Kuala Lumpur, stop 9

Malaysia is very different compared to Bali. (I know there's a better way to structure that but it eludes me at the moment). Arriving at about 1:30am on a plane with only 12 passengers, of which only 2 got off at KL and only one had luggage, was a surreal experience. Walking through a nearly deserted airport that usually has a whole load of passengers, I felt like a character in some odd film.

The bliss of a 5* airline (Qatar) journey to Kuala Lumpur and the joys of my own plush airport hotel bedroom - with clean white sheets, hundreds of pillows, and a sink that didn't drain directly on to the floor, not to mention a toilet you don't have to flush with a bucket - was almost overwhelming.

I chose Kuala Lumpur over Singapore for my entry to the mainland of South East Asia primarily on the fact that I have had a rather giggly fascination with its name since childhood. Lumpy Koala...Oompa Lumpas...what would this city be like? I arrived in the city itself around noon - the worst time to be hauling a backpack around. Only 5 degrees north of the equator, KL is extremely humid and thunderstorms brew on the horizon on at least a daily basis. Hair literally drenched with sweat, I finally decided upon a very cheap, bohemianish hostel in ChinaTown. Costing only R10 per night, this non-assuming pink building holds three floors of dorms and private rooms in addition to a rooftop terrace where they feed you for free. There are fish tanks at the reception area and (fake) flowers all over the place - a little kitsch but far nicer than the prison-like concrete horrors in the area.

A walk along the 'river' (read confluence of murky brown water) turned into meeting an oldish Indian man called Sanjan who proceeded to regale me with his thoughts on life - went from practicing Hindu to money chaser to worrying about the environment, although he threw his litter all over the place - and feeding me with various Indian snacks. He took it upon himself to be my guide and walked with me to the National Mosque and Lake Gardens. I partially considered his offer of staying with him in Ipoh (Cameron Highlands, north of KL) until his tales turned to sex and how, although he and his wife are separated, many women come to his house because he "likes romance". I got the impression he maybe paid for it sometimes, but I really didn't want to ask; he was giving enough detail as it was! Nothing really lewd mind, just a bit...odd coming from this large, ungainly, elderly man.

Malaysians, on the whole, are less friendly than the Balinese. My smiling "Selamat pagi"s are either treated suspiciously or ignored, and people don't ask you the tens of questions you get in Bali, other than men of different ages. In fact this morning, at a train station, I asked a man for directions. He proceeded to walk with me towards an underground walkway...not great but was the only way I could go. He turned to me and said what sounded like "takking". At my confused response, he announced "keys". Still with no idea what he meant I told him I didn't understand. "Keys, keys" he squawked, then it all sank in as he proffered his fat, pock-marked face to me, lips puckered in preparation. My flustered laughter made his eyelids flutter open. "Keys" he said again, taking my hand. Despite his telling me to relax, I extricated my hand and he tried again - 10/10 for effort but really... His scowl as he wobbled away angered me, but then I remembered what one of the stewards on the plane had told me. Single women, as well as men, come to these countries looking for some action. Seems money doesn't make the world go round after all.