Kinky afro

Monday, 01/10/2012 – 109 A.D.

Oh people! People in the night! People in the corridor speaking really loudly and waking me and my brother up! How dare they? Oh, they dare. Next time I swear I’ll get out of bed and tell them to shut the hell up…definitely…depending on how many of them there are…and whether my hair is sticking up or not…

The first order of the day was to retrieve our washing and see just how much of it came back. All of it, as it happened. Plus it was folded nicely and put into a big see-through bag that was sellotaped shut. If that’s the way it happens over here then I’m never going back to handwashing again! Well, actually I did handwash yesterday’s shirt this morning…no point putting a single item of clothing on the hotel’s scales, is there? Speaking of shirts, we might have another casualty as White Shirt has got a bit torn and frayed on one side, but I don’t want to think about that right now.

If you read yesterday’s blog (and gawd bless ya if ya did!), you’ll know that we were heading back to the British High Commission today to find out how to apply for visas. At least we knew it would be open this time. However, we’d forgotten to bring our passports, but the guard was happy to let us in with our UK driving licences as ID – they weren’t good enough for bouncers in the US of A, but consular security guards  in Malaysia were fine with them. Might even have got in using an NUS card. Obviously the guards held onto our cameras while we went inside, so no pictures of this visit exist. In fact, after going through the whole security palava and getting a number for an appointment I was a little worried that we might be wasting the time of these people, who no doubt have far more important things to do with their day, such as securing British trade interests in the upcoming tiger economies of the East. Do they really want a couple of Grayboys coming along and asking how to get visas when the simple answer is [loud, slow, patronising voice] “Look on the website!” Turned out the woman we spoke to was happy to help, but the advice she gave was to go to the embassies for the various countries (Cambodia, Vietnam, China, Nepal and India) and see what they say. Not keen on trailing round all those buildings in the KL heat, we gathered our belongings and went back to the hotel to, ahem, check on the websites.

The afternoon was young and we were feeling a bit more energetic than usual because of the grey clouds overhead. Yeah, so it would probably rain later, but at least it was a tad cooler (i.e. one or two degrees). If you’re a regular reader of this blog (and gawd bless ya if ya are!) you’ll know that we usually end up in parks at some point and today would be no exception, but before we got to said park we’d have to walk through Chinatown…another place where we usually end up at some point! In light of White Shirt’s probable retirement, I thought I’d check out some of the market stalls and see what was on offer. Plenty, as it happened, and at very good prices (even before the haggling started), but call me picky, I couldn’t quite find what I wanted.

And although the traders were quite pushy, I’ve come across worse (yes, Tijuana, I’m thinking of you!) Quote of the day…

TRADER: Hey man, you want to buy some DVDs?

JAMES: No thanks, I haven’t got a DVD player.

TIM: (whispering) Don’t say that, he’ll try and sell you one!

There was still plenty of time left in KL for me to find a bargain or 49, so we left the market and continued on our way to the park. Ahead of us was Kuala Lumpur Station, with its fine mix of eastern and western architecture. This used to be the main station for all trains passing through Malaysia, but it’s since moved to Sentral Station, just down the line and where we arrived two days ago. We’re not really into trainspotting, but we were into using the lavatories, although I got the shock of my life when I entered the Gents and saw what those needing more than a tinkle had to contend with…

Eeeek! I thought it didn’t get that desperate until India! Anyhow, we were trying to work out how best next to proceed when a young Chinese lady came dashing up to us with map in hand, soon joined by her friend. They wanted to get to the National Mosque, but were having trouble reading the map. Even though I was still reeling from the shock of the toilet, red in the face and sweating buckets from the increasing heat, I put on my most charming tones and told them that the mosque was on our way to the park where we were heading and we’d be happy to escort them to their destination. They seemed up for this and we all introduced ourselves, though I knew as soon as they said their names I’d forget them, and sure enough I have.

Of course, this put me under a bit of pressure, and with pressure comes even more perspiration. I’d have to make sure we found that mosque or else we’d look like a right couple of wallies, or worse, like we had some kind of underhand motive for taking them elsewhere. Fortunately that month on the roads of New Zealand without sat nav means I’m still pretty handy with a map and so, despite a couple of uncertain road crossings, we got the Chinese girls to their destination and in a decent amount of time. Not sure what Tim was so happy about though…

As we waited at the endless traffic crossings, we got to know our new companions a little. They were both from Beijing where they had jobs, but had taken two weeks off work to go to Myanmar for ten days, then on to Malaysia for five days. Oddly enough, they had to ask us where we were from - I thought being English was invisibly tattooed across my forehead, but I suppose I could be vaguely Noridc or a bit Teutonic. They’d also just come from the market where they’d done a bit of haggling over some traditional Malaysian dress, claiming that this land was cheaper than back home. Hmmm, best get my dodgy, knocked-off goods while I’m here, rather than wait until we get further into the Orient!

By the time we arrived at the National Mosque it was closed to non-Muslims, but only for an hour. The girls therefore brought forward their next planned destination, which was the Islamic Museum of Arts. But they still couldn’t read the map, so again we offered to show them where it was, which didn’t turn out to be far. I don’t think it’s the ego talking when I say I got the impression our Chinese friends wanted us to go around the museum with them, but we really didn’t fancy it. And the conversations weren’t flowing as easy as first thought, e.g.

JAMES: Are you both students?

CHINESE GIRL #1: No! I have been working for maybe three years!

JAMES: Oh, okay.

CHINESE GIRL #1: Do I seem like a student to you?

JAMES: Err, well, ummm…you have the…energy…of a student. [cringes at remark]

CHINESE GIRL #1: Energy of…how do you mean?

JAMES: Never mind. The museum isn’t far…

And so we let `em go to see the Islamic Art with the vague proposition of meeting them later at the mosque when it was open, knowing that we probably wouldn’t be there. It’s a cruel world, dear readers, but they’ll probably meet a couple of nice Chinese boys sometime soon (if they haven’t already, we never got that far!)

We finally got to our park, side-stepping the Butterfly House because it was a little over-priced for what it was – to be fair, the first over-priced thing we’ve seen in Malaysia, leaving aside beer bought in bars. Up at the park we saw the National Monument to the country’s war dead, then had a drastic change of scenery at the Dinosaur Park, which was a deserted children’s playground where Tim tried his luck going down a helter-skelter slide and temporarily dislocated his little toe (serves him right, the big kid!) There were also sections of the park devoted to deer, some unidentifiable large rodents and a few roosters, but these were pretty tame after having been to the Singapore Night Safari and Australia Zoo. And then the rains finally came and we headed back to the hotel.

That night we ate out again - oooh, it’s such fun! Perhaps we’re getting a little bolder, but we tried our luck at a place down one of the busier backstreets that are brimming with second class eateries, but eateries that are always full with locals. Isn’t the golden rule supposed to be to eat where the locals eat? They all looked the same to us, so we picked a place called Dragon View, which just about had a slightly-obscured view of the Petronas Twin Towers. A whole section of the menu was devoted to frog-based dishes, which I would have gone for had I few beers already inside me. Instead I settled for Thai style chicken. This means that for the last four nights I have eaten Indian, ahem – KFC, Chinese, and Thai…not bad going for a boy who wouldn’t willingly eat any other vegetable than chips until he was well into his teens (come on, they’re made from potatoes, so they must be vegetables!)

You’ll note in the photo above that there is a foot illuminated by neon lighting. On our way back from the eatery we went down a street we hadn’t been down before. There were lots of foot massage shops along it…more than really seemed necessary, even for a city of 7 million inhabitants. Outside of these shops were scores of young women, all rushing up to us and offering the joys of a foot massage. Just a foot massage? I thought it rude to ask, but some of them looked as though they gave more than just a foot massage several times a day. The golden rule is to never make eye contact. The silver rule is just to say, “No, thank you,” once they’ve ignored the fact that you’re not making eye contact and rushed up to you anyway.

And now, back at the hotel with no ill-effects so far from the local cuisine, the only issue hanging over us is our Indian visa. It looks like we can only apply for a visa to visit India if we’re in the UK, and obviously we’re not. So why not just skip India given that Tim’s already been there? Because we fly out of Mumbai and back to England on the 20th December, that’s why. Even if we have to jump the border fence, we have to get into India somehow…