I am such a one-woman comedy act sometimes. The check-in for my bus back to Singapore is inside this nice hotel, where the bus company also has a hospitality area for waiting travellers. Having been proud of myself for managing to get across town, on the train, through the shopping centre etc with my now quite heavy backpack and bulky daypack without killing anyone with a sudden turn, I got caught in the elastic springy strap thing that marked off the hospitality section. Not being able to see beyond the bags attached to my upper half how I was caught, I spent a good minute trying to disentangle myself, getting worse and worse caught, while hotel guests at lunch looked on in horror. No such thing as assisting a damsel in distress anymore. The staff obviously thought me a risk though, becuase when I wentto help myself to my complimentary tea, a nervous-looking young woman appeared at my elbow from out of nowhere and explained that the urn marked 'hot water' contained hot water, that the tea bags were for tea and that the jog labelled 'fresh milk' was where I woudl find the milk. She watched me until I'd moved off.I imagined them to be worried that I would continue the entertainment by comically spraying water and milk all over me then pulling my t-shirt off and running round Benny Hill-style. Not sure I could blame her.
Kuala Lumpur has been interesting. Terribly warm and humid, with heavy showers that can last for hours. Last evening I sat through the most awesome thunderstorm I've ever experienced - terrific cracks of thunder that felt like they would rip the roof off and such insistent rain with drops the size of sugar lumps. Fantastic. If you weren't out in it.
I encountered some difficulty in getting round on foot in some areas as sometimes the roads widen to 6-lane carriageways or become these big flyovers and the pavements disappear. The Islamic Arts Museum in particular gave me the runaround (you can imagine it hoisting up its skirts and scampering off when it saw me coming).I'd tried to get to it twice but lack of pavement and signs defeated me. Determined to give it one more try, I got the train one stop then followed the signs for the Plane'arium (tee hee, P&B) until they disappeared and I had to stroll purposefully through a park hoping I was going in the right direction. Then I had to climb over a small wall to get out of the park because the gates were locked and ask for directions from a pair of giggling security guards who acted, when I approached them, like we were in the playground and they didn't really speak to girls. Finally found the bugger and it was worth all that slog in the heat for the exhibition on Women in Islam (and I'd just like to say..."Whoever knows the worth of women and the mystery reposing in them will not refrain from loving them; indeed, love for them is part of the perfection of a man who knows God, for it is a legacy of the Prophet and a Divine Love"...said Ibn al-Arabi) and a tasty lunch in the Lebanese restaurant. But you might understand why I have generally limited myself to the one activity a day.
On the first full day here I went to a cultural show at the Tourist Info centre which featured a rendition of the immortal song 'Malayyyyysia. Truly Ayyyyyyysia' (This land so beautiful, it steals your heart away/This land is Paradise, only a smile away...if only the Tourist Info staff would take that last phrase to heart). Fabulous. As it was nearby, also went upto the 41st floor sky bridge of the Petronas Towers, the tallest twin towers in the world.
When I arrived into KL, it was in the pouring rain but the tallest rainbow I've ever seen crossed the KL skyline. Taxi drivers are supposed by law to use their meters but they apparently hardly ever do, so I had to haggle (I hate doing it, I feel like an idiot) him down from 30 ringgit - about 3 times what it should have cost, I think - to the YWCA. Then the lazy arse tried to drop me off at the wrong place. 'This must be it,' he said, stopping at the Methodist Boys' Secondary School, 'they always tell you the wrong road.' I couldn't work out if he was monumentally stupid or if he identified 'Methodist with 'Christian' and genuinely thought it was right. (After all, I bet there are London taxi drivers that wouldn't even know the difference between a Sikh temple and a mosque. At least he was in the right religious ball-park.) I stayed at the Y because I couldn't get the hostel I wanted and I'd had the loveliest, most welcoming email from the Secretary-General in reply to my query. It was all right actually, I had a room to myself too but I don't know what they made of me. The lady showed me to my room, pointing out the facilities on the way. 'And that,' she said in hushed tones, 'is the men's bathroom.' I wanted to laugh and say, 'Honey, seeing strange men when I get out of the shower is normal for me now', but I didn't want her to get the wrong idea, as she hasn't been reading the blog about my mixed-bathroom adventures. (They do let men stay there but only as part of a married couple or a family.) She seemed to think there was something not quite right about me and always looked worried when I spoke to her. There were lots of Asian women staying there and the greatest shame was that I didn't really get to speak to them due to lack of conducive communal space and only brief encounters in the corridors. Despite the suspicion of me, it was a good stay and they had the sweetest darling of a security guard at the gate who always smiled.
It occurred to me in KL that people really are the same all over the world because (1) a smile goes a long way (2) you still get asked if you wanta taxi even when you're stepping into the entrance of the train station (3) boys still walk out of shops going 'beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep' to wind up security guards. I also re-examined my stance on Marks and Spencers etc after my earlier comment from Singapore and decided that a place is what it is and that even if it is a bit sad and odd to see the effects of globalisation in that I coudl almost be walking into a shopping centre in London, who am I to demand that a city be culturally intact just so it can be my layground? I've been thinking a lot about what sort of travellers I am, or want to be, having come across the 'I don't believe in guidebooks', 'I want to go off the tourist trail' and 'I want an authentic experience' brigades and really, isn't the point of minimal impact travelleing not just that you take only photos and leave only footprints but that you don't come and impose yourself and your expectations on a place, you just appreciate what it offers? You're what should change, not the places you visit. And anyway, who am I to begrudge them a Marks and Spencers, where else will they buy their knickers... It'll be more than sad if the world's high streets all look the same in 50 years but it's for the local people to change that, if they want, and for travellers to shop and eat local instead of at McDonald's (all right, and at Pizza Hut - I won't do it again). I might change my mind about this again but these past few dyas I've just realised I could equally be called a cultural imperialist for condemning M&S stores in Asia as I could be for wanting them there! Julia's paradox.
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