The friendliness and goodwill of this woman was something that I had come to expect from Malaysians but I didn't want to impose myself on her and her son any longer. I thanked them for their kindness; she wished me a pleasant journey home and told me to be sure to visit the Sultan's palace at the bottom of the hill.

When I reached the bottom, I took her advice and followed the signs pointing toward the Malacca Sultanate Palace. The distance between Porta de Santiago and the Palace is short but lined with trishaws and their drivers waiting for passengers. These large, brightly decorated tricycles with a driver's seat in front and two seats behind, are a popular mode of transportation in Malacca for tourists as well as locals who need a quick way to negotiate the city's crowded, narrow streets. Although the drivers hawked their services aggressively, all were polite and, unlike some places I've been, they made their sales pitch without being overbearing.

At the palace gate I paid the 3 ringgits entry fee and stepped into a different world. The feeling of calm and serenity evoked by the elegant but understated palace and its surrounding gardens contrasted sharply with the hustle and noise outside the gate. The palace, which stretched along the walkway to my left, is a structure of rich, dark wood covered by a steeply pitched roof of silver-gray wooden shingles. The exterior, devoid of ornamentation, is a long main building with a series of enclosed porticos extending out from the main line of the structure. The current palace is a replica of the original Malacca Sultanate's Palace built during the reign of Sultan Mansur Shah at the height of the Malaccan Sultanate (1459-1477) just before the arrival of the Portuguese. The replica, using all traditional materials, was built in the mid-1980s following a design description found in the Malay Annals.

It was late morning when I removed my shoes to prevent damage to the polished wooden palace floors, and I was the only visitor. The palace, now home to the Cultural Museum of Malacca, houses artifacts from the city's golden age. The weapons, clothing, and household items displayed are exquisite pieces showcasing the culture, lifestyle, and society of the Malaccan Sultanate. But the Palace itself is the main attraction: the floors, walls, and ceilings are polished light-brown wood, and the open airy interior design continues the elegant but simple design of the exterior. Devoid of visitors, it was so quiet that I could hear my sock-covered feet hitting the floor, allowing me to imagine the rich and powerful, wearing the traditional costumes displayed in the cases, strolling the halls as the sultan held court.

When I left the palace I was struck by the heat and humidity and realized how the structure's design provided a pleasant sanctuary from the summer heat. Bypassing the gardens, I retraced my steps to Porta de Santiago and then followed the road around the base of the St. Paul's Hill. I was looking for a sailing ship I had spied from the top of the hill and a ten-minute walk brought me to the Malacca River, which was bustling with activity. Wooden barges that could have been in use 200 years ago were moving up and down the river or having cargo loaded or unloaded on the quay. It was nice to see that Malacca's effort to become a tourist destination hadn't yet driven the traditional life from the city.

The ship was moored about 50 yards up river. It was of European design and its plaque identified it as a replica of the 16th century Portuguese ship 'Flor De La Mar' and that it was the home to the Maritime Museum. I declined the tour and continued along the base of St. Paul's Hill to Dutch Square - the center of colonial administration and society for the Dutch, who replaced the Portuguese as Malacca's rulers in the mid-1600s. The area is characterized by its color; almost everything is painted a shade of red. One side of the square is defined by the Stadthuys, a dark-coral colored building that originally housed the Dutch governor and his administrators, and is now the home of the Malacca Historical Museum. The museum's exhibits - a mixture of Dutch, Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Japanese artifacts - represent the people with whom the Dutch traders had extensive dealings. The one room that still had its original design displayed a floral pattern on its wooden ceiling and woodwork of the kind common in Holland. The most interesting exhibit, however, was the collection of old photographs that provide a montage of Malacca and its people through the 20th century.

Where the Sultanate Palace was open and airy the Stadthuys was heavy and dark, its thick masonry walls keeping out much of the light, and also much of the heat. Entered through heavy, hardwood doors hung from large iron hinges, the Stadthuys was clearly designed to separate and protect its inmates from the environment in which they had been stranded.

From the Stadthuys I walked past Queen Victoria Fountain and a clock tower on my way to Christ Church, Malaysia's oldest Protestant church. Despite being supposedly open to the public and containing interesting architectural features I failed to gain access (although I did try all the doors!). My three hours were up anyway.

As I approached the parking lot, Ram was sitting on the ground near his car in the shade of a large tree. "What did you see?" he asked as I approached, and my brief description satisfied him, "Good, you've seen some of the more important sites. But now I'll bet you're hungry. I know a small place that serves good baba-nonya. Are you willing to try some local food?"

I reached the car before Ram and opened the passenger side door, which I immediately closed. "Is that the durian I smell?"

Ram looked at me, "Now you understand durian."

Despite being wrapped in a plastic bag and confined to the trunk, the fruit's odor, intensified by the Malaccan sun, had reached its full potential and wafted throughout the car. People had described durian's smell as being like an old sweat sock, decaying garbage, kerosene, or very rotten eggs. They were right.

"You didn't throw it out?" I asked. "No, I thought you should experience the smell," he said with a smile. "That was considerate of you,". Ram opened the trunk, I grabbed the bag and threw it in the nearest trash bin. We drove to the restaurant with the windows wide open.