Despite the name, the mosque is not actually floating. Instead it sits atop stilts and pilings which support its hefty build and commanding structure. This may be the reason why the mosque was spared the complete destruction that the coast experienced as it was elevated from the water. Nevertheless, it was renovated significantly after a visit by Malaysia’s royal couple in 2004 following the tsunami.

In a country where over 60% of the population are Sunni Muslim (and there are orthodox Sufi orders in Malaysia with a sanctuary founded in 1948), mosques are plentiful and are often inspired architecturally by the communities they service them. Some like the floating mosque have a Moorish Andalusian style, some are modern interpretations of traditional Umayyad or Fatimid models, and some are clearly post-modern. Because of the confluence of religious traditions in Malaysia that have coexisted for centuries, hybrid forms have emerged where congregations are mixed. The aesthetics of these have produced mosques that adopt characteristics often associated with Hindu and Buddhist temples.

The area where the floating mosque lies, Tanjun Bungah, is situated between Georgetown and Batu Ferringhi. It used to be a fishing village but appears to have lost much of its glamour. There are some large hotels built along the coast but few appear have any guests. The area is neglected by tourists and the hotels have extremely low occupancy. The beaches are practically deserted and the infrastructure to support them seems to be wearing away. This flies in the face of most accounts that Malaysia’s tourism sector is flourishing and international community’s view that the country’s economic reform policies are paying dividends.

The disparities between rich and poor are evident. The main artery of Tanjung Bungah is a coastal road that divides the beachfront from plantations. Besides high-rise hotels, the beachfront property is home to exclusive guarded condominium buildings that stand out like a sore thumb in the landscape. The plantation sides is home to a largely impoverished community of Chinese and Indians who commute to Georgetown and nearby factories for work.

One a regular weekday during the afternoon hours, the streets, like beaches are abandoned. Even the floating mosque is completely vacant. In fact, once I was past the guard, I was pretty much alone on the property. Certain not to interrupt anyone, I took the liberty to turn on the fans, open the window to bring in fresh air from the direction of the sea, and even switched on the lights to improve the quality of my photographs.

Despite the stunning interior and the architectural marvel of the floating mosque, and the complete meditative silence of the place, one still marveled at how little use the facility actually got especially compared to mosques in other parts of the world where worshippers spill onto the streets and set up makeshift prayer mats on the curbs and roads. What could this say about worship in Penang, if anything?

The administration of Islam in Malaysia might have something to do with it. Because of the regional variations in population make up and differences between levels of adherence of local communities, Islamic governance is an exclusive affair of individual states in Malaysia. Some states have hereditary rulers such as sultans, including Penang. This religious leadership is assumed by the Yang Dipertuan Agong, the titular head of the country who is elected from the conference of rulers once every five years. Otherwise, the federal government has its own network of Islamic organizations, but these possess no constitutional power over the state level Islamic bodies. This creates levels of autonomy for local Islamic jurisprudence in accordance with the national constitution and also creates a basis for coexistence with other faith communities.

Despite the majority of Malaysians being adherents of Islam and the constitution articulating that Islam is the religion of the state, the southeast Asian country has seen other faith communities flourish in its midst. Few Muslim majority countries can boast the bustling interfaith communities that Malaysia does. As I crossed the main road to the plantation side, and just a couple of minutes west of the floating mosque, I found myself in a small lower-class community of residential homes inside between makeshift living spaces and heavy vegetation.

Nestled between the homes made of corrugated metal sheets sat a Hindu temple with a stunning engraved tower rising majestically into the sky. One could easily miss the entrance to the building, but from a distance, the tower which features elaborate three-dimensional sculptures and engravings of various Hindu gods, stands tall on the horizon.

This is the Sri Maha Mariamman temple which is a new, enlarged Hindu temple in Tanjong Bungah. It is dedicated to Mahamariamman the Hindu mother goddess of the universe. On this hot summer afternoon, a small group of staff and congregation are working tirelessly to prepare the temple for a wedding ceremony that evening. Up to 8% of the Malaysian population adheres to the Hindu faith which has made the country home to some of the most exquisite temples in the region.

Once again, besides those involved in the set up for the occasion to follow at Sri Maha Mariamman, there were no signs of actual worship at the time of my visit. The few people shuttling in accessories and decorative satin and silk sheets to adorn the temple looked at me with surprise. So if the Muslims were visiting their mosques regularly and the Hindus were not veraciously worshipping in their temples, I wondered who would. It once again begged the question, who is praying in Penang? And where?

Walking out of the Hindu temple and strolling for another two minutes in an eastward direction along an unpaved dirt road, I noticed the demographic shift in the local community from Indian to Chinese.  The homes in the Chinese area had scriptural markings on them and each doorway was adorned with miniature altars and candles in honor of Chinese folk gods.

Adjacent to this string of single floor homes, one comes to a modest Chinese temple that is captivatingly beautiful. It is not clear when this temple was built but judging from the state of the external engravings, it appears to date as far back as the early 20^th century. It is evident from the outset that this temple does not see too many tourists and instead services a congregation of locals whose homes surround the temple. For RM2 (US$0.60) one can buy a bundle of incense and burn at the numerous small altars each with a centerpiece statue.

All along the pillars, painted dragons wrap around their length as if to protect them. This temple bears the symbols of one that combines Daoism and Confucianism. The only person in the temple is seated at a desk reading a Chinese newspaper. He looks up at me, nods approvingly, and goes back to the paper. I walk through and inspect admiringly the sculptures throughout the temple noticing that in the center the roof was hollowed allowing the sun to shine in or for rain to fall on one of the altars. The absolute silence that subsumed the temple prevented me from initiating any conversation with the one person there. So I walked out even more curious about the peculiar emptiness of Penang’s places of worship.   

Interestingly, the ethnic makeup of Malaysia underscores the importance of cultural coexistence. While 51% of the country’s population is Malay, 24% are ethnic Chinese which makes this second group incredibly influential economically, politically and culturally. Nowhere is this most evident than in Penang where the Chinese population exceeds the national averages by more than 10%. The community here speaks Mandarin and Penang Hokkien, both of which are taught in the Chinese schools. Penang Hokkien is a variant of Minnan that is spoken by many of the Chinese descendants in the area. It is a hybrid of Chinese from Indonesia and a dialect of Zhangzhou with Malay mixed in.

It is important to note here that Penang was established by the British as a center for trade with China in 1786 before Singapore became the main hub and overtook Penang as the major thoroughfare between India and China. Over the years, Penang became a primary place of settlement for Chinese from Fujian Province, Guangdong Province, and Hainan Island in southeast China. Their separate identity ushered in the development of temples, lineage associations, and guildhalls across the province. Some of the earliest temples still standing were built in the 1880s.

In Jane DeBernardi’s book The Way that Lives in the Heart about the Chinese community in Penang, she quotes a local Chinese leader who spoke of the collectivism of his community and how that helps it flourish in Penang. “Penang people have the mentality (sixiang) to pray, to earn money, to support Chinese culture and education. You don’t see this strength anywhere else in Malaysia. Penang people have strong feelings (ganqing).” But the strength of the community has not meant its isolation. In fact, as a result of long residence in Penang and its mixing with other groups, several intercultures developed from the fusion of Southeast Asian and Chinese culture. These are known as Nonya-Baba. These are the descendents of early Chinese immigrants as well as Malacca and Singapore who have decided to partially adopt over the years the Malay customs and speak in a creolized Malay-Chinese language. While leading somewhat Malay lifestyles, most Nonya-Baba don’t practice Islam but worship ancestral Chinese deities. In the process of mixing, they have developed a distinct identity with its own cuisine, rites of passage, handicrafts and customs.

So in an attempt to find a practicing community of worship in Penang, I ventured some twenty miles away from Tanjung Bungah to what I was told was the campus of some of the most stellar Buddhist temples in Penang. While the Buddhists amount to 20% of the Malaysian population they are over a third of Penang’s inhabitants. Most are observers of the Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana traditions. I arrived at the Dhammikarama Burmese Buddhist Temple which was founded in 1803 and was known back then as "Nandy Moloh Burmese Temple".

One of the earliest and the only Burmese Temple in Malaysia, the extravagant structure features a magnificent traditional pagoda, the characteristic well and a Sima hall. In 1988, the temple was designated in 1988 a historic site in Penang and has since become a place of visitation for many tourists to the area. Between 1997 and 2001, the temple underwent significant renovation and beautification. At the outset and despite the incredible expanse of the temple, one notices that the majority of visitors to the temple are not Buddhist devotees.

The labyrinthine courtyards that wrap around the buildings of the temple complex are landscaped to perfection with manicured lawns and beautiful miniature shrines and wells throughout. Statues of Buddha are centerpieces in multiple atrial altars distributed throughout the property. In one area of the temple, there are two long rows of Buddhas facing one another gesturing teachings.

The courtyards on either end of the temple create a feeling of complete openness. The temple's entrance is flanked by two bearded dragon statues with gold-plated swirls that match the typical Burmese flame-like stripes of gold that protrude up from linings of the temple roof in the direction of the sky.

The courtyards are filled with small receptacles where Buddha figures are shown in meditative poses. These are topped with beautiful golden ringed steeples. With a very sparse number of monks in plain view, only a handful of people worshippers are on site and the rest are tourists who are there to photograph it much like an open-air museum artifact. I had a brief conversation with one of the monks who explained to me that the community of Buddhists often prefer the smaller more tranquil places to worship rather than Dhammikarama which has throngs of visitors whose commotion often disrupts the tranquility of meditation.

So I asked him where I can go to see Buddhists praying and he pointed across the street to Wat Chayamangkalaram, a Thai Buddhist temple dating back to 1845. I walked over to what is another architectural marvel built by a Buddhist monk from Thailand which covers five acres of old Victorian land donated to the Thai community. It is said that the monk was fond of the local Malaysian soup laksa which

 worshipers now offer his shrine as an act of devotion.

Despite the overwhelming beauty and the intricacy of the handcraft, nothing prepares the visitor for the absolutely mesmerizing sight of a colossal 33-meter gold plated statue of the reclining Buddha. The position assumed by the Buddha symbolizes Mahaparinirvana (englightenment) of the Buddha which symbolizes the final recline and death of the Buddha which according to some historical documents took place at Kushinagara (Uttar Pradesh, India). It is described as the most peaceful moment of true enlightenment is characterized by a peace-filled half-smile of consummate serenity. All around the statue and underneath it are walls filled with niches each showing photographs or etchings of the likeness of people with inscriptions with their names. Each of these niches contains the ashes of devotees who are said to have reclined with the Buddha.

Feeling somewhat dejected by my failure to find faith communities outside of the magnificent relics and structures that they seem to have constructed to accommodate them and their practices in Penang, I decided to visit another large religious group’s locales. The Christians constitute 10% of the Malaysian population and tend to follow either Roman Catholicism or Protestantism (with the largest denominations being Methodists, Seventh-day Adventists, and Anglican). As a former British colony, Anglo-American Protestantism was introduced to Penang in the early 19^th century. But it is predated by an period when Catholic missions on the peninsula arrived in 1786. They were French priests based in Siam as early as 1662 but due to heavy persecution in 1779, they were expelled and sought refuge in Penang under the British crown. They were allowed to set up a seminary, whose task was to train “native” priest for countries throughout Asia.

So I headed to the Chrisitian community’s most visible monument and what I was told was a place of pilgrimage for many. St Anne’s Church (Bukit Mertajam) is a famous Roman Catholic church on mainland Penang built in 1833 to service a community of Chinese and Indian Catholics by French clergymen. The beautiful white structure with a commanding steeple stands out against the lush landscape that surrounds it. At the front, a small receptacle housing a colorful statue of St. Anne with an Chinese inscription below it. The interior is comprised of a collection of beautiful stained glass. Particularly notable is one that sits atop the altar and dates back to 1896.

Church staff told me that the reason why the church was empty was because the pilgrims on special ceremonies had grown so much that they had to build a new complex in 2000 to hold the thousands in a new Gothic style complex that lies two miles away from the grounds of what is now known as the “Old Church.” And so this structure remains a largely symbolic one with most commotion during the annual Feast of St. Anne. He said that the pilgrimage on this day every year brings 40-60,000 worshippers to the church’s grounds. But on any given day, and regular Sundays, the numbers are comparatively miniscule.

Despite the natural sensitivities between members and communities of competing faith, Malaysia has not been subjected to some of the tensions and conflicts that have become virtually daily in many countries worldwide. With European nations legislating in accordance with Islamophobic conditions, and with non-Muslims experiencing an increasingly strenuous times in many Arab Muslim countries, discussions of coexistence often lead to analogies referring to Turkey and Malaysia as examples of Muslim-majority nations that have sizable minority communities that live peacefully within the state. Of course, realities of each nation and the circumstances of life for minorities in them can are hardly that simple. Without an anthropologically-minded perspective that addresses daily challenges and experiences, any assessment will be superficial and cursory. In my quest to understand worship in Penang, Malaysia's center of interreligious mutualism, I may have failed to anthropologically. But I have certainly touched something. I have touched the relics, artifacts, the cultural production, the urban segregation and intertwining, the collective appreciation of beauty and the genuine acceptance of the existence of the other. The kind of acceptance that allows the borderlands and crossroads of cultural mixing to flourish. The congruency between spiritual teachings among the Thai, Burmese, Chinese and Hindus, and Malay Muslims is not only palatable, it is overwhelming. It is not an accent, but a centerpiece. Everything about these religious traditions illustrates borrowing and syncretism.

Some have argued that this ethnic and religious differentiation in Penang must be credited to British colonialism dating back to the territory's founding in 1786. This is shortsighted. While the British imperial project may have facilitated population movement, its purely self-interested intention could not have created coexistence, except perhaps in accidentally producing an anti-imperial camaraderie among colonial subjects of various faiths, ethnicities, and factions. There is no shortage of evidence that Penangites are observant followers of their faiths as practices of symbolic ritualization are everywhere. One cannot also claim that Penangites have overcome radical identification. Others have described the emptiness of temples, mosques and churches as a result of the socially progressive climate that presides in Penang. Still others might argue that it is a very transformation in the way one worships that has turned all of Penang's denominations from communal worshippers to private ones, preferring personal supplication outside of collective ritual than congregational unions. Admittedly, I do not have the answers, but what has become evident to me is that Muslims do not feel threatened by the presence of Hindu temples in their midst, Buddhists have little concern for the throngs of pilgrims for the St. Anne's Feast in their midst, and Chinese have are hardly bereft by a floating mosque staring down their temple. At the end of the day, when the tidal wave hit the shore in December 2004, it did not distinguish between Daoist and Muslim, Christian or Hindu. It crashed into mosques, churches and temples alike. That is when all of Penang worships in one breath.