Kuala Lumpur

In my last post where I “controversially” scathed the colonial past of Britain, I foolishly failed to mention all the good that came from us invading other people’s homelands and for that I am sorry. All that kind hearted, gentle handed altruism that helped guide the savages of the third world into the enlightened way of a modern society with no ulterior motives or racially driven superiority guiding the way was left out. I’m afraid that if I need to talk about the positives of the Empire alongside my critique of the lengths Britain would go for tea, then we should all balance our views on the Holocaust with the fact that the Nazi’s improved the transport infrastructure of Germany and let’s not throw around the terms genocide and Gulag before also weighing it alongside the massive economic growth under Stalin’s rule in Russia. Sure, the Empire wasn’t the same as the Reich or Stalin’s Russia, instead it was a nationally endorsed enterprise that owned 25% of the worlds surface. I expect if the UK gets invaded and our resources, culture and sometimes lives are stripped away from us in order to be mould us to a new vastly different imposed system of governance and then after 300 years our colonisers leave, we wouldn’t be thankful for some new technology and better transport. We would be in turmoil grappling with our national identity like many of our previous colonies are today. * Loud sigh * Ok, moving on.

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Kuala Lumpur, the vast capital of Malaysia, was only a bus ride from Tanah Rata and we had mixed expectations. A big new city is always something to look forward to, with numerous districts exuding unique character through the people that inhabit them. On the other hand, we had heard KL was not much more than a large hot sprawl, where the shoulder to shoulder sensory experience had been replaced by the clinical consumerist playground of interlinked malls. Either way we were going to find out… that the second one is true…

We quickly got to grips with the reasonably simple transport network (that included a monorail) and found our way to Ohana hostel which we had been recommended. It was a very strange hostel. After finding the well-disguised entrance way to the lifts, we went up over 20 floors and entered. The reception and living area was really nice, with a pool table and a balcony with incredible views of the skyscrapers. We were ready to get settled into the adjacent dorm room, however it turned out the cheapest room in Ohana was not quite that. Instead, it was a weird little self-contained flat on a separate floor with dark dingy bedrooms coming off a main living room/kitchen. The room turned out to be comfortable and the guys in there very nice but they weren’t your normal travellers and it was all rather odd. After checking out the wonderfully clean pool set amongst an unfinished floor, we decided to try and put the scatterbrain approach to hostel management to the back of our minds and focus on the city.

The Twin Towers

One of the things you are contractually obliged to do in KL is visit the Petronas towers, but first we had to get there. Deciding to embrace the saying “only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun” we slapped on negligible amounts of sun cream, armed ourselves with minimal water and set out. First, we went to the Forest Eco Park, which is supposedly a slice of original rainforest hunkered down among the concrete and steel of central KL’s metropolitan landscape. However, after walking through the park and utilising the canopy walks we came out thinking that it was entirely a waste of time. The forest was actively unengaging and throwing in a canopy walk might at first trick the five-year-old commander at the nerve centre of my brain that this is going to be a fun time, but it doesn’t take long for him to see that a rope bridge doesn’t necessarily equal fun. The only long-lasting enjoyment he knows is food and drink. We moved onwards, skirting around the impressive but also somehow underwhelming KL tower (which is the 7^th highest freestanding tower in the world) and then headed for the main sight of the day. However, finding our way to the Petronas towers was much more difficult than expected. This was because as we got closer, the other, not internationally famous, buildings got in the way and for some reason there were very few entrances to the towers’ neighbouring park. But after walking through a busy food court and vowing to return, we hopped into the mall beneath the towers, sucking in the artificially arctic air, before getting out of there and into the KLCC park for a good view. 

Holding the title of world’s tallest buildings from 1998 to 2004, the Petronas towers stand resolutely above the microcosm of suit-clad capitalism occurring at breakneck speeds hundreds of metres below. People rushed from one freezing hermetically sealed building to the other to do some deals, numbers and graphs (pretty sure that’s what business people do). While this happened we decided to slow down and wander around in the park for a while. We enjoyed this moment of slowed down sight seeing, taking in the views of the towers and not having to side step stern-faced business people. 

The day came to a close with rampant indecision forcing us away from the food courts. Instead (fearing the quickly approaching rain storm) we hopped into a busy restaurant/café. Curried things, fried chicken and cold drinks made for a perfect lunch before heading back to Ohana. 

Strong Avian Opinions

Not convinced by the aforementioned Eco Park, we decided to head to the Perdana Botanical Gardens to see what the much larger park had to offer. Covering an area of 91 hectares which means it’s big? I guess? I mean I’ve literally been to the park but this measurement means almost nothing to me. You could measure the park in hectares, acres, football fields or ham sandwiches, it wouldn’t matter. Area to me is more intangible, more unknowable, than the thought process behind climate change denial or the neurological pathways that allow people to enjoy chilli heatwave Doritos. Seriously they taste like envy.

First, we skirted the large lake and wandered to the tessellated canopy of the central square where the tree-like geometric structures assaulted us with much welcomed shade. Next were the water features, which were adorned with stepping stones and lots of the signs telling us the location of a “photostop”. Not being ones to shirk our responsibilities, we stopped at every one to take a photo and looked bloody good while doing so. A place with significantly fewer photostops was the children’s playground (widely regarded as a place not to stop and take photos, especially if you don’t have children of your own playing there). However, much like in the rest of the park it was completely empty and Brendan was keen to test out the level of fun that could be had on the facilities, so who was I to ruin the little guy’s day? 

Having come to the end of the largest swathe of green, we worked our way uphill, past some prehistorically large birds making a racket, and towards the road out of there. The road, however, took us somewhere very unexpected. Stonehenge. In this visit to the vastly overrated collection of stones, I actually got to touch them (unlike real Stonehenge) but they were hollow and 100% not stone. Ok, granted this Stonehenge mock-up wasn’t assembled 5000 years ago by some Neolithic blokes with a penchant for standing stones on their end, but it wasn’t far off the original. We found out that this British cultural icon was related to the National Planetarium around the corner so, suspicious of what kind of planetarium uses Stonehenge to advertise itself, we went and had a look. 

From the outside the place was very impressive. With a long colourful set of stairs which ran to the base of a brilliant white building adorned with a enormous blue dome, the Islamic architecture was blatant and beautiful. Inside, however, our first impression drained away with every step. It was a large dark donut of a room which encircled a central theatre. The first oddity was not the incessant darkness but the total lack of people. This is something I would usually welcome in almost any aspect of my life but in this case the lack of people also extended to staff. So, amongst the darkness (that was no longer feeling like a stylistic choice to give the planetarium an interstellar ambiance, and rather more like a lack of staff to turn on the lights) we Stevie Wondered our way to the exhibits. Firstly, the exhibits had a lot of potential, with interactive screens and all that good stuff, the issue was none of it worked. Baffled by the apparent lack of interest in maintaining such an interesting place, we checked out the half of the museum that was lit and left not an inch closer to understanding quite why we enjoyed the place quite so much. 

Down past Stonehenge, we had a quick look to see if we could get into the enormous bird park. I am of the opinion that birds are the animal kingdom’s equivalent to unseasoned chicken. Not worth a moment of your time. More contextually, when you settle down to hear David Attenborough’s dulcet descriptions of the high-octane events of the natural world and the camera transitions to a new continent. We are already transfixed. The camera zooms into a far-flung land and we ready ourselves for heartbreak or elation in the midst of a natural spectacle. But then, as we stare at a seemingly lifeless rock face, waiting for some creature to emerge, it is revealed he is going to talk about ANOTHER BROWN BIRD and I inevitably slump into my chair. Of course I continue to watch but only because of my respect for the man. I have 0 respect for the beaky ****. Some birds can stay (penguins, cassowaries and owls) but god knows I couldn’t care less about the mottled Iranian sparrow’s courtship dance or even the Amazonian palm pigeon’s very elaborate call. Instead, give me a bald eagle fighting an octopus (real thing) or some Emus beating the Australian army in a war (also entirely real). So, when the ticket booth showed that we had to pay significant amounts of money to see the birds no tears were shed. We spun and headed onwards.

We managed to make it to the National City Gallery just before the afternoon rains started in earnest and had a look around. I have been to some strange museums in my life such as the exhibitless museum in Liberia (Costa Rica) but this museum in KL was somehow the most soulless expression of contemporary society while also trying desperately not to be. It was a museum where the main attractions were all photo opportunities. You could appear with angel wings, be amongst the DC heroes or, most strangely of all, stand in the colourful columns and arches of Brickfields (a predominantly Indian district of KL a few stops down the line on the metro). The hundreds of people queuing for the photo ops around the museum were adults, who seemingly forgot about the real Brickfields and were deeply uninterested in the one small room of the museum which was dedicated to brief descriptions of KL’s past. In a sense the museum was an odd reflection of society’s salient disinterest in knowledge and the surge in the much more instantly gratifying search for a good photo. However, my cynicism is only skin deep, in my heart I knew since we were there a few photos couldn’t hurt. 

It wasn’t long before we were ready to leave, but the rain outside was biblical so we stood around in the reception watching a Chinese lady play with a cat which had run in to escape the rain. Once the rain had done its thing, we charged out to find food in Chinatown which was just around the corner. We got smoothies, I got a bubble waffle and we chilled some of the afternoon away before getting some proper food on Petaling street later in the day. 

How not to have a night out

Sat back in Ohana, Brendan and I had a dilemma. Sean Kingston, the man that brought the entire secondary school disco scene to their feet, when he released ‘Beautiful Girls’ and ‘Fire burning’, was playing a concert in KL that very evening and there were tickets left. But trying to balance enough time to see my friend Ishmael in his home city and to have a large Jamaican man serenade me was too difficult so we decided that our dreams of seeing Sean in the flesh would have to be put on hold. So, we got ready for dinner with Ishmael and headed off to Jalan Alor. The food was good, the beer was flowing and it was so nice to see Ishmael again so, in the spirit of extending the night, we decided we could hit a few bars. First, we went to a few 7Elevens and got some journey juice in the form of soju which would last us the supply run to the hostel. 

We headed back and went to Changkat Bukit Bintang which was the place to be. We got into a few bars which were fairly empty but we were having a good time. At one point Ishmael mysteriously disappeared and so Brendan and I moved to a new bar. Brendan got in and I was refused entry. I politely asked why but got nothing but an unnecessarily violent couple of shoves and lots of accusatory finger pointing in response. So lacking any other option, I asked the bouncers to tell my friend I was outside waiting for him. Which they decided not to do, instead they decided to menacingly stare at me. So, with the no.1 social lubricant of alcohol coursing through my veins I decided to chat with some random people on the street and then try and get into a different bar. Nope. None of the bouncers were having any of it. Now, I was definitely not sober but I knew that I was still coherent, polite and really not drunk enough to warrant this treatment. This all culminated in me getting upset and I swore at a few of the bouncers that hadn’t let me in. Then as I paced the street unsure what to do with Brendan still inside, two burly Chinese bouncers from up the street, from a bar we hadn’t even tried to enter, took off their jackets in total synchronicity and began to walk towards me. I knew I was about to get punched but genuinely the thing that worried me the most was why they were so in sync with each other. Maybe they were robots or maybe they were preparing for their local rhythmic gymnastics competition, either way it was a sobering juxtaposition to the hectic street scene. So, they came up to me and I tried to calm things down. But, by the time the first one had grabbed me lots of the other bouncers had decided that a good ol’ scrap was too good an opportunity to pass up on. So, in the radiant lights of Kuala Lumpur’s nighttime scene I had at least five Asian men all vying to land a good punch. Knowing that fighting anyone in a foreign country is a terrible idea (because often you are looked at as the aggressor) and also not wanting to attempt fighting five people, I just continued to try and get everyone to chill out. Burly Chinese man no.1 was ripping my favourite new t-shirt and an Indian bouncer literally flew across my vision to try and land what would’ve been a punch worthy of applause. The good thing was that my experience with being punched regularly in a ring made me relaxed and my height meant that I could stay away from almost all the punches by staying upright.

Meanwhile, Brendan had come out of the bar and seen me surrounded by the mob. Being the loyal friend that he is, he tried to break up the veritable shoal of humans surrounding me. Unfortunately, this action made him a target and lacking the instinct to stay on his feet Brendan was teed off on. Once my crowd had dispersed, I left with small black eye and a horrifically ripped t-shirt. Brendan on the other hand was in a pain, alcohol and adrenaline fuelled rage which made him leg it at surprising speed. As his adrenaline faded, he ended up bleeding profusely on a hotel lobby’s floor. None the wiser, I was upset and trying to find him. Topless and bleeding, stalking the streets like a maniac, I wasn’t feeling particularly well adjusted. The night had degenerated somewhat.

I was running through the streets frantically trying to find him and came across some tourists sat at a bus stop. I asked them if they had seen a bleeding guy around there, they said no but told me to sit down and take a breather. During this brief break in my one man search and rescue operation, I had a brief but very interesting chat with them. After explaining my situation, I was suddenly grasped by a curiosity as to why a Croatian and a Brit were sat at a bus stop at 3am. Their answer was not what I was expecting, “Yeah I dunno, we just thought we would come out here and try some meth.” The nonchalance of the sentence took me aback. These two blokes were just chilling in the early hours of the morning, in a country far from home, on a deserted street, looking to knock back one of the most addictive substances in the world for the first time. Anyway, I said my goodbyes to them and ran back to the hostel, where I hoped to see Brendan. He wasn’t there and I was incredibly worried. In fact, I was just about to run back out to find him, when he appeared and we figured out what had happened.

Dreaming of NHS waiting rooms

The next morning, we reconvened and Brendan’s jaw was incredibly swollen to the point that the usually razor-sharp jaw line was lost underneath the swell. It was a Sunday and convinced that the issue was that his teeth had been violently knocked out, we waited until the next day to see the dentist. In the meantime, I made sure Brendan choked down a few yogurts and enough water to keep him alive. Monday came and we went to the dentist only to be told we need our passports to be seen, so we went back to the hostel, grabbed them and then got seen fairly quickly. The dentist opened Brendan’s mouth and instantly said, “What are you doing here? Go to the hospital, your jaw is broken.” That wasn’t great news but I had quickly settled into Brendan’s usual role as chief optimist, so I sorted us a taxi and we hopped off to the main hospital. After some very nice homemade French toast that the taxi driver’s wife had made, we got out and I tried to figure out where to take Brendan.

The hospital worked like this. Sit on the dirty floor in the overcrowded A&E waiting room, trying not to get bled on or run over by a wheelchair, while looking out for that impressively large centipede. Next, get Brendan’s blood pressure taken and get given a number and a room. Walk to said room and sit with many others facing ten doors, like we had suddenly and unwittingly entered some sadistic game show. We all waited and hoped that the door we walked through held a qualified doctor and not a comically useless prize. A few hours later our number was called (the only time my Malay came into use) and we saw the doctor (who I talked with because Brendan was incoherent). Two minutes with him, then pay for an X-ray, and another, then take the X-rays to the same doctor as before. He looked at them for five seconds and said, “You have five minutes to get to the maxillofacial department before they close, you probably should hurry.” So, I asked around, found the right building, went to the wrong floor, went to the right floor and burst into the place, handed them whatever the doctor had given me and insisted it was essential that he was seen to today. Luckily, Brendan’s jaw had been so badly broken in two places that they kind of had to see him. So, I came in and explained the situation to the surgeon and he explained what we needed to do. Brendan got his jaw partially wired shut and then we came back early the next morning where he got the full works, which took over an hour of sewing his entire mouth closed with wire. The verdict was that he needed surgery and the options were either wait two weeks in Malaysia for the surgery or fly home and get it free and as soon as possible. That wasn’t really a choice, so as Brendan sucked on a yogurt through a straw, I cancelled our flights from Singapore and found flights for the next day. 

Final Thoughts

Our Asian travel saga didn’t quite end how we had wanted (drinking strawberry daiquiris until our hearts, livers and wallets gave out among the Singaporean skyscrapers) but ah well. I finished off my trip as an airport translator for Brendan while he finished his trip with some idea of how Kanye felt when he made his first album. But as of today, Brendan can now finally chew things again and I am dealing with a food addiction (that started on those solitary dinner days) that has come to define me. And finally, we proved that one night walking down a busy street in Malaysia, lined by some men with power complexes and racial prejudices, is more dangerous than living a stone’s throw from Afghanistan for a week. 

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This concludes the six month trip which took us to Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Taiwan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and Malaysia. Thanks to those who took the time to read any of the posts, I’ve really enjoyed writing them and who knows maybe one day, one fine and beautiful day, you will get Brendan’s post on the Silk and Spices festival in Bukhara that you deserve. However, do not despair, this isn’t the end of the adventures. Stay tuned for the most in-depth look at a country we’ve had on this blog yet, my home for the last six months (and counting), Jordan.