Day 6. 18/4/19
Kuala Lumpur
Today was an early start
as we were moving out of Melaka to Kuala Lumpur. Got up at 7:30am to have
breakfast at a small Chinese-Malay restaurant by the side of the road near our
hostel. The menu was limited and I didn’t know what anything was, so the woman
who worked there gave us bowls of soup made of sweet soy stock containing lean
pork meat and tofu. It was sweet, salty and tasted home-made. Freshly chopped
chilli in soy sauce was dribbled on to a tiny plate to dip the pork in to. At
Omni Hostel for the last time, we waited for a driver named Izad who never
showed up, so we decided to get ourselves to Melaka Sentral to take a two hour
coach ride to KL, no biggy.
While waiting for Izad I
met a San-Franciscan who had been travelling for a few months and had ended up
in Melaka. Her name was Linda, she had been adopted by her American parents
as a baby from Vietnam, and now she was on a journey to find herself; her roots;
her identity. She’d spent three months in Vietnam travelling solo until her
tourist visa ran out, she couldn’t speak the language and didn’t know anyone – quite the bold move. I asked her whether she had taken a sabbatical from work. ‘No. I quit
my job, I sold my house. I’m going to travel until my budget runs out,
basically.’
Travelling in an
air-conditioned box on wheels to Kuala Lumpur, I saw how the city enveloped us
and was ginormous. The drop-off point was TBS (the central bus station) and as we
were trying to figure out how to get to the main station, a ticket inspector-cum-railway
official scooped us up. He gave us a colour photocopy of a metro map and took
us to a balcony overlooking three railway tracks. It was still hot in the
city, although of a different kind, an oppressive heat where there was no breeze, but you could get blasted by air-con every time you passed a sliding
door. Pointing at the tracks he said, ‘This one is fast train to airport. This
is slight-ly slower train. This takes you to KL Sentral, you want to take
this.’
We headed across the
concourse where people were busking, begging and selling fruit. The trains are of
course, highly air-conditioned and riding in to KL for the first time was undoubtedly
cool. It’s a real metropolis and seeing the Petronas Towers glinting in the sun
was awesome. The Petronas Towers are Islamic architecture inspired skyscrapers,
hence the shape of their spikes that look like minarets crafted in platinum
shiny steel. The taxi from the station sped us around a busy and congested city
– skyscrapers, causeways, not pedestrianised.
The place we were staying
at was funnily enough called Platinum Face Suites, which was a hyper-modern
tower block that was also a 5-star luxury hotel (I still don’t get the AirBnB set-up,
it was likely dodgy, so best not question it) which came with an infinity pool
on the roof. The elevator had 51 buttons for each floor and our room was on the
37th. Yikes. Faux marble-top kitchen island, rose-gold statement-wall and floor to ceiling windows, from where you could see
construction workers standing in the shell of another hotel being built
opposite. A super impressive view nonetheless of KL’s blistering skyline. One
odd sign hung on the polished wall saying ‘Be Happy’ in Cath Kidston
style font, which really jarred with the minimalist psycho vibe of the room, though
it gave a nod to the fact we were meant to be staying at a hostel.
I was mega hungry as we hadn’t
eaten yet, so we got a Grab to an Indian restaurant. The driver was agile,
dashing in and out of traffic jams during rush-hour, which in KL strikes
at 3 o’clock he told us. We were dropped off outside a restaurant called IndianSpices Village. They laid out a huge banana leaf to use as a plate then served up
an array of small dishes, each containing different sauces and curries, which
were juicy and spicy and devourable, served with roti, poppadoms and rice.
Heaven of flavours and textures. I ordered fried bittergourd that did not disappoint! Maybe the best bittergourd I’ve ever tasted - crispy, crunchy and
bitter.
After gorging and cooling
off in a/c we walked in to the muggy, polluted, metropolis atmosphere. From the
main station we would take the KTM commuter train to the end of the blue line,
to Batu Caves, where there is a large Hindu temple built in to the side of a
mountain. You get tokens here instead of train tickets, like poker chips and as
I was waiting for the train, I dropped mine out of my pocket. A nice woman held
me gently by the arm to pass it back and I was left stunned; for not being used to close proximity or physical contact with strangers in London. She was simply being kind and that was the surprise.
When the train came, I immediately
fell asleep because it was nice and cool, and I had a belly full of curry. I
woke up at Batu Caves, the terminus. Here is a massive cave complex on the
outskirts of the city where a Hindu temple has been built inside the rocks,
with 272 bombastic, colourful steps leading up to it. There are monkeys who are
unafraid of tourists picking up junk food everywhere. Up the flight of stairs I
saw a monkey vomit in to his palm then fling it at some tourists who were
climbing; I made eye contact with the monkey and he didn’t look guilty,
only tired of life.
The monkeys were the
highlight of the Batu Caves because the Hindu temple and statues inside it were
sort of dilapidated and tacky at the same time. There were those aggressive purple
strip lights you might see in a club, highlighting the ceiling and garishly
painted peacock statues adorning rocks. Some of the temples had worshippers in,
but mostly it was pigeons and people trying to entice tourists to buy a garland
or get a white stamp on their forehead. There were also wild chickens and
cockerels scraping at the ground. It’s much busier at pilgrimage and festival
times, I hear, but when I was there it was empty. I did see an interesting
statue of a blue god who had been grotesquely cut in half from head to waist by a sword.
Walking back down the
steps you could see the smoggy heat haze off KL in the distance. I wanted to
get back before nightfall, so I could get the most out of the rooftop pool with
a view of the city. We departed the Batu Caves, passing by a turtle pond crammed
full of them, where a vendor was throwing in stale bread. Got back on the
train and arrived at the station, Dang Wangi, nearest to our Platinum Face
Suites. We swung by a Seven Eleven on the way home and picked up banana leaves
containing rice and chicken curry that you heat up in the microwave and an
array of saccharine drinks.
Dressed for a swim, we hit
the button for the 51st floor where there was a luxury swimming
pool, lit up from within to make the water glow azure. You could swim right up
to the sheer edge where the water looks like it’s falling in to the city. The
view of the city was wow. The glinting Petronas Towers were bang in the middle
emanating a white light from its spires, and all the surrounding buildings
glittered, while other skyscrapers showed-off multi-colour light displays. There
were also a lot of hi-tech selfies going on in the pool, with much posing and torch
flashes for front-lighting. One father was getting his photo taken by his
entire family who acted as paparazzi. I took half a dozen photos for a model-esque
group of friends, who were in the most fashionable swimwear that made each of them
look like a Sailor Moon character, with
their long legs and minuscule waists.
The rooftop infinity pool
felt luxurious and ridiculous and I was already looking forward to seeing more
countryside. That night we went back to our en suite room with a skyline view
and had a bath, then slept soundly until the morning, when again we would be on
the move.
Day 7. 19/4/19
Cameron Highlands
It was a hot and dry walk
leaving Platinum Face Suites across tarmac roads with cars whizzing by to reach
the metro. First thing’s first, I had to get breakfast, so I found a food court
in KL Sentral station. I had a big bowl of curry
mee noodle soup, which was both creamy and spicy and an ice matcha latte that was insanely sweet and
tasted a bit like melon (that could have been why it was so green – maybe it
was melon flavoured and not matcha.)
The sugar rush helped us find a phone shop, where we got hold of a Malaysian
sim card for my Nokia banana-phone, which was way cheaper than paying for roaming
charges. Smart moves.
From TBS bus station we
got the next ticket available to the Cameron Highlands. It would be a four hour
journey so I stocked up on snacks and got comfy. The ride went by relatively quickly.
When the bus started winding up mountain roads, I knew we were getting close,
as we drove over deep valleys cut in to verdant jungle and reddish rock. I was
scared of the tight bends, but Aidan told me these were pretty mild turns for a
mountainside, plus these roads were in excellent condition, better than the ones
back in Peckham.
The Cameron Highlands is
a famous tourist spot where there are tea farms and hiking trails; city-dwellers
go there on daytrips to enjoy the cooler climes of Malaysia. It was amazing to
see so much greenery after the city. There was only one bus stop at the main
town called Tanah Rata. When I stepped off the bus the temperature was about
5ºC cooler and the insipid humidity had lifted. Aidan thought it was amazing,
but I couldn’t really appreciate it because I was desperate for the toilet and
running around with my heavy rucksack on, trying to find relief. I pegged it
over to the hostel.
Father’s Guesthouse is really
nice, low-key, full of backpackers and beautifully furnished. They had maps of
hiking trails lining the walls and and a Twin Peaks reminiscent wooden
reception desk, and lots of French guests. Leanna who worked there led us past
a fishpond to our lovely little room, advising us that when we took our shoes
off on the porch, we should bring them indoors because the dogs in the area
were prone to chewing them to bits. The room had a revolving ceiling fan and a
window with a balcony along with chairs to sit outside. Beneath our balcony was
a fenced off area where a white a kitten was cavorting with a bit of bric a
brac, and on the other side of the fence were children playing badminton.
The kids all waved up in
our direction as we stood on the balcony admiring the great green block of
mountain in front of us, with banana trees growing at the foot of it and a
strip of village homes in between. What a place. So much cooler and fresh too,
it was a delight. I was watching the makeshift game of badminton while Aidan
showered, when the shuttlecock got hit over the fence on to our side, startling
the kitten. A boy in blue looked up at me and beamed this incredible smile,
which kicked me in to action, so I ran downstairs barefoot to the back garden
and and picked up the shuttlecock and passed it back to him. The boy said, ‘Thank
you’ and so the kids carried on playing. Then the small white kitten came and
played with my toes and purred when I stroked her for ages. I named her Lily.
It was late in the
afternoon so we couldn’t do any major walks. On the map Aidan found a waterfall
nearby called Parit Falls, even though TripAdvisor warned us it may be
polluted with rubbish we still decided to go. The waterfall was next to a
playground and had bits of litter floating in it, but not enough to warrant a
review (who bothers to write a review for a nature spot? Who are they
criticising?) Orange sunlight poured in between the branches and the woodland
was a nice change to the hot and sticky streets, although ominously I noticed the
bugs were much larger.
Back at Father’s
Guesthouse my partner in crime asserted that he would do some laundry because
he’d only brought seven pairs of pants for a two week holiday. He explained
he’d been going through them at an unprecedented rate as he was changing pants
every time he showered from the heat. There was supposed to be a laundrette, which
was open until 10pm and so we walked up and down the main strip with no luck
finding it. A taxi office pointed us back in the direction we’d just come from.
Finally, we stumbled upon a small room with five washers, five tumble-dryers
and three small old ladies sat on a bench. They seemed pleased to see new faces
and chuckled sweetly, as Aidan tried to work out how to use the washing machine,
dispense the detergent, etc.
While his wash was
spinning, we went to have dinner at a quite well-known restaurant across the road
called Ferm Nonya. It was busy. Large round tables dominated the floor space, perched
around each one was a pack of tourists finishing off their feasts. I saw the
carcass of a lobster being taken away and the white table cloths were stained
with splodges of dark sauce. We got shown to a seat pretty soon, then I ordered
a bunch of things that looked nice - particularly I remember the baby ferns in
garlic sauce. Aidan ran back for his washing and we wiled away the evening,
picking a route to walk tomorrow and speculating on whether the restaurant
owner was famous, as the table next to us were getting their photos taken with
her, as were other people.
Day 8. 20/4/19
Cameron Highlands, Tanah
Rata
Currently sitting in a
restaurant after being driven back from Cameron Valley Tea House #1. We started
out on foot this morning, taking hiking trails no. 10 and no. 6 setting off
from Father’s Guesthouse. Aidan downloaded the Maps.Me app beforehand, which was
indispensable as it led us along trails we weren’t exactly sure about; a lot of
trails disappear part way, blocked by sandbanks or cut off by a valley, so the
app was useful to let us know when to carry on.
Trail no. 10 was an
uphill start that became steeper and steeper, which began as a regular road and
ended up as jungle thicket. We started in town, Tanah Rata, walked past a
residential complex called H2O, then circumnavigated Tan’s Camellia Garden,
which we almost walked through and were shooed away by its owner (fair enough,
they must get tired of hikers accidentally traipsing through their flower
garden.) We reverted back on to trail 10, which became a massive building site
of red flattened earth, dusty and totally barren. It looked like Mars.
The trail led us to some
steps that were cut in to bare rock, which were so sharply steep it was more
like a ladder. I saw half-drunk water bottles left lying at the the bottom of
the steps because you needed two hands to climb it, so I guess they’d been
sacrificed. Luckily we had a rucksack. I’d brought a selection of sweet breads
and snacks from Seven Eleven and Aidan carried two litres of water, which were
totally necessary because the walk was pretty intense.
Once in the vegetation I
kept getting stung by mosquitoes and my face was sweating buckets, I was
scrambling with both hands and feet, everything was salty and itchy. The trees
were tangled and the leaves were luscious, the climate wasn’t too humid and the
heat was bearable at about 26º C. I walked over thick roots embedded in the mud,
clinging on to them for help up squelchy surfaces. Caterpillars bristled,
butterflies had eye-shadow embroidered on their wings, and lizards darted
across tree bark. The air buzzed with birdsong and cicadas.
We shot out in to an
opening high above Tanah Rata. There were swallows swooping past us with mean
agility and grace, and large-arsed flying black beetles that defied
aerodynamics. While we were admiring the swallows, an English bloke rambled
past, it was funny to hear a familiar accent this far from home. The trail winded
up to an electricity pylon, where an impressive panorama of the deep green
landscape opened up before us. Surprisingly, there were no beetles or birds
hovering over this clean concrete platform.
I sat down and ate the
sweet breads. One bun filling was candied pork floss, another was plain sugar
and butter called a Mexican Bun, all were incredibly sweet and/or spicy as
usual. We carved on down trail no. 6 where we met an older couple down the
mountainside who weren’t sure where their trail had disappeared to (download
Maps.Me!) The way down was a muddy, slippery slope, like a log flume through
sub-tropical jungle. I managed to stay fairly upright, not muddying my bum - very
grateful to whoever maintains those trails for putting in stretchy long hose-pipes
to hang on to!
At the foot of the
mountains enormous banana trees lined the edge of a stream burbling through the
forest. We walked out on to a chayote grove that was well maintained and luminous
yellow-green, then further down we passed a tin shack where an old man and
woman were crouching down, making tea from a kettle. It was the hottest part of
the day and I can’t imagine it’s much fun tending to the fruit trees during
that. We passed other workers too, looking after plots of fertile land on the
way to the Cameron Valley tea farms. I saw an aubergine grove for the first
time in my life and the flowers are so delicate and pretty, who knew?
On the farmland ravens
were pecking at clumps of dirt. A large rain cloud was following us over the
mountain peak we’d just climbed, gradually darkening the skies behind us, so
spurring us on down the road. I peered in to a shallow pool of water, sheltered
beneath leafy trees containing a school of wild goldfish, swimming cautiously
reflecting colours of russet, fiery orange and gold. As the dirt road turned in
to tarmac, a scooter passed us by carrying a kid and an adult, loaded high with
cardboard boxes of snacks and dried foods for the village I could see up ahead
on top of a small clearing.
The village looked like
it had grown up with the planation, and I assume a lot of the workers lived
there with their families. We were now entering the tea fields proper! I got to
walk through irrigated farmland with the water rushing through the ground, I
passed clipped round hedges in neatened rows, soaked in rich tea-leaf greenness,
waiting to be handpicked or tended to. The both of us sat under a corrugated
iron shelter and drank in our surroundings, while finishing off our water bottles
and the last of the chicken-floss and mayo sandwiches. It was cool and serene
under the tin roof. All around vibrated green.
Village kids came running
over the horizon. One boy who was wearing a red T-shirt and jeans (who was sort
of the leader of the gang, there were five of them) waved and shouted at us on
the way, ‘Where are you going?’ I sort of fumbled a reply, worried we might be
trespassing. Unperturbed he zealously ran past the shelter and turned around,
stopping his other mates in their tracks, ‘Hello!’ he shouted, ‘What is your
name?’ Rimi & Aidan. ‘Where are you from?’ England & Japan. Satisfied
he ran off with his followers trailing behind. The kids I’ve seen in the
Cameron Highlands seem to have a lot of independence and freedom to play.
As we carried on hiking,
a large sign reminiscent of the Hollywood one came in to view that read
“Cameron Valley Tea” running high across a ridge of a planation. In the corner
of a field stood a miniature tin shack painted red. Inside it was propped up a
golden framed piece of Chinese calligraphy and incense sticks, some glassware
with liquids in and other small offerings. There were workers picking tea in
straw hats and gloves spotted around the landscape, hauling baskets and bags
over their shoulders. There were two workers in a field, one was spraying the
ground with a hose and the other was lending a hand, lifting the heavy piping
over the bushes. During their strenuous work the guy controlling the hose waved
to us and shouted over the jet, ‘Ha-llo!’
As we entered the
official Boh Tea planation (you could tell because there was suddenly an influx of
tourists) a bitch-dog barked loudly at my heels, but she was all frills and no
panties because when I turned around to look at her she slinked off and hid beneath
the tea bushes. Clean clothed tourists were ambling around taking photos in
front of the Hollywood sign and we walked up a a steep flight of stairs to the
what was called Tea House #1.
Aidan ordered a large pot
of tea and I sat across from him and a marvellous view of the rolling tea
fields beneath us. Popping off my walking shoes, I hung my tired feet over the
railings and sipped Cameron Valley tea from a cup, whilst watching the swallows
swoop down to snatch midges in mid-air. The table top was red and a little bit
battered, although the English tea was delicious and light, also the views were
breath-taking. The moment we stood up the other tourists made a beeline for our
table.
We walked out of Tea
House #1 without a plan. I befriended a dog in a blue collar who was sleeping by
the side of the road with golden fur, brown eyes and pointy ears. I named him Polo.
He was great company as he came with us along the busy stretch of road,
although I was anxious Polo would get hit by a passing car, he seemed chill
about it and scampered about, rolling on his back over patches of grass,
showing off his tricks. Polo followed us to the next Tea House #2, which was
booming with tourists and then I lost him in the crowd.
Coachloads of tourists
made their perfunctory stop at Tea House #2 to stock up on boxes of Cameron Valley
tea and memorabilia. I asked a guy working at the check-out whether he could get
us a taxi, and he helped out mightily by telling us to wait as he called a cab
company, even though the place was heaving with people over the Easter weekend.
The check-out guy passed us on to a security guard who was maintaining a stream
of cars in to the busy car park. We waited in the shade of a hot day, watching
tourists jump on and off of buses, quite hectic, then the taxi came to take us
back to Tanah Rata.
Back on the the main
street, we sat in a restaurant where I had my favourite ho fun noodle
soup and drank a refreshing lime juice. I bought a notebook in a 2RM Store and
five ball-pens in a pack (none of them worked. Great.) I bought another pen at
a newsagent, then we went back to Father’s Guesthouse, where I found out that
I’d got sunburnt on my neck. Urgh. So, I asked Aidan to slather after-sun on my
neck and I took a nap lying facedown in my pillow.
Post-nap my sunburn had
crept down a little, it’s always aggressively stingy pre-nap I find, you can
deal better with almost anything after a nap. We walked up to a Chinese temple
on top of a hill in Tanah Rata that doubled-up as a steamboat restaurant. Buttercup
yellow shone from the hundreds of bare lightbulbs screwed in place; colourfully
lit-up altars, offerings of fruit piled high on plastic plates, all so
colourful; pinks, greens, blues, red. There were leaping dragons on the gabled
roofs and the smell of incense. The clouds that night were enormous in the sky,
like majestic stage-sets glowing rouge.
We then went for food at
a street market in town. It was probably my favourite meal so far in Malaysia, as
much for the fun vibes of the place, as the big bowl of flavoursome rice I ate.
It was described as a “Cameron rice” on the menu and it was like nasi goreng;
spiced pickled strawberries (a delicacy of CH) mixed in with fried rice,
stir fried king prawns, baby corn, spring onions, peppers, and a savoury spicy
sauce. The tastes were so punchy, and so were the colours on my plate! Totally
delicious. The people sat around us were families as well as tourists, there
was music, kids chasing cats scrambling between adults’ legs, bare light bulbs
and football playing on a TV screen in the back.
A young girl in a bling
cap was eyeing up the chips being fried in a wok by her older sister waitress.
Raw marinated chicken was being slammed on to cutting boards with a big knife,
being chopped up in to bits for the grill, next to an Islamic charity stall
that was playing prayers over a tinny loudspeaker. When we went to pay for the
food at the counter, I saw two large white fish living in a murky fishbowl of
green tinged water, circling slowly, eyeing each other up. I bought a 2L bottle
of water. All in all, the Cameron Highlands was good.
