Summer Adventures: KL Round II!

So we were back in Kuala Lumpur.

 Our hostel was in a prime location, right over the bustling street in Chinatown.

It's usually busier, but this was at like 7 am

We had a short list of “must-do’s” for Kuala Lumpur, as we spent our first time recovering from the red-eye flight/getting our fill of the Olympics/ taking advantage of the outrageous movie prices (less than $3 a ticket!!). One of them was to climb to the top of the Batu caves, a mere 272 steps to a cave/Hindu temple.

To say that Kuala Lumpur was my least favorite city would be an understatement. Emma, being the classy and mature traveler that she is, took everything in stride (minus the cab driver who tried to scam us). I, on the other hand, found just about everything to complain about. The smell of putrid body odor, the pushy, sweaty people, and of course the constant feeling of being on display. We were stared at everywhere. It was worse than the time two men took a picture of Emma’s boobs. The stares were suffocating and seemed to encroach on the tiny smidgen of personal bubble that remained.

So we headed on a mission to climb the Batu Caves. Getting to the bus stop was an ordeal, buying a ticket was another experience… but the bus. Oh man, the bus was something else. Every city bus that I had been on (thus far) has been your general city bus: a bit dirty, plastic chairs, yadah yadah. A gigantic tin can on wheels pulls up, the driver slams on the breaks and a deafening screech alerted everyone that this bus had NO brake pads. We boarded the “bus” to find that there was actual carpet on the floor, mismatched chairs and benches that looked like they had been nailed to the bus. I sat down on a bench and I swear, a puff of dirt came up and made us both cough.

Now I thought the body odor in an open air street market was bad, so you can only imagine what it was like to have the body odor trapped in a tin can of hell for an hour bus ride, and to have the “supplier” of said body odor push up against you. The feeling of sweaty flesh on mine made me want to bathe in anti-bacterial gel. The bus screamed to a stop in the middle of a random road, and all the locals all turned to stare (even more) at us. It clearly was our signal to get off.

 We got off and wandered in a random direction until we saw the gates (and huge Hindu statue) for the Batu caves. After a bit of shopping and picture taking, we started to ascend the 272 stairs to the top. Monkeys were scampering around. Besides the Singapore Zoo, this was the closest I had ever been to wild monkeys. In case you’re wondering, they’re terrifying. The wild monkeys in Kuala Lumpur have been known to steal electronics, food, wallets, anything really. The key is not to be stupid enough to pull out something important/expensive. Or you can be a complete moron, like the fellow in front of us who started to HAND feed the monkeys slices of bread. We kept our distance from him. 

At the top of the Batu Caves!

Mini- shrine people we found EVERYWHERE

We reached the top, looked around, took some pics. It was huge and impressive and really did look like a scene out of Indiana Jones. 

 Just as we were ready to descend the stairs, it started to storm. This time though, we were prepared. We busted out our ponchos (the very same ones that Emma had wanted to toss), we rarely went anywhere without them after the Singapore Zoo incident. Now, descending 272 steps in dry/non-typhooning weather would have been a bit daunting. 272 steps in a downpour? I envisioned entirely bad outcomes: one of us slipping, knee sockets popping out, broken ankles, the general sorts of injuries that comes from going down a million stairs in the rain. We slowly took one step at a time, ensuring our footing before moving an inch. It felt like we were walking down a waterfall. We were at least ankle deep in rainwater (me, calves deep), with water rushing and swirling around us, threatening to take us down the most gigantic waterslide.

Survived!!

It was one of the more memorable moments of our trip. We miraculously made it down, with minor water damage to our purses and MAJOR water damage to our clothes. After buying some souvenirs, unsuccessfully trying to get something to eat, we set in search of a cab. We hunted around until we found a man who would get us back to Petaling Street for a semi-reasonable price. Then Emma’s “break”. Long story short: on the highway, we paid the highway tolls, and yet the fare suddenly tripled in front of our eyes. I (certain that all strangers are going to abduct me and beat me) would have paid the outrageous price without question. Emma, however, was not one to be taken advantage of. She brought out the claws and firmly told the driver we would absolutely not be paying his new fee. I looked over at her to give her a smile and nod of confidence, only to see that Emma did not look as firm as her voice suggested. Her eyes were a bit watery, and her hands visibly shaking. She loudly told me (so the cab driver could hear us clearly) “I just hate when they try to take advantage of us. Just because we’re tourists doesn’t mean we’re STUPID”.

It was not the first time Emma had stood up for both of us. And it probably won’t be the last.