We arrived in Kuala Terrenganu and found a hotel. There was never going to be a lot to do here. It was really only a hub point from which we would cross to the island of Penang on the north west side of Malaysia, rather than heading back through KL for a third time. Between KT and Penang lay the now familiar Cameron Highlands and the idea of traversing them on a bus did not fill us with a lot of enthusiasm. We spent the best part of a morning searching for the world's best hidden tourist office, to ask for advice. It was lurking around the 5th floor of an office block with no signs out front alerting you of it's presence. In the end, they couldn't tell us anything we didn't already know, but they were keen to get us to sign the visitor's book and in return we got a goody bag with patches pens and badges. The guestbook hinted that we were the first tourists to set foot in the door in a fortnight. We added the collectibles to our growing collection, first begun at the tourist information desk in Kuching. We would enter one more tourist office again before the end of our time in Malaysia and get book marks and two packs of post cards which would round off our collection nicely. A visit to an internet cafe and we found a reasonable low cost airline who could fly us across the highlands for what turned out to be not much more than the bus. We booked the flights and then killed the next couple of days that sat between us and the west.
This is where we first encountered the internet cafe culture that has since plagued us ever after, and inhibited the opportunities to keep you lovely, and presumably rather bored people abreast of our exploits. The internet cafes are not really geared up for internet surfing so much as for online gaming. Rows of networked PC's are full of screaming boys about 10 years of age who shout at the top of their annoyingly piercing voices, and make all kinds of other noises, previously reserved for the animal kingdom. Every PC had got a decent sound setup too, after all the shops want to offer the best experience to attract the market. The result is every PC at full blast with the noise of machine guns, explosions, swords, screaming, helicopters, wizards and goblins and all else inpixilated. The onslaught tends to hit about 3:15 when the schools kick out and continues until around tea time when things generally quieten down a bit, though never completely. There is something rather insidious too about the sight of rows of boys, all with a slightly drawn looks on their faces as they stare, into the very close monitors, hunched over the keyboard and mouse which they move with the dexterity you might write with a pencil. It becomes absolutely impossible to think when descended into the noise and we have had to give up several times when we have timed things wrong. However, we couldn't give up until we had managed to book our e-tickets for our flight, we fought through the chaos and the system and eventually left, with a ticket outa town.
The next day was spent with a trip to the market, and a walk around town before the third day when we got a taxi to the airport only to discover that the flight hadn't sold enough seats so they had just cancelled it. In the end, we did fly out in the evening but it left us with another day to spend repeating the previous day and marvelling at the cyber-racket.
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
Back on the Road
We had returned to KL for a brief stopover before heading north again, this time up the East coast. We would be catching up with Mum and Dad one last time before they would be flying home. They were staying in a resort called Tangon Jara which lay about half way up the coast between KL and KT (Kuala Terrenganu). There wasn't really anything around here for a backpacker and as such this part of the country is not really on the circuit anymore, unless you are staying in one of these luxury resorts. I say anymore, because this was one of the handful of coasts where the giant leather back turtles would come to lay their eggs. Whether it's a direct result of the interest these turtles brought with them or simply their fast declining numbers, they don't come here anymore. There are ghosts of tourist towns who failed to offer enough besides this spectacle for tourists and who's skeletons remain with a ramshackle guest house here or there but nothing else. This can be a problem for a tourist who might at some point during their stay decide that food would be a good idea. For your luxury resort guest though, this isn't a problem as they would have little need to venture far from their pools and restaurants and private beaches, combed every morning at dawn.
Faced with these impending problems Nic and I boarded the bus in KL and headed north for the last town of any size before my parent's resort, hoping we could investigate any guest houses within our budget somewhere near Mum and Dad. The town was called Dungun and it did not often get tourists. From the minute we stepped off the bus, laden with our bags, and into the intense mid-day heat, we were the focus of attention. We spied a hotel just down the road and made a bee-line for it, at least just to catch our breath and wits. We happened to have found the only hotel in town, and had the bus stop not been within sight of it, I don't know what we would have done. The room was sub standard and grimy with bare wires poking out the wall but the door locked, it had a hot (well, off-cold) shower and it even had air conditioning so in some ways it was more than could have been expected. Mum and Dad had done a bit of detective work at their end too and had given me the number for a guest house which was next door to their resort. They had rooms, we negotiated a price and all was sorted to go there the next day. In the meantime we had the rest of an afternoon and a night to spend in Dungun, and lucky us, it was market night.
First up though, Lunch and we were feeling particularly in need of a beer after the ordeal of the last few hours. It was at this moment it started to occur to us that for the first time in our travels, the ethnic balance had tipped into a heavily Muslim majority. In fact it was not so much a majority as an entirety. There was a Pizza Hut in town - one of those signs that are like a beacon of comfort when the surroundings all get a bit too much - and we thought we'd just pay over the odds this once and get a pizza and a beer. Even Pizza Hut though, adhered to the town's dry state policy, there wasn't a drop to be had anywhere. The AC was as good as a beer in the end and as the skies turned dark and the heavens opened with a rush of rain, we stretched out the meal for a good while, watching as the windows steamed up - on the outside, and the passing adolescents demonstrated their grasp of the English language, scribbling various expletives onto the glass as they dashed past, much to the amusement of their inamoratas.
The evening came, eventually, and we wandered down to the Market, where Mum and Dad had also caught the resort's excursion bus into. The typical market fare was cloth, in particular sarongs or bed cloths, various house holds items, several stalls with Muslim religious stuff and a tape machine blaring out an Imam deep in prayer, mobile phones and cheap toys,and other stalls selling food, some to take home, other food hot and ready to eat. This hot food was first seen in the Cameron Highlands, and now, having tried a little before, Dad was emboldened to buy various assortments of deep fried things to see what they were like. Despite varying in size and shape, most things tasted the same - fish.
Having sorted out our guest house, we got a taxi who was kind enough to overcharge us by probably as much as ten times the rate to take us ten minutes up the road to the guest house. There was nothing else we could do though and reluctantly had to take his terms. As I've said before, the thing about being ripped off over here is that at the end of the day, it's never a lot of money anyway when you look at it in pounds.
We found the guest house and in the garden were three boys about 9 or 10 years old watering the garden and raking away some leaves. One of the boys promptly lead us to our room and then gave us the key with a short note, written by the owner confirming the rate and saying to ask the boys if we needed anything - not really an option as the boys didn't speak English and our Malaysian was still not really beyond ordering food. A little odd we thought, but we would be spending most of the time gate crashing Mum and Dad's resort so we weren't too worried.
Once again we found ourselves lying beside an infinite pool with a fantastic beach beyond and all the trappings of a five star resort. We would spend about 4 days enjoying these services and in return we ate in the resort for all our meals with one exception when we ventured out and found an open air Chinese restaurant on the roadside.
It was only a five minute stroll between the Resort and our guest house so it was nothing to nip back and change and shower after a day at the pool before popping back round for dinner. Our shower was not working though, and still with no sign of the owner, we had to write a note to give to the boys in the hope that the owner would get it. This seemed to work and the next day the shower was working. This would be the last contact we would have with anyone at our guest house as eerily we became the only people around.
By the end of the few days, we had been on a river safari up to a traditional village to see a last echo of the traditional lifestyle, we had spent plenty of time at the pool side and the beach and had eaten a few dinners. The unique feature about one of the restaurants on the resort was that there was no menu. The head chef would discuss with you what you wanted and would then prepare it to your request. On one of our poolside languishes, we were offered the chance of trying out a bit of scuba diving, just in the pool and with the intent of luring you out onto a diving trip. We accepted the free trial and declined the less free trip but we both thought that maybe we should keep our eyes open for another opportunity, perhaps in Thailand.
Then it was time for Mum and Dad to get driven to the airport and for us to pack our bags and get back onto the road again. But first we had to try and find someone at our guest house to pay so we could check out. There had been no sign of anyone for days now, and we could have quite easily left without paying for anything. The guest house's office block had remained firmly locked up for all the time we were there. And there was no deposit box or anything we could drop the key into. In the end there was nothing to do except to leave the money in the room and leave the room unlocked in the hope that eventually the owner would return. There was a sad event here too when we discovered that round the back of the office was a pen with a couple of chihuahuas. One of the dogs had died, recently it seemed and the other dog was less than happy though very quiet. We did what we could, covering the body over and fed the other dog with some of our food, we then threw out it's bowl of dirty water and replaced it, leaving the garden hose dripping into it all the time so it would hopefully keep refreshed. We found a big tub of dried dog food, left more of this out, and then had to leave, hoping that the owner would be back soon. We tried to phone but his number just rang out, from within the office. Left a bit shaken and quite sad, we donned our bags and caught the bus heading further north to Kuala Terrenganu.
Faced with these impending problems Nic and I boarded the bus in KL and headed north for the last town of any size before my parent's resort, hoping we could investigate any guest houses within our budget somewhere near Mum and Dad. The town was called Dungun and it did not often get tourists. From the minute we stepped off the bus, laden with our bags, and into the intense mid-day heat, we were the focus of attention. We spied a hotel just down the road and made a bee-line for it, at least just to catch our breath and wits. We happened to have found the only hotel in town, and had the bus stop not been within sight of it, I don't know what we would have done. The room was sub standard and grimy with bare wires poking out the wall but the door locked, it had a hot (well, off-cold) shower and it even had air conditioning so in some ways it was more than could have been expected. Mum and Dad had done a bit of detective work at their end too and had given me the number for a guest house which was next door to their resort. They had rooms, we negotiated a price and all was sorted to go there the next day. In the meantime we had the rest of an afternoon and a night to spend in Dungun, and lucky us, it was market night.
First up though, Lunch and we were feeling particularly in need of a beer after the ordeal of the last few hours. It was at this moment it started to occur to us that for the first time in our travels, the ethnic balance had tipped into a heavily Muslim majority. In fact it was not so much a majority as an entirety. There was a Pizza Hut in town - one of those signs that are like a beacon of comfort when the surroundings all get a bit too much - and we thought we'd just pay over the odds this once and get a pizza and a beer. Even Pizza Hut though, adhered to the town's dry state policy, there wasn't a drop to be had anywhere. The AC was as good as a beer in the end and as the skies turned dark and the heavens opened with a rush of rain, we stretched out the meal for a good while, watching as the windows steamed up - on the outside, and the passing adolescents demonstrated their grasp of the English language, scribbling various expletives onto the glass as they dashed past, much to the amusement of their inamoratas.
The evening came, eventually, and we wandered down to the Market, where Mum and Dad had also caught the resort's excursion bus into. The typical market fare was cloth, in particular sarongs or bed cloths, various house holds items, several stalls with Muslim religious stuff and a tape machine blaring out an Imam deep in prayer, mobile phones and cheap toys,and other stalls selling food, some to take home, other food hot and ready to eat. This hot food was first seen in the Cameron Highlands, and now, having tried a little before, Dad was emboldened to buy various assortments of deep fried things to see what they were like. Despite varying in size and shape, most things tasted the same - fish.
Having sorted out our guest house, we got a taxi who was kind enough to overcharge us by probably as much as ten times the rate to take us ten minutes up the road to the guest house. There was nothing else we could do though and reluctantly had to take his terms. As I've said before, the thing about being ripped off over here is that at the end of the day, it's never a lot of money anyway when you look at it in pounds.
We found the guest house and in the garden were three boys about 9 or 10 years old watering the garden and raking away some leaves. One of the boys promptly lead us to our room and then gave us the key with a short note, written by the owner confirming the rate and saying to ask the boys if we needed anything - not really an option as the boys didn't speak English and our Malaysian was still not really beyond ordering food. A little odd we thought, but we would be spending most of the time gate crashing Mum and Dad's resort so we weren't too worried.
Once again we found ourselves lying beside an infinite pool with a fantastic beach beyond and all the trappings of a five star resort. We would spend about 4 days enjoying these services and in return we ate in the resort for all our meals with one exception when we ventured out and found an open air Chinese restaurant on the roadside.
It was only a five minute stroll between the Resort and our guest house so it was nothing to nip back and change and shower after a day at the pool before popping back round for dinner. Our shower was not working though, and still with no sign of the owner, we had to write a note to give to the boys in the hope that the owner would get it. This seemed to work and the next day the shower was working. This would be the last contact we would have with anyone at our guest house as eerily we became the only people around.
By the end of the few days, we had been on a river safari up to a traditional village to see a last echo of the traditional lifestyle, we had spent plenty of time at the pool side and the beach and had eaten a few dinners. The unique feature about one of the restaurants on the resort was that there was no menu. The head chef would discuss with you what you wanted and would then prepare it to your request. On one of our poolside languishes, we were offered the chance of trying out a bit of scuba diving, just in the pool and with the intent of luring you out onto a diving trip. We accepted the free trial and declined the less free trip but we both thought that maybe we should keep our eyes open for another opportunity, perhaps in Thailand.
Then it was time for Mum and Dad to get driven to the airport and for us to pack our bags and get back onto the road again. But first we had to try and find someone at our guest house to pay so we could check out. There had been no sign of anyone for days now, and we could have quite easily left without paying for anything. The guest house's office block had remained firmly locked up for all the time we were there. And there was no deposit box or anything we could drop the key into. In the end there was nothing to do except to leave the money in the room and leave the room unlocked in the hope that eventually the owner would return. There was a sad event here too when we discovered that round the back of the office was a pen with a couple of chihuahuas. One of the dogs had died, recently it seemed and the other dog was less than happy though very quiet. We did what we could, covering the body over and fed the other dog with some of our food, we then threw out it's bowl of dirty water and replaced it, leaving the garden hose dripping into it all the time so it would hopefully keep refreshed. We found a big tub of dried dog food, left more of this out, and then had to leave, hoping that the owner would be back soon. We tried to phone but his number just rang out, from within the office. Left a bit shaken and quite sad, we donned our bags and caught the bus heading further north to Kuala Terrenganu.
Cameron Highlands
Next on the circuit came the Cameron Highlands. The Cameron Highlands are, unsurprisingly, the Mountainous region of Malaysia. It was the last part of the country to be opened up to tourists, finally being wrestled free from communist control as late as 1989. The slopes are host to hundreds of tea plantations and other fruit orchards which thrive on the cooler slopes, particularly strawberries. The place is strawberry daft. It seems every shop in the Highlands has a giant smiling strawberry painted on it and everyone has some form of processed strawberry to sell, whether its dried, glaced, smoothied, ice-creamed, syruped, jammed, lollipopped, chocolate coated, skewered or a combination of the above. It was even possible, if you looked deep enough to find strawberries that were fresh! Once you've eaten your way through the crop, and washed it down with a cup of strawberry tea, there's strawberry cushions and everything else you can imagine too, to take home with you afterwards.
There were plenty of tea plantations too, that were happy to let you stroll through the grounds, and if you did it discreetly, pick a leaf or two to sniff. They really smell like tea but don't quite match a good brew in the taste test - guess all that processing has some effect after all.
After taking in the local industry, the Cameron Highlands next main attraction is hiking. There are plenty of footpaths and trails that lead up slopes, through forests and around and about. We dutifully explored a few of these, taking as much care as possible to set off in the heat of day and get lost at times when it would maximise our exhaustion. For getting lost, we have the map to blame. There is a published map that every shop sells and every tourist buys and it is completely useless. What also contributed to the confusion was the fact that a lot of the paths actually lead you past the side of someone's house, and in more than one occasion through their back garden/allotment. This is probably because people's houses and farm land just sort of spread out and about without any real regard for permission or planning or land ownership so where a trail maybe once weaved through a field, it's now surrounded by shelters and hoses and plants and such like. As it was though, no one seemed to mind us pushing past their smalls as they hung out drying.
The Cameron Highlands, although a large area geographically, consists of just a couple of small towns really. The rest of the area is agricultural or jungle with farmers or peasants living in very rural villages, where the communities live together in a handful of largish wicker and rattan sheds. These community houses are usually built on stilts because of the monsoon rain that washes down the hill slopes. These villages are invisible to the tourist's eye as they do not lie on the road. The best clue to their existence is the occasional person who seems to be standing in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus to come past. The poverty visible in these communities, who live by means of subsistence was all the more startling when taken into consideration that Kuala Lumpur was only two hours down the road, where people live almost entirely within Western Standards.
Nic and I stayed in a backpacking guest house in the town of Tanah Rata. This is the town where most people come to and as such is well prepared for tourists, comparatively. We had shared the hired car up the road with my parents who were staying in a much nicer hotel on the other side of town. As we had the car this meant there was no problem in getting around and spending time together. The car also meant it was much easier getting up to the Highlands as the buses, which are not comfortable, quiet or safe, race around the roads as though the driver is penalised for every minute it takes to make the trip. It took about four hours in the car driving from Lumut to get to the Highlands, a feet that would have been a nightmare on the bus. The roads, are of a decent standard in terms of being sealed tarmac but the route they ply is utterly horrific. At no point did our car reach more than 40kph as twist after bend kept your foot mostly over the break. Road kill was exotic, with big lizards about two foot long (more if you included the entrails) and snakes lying victim to the less than admiral driving standards of most of Malaysia.
We spent about a week in the Cameron Highlands before returning to KL briefly, to return the car and launch ourselves up the East coast of the country, where we would rendezvous once more with my parents for a few days before they would head home and we would continue our adventure solo.
There were plenty of tea plantations too, that were happy to let you stroll through the grounds, and if you did it discreetly, pick a leaf or two to sniff. They really smell like tea but don't quite match a good brew in the taste test - guess all that processing has some effect after all.
After taking in the local industry, the Cameron Highlands next main attraction is hiking. There are plenty of footpaths and trails that lead up slopes, through forests and around and about. We dutifully explored a few of these, taking as much care as possible to set off in the heat of day and get lost at times when it would maximise our exhaustion. For getting lost, we have the map to blame. There is a published map that every shop sells and every tourist buys and it is completely useless. What also contributed to the confusion was the fact that a lot of the paths actually lead you past the side of someone's house, and in more than one occasion through their back garden/allotment. This is probably because people's houses and farm land just sort of spread out and about without any real regard for permission or planning or land ownership so where a trail maybe once weaved through a field, it's now surrounded by shelters and hoses and plants and such like. As it was though, no one seemed to mind us pushing past their smalls as they hung out drying.
The Cameron Highlands, although a large area geographically, consists of just a couple of small towns really. The rest of the area is agricultural or jungle with farmers or peasants living in very rural villages, where the communities live together in a handful of largish wicker and rattan sheds. These community houses are usually built on stilts because of the monsoon rain that washes down the hill slopes. These villages are invisible to the tourist's eye as they do not lie on the road. The best clue to their existence is the occasional person who seems to be standing in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus to come past. The poverty visible in these communities, who live by means of subsistence was all the more startling when taken into consideration that Kuala Lumpur was only two hours down the road, where people live almost entirely within Western Standards.
Nic and I stayed in a backpacking guest house in the town of Tanah Rata. This is the town where most people come to and as such is well prepared for tourists, comparatively. We had shared the hired car up the road with my parents who were staying in a much nicer hotel on the other side of town. As we had the car this meant there was no problem in getting around and spending time together. The car also meant it was much easier getting up to the Highlands as the buses, which are not comfortable, quiet or safe, race around the roads as though the driver is penalised for every minute it takes to make the trip. It took about four hours in the car driving from Lumut to get to the Highlands, a feet that would have been a nightmare on the bus. The roads, are of a decent standard in terms of being sealed tarmac but the route they ply is utterly horrific. At no point did our car reach more than 40kph as twist after bend kept your foot mostly over the break. Road kill was exotic, with big lizards about two foot long (more if you included the entrails) and snakes lying victim to the less than admiral driving standards of most of Malaysia.
We spent about a week in the Cameron Highlands before returning to KL briefly, to return the car and launch ourselves up the East coast of the country, where we would rendezvous once more with my parents for a few days before they would head home and we would continue our adventure solo.
Saturday, 2 June 2007
Pangkor Laut
We should never have been there.
Our flirtation with the five star life in the KL Ritz could just about be excused as a brief respite from the less salubrious predecessors we were more familiar with. It was after all my parents fault we were in there, it's not like we chose it. But the backpacking jury is not going to let us off with Pangkor Laut. PL is an exclusive Island where you can only get onto if you are staying there. Backpackers are not supposed to stay on Pangkor Laut. We only managed to afford it because the customer service manager, another Scot called Ross was able to pull a couple of rabbits out of the hat. He gave us the maximum discount on their best rate, and since my parents had booked their trip last year, he gave us the discount on last year's price, and even though we paid for the cheapest villa, he put us in the one next door to my parents which was a little bit more upmarket. He also waved a few additional costs that would normally have bumped the prices up all the more. All in all, we got a ridiculously posh 2 days for about the same price as you'd pay for a reasonable room in London for a night.
Our bungalow, just next to the infinite pool had everything you could imagine. And was perfectly fitted out in a well balanced mix of stonework, woodwork and glass. If we couldn't be bothered walking to one of the five restaurants or so, our weary five star legs could rest while we got driven across the island. Of course, that meant you would miss a stroll along the boardwalk between the slightly dearer (yes we had limits) bungalows on stilts that sat out into the water. If you were one of those people who were supposed to be there, then you would almost certainly have thrown some money at the spa treatments which would then allow you to use the even exclusiver infinite pool round the coast slightly. Pavarotti, by all accounts likes this place particularly and has decked out one of the villas to his own liking should he nip by for a few vino's upon a weekend. As it was, the swimming pool was spared this time and the restaurants had enough food to cater for everyone. The restaurants were not cheap, but given that you were a captive market, and had to eat, they could have been a lot dearer. The prices, though ludicrous for Malaysia were pretty much on par with a nice dinner on the town back home. Feeling the first pangs of backpackers guilt though, we decided not to buy lunch but instead to pull out our pot noodles which were nestled deep in a carrier bag. The carrier bag which we had handed over to the bell boy back on the mainland along with our proper luggage, had dutifully turned up on the island in our room with a posh label neatly tied round one of it's handles. We were trying hard to maintain the backpacker's code.
We had a lovely two days, pretending to fit in and just hanging about with Mum and Dad. They had longer to stay on the Island but we would be sharing a hire car with them and driving up to the Cameron Highlands so we spent the following day back in Lumut enjoying what the town had to offer. That took about fifteen minutes and then we hung around till they came over the following day.
Our flirtation with the five star life in the KL Ritz could just about be excused as a brief respite from the less salubrious predecessors we were more familiar with. It was after all my parents fault we were in there, it's not like we chose it. But the backpacking jury is not going to let us off with Pangkor Laut. PL is an exclusive Island where you can only get onto if you are staying there. Backpackers are not supposed to stay on Pangkor Laut. We only managed to afford it because the customer service manager, another Scot called Ross was able to pull a couple of rabbits out of the hat. He gave us the maximum discount on their best rate, and since my parents had booked their trip last year, he gave us the discount on last year's price, and even though we paid for the cheapest villa, he put us in the one next door to my parents which was a little bit more upmarket. He also waved a few additional costs that would normally have bumped the prices up all the more. All in all, we got a ridiculously posh 2 days for about the same price as you'd pay for a reasonable room in London for a night.
Our bungalow, just next to the infinite pool had everything you could imagine. And was perfectly fitted out in a well balanced mix of stonework, woodwork and glass. If we couldn't be bothered walking to one of the five restaurants or so, our weary five star legs could rest while we got driven across the island. Of course, that meant you would miss a stroll along the boardwalk between the slightly dearer (yes we had limits) bungalows on stilts that sat out into the water. If you were one of those people who were supposed to be there, then you would almost certainly have thrown some money at the spa treatments which would then allow you to use the even exclusiver infinite pool round the coast slightly. Pavarotti, by all accounts likes this place particularly and has decked out one of the villas to his own liking should he nip by for a few vino's upon a weekend. As it was, the swimming pool was spared this time and the restaurants had enough food to cater for everyone. The restaurants were not cheap, but given that you were a captive market, and had to eat, they could have been a lot dearer. The prices, though ludicrous for Malaysia were pretty much on par with a nice dinner on the town back home. Feeling the first pangs of backpackers guilt though, we decided not to buy lunch but instead to pull out our pot noodles which were nestled deep in a carrier bag. The carrier bag which we had handed over to the bell boy back on the mainland along with our proper luggage, had dutifully turned up on the island in our room with a posh label neatly tied round one of it's handles. We were trying hard to maintain the backpacker's code.
We had a lovely two days, pretending to fit in and just hanging about with Mum and Dad. They had longer to stay on the Island but we would be sharing a hire car with them and driving up to the Cameron Highlands so we spent the following day back in Lumut enjoying what the town had to offer. That took about fifteen minutes and then we hung around till they came over the following day.
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
From KL to PL
A fine time was had in KL by all. It took three attempts to get up to the sky bridge crossing the Petronas Towers, the first time it was closed for the night, the second all the tickets for that day had sold out, I say sold, they're free to get, and then the third time we got it right. It's a double decker bridge that you reach by a service lift (very glamorous) with about another 30 people or so and shoot up, and then back down at a rate of two stories per second. We went for a peaceful stroll through the butterfly world, where Nic, deciding she wasn't excited enough threw herself down a set of stairs cutting her foot, trying to outdo my mum who threw herself across a pavement the night before. Both are still adamant that dinner was accompanied exclusively with soft drinks.
Transport across the city was undergone mostly by monorail or the underground trains which are driver less and all operate from the big brain hidden in the depths of the city somewhere. Roads were never really the fastest option, partly because everyone in the city who thinks they are important, and this goes right across the board down to minor politicians and such like, get escorted by a huge cavalcade of police cars and bikes. You could not sit in our 11th floor suite for 10 minutes without hearing the wail and honks of another apparently Very Important Person passing by. The PM back home wouldn't get a cavalcade half as big as some of these people who seem to be crippling the road infrastructure and the road police resources.
Evenings were spent either dining or window shopping. There was a big mall attached to our hotel and in the basement, there were no shops, but the floor is full of restaurants - all of them proper restaurants, not like a food court. The really neat thing was that you could pick the restaurant you liked the most and then ask for a menu to be brought to you from one of the other companies and you could order from their menu. We ate in the steak house, Dad and I ordering from their menu while Nic ordered from the Turkish restaurant and my Mum had Malaysian. At one point we had three different members of table staff attending to our table, and then at the end three different bills to sign. It was all lots of fun and very confusing.
After KL, Mum and Dad headed off to part two of their journey which was to an exclusive private Island resort called Pangkor Laut. We in turn set off following their shadow so as to spend more time with them again later and went for the less exclusive location of Pangkor Island, which to try and prevent confusion here, is the big island that people live and work on, and which Pangkor Laut (meaning Pangkor little) sits off the shore of.
We arrived on our Island (big) which is a popular holiday location for Malaysians and got a bright pink minibus taxi van thing to our little village that we had pre-booked our accommodation at. We had only about 12 hours on Pangkor in the end because my parents had got their customer service manager on side and had worked a very good deal for us to be able to come and spend a night on their island too. The first ferry onto Pangkor Laut was at 8am from the mainland town of Lumut, the same place the public ferry to Pangkor (big) departs from. To maximise our time on Pangkor Laut we decided we get the first ferry over from Lumut and then leave by the last ferry the following day. This meant though, that as we got off our ferry on Pangkor (big) at about 6pm, we would be getting back on the ferry at 6am the following morning to return to Lumut where we would get the next ferry back out to Pangkor Laut.
Still following this? It was all very confusing but meant that we basically had 12 hours to soak up an authentic Malaysian holiday spot where the Malays go on holiday and see how they do it before heading over to the posh private holiday resorts where the westerners do it - not quite so authentic but very very nice.
ANYWAY, first we had Pangkor (big) to enjoy and we had come during a holiday weekend. The village we stayed in had a lovely beach probably about a kilometre long but it was one of the thinnest beaches I have seen. Less than 20 metres of sand sat between the waves and the grassy verge which climbed up to the row of food stalls which hid the road from view behind. The beach was mobbed with people, all having a good time. Palm trees sprung out from between the stalls and leaned across the beach meaning you got your feet wet walking around unless you ducked underneath it, not an option for the few that had little rope swings with wooden seats hanging from them. Some people were offering rides on the back of jet skis and motor boats and these would roar towards the sand from the water and push up onto the shore as paddlers leaped out of the way as fast as they could. One of the things that stood out though was that it was mostly men and boys in the water - not a lot of girls. This small puzzle was solved on closer analysis which revealed most of the holiday makers were Muslim and as such the women dressed very conservatively and wore headdresses, not really an ideal swimming combination. A good time was being had by all though, including ourselves.
After the sun set the crowds (who were a well balanced mix of ages and families) headed to the restaurants and spent the night in what seems to be a national past time for Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia - Karaoke! I think I forgot to mention the Karaoke booths in KL and Singapore where you pay money to get sealed inside this big plastic pod and screech away to your heart's content. And these things are not confined to video arcades, in Jogjakarta (Indonesia) there was a row of them randomly in the middle of a mall. Anyhow, the howls from the restaurants (they don't have pubs or bars) rose into the night while, back at the hotel, I descended the complex into darkness by tampering with our ill working electric shower. An early rise the next day would take us to Pangkor Laut where there was no such problems with the showers.
Transport across the city was undergone mostly by monorail or the underground trains which are driver less and all operate from the big brain hidden in the depths of the city somewhere. Roads were never really the fastest option, partly because everyone in the city who thinks they are important, and this goes right across the board down to minor politicians and such like, get escorted by a huge cavalcade of police cars and bikes. You could not sit in our 11th floor suite for 10 minutes without hearing the wail and honks of another apparently Very Important Person passing by. The PM back home wouldn't get a cavalcade half as big as some of these people who seem to be crippling the road infrastructure and the road police resources.
Evenings were spent either dining or window shopping. There was a big mall attached to our hotel and in the basement, there were no shops, but the floor is full of restaurants - all of them proper restaurants, not like a food court. The really neat thing was that you could pick the restaurant you liked the most and then ask for a menu to be brought to you from one of the other companies and you could order from their menu. We ate in the steak house, Dad and I ordering from their menu while Nic ordered from the Turkish restaurant and my Mum had Malaysian. At one point we had three different members of table staff attending to our table, and then at the end three different bills to sign. It was all lots of fun and very confusing.
After KL, Mum and Dad headed off to part two of their journey which was to an exclusive private Island resort called Pangkor Laut. We in turn set off following their shadow so as to spend more time with them again later and went for the less exclusive location of Pangkor Island, which to try and prevent confusion here, is the big island that people live and work on, and which Pangkor Laut (meaning Pangkor little) sits off the shore of.
We arrived on our Island (big) which is a popular holiday location for Malaysians and got a bright pink minibus taxi van thing to our little village that we had pre-booked our accommodation at. We had only about 12 hours on Pangkor in the end because my parents had got their customer service manager on side and had worked a very good deal for us to be able to come and spend a night on their island too. The first ferry onto Pangkor Laut was at 8am from the mainland town of Lumut, the same place the public ferry to Pangkor (big) departs from. To maximise our time on Pangkor Laut we decided we get the first ferry over from Lumut and then leave by the last ferry the following day. This meant though, that as we got off our ferry on Pangkor (big) at about 6pm, we would be getting back on the ferry at 6am the following morning to return to Lumut where we would get the next ferry back out to Pangkor Laut.
Still following this? It was all very confusing but meant that we basically had 12 hours to soak up an authentic Malaysian holiday spot where the Malays go on holiday and see how they do it before heading over to the posh private holiday resorts where the westerners do it - not quite so authentic but very very nice.
ANYWAY, first we had Pangkor (big) to enjoy and we had come during a holiday weekend. The village we stayed in had a lovely beach probably about a kilometre long but it was one of the thinnest beaches I have seen. Less than 20 metres of sand sat between the waves and the grassy verge which climbed up to the row of food stalls which hid the road from view behind. The beach was mobbed with people, all having a good time. Palm trees sprung out from between the stalls and leaned across the beach meaning you got your feet wet walking around unless you ducked underneath it, not an option for the few that had little rope swings with wooden seats hanging from them. Some people were offering rides on the back of jet skis and motor boats and these would roar towards the sand from the water and push up onto the shore as paddlers leaped out of the way as fast as they could. One of the things that stood out though was that it was mostly men and boys in the water - not a lot of girls. This small puzzle was solved on closer analysis which revealed most of the holiday makers were Muslim and as such the women dressed very conservatively and wore headdresses, not really an ideal swimming combination. A good time was being had by all though, including ourselves.
After the sun set the crowds (who were a well balanced mix of ages and families) headed to the restaurants and spent the night in what seems to be a national past time for Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia - Karaoke! I think I forgot to mention the Karaoke booths in KL and Singapore where you pay money to get sealed inside this big plastic pod and screech away to your heart's content. And these things are not confined to video arcades, in Jogjakarta (Indonesia) there was a row of them randomly in the middle of a mall. Anyhow, the howls from the restaurants (they don't have pubs or bars) rose into the night while, back at the hotel, I descended the complex into darkness by tampering with our ill working electric shower. An early rise the next day would take us to Pangkor Laut where there was no such problems with the showers.
Sunday, 20 May 2007
From Rags to Riches
There was nothing wrong with The Dragon Inn. It was clean, secure and had a separate shower cubicle within the bathroom, whereas most places have a habit of just putting a shower head somewhere above the toilet or sink. It had hot water, and the altitude of the 7th (6th) floor meant the cockroaches were tiny and generally scared of us - which hasn't always been the case.
But when my parents arrived in town, they treated us to a room in their hotel too for the next few days. It was time to pack up and head across town to the Ritz. Shunning the option of a taxi, we thought it would make far more sense to load our bags on our backs, and march through China Town in the midday heat, take the monorail to a station about ten minutes from the Ritz, choosing not to see the stop nest door to it, and then walk there.
We executed our plan with 100% success thus arriving in the opulent reception, soaking with sweat, looking rather downtrodden, with huge bags on our backs and fronts and a carrier bag or two in our hands for maximum gypsy effect. The doorman, to his credit, smiled under his moustache but wasted no time in opening the door for us as we slipped between the parked limos. The smack of the ice cold air on our faces was to die for as we entered reception. This was after all, 5 star air conditioning. Having forgotten to wipe our feet on the door mat, in our haste not to block the door, there was nothing to do but traipse across the luxurious Persian rug that filled the expanse of the lobby. Strolling past the fruit bowl and under the chandelier towards the reception desk, it was clear the receptionists didn't know what to make of these wayward backpackers who had obviously found themselves in the wrong part of town. Three of them busied themselves shuffling paper while failing to hide their enjoyment at our apparent intrusion while the forth politely asked if there was anything she could do for us. Resisting the urge, sadly, to put on my best gruffest drunkard Scot impression I said I was here to check in. Slowly the cogs started to turn, and sure enough, to everyone's surprise, there was indeed a booking under my name. The bell boy ran up to take our bags, and the others behind reception gave up their charade and stood blatantly over girl 4's shoulder to see for themselves this preposterous booking. After the formalities we were then escorted by the duty manager to our room, and invited to settle in.
Our room was unsurprisingly fantastic. We had an enormous bed, a living room space with two piece suite, plasma screen and DVD, a study and a massive bathroom. We thought we had hit the Jackpot and then we found out we had a personal butler!
But when my parents arrived in town, they treated us to a room in their hotel too for the next few days. It was time to pack up and head across town to the Ritz. Shunning the option of a taxi, we thought it would make far more sense to load our bags on our backs, and march through China Town in the midday heat, take the monorail to a station about ten minutes from the Ritz, choosing not to see the stop nest door to it, and then walk there.
We executed our plan with 100% success thus arriving in the opulent reception, soaking with sweat, looking rather downtrodden, with huge bags on our backs and fronts and a carrier bag or two in our hands for maximum gypsy effect. The doorman, to his credit, smiled under his moustache but wasted no time in opening the door for us as we slipped between the parked limos. The smack of the ice cold air on our faces was to die for as we entered reception. This was after all, 5 star air conditioning. Having forgotten to wipe our feet on the door mat, in our haste not to block the door, there was nothing to do but traipse across the luxurious Persian rug that filled the expanse of the lobby. Strolling past the fruit bowl and under the chandelier towards the reception desk, it was clear the receptionists didn't know what to make of these wayward backpackers who had obviously found themselves in the wrong part of town. Three of them busied themselves shuffling paper while failing to hide their enjoyment at our apparent intrusion while the forth politely asked if there was anything she could do for us. Resisting the urge, sadly, to put on my best gruffest drunkard Scot impression I said I was here to check in. Slowly the cogs started to turn, and sure enough, to everyone's surprise, there was indeed a booking under my name. The bell boy ran up to take our bags, and the others behind reception gave up their charade and stood blatantly over girl 4's shoulder to see for themselves this preposterous booking. After the formalities we were then escorted by the duty manager to our room, and invited to settle in.
Our room was unsurprisingly fantastic. We had an enormous bed, a living room space with two piece suite, plasma screen and DVD, a study and a massive bathroom. We thought we had hit the Jackpot and then we found out we had a personal butler!
Quandary in Kuala Lumpur
Borneo was finished, and it was time to leave the leafy jungle behind for the concrete one - Kuala Lumpur. We had a few days to kill before my Mum and Dad were arriving in town. They decided to take their holidays this year somewhere on our route and Malaysia, it was decided would be the place. But first, Nic and I had to find a place to stay, and having been well served by Chinese hotels before now, we decided to head to Chinatown.
The routine for finding a hotel is roughly as follows:
1 - consult our next to useless 'rough guide to south east Asia' book (we have scored out the word rough on it's cover and replaced it with our own description). And look for where the majority of accommodation is.
2 - either book ahead, or decide there is plenty of options and exercise increased bargaining power upon arrival.
3 - if not booking ahead, plan a route through our pre-chosen area and set off to hotel no. 1.
4 - upon arrival ask if they have a suitable room, what the rate is and if we can see it.
5 - after inspection, the hotel will be categorised into one of three groups: a; No Chance! - b; Let's move on but we'll maybe come back. - c; yes please, (varying in degrees of enthusiasm through to reluctant resignation).
6 - If a positive rating is given, bargaining is usually engaged in, which can sometimes be very worthwhile.
We chose to wait till we got there. Only Singapore has come close to being as tough a mission as KL was. The difference with Singapore though, was that everywhere was booked up already. Kl had plenty of vacancies though, and upon inspection it became apparent why. We spent somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half, laden like pack donkeys, meandering through the streets and back roads looking for somewhere half decent.
In retrospect, we could have made things easier on ourselves though. For example the hotel with the locked iron gate across it's door, offered a big clue, but out of politeness we felt bound to inspect it after the prostitute/door-girl unlocked it for us. Also, the hotel where we climbed the long stairs into the dingy reception, climbed over the semi-permanent pile of stuff blocking the top of the stairs and then waited for the Chinese man in his underpants to finish shouting at the cigarette smoking receptionist while waving a toilet roll around, was also an unnecessary politeness.
Exhausted, and becoming increasingly unable to operate we decided we would park ourselves in McDonald's, buy a token purchase for the privilege, regain our composure and send one of us forth with executive decision making rights while the other sat with the bags, a finished small coke and an increasing sense of obtrusion. McDonald's lay across the six lane road of traffic, which seemed to be competing with Indonesia for the down-right-terrifying award. Slowly loosing the will to live, unable to find a gap in the traffic, we spied another McDonald's on our side of the road a few hundred metres away and headed for that instead, stopping only for one last desperate check of the hotel next door to it. After all our efforts, this one came up trumps and we happily took the lift to the seventh floor (though it was really only the 6th due to no 4th floor - a very unlucky number in China) and crashed upon our two single beds that would offer us sanctuary from the world until the roadworks started in the middle of the night.
The routine for finding a hotel is roughly as follows:
1 - consult our next to useless 'rough guide to south east Asia' book (we have scored out the word rough on it's cover and replaced it with our own description). And look for where the majority of accommodation is.
2 - either book ahead, or decide there is plenty of options and exercise increased bargaining power upon arrival.
3 - if not booking ahead, plan a route through our pre-chosen area and set off to hotel no. 1.
4 - upon arrival ask if they have a suitable room, what the rate is and if we can see it.
5 - after inspection, the hotel will be categorised into one of three groups: a; No Chance! - b; Let's move on but we'll maybe come back. - c; yes please, (varying in degrees of enthusiasm through to reluctant resignation).
6 - If a positive rating is given, bargaining is usually engaged in, which can sometimes be very worthwhile.
We chose to wait till we got there. Only Singapore has come close to being as tough a mission as KL was. The difference with Singapore though, was that everywhere was booked up already. Kl had plenty of vacancies though, and upon inspection it became apparent why. We spent somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half, laden like pack donkeys, meandering through the streets and back roads looking for somewhere half decent.
In retrospect, we could have made things easier on ourselves though. For example the hotel with the locked iron gate across it's door, offered a big clue, but out of politeness we felt bound to inspect it after the prostitute/door-girl unlocked it for us. Also, the hotel where we climbed the long stairs into the dingy reception, climbed over the semi-permanent pile of stuff blocking the top of the stairs and then waited for the Chinese man in his underpants to finish shouting at the cigarette smoking receptionist while waving a toilet roll around, was also an unnecessary politeness.
Exhausted, and becoming increasingly unable to operate we decided we would park ourselves in McDonald's, buy a token purchase for the privilege, regain our composure and send one of us forth with executive decision making rights while the other sat with the bags, a finished small coke and an increasing sense of obtrusion. McDonald's lay across the six lane road of traffic, which seemed to be competing with Indonesia for the down-right-terrifying award. Slowly loosing the will to live, unable to find a gap in the traffic, we spied another McDonald's on our side of the road a few hundred metres away and headed for that instead, stopping only for one last desperate check of the hotel next door to it. After all our efforts, this one came up trumps and we happily took the lift to the seventh floor (though it was really only the 6th due to no 4th floor - a very unlucky number in China) and crashed upon our two single beds that would offer us sanctuary from the world until the roadworks started in the middle of the night.
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