Hi all

So, we left Cambodia with a bit of a sigh of relief and jumped on our flight bound for Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia. Now originally we’d planned on heading back to Bangkok and heading north east to do the bits we missed on our last visit before heading down to the southern islands for some serious alcohol abuse, before hooking up with the other three in Singapore for our flight to Perth. However, due to the military coup in Thailand we decided that perhaps we should change our plans and head instead for Malaysia and more specifically the Perhentian Islands, with the intention of heading back to Thailand at a later date. Me in April to study at the Muay Thai Institute and earn some cash to finance New Zealand with Mand joining me in October. Then we’d finish off Thailand and head to New Zealand. And that is still currently the plan provided that Thailand sorts itself out in the meantime.

But during this meantime we found ourselves in Kuala Lumpur (KL) airport awaiting the arrival of our free transfer to our five star hotel. That’s right ladies and gentlemen we were finally going to treat ourselves to some serious luxury in the last place we could realistically afford it. The main reason we could afford it here was due to a slight bit of blarney on my part with the reservations manageress. This mainly involved telling her it was mine and Mand’s six-year anniversary and if they could sort us out with a cheap price for the 10 hours we would actually be in KL it would be really, really appreciated. And it was :o)

So there we were waiting for our lift. And there we still were waiting for it half an hour later. Hmmmmm. So off we went to the information kiosk and explained our dilemma, and that we thought the hotel had forgotten us. They phoned them and the guy on the other informed me he was really sorry but they were on their way. Beautiful. In the meantime we were feeling a little hungry and were tempted by the sight of the Golden Arches glowing in the waiting area. Now this was the first time we’d seen a McDonalds since we’d left Thailand three months before and it was with great anticipation that we ordered our Big Mac Meals and by the time they arrived we were positively drooling on each other. The poor girl behind the counter must have thought the Tard Bus had arrived. But now here’s the thing. It was rank. Proper rank. Mine came complete with a big chewy piece of leather in the middle. And we scoffed it down like we hadn’t eaten for weeks. McDonalds. Nothing changes. I still hate it and love it in equal measure. 

By the time we’d finished our driver still hadn’t arrived, so we decided to take matters into our own hands. The hotel is situated in the airport itself. However we were in the terminal that services cheap chap flights and the hotel was in the proper terminal up the road. So we boarded the shuttle bus and 15 minutes later were disembarking at the other end. As we started lugging our gargantuan rucksacks towards the signs for the hotel, a guy pulls up on a golf buggy and asks us if we’re staying at the Pan Pacific. Indeed we are and he loads our stuff aboard and drives us the rest of the way there. Much appreciated my old mucker. Although not enough to warrant a tip :o) Incidentally, the reason our lift never arrived in the first place was because the hotel doesn't do pick ups from the poor people's airport. Oooohhhh, hark at them.

Another guy unloads our gear and puts it onto a hotel trolley and we follow him inside to the lobby. Holy Mary Mother of God. It is absolutely beautiful. High ceilings with crystal chandeliers and gold trimmings. Everything polished and shining and gold and sparkling. Suddenly we started to feel slightly out of place, dressed as we were in our best backpacker clothes (that is jeans and a t-shirt that were relatively clean and didn't smell as bad as the rest of our clothes). Trying desperately not to gawp and adopting an air of forced nonchalance we tremblingly approached the check in desk where the beautiful lady behind it beamed at us and informed us we’d had a free upgrade to the top suite. Come again? 9th floor. Top suites in the place. I nearly s*** myself and it took all my self-control not to start doing a little scruffy pikey looking jig right there in front of her. Instead we thanked her a little too loudly and followed our luggage boy to the flamboyantly decorated lift. Where he had to insert a special key just to gain access to the 9th floor. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Out of the lift on the 9th and we had our own personal reception desk where they informed us of all our little extras we could expect as our status deserved. Free pre dinner cocktails and nibbles between seven and nine. Feet and leg massager in the room. Free laundry. Free access to all cable tv channels. An absolutely huge bed. Priority check out. Free this, free that, free just about everything except food and drink. After the trials of Cambodia this was just what the doctor ordered, so much so that I accidentally tipped the luggage boy in US dollars instead of Malaysian ringgit. Ah well, such is life. But what really topped it off was the chocolate cake they’d had made and delivered to our room with Happy Anniversary iced on it. That’s what I call service with a smile. As soon as the luggage boy left we sat down and soberly considered our good fortune. Did we f***. We jumped on the bed, explored every single cupboard looking for stuff we could steal, turned on all the taps and all the lights, flicked through all the channels on the telly, turned on the massager, got naked and danced around the room laughing like a couple of five year olds on blue smarties. The room itself was luxurious to say the least. Massive, massive bed, soft mattress and huge fluffy pillows, shag pile carpet that came up to our knees, shiny bathroom with both bath and shower and marble floors and walls, gold taps (presumably not real gold) and a whole range of smellies and huge, huge fluffy towels. Paradise regained.

After we’d eventually calmed down, we had showers and headed downstairs to where the bar and restaurants were. We ordered a couple of drinks and sat soaking up the elegance as a little pianist (I said pianist) played classical music in the corner. I inspected the wide selection of Cuban cigars they had on offer and allowed myself to be lead through to where they had even more, and nodded sagely as she told me what each of them were. Like I had any idea what she was going on about. The idea was to have our cocktails in our private bar upstairs, come down and have dinner, then retire to the bath with our chocolate cake, a bottle of wine and a big fat Cuban for me. Failing that, I’d settle for a cigar – boom boom.

We finished our drinks and headed back upstairs (using our VIP key for the lift of course) and sat and sipped the free cocktails for a while and enjoyed the free nibbles that went along with them. Spring rolls, chicken satay and fish goujons (or fish fingers to give them their proper title) and we seriously considered just sitting there and eating that for dinner. But we felt we should experience all the hotel had to offer and headed back down for dinner.

Now this was smack bang in the middle of Ramadan. Downstairs there were three restaurants. A Muslim one, and Indian one and a kind of American diner type one. Or there was bar food. The Muslim one still wasn’t serving because of Ramadan. The American type one was closed for refurbishment. And we hadn’t come to one of the best hotels in KL to have a curry. So by a process of elimination we were left with the bar option. Which served food like steak, lamb and various pasta dishes. Beautiful. I ordered a big fat T-bone steak and Mand ordered some kind of pasta. Five minutes later the girl comes back – no T-bones. Cool, I’ll have the fillet steak instead. No fillet. Do you have the sirloin? Yes. Bring it on then baby. A bottle of Chenin and we were well and truly set.

Mand’s pasta was the size of a house and absolutely wonderful. My medium rare steak was massive but came out barely cooked. And as I sat there eating the still cold flesh of a dead cow it started to dawn on me. Five stars? What does that mean exactly? The food is the same. In fact the steak paled compared to even some of the places we ate in Vietnam. They don’t always have what you order, just like anywhere else. The service was no better than most restaurants in England. In fact the plates sat there for about fifteen minutes after we’d finished. On a table as small as theirs that’s a bit poor I reckon. Don’t get me wrong, it was lovely, but it wasn’t really any better than most normal restaurants in England. The rooms are lovely, but all you do is wash and sleep in them anyway. The bottle of Chenin we had cost the equivalent of forty quid. For a 10 pound bottle of wine. So what exactly are you paying for? It sure as f*** isn’t exclusivity otherwise they wouldn’t have let us stay :o) Looking around, the place was amazing and it definitely adds to the experience. But it’s nowhere near as cosy and romantic as a bistro in Italy. And to be honest the atmosphere was decidedly well, dull. So I reckon what you’re actually paying for is the chance to spend money and say look at me I can afford this. Except everybody else there can obviously afford it too. So what’s the point? Maybe it’s so you can be surrounded by like-minded souls who are as wealthy as you and so you won’t have to look at poor people. Or maybe I’m just a miserable tight fisted b******…answers on a postcard please.

So, having noshed the food, and glugged the wine we decided to head upstairs for a romantic evening of wine, chocolate cake, hot baths and foot massages. I’d given up on the idea of a cigar cos we were in a non-smoking room and despite their offer to change our room for us we felt it really wasn’t worth the hassle. We’d also given up on the bottle of wine (How much? For that? You’re havin a laugh!) but the foot massager, chocolate cake and long hot steamy bath and huge warm fluffy towels went down an absolute treat.

We had to be up at 4.30 for our flight to Kuala Terranganu (the next stop on our way to the Perhentians) and we seriously discussed just f***ing it off and staying there for an extra day. Or two. But 4 o’clock saw us up with the alarm call, eating our free breakfast via room service and jumping in a taxi back to the poor people’s terminal up the road. It was here we almost saw our first proper sunrise as we stood on the tarmac waiting to climb aboard. The thing is we hadn’t seen a proper all colours glowing magical sunrise since we left England. Partly because we’re never up at that time unless we’re drunk and partly because whenever we’ve been up at that time we’ve not been anywhere to really catch the full force of it. Or, like at Angkor Wat, it’s been cloudy as a November day in Blighty. Ah well…

We arrived in Kuala Terranganu at about half seven and went straight to a hostel we’d pulled out of LP. After some initial dicking around thanks to some ‘helpful’ Dutch girl we eventually found the right person to talk to and booked in. Now it was my turn to sort this out, and when I looked at the two rooms they had on offer the only difference was that one had a cracked and dirty window, while the other just had four walls. Other than that they were identical. Rusty bed with a filthy mattress. Filthy yellowing pillows and no sheets. Solid concrete floor not even painted. Cracked and stained basin in the corner. I swear it looked like a prison cell. I kept expecting to see a bucket in the corner and hear the call for slopping out. It was as far away from the opulence of the Pan Pacific as it’s possible to get. I’d go as far as to say it’s the worse room we’ve stayed in on our trip. Worse than the one with the bedbugs in Laos. Obviously Mand was really happy about it and endlessly complemented me on my choice of hostels and rooms. At least that’s how I prefer to remember it. Maybe there’s something to be said for five star after all.

Mand was absolutely knackered and headed straight off to bed with as disgruntled and disgusted a look as you’re ever likely to see outside of a live Pop Idol audience. I can’t sleep during the day and headed off to do Internet stuff and bimble around the town. When Mand eventually came out of her horror induced coma she was, if anything, even more disgusted than before. To cheer her up we went and had lunch at a s***ty little wannabe English café that funnily enough didn’t help. As we sat looking despondently at our approximation of a decent meal I casually mentioned that if we left right then, we could be on a desert island sipping ice-cold beer by sundown. As this idea took hold of Mand’s face it sparked into life with the speed of a bushfire and I suddenly found myself in a whirlwind of movement as she rushed around repacking her rucksack and I frantically phoned round for a taxi. Grabbing a six pack of Carlsberg for the journey we leapt into the back of our cab and sped off, with the driver telling us we’d be lucky to make it in time for the last ferry.

An hour later and we were at the ferry port, ticket in hand and waiting expectantly for the skipper to give us the nod to get on the boat. After about a half an hour wait he decided he’d tortured us long enough and on we got, surrounded by backpackers, locals and various foodstuffs and headed for the paradise island of Pulau Perhentian Kecil, passing over beautifully clear turquoise waters and zipping past golden deserted beaches backing onto lush green forests on various islands along the way. We eventually came to Long Beach on Kecil, disembarked, sat down on the golden sands, kicked off our sandals and cracked open a couple of ice cold beers just as the sun started to go down. Better than that, Mand finally broke into her first smile of the day. I love it when a plan comes together.

Laters all

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