Returning to KL

I arrived at Kuala Lumpur Airport to what looked like an international medical emergency and in many respects it was. People everywhere had facemasks on and there were screens with doctors and nurses to look at anyone suspected of swine flu (H1N1). Staff gave out forms that we had to fill in declaring our health status but it didn't look as if anyone was affected. I marched on ahead to baggage reclaim where there was a booth to purchase tickets for the express train into KL Central, the main interchange, where I was hoping to get the metro and monorail to my hotel.

After waiting ten minutes, the conveyer belts slowly came to life but it was a further fifty minutes before my bag turned up. I hurried downstairs to the train station where I was just in time for the penultimate train of the night. Unfortunately, the public transport systems had stopped by the time I reached KL so I was forced to purchase a taxi coupon that took me to my hotel, although with all of my luggage it was probably the best option anyway. Once in my room I put all my electrical goods on charge and then went to sleep.

I had a mission for the next day - to try and organise all of my bus tickets at the main bus terminal, Pudu Raya, and then go and visit the Batu Caves. I got to the bus station in good time and then rang my inside contact, Petrina, Mia's aunt, to find out what info she'd managed to dig up for me with regards to what bus I needed to get me to the Cameron Highlands. Armed with all the knowledge I needed, I wandered over to the counters where bus tickets to destinations all over Malaysia, and beyond, are sold and dispensed. Pudu Raya is a large, dated, concrete block of a building and is filled with the ticketing kiosks, and some small shops and eateries. Every time I've visited it has been packed with locals that are rushing around and shouting while a few men stand looking for susceptible prey to sell his wares to. One has to be on one's guard in a place like that, and I was, but I'd been before and knew what it was like.

Searching among the sixty-something kiosks, I eventually found the one I was looking for but it was empty so I rang Petrina back to ask for advice. It wasn't even 10 o'clock yet so I decided to wander around the place, observing the chaos as I did, for a while hoping that the salesperson would return.

"Hello! Sir! Hello! Mr Richard?" I half heard behind me as I walked, then I felt someone grab my arm just as I was about to turn round. "Mr Richard? Unititi Express?" said a short lady who seemed to be hanging off my arm as she, like a slow but stubborn tugboat, dragged me to her counter.

"Yes! How do you know who I am?" I asked looking rather perplexed but pleased that she wanted to help. She explained that Petrina had called her and explained my situation and what I needed - she was more than happy to help. I purchased my ticket to the Cameron Highlands for the next morning and, thanking her, I left to find the bus to the Batu Caves. I asked at the information point and was vaguely told that I needed to find a local bus which is near China Town.

By the time I got to China Town, I was a little warm so decided to nip into Starbucks for a frappucino and some directions on where I needed to be and what bus I needed to get on. They seemed delighted to see my western face in their establishment and asked if I wanted extra chocolate sauce and cream as they took pleasure in helping me with directions. I was glad of the cold drink and of the friendly advice. I found the bus I needed, after some nudges from some more friendly, helpful people, and hopped aboard. The bus was a little cramped, being more suited to the shorter Asian stature, but it was great to be among the locals travelling on a bus older than myself. The bus had a conductor with a small clipboard and various coloured slips of paper which he dispensed according to destination and cost.

The journey seemed to be over in flash and I, along with a couple of other tourists, was dumped on a busy roundabout underneath a concrete flyover. I could see the main gate with the cliffs behind so darted across the busy road at the first opportunity. There were multiple statues and religious buildings at the foot of the cliffs but they were dwarfed in comparison to the huge golden statue that stood gleaming as it guarded the entrance to the caves. It wasn't just the statue that one had to negotiate to enter the caves as there were around three hundred steps to climb in order to reach the actual cave opening but these also provided the necessary height to be able to view the distant KL cityscape through the haze.

Tentatively, I stepped into the magnificent caves that housed the holy Hindu temple and various other statues and shrines. The fusty damp smell of the cave was mostly covered by the wafting vapours of burning incense sticks and I wasn't sure which I preferred. The main cave was impressive and followed through, up some more, steep steps, to a roughly circular area that was exposed to the sky. Here stood the modest but brightly and intricately painted temple with many figures of people and animals that stood on its roof. I saw some people enter the temple, making offerings as a man chanted.

I was anticipating a hugely impressive temple housed in a rocky hole but found that it was the geological magnificence of the place that really impressed me. With its mossy outcrops and stalactites, the caves were an imposing yet intriguing natural wonder. The whole place was filled with an atmosphere of mystery and was really quite captivating. I stood and absorbed this for a while before slowly making my way out. As I did, an anonymous cockerel behind me, inside the caves, started to crow and I turned round to see him. He was proudly stood in a beam of heavenly light coming from a hole in the stony ceiling.

Outside were some monkeys playing around the steps, trying to catch butterflies. Judging by the other peoples' reactions, this was a common occurrence but it didn't stop me from being fascinated. Despite its name, there were no bats to be seen anywhere and I suspect, in Malay, the word Batu has nothing to do with the winged mammal. As there were no real bus stops I had to try and work out where to get the bus back into the city. There were a few taxis queuing to steal the unsuspecting tourist and charge them a relative fortune to be taken back into KL. A taxi driver asked if I wanted a lift and, humouring him, I asked how much. He wanted to charge me RM30 when I could get the bus for RM2. I told him this at which point he started swearing at me so I left him with his anger.

I spotted an interesting looking skyscraper, in the late stages of construction so hopped off the bus to take some pictures. After three releases of the shutter, a security guard on duty started shouting at me in Malay. I assumed he didn't want me to take pictures so I stopped and promptly left the scene before he came to talk to me. I had a leisurely walk back to KLCC passed the National Mosque and other interesting buildings of importance. I was really happy to be back in KL. I'm not really sure what it is that appeals to me about the place. The vehicle is certainly king in KL and it can be at times, what with the poorly integrating public transport systems and multiple fast dual carriageways that dissect the city, quite difficult to get around. It is, in places, a smelly, dirty, congested and polluted city with little in terms of structural beauty. Many of the older buildings are falling apart, or growing news features, but are still placed next to ultramodern skyscrapers. It's that combination of old and new together with the friendly local people that seems to provide an interesting scene for discovery - a rich, multifaceted tapestry of social and cultural backgrounds that combine to give a unique and wonderful experience that has to be felt to be understood. The gritty local life of hacking up chickens and vegetables then throwing them into a blazing heat before, just moments later, serving it at a hawker stall. The people are generally very nice, grateful of the foreign traveller and keen to help, something that can't be said for many a country. Combined with a fusion of various cultures like Chinese and Indian, which produces Malaysia's fantastic food, and a fascinating history involving British colonisation, there is a lot to be encountered.

The jewel of KL is undoubtedly the Petronas Towers, former holder of the record for world's tallest building. A glorious shining masterpiece of interlacing geometric shapes, clad in glossy stainless steel that, on cross section, resembles the star found on the nation's flag. Under the mammoth Twin Towers, connected by a double-decker bridge at the 41st and 42nd floors, is a modern shopping centre filled with shops and restaurants. I stopped here for some fried beef kway teow which was then followed by a brownie explosion, courtesy of Hagen Daaz.

I arrived at the bus station half an hour early but no sooner had I put my bag down I was told that the bus had arrived and I should get on. Despite its early arrival, we set off quite late as there was some trouble with one of the passengers who was acting quite aggressively towards the driver and his assistant. As with most of the long distance buses, the level of comfort was more akin to business class on an aeroplane than that of a traditional bus. The large leather seats almost fully reclined and only had three per row. We drove for a few hours north along the motorway until we arrived at a service station where we had a toilet stop. The toilets, like many in Asia, were the horrible squatting type with attached hose to clean oneself off, I remember being aghast when I saw these for the first time last year in Singapore. I thought I could wait so didn't bother going. From here the bus plunged into the twisty, winding roads through jungle covered hills. Rich terracotta soils complimented the rusty corrugated iron shacks and contrasted with the bright lush greens that could be seen from the window as we climbed up the precarious route into the Highlands. Palm trees, ferns, streams and the odd bike and hen flashed passed. Bright orange mushrooms lined up in rows on the occasional trunks of rotting wood of fallen trees at the side of the road. The few houses I saw were elevated on stilts, covered in dried palms and looked rustically made. The bus tore around hairpin bends beeping as it went to warn on-comers of our approaching vehicle. I did wonder if the Cameron Highlands played host to the world's highest concentration of Land Rovers as every third vehicle seemed to be a battered old Defender. It looked as if every Land Rover produced after the Second World War was shipped over to British Malaysia, as it was then, and hadn't been replaced since. They all appeared rather sorry for themselves but were clearly the staple work force for the large agricultural community. It was rare to see one that hadn't been customised in some way, from paint jobs to sneaky new Toyota engines under the bonnet. A common modification was the adaptation of the rear of the vehicle owing to the need to carry vast quantities of varied and unusual items.

During British rule, the businessmen of the time that had come from the homeland would often bring their wives along too. As was the fashion at the time, to wear many layers of clothing, coupled with the naturally high temperatures of Malaysia, the Cameron Highlands was first established as country retreat where the womenfolk could escape the heat to the noticeably cooler temperatures that the Highlands provide. This lead to the gradual development and increase in popularity by the local population and three highland towns were born, which still remain today. A few of the lovely period properties with their whitewashed walls, exposed, dark timber and immaculate gardens still remain and I found it rather strange that people from around the world were coming to the middle of the Malaysian jungle to experience 19th century Britain at its finest. On the down side was the more modern development of the towns, trying to cash in on the tourist trade, with several storey buildings unsympathetically and unconvincingly made to look like their genuine true heritage counterparts. The towns were larger than I had imagined but the hills no less inviting. I was also surprised at the number of tiered farms that had been cut into the landscape providing much of Malaysia with their fruit and vegetables.

The bus eventually pulled into Tanah Rata, the town where I was to be based, and a few of us jumped off and straight into the adjacent, simple tourist information office where I booked my onward journey to Ipoh. I was given a lift by "Mr Paul" to my hostel where I was provided with a brief tour and invited to settle into my room before formally checking in. The hostel, actually a guest house, was situated on a private hillside with its own gardens and vegetable patches. The main house was of age and contained my room which was accessed by the French doors that opened onto one of the gardens and sported a view across the valley - it was truly lovely. My simple room had a small desk with a cut crystal vase filled with orchids taken from the garden. Outside, I marvelled, with my macro lens to hand, at the various orchids and other exotic plants that could only be grown, if at all, in England as a house plant.

I checked in with the very friendly owner and asked about the local trekking options. The Cameron Highlands is home to the World's largest flower, the Rafflesia, first discovered and named by the same British statesman Sir Stamford Raffles who established Raffles Hotel in Singapore. This was an opportunity I could not miss and so booked to go on a trek to go and see it for the next day. With the essentials taken care of, I walked into town in search of sustenance. Everywhere seemed to sell cream tea and scones and/or strawberries and cream from one of the local strawberry farms. In fact, these, together with picking one's own strawberries and visiting the tea plantations, were the main draw for the Malaysian tourist. Being British, I didn't feel the need to sample my own culture in a foreign country but many others did. In any case, I knew absolutely that the scones simply could not beat the ones freshly made my mother back home ye olde England. It was interesting, if slightly odd, to see the adoption and integration of something so quintessentially English in a foreign country. I even saw cucumber sandwiches, minus the crusts, on sale. But it was the Kumar's Restaurant that drew me in with his 'Tandoori Selection'.