his arms, and inspires this thought: "So this is how they used to live in the old days."
Familiar security
Prior to exploring Sekeping Kong Heng, I had wondered what the Ipoh folks would think of it. I'm one of those who want Ipoh to remain the way it is, for entirely selfish reasons.
Jaded by KL, I come home expecting to be reassured by the familiar, comforting idiosyncracies I've come to associate with Ipoh: nga choy kai, kai si hor fun, the caves, the white coffee. Change? No, don't change my beloved Ipoh!
Change will only bring pesky new tourists, bigger droves of food-hunters from Singapore and KL to invade our quaint small town.
On one of my trips home, I realised I had to accept the reality that Ipoh had changed. For one, it is no longer a "small town."
As I joined the endless long queue of cars at the Anderson roundabout, I was forced to acknowledge that we actually have traffic jams now. The price of houses has quietly inched upwards; gone are the days when RM400K bungalows were a dime a dozen.
In the past, I would have been suspicious of an avant-garde idea like Sekeping Kong Heng straight away. Recently, however, I've had the opportunity to learn about conservation and its subset, adaptive reuse, from conservationists and social historians. I've seen what adaptive reuse can do, and the results when it is done well, like in Penang and Malacca.
So I have come to Sekeping Kong Heng with an open mind and an experimental spirit. I savour the experience of simply being there, and let the sights, sounds and smells of my surroundings transport me to old Ipoh. It's only now, taking my own unhurried time to form my own interpretation naturally, that I truly understand why this part of the city is a perfect time capsule.
This is why conservation matters. Adaptive reuse offers a beautiful middle ground between the past we want to relive and the present we live in.
With wear and tear, an aging building like Kong Heng can only hold the fort for so long.
By embracing the defining characteristics that give a place its heart and soul, and reinforcing it with the best available supporting infrastructure, adaptive reuse can prolong the lifespan of a heritage landmark.
> Alexandra Wong (www.bunnysprints.com) thinks that Ipoh is more than ready for conversations about conservation.
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