Crossing into Malaysia is like crossing into any poor country. A turnstile.
The moment you breathe in the air, your stomach churns. Exhaust burned my nasal passages as an infinite number of motorcycles whizzed by on the bridge to Johor Bahru. The smell of inadequate septic systems fills the air with that familiar sickening taste in your throat. Upon arrival in JB, we met at guy who worked for the MRT and he helped us catch a ride to the bus station. An hour later, we're sitting on a curb playing with stray cats waiting to board a bus to KL. Lag, lag and lag some more.
Sleeping on a bus is the worst.
Arriving in a foreign country at 3 AM with no plan or booked room isn't the best situation to be in. Especially when you just nodded in and out of consciousness for 5 hours and upon waking you wonder where you are. We head toward some open shops and try to assess our situation. I stop to gather my thoughts but can't think clearly because the only thing i hear is "Hey! Need a taxi?" An old man approaches us and out of repetition, we shy him away. He makes a circle around us and offers us a hostel room for the night at 12 ringgit each. About $4.
Thirty minutes later, the old man comes up to our room and tells us that a bunch of pretty girls are in the lobby. I smile. The girls are from the UK and one decides to stay up and hang out with us. I egg her on as she pokes fun at American words like elevator and trunk.
"It's a lift! And not a sidewalk. It called the pavement. And why is it a trunk? It's the boot!"
My motivational force for visiting Kuala Lumpur was to buy some gear. Or "Hella Gucci" as the Swedes put it. Petaling Street was the spot and haggling was the game. These guys working the market are professional hagglers but once you figure them out, it becomes a sport. The best part about these guys was that they knew when to stop and take NO for an answer. Unlike Bangkok. They had all the essential goods that make a good counterfeit market. Sunglasses, watches, luggage, t-shirts, bootleg DVDs, purses and every useless Kuala Lumpur souvenier you could fathom. The key to the game is to name your price and stick to your guns.
Later on in the evening, we went drunk cruising through the market trying to get high fives from every vendor. This guy came up to Magnus trying to sell him bootleg pornos. I approached him and asked for gay porn. To my surprise, he had some and we high fived as i exclaimed "Yeah!! Gay pornos!!" His face immediately wore a frown as i walked away and laughed.
Getting caught outside during a rain storm was quite an experience. Huge puddles gather in the streets as the winds shift back and forth. Magnus and i huddle toghter with some other guys against the bridge support as the wind whips around and our clothes absorb the moisture in the air. We decide to make a run for it an duck into an indian cafe for some tea while we watch the rain. I always think of listening to Feist on a rainy day. Thanks Charles.
After the rain subsided and we wandered a bit.
Imagine your grandpa.
Now add 15 years and make him asian, if he's not already.
He's wearing women's jeans.
And has a low cut shirt and small boobs.
He's dancing.
Alone.
On the busiest street corner in Chinatown.
Everyone is gawking.
..................
And he doesn't give a fuck.
By now, i'm kicking myself for not bringing my camera. What a spectacle.
I'll try to find God's house next time.
Sleeping on a bus is the worst.
Arriving in a foreign country at 3 AM with no plan or booked room isn't the best situation to be in. Especially when you just nodded in and out of consciousness for 5 hours and upon waking you wonder where you are. We head toward some open shops and try to assess our situation. I stop to gather my thoughts but can't think clearly because the only thing i hear is "Hey! Need a taxi?" An old man approaches us and out of repetition, we shy him away. He makes a circle around us and offers us a hostel room for the night at 12 ringgit each. About $4.
Thirty minutes later, the old man comes up to our room and tells us that a bunch of pretty girls are in the lobby. I smile. The girls are from the UK and one decides to stay up and hang out with us. I egg her on as she pokes fun at American words like elevator and trunk.
"It's a lift! And not a sidewalk. It called the pavement. And why is it a trunk? It's the boot!"
My motivational force for visiting Kuala Lumpur was to buy some gear. Or "Hella Gucci" as the Swedes put it. Petaling Street was the spot and haggling was the game. These guys working the market are professional hagglers but once you figure them out, it becomes a sport. The best part about these guys was that they knew when to stop and take NO for an answer. Unlike Bangkok. They had all the essential goods that make a good counterfeit market. Sunglasses, watches, luggage, t-shirts, bootleg DVDs, purses and every useless Kuala Lumpur souvenier you could fathom. The key to the game is to name your price and stick to your guns.
Later on in the evening, we went drunk cruising through the market trying to get high fives from every vendor. This guy came up to Magnus trying to sell him bootleg pornos. I approached him and asked for gay porn. To my surprise, he had some and we high fived as i exclaimed "Yeah!! Gay pornos!!" His face immediately wore a frown as i walked away and laughed.
Getting caught outside during a rain storm was quite an experience. Huge puddles gather in the streets as the winds shift back and forth. Magnus and i huddle toghter with some other guys against the bridge support as the wind whips around and our clothes absorb the moisture in the air. We decide to make a run for it an duck into an indian cafe for some tea while we watch the rain. I always think of listening to Feist on a rainy day. Thanks Charles.
After the rain subsided and we wandered a bit.
Imagine your grandpa.
Now add 15 years and make him asian, if he's not already.
He's wearing women's jeans.
And has a low cut shirt and small boobs.
He's dancing.
Alone.
On the busiest street corner in Chinatown.
Everyone is gawking.
..................
And he doesn't give a fuck.
By now, i'm kicking myself for not bringing my camera. What a spectacle.
I'll try to find God's house next time.
why didnt you bring your camera??
ReplyDeleteWe missed you at Tioman. It was a perfect weekend. Come with us next time!