No matter how I tried I could not get back to sleep. All around me I could hear the soft and comforting sounds of others enjoying restful slumber but I, for one, could not join them. The room was pitch black and the humming air conditioner was keeping things at a perfect temperature. My body ached from the cold which held me tightly in its grasp and I could still feel the remains of beer in my head. I shut my eyes tightly wishing for the bliss that sleep could bring but it would not come. With a sigh I climbed down from my second tier bed and steeled myself for the day to come.
Just 24 hours previous I had awoken in a different bed in a different city with just a scratch in the back of my throat. Thanks to the open windows (that could not be shut by me) a fine mist from the rain of a passing storm had settled on my head and bare chest, combining with the sudden drop of temperature during the night to produce a cold. Eastern Heritage guesthouse…never again. I’ll fork over a few extra ringit to get something better but never again a place like that (unless there are no other options).
The bus ride from Melaka to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia’s capital, had been pretty uneventful as most of the time my head was slumped over my bag in an attempt to get some sleep. An occasional bump in the road or bathroom break were the only things that aroused me long enough to take notice of my surroundings.
Pulling into the bus station in Kuala Lumpur was, how shall I put it, daunting. High and low I searched for some landmark, some name, something to let me know where I was because I certainly wasn’t where the guy at the bus station in Melaka said I would be. Row after row of buses spewed out noxious fumes, coming and going in a steady unending procession. It took me about ten minutes before I finally found someone who would take a minute to look at my map and answer my questions.
They took a long look at my map and then another. Their finger traced paths up, down, left and right yet they too were stumped. I found out later from the guy at my hostel that the bus station I ended up at wasn’t even in Kuala Lumpur (at least not in the city proper). That meant that where I was wasn’t even on the map. After a few minutes they gave up and just pointed me in the direction of the monorail and wished me luck (what I wanted in the first place).
Welcome to Kuala Lumpur, eh. Wrong bus station, strange city, maps too small, just another normal day for a traveler.
The bright sunlight hurt my eyes as I slowly opened the door. Standing hadn’t helped my condition but it hadn’t hurt it too much either. There was no way that I was going to be out and about exploring today. It felt like another guy was hanging off my back and laughing in my ear.
With a resigned chuckle I thought to myself, ‘maybe those beers last night weren’t the best idea…but then again I wouldn’t have had the great time that I did.’
When I arrived the previous night I had involved myself in a conversation with two of my bunkmates, one from Germany (Nadel) and one from Chile (Al), and before I knew it we had set out for the traditional ‘one beer.’ Of course as we sat down at the table in Bukit Bintang, that one became two, then three, and well, you can figure it out. Our bottle count finally ended at six (total, not for each person) and by the time we left the restaurant had long closed leaving us alone on the street. Being the polite travelers we were we stacked out chairs, folded our table, and set in behind their cart.
I slumped into a chair at the back of the hostel and rolled my head about to crack my neck. In the end the beer had probably helped. Helped, you’re wondering? Yes, helped. By the time we got back at 2am the club located next to the hostel was in full swing with music vibrating the very air in our room. The rhythmic thump of the techno beating through our walls combined with the beer lulled me quickly to sleep but my new friend, Nadel, wasn’t so lucky.
I pulled up some pictures on my computer and got to work but before long I was joined by an Irish fellow, Graham, who was still glowing from meeting his idol the previous day. I’m not big Guns and Roses fan but I guess if you were to meet Slash you’d be pretty excited too. He noticed me doing some work in Photoshop and tentatively asked me if I could fix a picture of his. In the excitement of meeting Slash his hand had been shaking (of course) and the shot of him and the star was a bit blurry. An hour later I sat back and showed him the result of my work. His smile was all I needed in thanks (though he did give me 20 ringits for my troubles).
My cold still held sway and no energy could be found to motivate me to sightseeing. But then, after lunch with my new Irish friend, I was introduced to Chinese herbal tea. The man at the stand mixed like a pro and the noxious concoction (bitter with a nasty bite) I was forced to drink down brought a spring back to my step. It wasn’t a quick fix either, the whole day I felt just fine. The next morning, though, was a bit difficult again…but that’s another story.
By the time we were back at the hostel and had met up with Nadel again I was ready to go out and explore the city. Luckily my two new companions were of the same mind and shortly we were out and headed to the Petronas Towers.
Along the way we had to stop. A store that I had not seen in ages beckoned to me from just off the street and as Nadia and the Irish guy took notice they too swung towards it without thinking. Like a planet stuck in the orbit of a star we moved inevitably towards Dunkin Donuts. In six years of living in Japan I had not had a single real donut. Even when I occasionally returned to the States for a short visit I rarely had the chance for the baked delight which called to me enticingly from just beyond the door (Krispy Kremes do not count). A few short minutes later we had our snacks secured safely in a plastic bag ready to be eaten at a later time.
The Petronas Towers are quite impressive and as I stared up at them from their base I had to tip my hat in respect. Like a spaceship from a Sci-fi movie they stretch out their metal arms into the sky, reaching for the stars. Inside resides what can only be described as a mega mall. You could spend hours just trying to explore the place without even stepping foot in a store. There is even a park behind the two towers which is a great place to relax in the afternoon and, perhaps, enjoy a donut (or two).
After 5 months in India Nadel was intent on doing some shopping in a real mall so my Irish friend and I left her to her own devices and went in search of an ATM that would take my bank card. With fifty ringits left in my wallet I was a bit nervous about heading deeper into the country. The banks in the mall all laughed at my attempts so we exited and looked to the sky for enlightenment. Alas, there was an answer to my prayers in the form of a giant CitiBank sign adorning a building a few blocks away. That’s one reason to love big cities. Look at the skyline hard enough and you’re bound to find the company you’re looking for.
The sun dropped below the horizon taking my energy with it yet still I stayed. We three sat on a ledge admiring the brightly lit tower in all its glory. Beside me an Indian man sat down and we began to converse.
There are many types of people who you meet when traveling. Some are interesting, some are boring. Some are smart, some are stupid. Some you ignore and some you talk to.
The Indian man was the type I wanted to talk to. My two companions were lost in their own conversation so I let them be, instead taking up the words and stories of the man who was next to me. Open your ears and empty your mind of preconceptions and you will be surprised what you can learn.
I finally made it back to the hostel and stumbled into bed (there is a story regarding a bit more dinner, Bukit Bintang and two friendly Iranian women but…). The shuttle to my bus was coming early and once again I had to set my hated alarm to ring. With a tired smile pasted to my face I lay back in my soft bed and hoped that morning would not come too soon.
Related posts:
