The wrong terminal
We had it planned down to a T! Breakfast at 5.30, check out at 6, bus at 6.30 to the terminal, check-in at 7 for our 8:20 flight. We'd then arrive in Perth, Western Australia, to spend two days in my uncle Paul's (dad's cousin) and his partner Ceri's winter house. They'd just left for the British summer, and said we could make use of the house and the car for the weekend, which was incredibly nice of them. We'd go to the beach, have a couple of meals by the riverside, and perhaps trek into the mountains just east of the town on the second day before heading back to Malaysia.So what could possibly go wrong?!
Turns out, quite a lot. The breakfast was fine, we finished our cereal and toast with plenty of time to spare. The coach was there, waiting, with about a dozen Chinese tourists speaking in Mandarin complete with dozens of suitcases, waiting to board. We turned up, after checking out, with our yellow and black suitcases, complete with shower bobbles. Another break-neck ride to the terminal and we emerged from the lift onto floor 5 of the KLIA departure hall... to find no mention of AirAsia at all, let alone a check-in desk!
Panic.
Never mind, there must be a reason! I got the itinerary out; KLIA to Perth, fine - but wait! What's "LCCT" where it says "Terminal"? It dawned on me. The airport had two terminals - one for the posh airlines like Malaysia Airlines, and another rickety old converted cargo handling area called the LCCT, Low-Cost Carrier Terminal, for the cattle-class airlines of AirAsia, FireFly and Malindo Air. A quick look on Google Maps showed this terminal to be at the other end of the airport!
Bugger.
A plan formed. Seek help! Look for the big "i" in the sky. The lady at the information desk informed us that the bus ran every half hour, but took quite a long time to get there. Maybe a taxi would be better? "Thanks!" we said, darting off to where we knew the taxi booking desks were, at the exit of the Arrivals lounge on the 3rd Floor. Allowed through the security gates the wrong way by a helpful member of the police force (three pips on his shoulder, a sergeant, at least we could pull rank if anyone else tried to stop us), we made it to the taxi booking counters, and paid RM2 for the privilege of a taxi request slip, with the instruction of queueing outside the terminal building to nab the next available cab. Saying thanks, we rushed off downstairs, 2-ringgit slip in hand with "LCCT" written on it in small blue letters.
The entirety of India was waiting for a taxi when we found the rank downstairs. My heart stopped, this could be fatal. Luckily the cohort from the recently landed flight all seemed to be together, and the rank manager pounced at the opportunity to load the second cab in the queue with just Emma and me for the short trip to LCCT, so we were bundled in, and, confirming the destination, headed that way, Google Maps with GPS enabled just in case the driver, who didn't seem overly familiar with the destination, decided to take us the long-way around, or, even worse, the wrong way. We could do nothing but wait now, as the journey took us out of the main airport exit and then around three-quarters of its perimeter (why didn't they just build the extra one-quarter?!). On the way, sun just about poking through the trees after the early morning gloomy dusk, we could see planes taking off to the right - all AirAsia, just to rub it in, and countless rows of palm oil trees passing us by on the left. The map showed that we were approaching a familiar landmark, at least for sports fans - the Sepang International Formula One circuit, home of the Malaysian Grand Prix. We could see its white PTFE spiky-roofed grandstands in the distance above the treeline, behind the giant F1 Sepang Circuit logo made from flowers, angled toward the road. The grand prix had only been a couple of weeks ago - the driver didn't watch it. Traffic ahead of us started slowing for the end of the road; rounding the third and final right-hander, of this unexpected voyage, dead ahead of us lay the single-storey LCCT complex, complete with cargo terminal on the left, its brown sloping roof visible from a distance; bus terminal to the right, under the awnings, and taxi-rank dead ahead of us, where we were heading. RM35; I handed over RM50, and said keep the change. It was only an extra £3, and the guy looked delighted! Only afterwards did Emma say she'd caught him perving in the rear-view mirror a few times. I guess I will never know what it's like to be a western female in a Muslim country!
We raced into the terminal, Emma dismayed that I chose this time to document our travels with a video! One day we'll look back and laugh, I'm sure. We found the AirAsia check-in counters, 31 to 39, to the far left of the departure hall; typically, as far away as physically possible from where we'd entered! There were already queues of white people there, mostly with Australian accents; at least we were in the right place, and we began to breathe sighs of relief. AirAsia is so cheap they don't have people to check you in, instead automated machines where you scan your barcode; after queuing for a while we did this, and our luggage tags were printed for us too. Now at least we were some part of the process toward boarding our flight, leaving in less than an hour from now! Next step - baggage drop, queuing amidst Australian families returning home from holidays in Malaysia, or maybe transferring from other destinations. Finally, it was our turn to get to the check-in desk. We handed over our passports, and put the first piece of luggage on the weighing belt.
And then the world imploded.
"Of course, you are aware that Australia requires a visa for entry to the country" said the man, in a very calm voice. At this point, I wasn't sure if it was a statement, question or suggestion! "You cannot get in without a visa; we can't allow you to board the plane".
S**T!
He hadn't been to UEA's breaking bad news lectures, obviously. He'd checked our understanding, but the warning shot was definitely not fired, and I think the environment was arranged slightly wrong. Where was the box of tissues!?
"If you visit this website ... " (writing) "... you can apply, the process takes just over a week".
"Nah it's OK, don't bother", dejectedly.
"Jimmy! He's only trying to help", constructively.
He handed over the piece of paper with the website address. Shellshocked, we just said thanks, and trundled away, the only two people leaving the area with our suitcases still in tow. They had bobbles on and everything! We sat down to the side of the airport, on two spare chairs in a waiting area with loads of luggage and a big family sitting around. We'd never even considered needing a visa to enter Australia, one of Britain's closest sister countries, ex-commonwealth (like Malaysia) and even sharing our monarch! Emma apparently had mentioned it, but was satisfied by my logic amidst the rushing around of arranging everything else of "if Malaysia doesn't need one, then why should Australia?!". Unfortunately the logic was flawed, and all it would have taken was a Google search to be proved wrong. Instead, £260 down the drain, and a life experience learnt!
We had to come up with a plan there and then; we couldn't stay at the airport for three days! We had options, including go early to Kota Bharu, go back to KL, fly to other places in Malaysia, or I suggested going to Singapore, something we had to cut out of our original itinerary owing to time and money constraints. Now we had the time for something. I rang mum, as is logical in a situation of utter disaster; after the customary "you never looked into getting visas!?" that pretty much anybody would have asked in this situation, she said she'd call us back, after discussion with Aunty Buan about our contacts in Singapore.
Getting up to find a drink, Emma feeling a bit drained, we found a friendly yellow M on a red background, and took at seat outside McDonald's outside the main terminal building, underneath its overhanging ceiling not far from where we'd been dropped off, in a rush, earlier. Not intending to buy anything from there due to the queue inside, Emma questioned the ethics of sitting in the restaurant's waiting area. I admit I said "screw it, they can turf us out if they want to" and disappeared to buy us two cans of Sprite from a neighbouring food stall. Aunty Buan rang while I was up, and said that my cousin Ben could help us out if we went to Singapore, he lived there and had done for about 3 years, working at the airport in customer services. He'd received an award and airport-wide recognition last year for going well above and beyond the call of duty in helping out a stranded elderly passenger. Good lad.
Returning with the drinks, RM4 lighter, in time to hear the roar of two CFM turbofans of what was likely our plane taking off, we discussed Singapore, and used the airport's free WiFi to browse the website of the KTM, Malaysia's train network. Unfortunately the website was, for want of a better word, useless, and the e-booking system didn't work; we couldn't find out prices or times. At this time, Ben text'd, and we rang him. He suggested looking up cheap airlines to Singapore, including AirAsia, Tiger (QANTAS subsidiary) Malindo Air and FireFly (Malaysia Airlines subsidiary). Amazingly after visiting their various ticket desks and websites, and telephoning them, none of the airlines had any seats available to Singapore. Ben rang back a few minutes later - MAS had a flight going today at 1330 with seats - he'd book us two seats on it from his end, and we should get to the main terminal to pick up the tickets at our end ASAP.
YOLO
(I promised I'd never say YOLO again. Oops, there I go again!). We took the inter-terminal bus back to the main terminal. No need for a pervy cab driver this time, save ourselves RM50 - the bus cost RM5 for the pair of us! It took half an hour, its driver an old Malay man. We surmised he owned the bus, an old 50-seater coach with peeling paintwork and the writing KLIA--LCCT Transfers along its side and along the top of the windscreen. Traditional Indian music wailed out of the crackly loudspeaker, occasionally giving way to static hiss whenever we turned a corner or went over a bump particularly hard. We were two of about 20 people on board, scattered throughout, luggage in the racks just opposite us. The driver had to press the radio's fascia against the centre console a couple of times to kick it back into life and re-tune it. I could have sworn the steering wheel wasn't actually connected to the rack-and-pinion mechanism below; he turned it at least twice for any effect to be felt on the road, then rapidly in the other direction to prevent over-steering. This process was repeated many times as we clattered down the dual carriageway toward KLIA main terminal, more of a zig-zag than a drive by any stretch of the imagination!
We rang Ben to let him know we were nearing the airport at our end; he was on the Singapore MRT to Singapore Changi Intl. too, but we looked like we were going to arrive before he did, so the plan changed to us buying the tickets there and then. Disembarking from the clattery old coach, definitely not MOT-worthy back home, we found our way to the 5th floor departure hall for the second time that day, and queued up at the MAS ticket counter to buy two singles to Singapore - we'd arrange the return flights once we arrived! £400 lighter, yes, pounds - RM2000 left my Amex card that day, we waited around at the airport, eating a nice light soup for lunch, before heading toward international departures and awaiting our Boeing 737-400, quite an old plane, to arrive and whisk us off to Singapore within 50 minutes of departure. We couldn't get a window seat thanks to our late booking, but we did get two together at the front of the plane, which is more than we could have asked for really.
The Island
An hour later, and having passed through customs, waiting to collect our baggage from carousel 36 we spotted my cousins Ben and Seng waving through the glass plated walls of the international arrivals lounge at Changi. It was great to see them again after so long! Introductions were made, hands shaken; Emma's name count of family to remember now up to 4. A-Seng had just come off a night-shift, but had come to the airport to see us, which we really appreciated; Ben, having had a late night at work too, had made similar effort for us having been awoken at 7am by Aunty Buan's call - for this we were also very grateful!! Makan was first on the list of to-do's, so we headed for McDonald's, and I had a Big Mac, Emma having 6 McNuggets. Home away from home to relax us from the stress less than 5 hours earlier. Grubbed up, and having called both parents to update them on our travels, we headed for the tourist attractions counter, and after browsing the selection of things to do, settled on a Night Safari and Universal Studios. Also available were things like Waterworld on the theme-park island of Sentosa (also where Universal Studios was), the Singapore Zoo (hosting the Night Safari in the daytime), and the Gardens By The Bay attraction which we'd eventually see in a couple of days anyway. Next task was to book us a hotel; the crazy money already spent limited our budget significantly - we chose a SG$60 per night hotel in Chinatown, or £15 per person per night. A far cry from the InterContinental hotel in KL, but this was more of a budget saving exercise!
We had two nights planned in Singapore now. That left very little time to get things done. So, relaxing time over, we had a schedule to meet. The Night Safari opened at 7, and we only had a voucher - not a ticket. We attempted to slow time itself by moving quickly to the taxi booking desk at Terminal 2; it was rammed! Never mind. Staff member Ben had an idea - take the monorail to Terminal 1 - the queues are always shorter there, it was a domestic terminal! Great idea. Toward the terminal we trotted, cases in tow, and arrived at the monorail station. It was a platform separated from a set of tracks by 2 sets of glass doors, but only for the front carriage. Ben pointed out another set of glass doors across the other side of the tracks, this time for the rear carriage - this way, international transfer passengers could be shuttled with those who weren't already air-side, without having to mix with non-transferring (and non-security-checked) passengers. Quite a smart system! The two-carriage monorail train arrived, and we boarded, the doors closing behind us and the driverless train smoothly leaving the station. We glimpsed the main runway as it disappeared behind the terminal buildings, and saw the iconic inverted cone shape of Changi's green control tower, perched high upon a concrete cylinder. Terminal 3 came into view, then 1, as the train headed towards it. Also in view came the splendid, futuristic-looking airport Hilton hotel, a rectangular building with multicoloured glass panels coating its walls. The hotel itself was accessible by pathways from Terminal 1 and possibly other terminals.
Disembarking from the monorail, we found that Terminal 1 was an incredibly nice building inside. It was softly lit with warm temperature lighting, and beyond some glass screens we saw the transfer lounge, complete with dozens of real trees! Ben said the airport had won an award for its design. I wasn't surprised. Rounding a corner into the main departures hall of the terminal, we couldn't help but notice an immense moving artwork, formed of a grid of hundreds of smoothly ascending and descending polished copper teardrops, each about 3" in diameter. They were suspended from the ceiling above by thin steel wire, and were moving in synchrony with each other, as a mass transitioning into waves, spheres, curves, a seemingly never-ending array of three-dimensional designs. Beyond a lift shaft, an identical set of copper teardrops was doing the same thing, though with different patterns, and occasionally synchronising with the first. Ben said this was a sculpture, entitled Kinetic Rain, and was formed of nearly 2000 motors, cables and teardrops, weighing in at several metric tonnes! While we stood admiring the structure, Ben shot off to find a taxi, and we joined him to jump into the waiting car outside the terminal building in the partially covered taxi rank.
Getting somewhere
Singapore is clean. Impeccably clean. The roads are smooth, the paint is fresh. Taxis have an electronic voice which talks the amount of Singapore dollars your journey has cost you, and then says thank you for your custom. Electronic gantries over the spotless dual carriageways tell you about traffic information, like they do in the UK. Cars are not more than 5 years old, by decree of national government. Chewing gum is illegal, as is bringing it into the country and having it found on your person. Eating or drinking on the public transport system is an offence - anyone caught doing so pays a hefty fine of several thousand dollars (1 Singapore dollar equals 50p in English money - so not a small fine by any means). Smoking on the system is an even worse fine! And yet as we neared Chinatown, things got just slightly more dusty outside. There was no graffiti, and the roads were still smooth, but the hundreds of spotless high-rise buildings so typical of Singaporean residences due to the land prices slowly gave way to lower, sloping roofed buildings, two or three storeys high; their once bright paintwork fading and peeling, occasionally blackened around ventilation outlets of kitchen extractor fans. There were a few newspapers blowing around in the street, wheelie bins left out on display, a few patches of mud in the road and sand on the pavement. Hundreds of Chinese milled around the pavements, some in the middle of the road, some sitting on plastic chairs reading papers or eating at tables, in groups or on their own. Most signposts were bilingual - English with Chinese characters on them. Some displayed only Chinese. Buildings with wooden-supported corrugated iron awnings lined the road. This, we were told, was Chinatown, the Lorong 18 district of Singapore. The red light district. The dodgy bit of town where things happened and were brushed under the carpet. The bit of town that we'd opted to stay in, for £15 a night per person. Smart move!
The taxi dropped the four of us at the hotel, the "Fragrance Inn", and quickly drove away. We dragged the suitcases into the small lobby, and were greeted in perfect English by a young clerk and the neat, but sparse, faux-marble reception desk. After a bit of administration regarding our very recent online order, we bundled into the small lift to floor 3, and found our way into our room, 312, single keycard in hand. The marble of the reception desk quickly seemed a world away as the lift opened onto floor 3; an overwhelming sense of being back in the '70s hit us - everything was brown. Dark brown trim, light brown walls, light brown tiled floor, and an off-white ceiling complete with with pretzel-shaped fluorescent tubes contained within soft-effect frosted glass lampshades.
We inserted the keycard into the swipe mechanism on the door; the green light flashed, a motor whirred, and we opened the door. Brown greeted us. Brown with peeling paint, a double bed with two pillows but no covers, and a 20" cathode-ray TV, off, strategically positioned just ahead of us on a jutting out bit of wall to prop the curtains open. The jutting out bit of wall had a door in it, for some reason. On top of a shelf running the length of the back wall to the right, behind the bed stood a small mirror, a kettle, and a selection of tea, coffee, sugar, and two bottles of mineral water. The four of us entered, shuffled around the side of the bed between it and the wall, brought in the suitcases and closed the door, immediately inserting the keycard into the card socket to switch on the power in the room, with a clunk. First job: Air con! Thankfully it was there. The unit on the wall at the end of the bed sprang to life; we put the cases underneath it. In the jutting out bit of wall suddenly emanated the low rumbling sound of an external air-con cube springing to life. That's what the cube was for! Opening the little door revealed the back end of a grey Philips air-con cube, and the outside world! Better keep that door shut. Walking back around the bed, and turning right just before the door was a brown wardrobe dead ahead, and to its right a folding plastic door leading to the bathroom. It was more of a wet room, no curtain or door around the shower, but a shower nevertheless. A soap dispenser attached to the wall of the shower provided soap and shower gel, the sink made a heck of a screech when you turned on the tap. But at least there was a shower, and a sitting toilet. I had half expected a squatting one, so typical of this part of the world. Teong Seng left us at this point, having to get back to his place to recuperate after his night shift, and get ready for the next one. Ben waited for us downstairs while we freshened up. We joined him shortly, and after leaving the hotel hailed another taxi to get to the Night Safari several miles away, via a bureau-de-change to switch our Australian dollars into Singaporean.
As close to the wild as you can get
A pair of blue cat's eyes looked out at us from a black rectangle, the pupils dark, with a slit-like vertical reflection in each. The words Night Safari surrounding the rectangle above and below. The sign welcomed us to Singapore Zoo, at least the night safari part of it. We exited the cab, paying when the automatic voice spoke the amount to us. About £15. Heading past some grey statues of wild animals marking the entranceway, we headed for the hubbub and crowds we could see around the corner. And what a crowd! A brick courtyard was surrounded on all sides by wooden huts, including a couple of cafes, a restaurant, ticket counter, souvenir shop lit with ultraviolet light and selling glow-in-the-dark night safari memorabilia, and a huge stage, decorated like something straight out of The Flintstones. Flames licked skywards from lanterns lit. The sun was low in the sky but still shining its warm rays across the crowd. Two queues formed from the entranceway from which we'd arrived, and stretched off toward a large wooden hut with turnstyles and guards positioned within it. Ben disappeared off to convert our vouchers into entrance tickets. We stayed in the queue, saving our place for his return. When he did, I took the chance to pop for a loo break, and to buy some ice lemon tea for the three of us. Worth mentioning, the toilet block was equally jungle themed, in fact it was outside, with only a rudimentary wooden roof overhanging, and its walls were densely packed palm trees!
As we waited in the queue, the tannoy announced the arrival of a group of authentic African performers onto the main stage in front of us, to the left of the entrance gates; gas-powered torches flared bright orange flames either side of the stage high into the twilight, and a thunderous drumbeat rang out, accompanied by a group of dancers wearing Lion King-style leopard-skin clothing performing a "traditional" dance on the main stage. The crowd cheered, camera flashes firing everywhere; every other person held their camera high into the air, squinting at its LCD display to catch a glimpse of the stage. They'd look at this footage later, remarking at how everyone was looking at their LCD displays and not the real thing. I looked at my LCD display, appreciating crowds and the dancers in 300x200 resolution as the queue started moving quite quickly toward the entrance turnstiles.
Passing through the gates, we headed first for the Creatures of the Night auditorium. A half-hour show was showing every hour, we didn't know what to expect. Walking through the wooden-roof covered entryway we noted a zig-zagging bamboo-fenced path to our left, intended for crowd control, to form orderly queues for a road train which you could take around the park. Emerging from the under the roof, we saw to our right a group of big brown buffalo, complete with massive aerofoil-profile, half-turn twisted horns pointing vertically upwards. Intriguing! A few photos were taken. Onwards, to the Creatures of the Night show, advertised on many videoscreens we found ourselves passing beneath. We rounded a corner after a narrow tree-lined pathway, and found ourselves in a semicircular auditorium, with about 40 rows of concrete steps laid out concentrically in front of a crazy-paving snaking pathway, an s-shaped pond, and behind that, some reeds and a hut covered by palm trees and other vegetation. A huge black rope dangled above the seats, just out of reach. Two sets of stairs divided the seating area neatly into thirds. We took some seats just to the right near the top of the auditorium, and proceeded to spray lots of the insect repellent we'd brought with us to ward off the evening mosquitoes. Successfully asphyxiating ourselves and anyone downwind, we sat patiently as the auditorium began to fill, eventually to the brim, and waited for the show to start.
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| Emma, me and Ben waiting for the show to start, in the auditorium at the Creatures of the Night show |
The house lights went out. It went dark in the arena. A drumbeat sounded dramatic music. A zookeeper out of sight rattled the trees to the right and shouted "aargh!" making a few of the crowd at the front scream. Hah! The black rope hanging down started to move downwards. I saw movement from the corner of my eye, something moving on the rope. Suddenly two green spotlights lit up two huge mammals at either side of the arena, slowly making their way down the rope toward each other - Sloths! Haha, of all the things. They slowly shuffled their way along the rope, introduced by the female voice over the PA system, and beckoned down by some food waved in front of them, they slowly sat down, grabbed onto the rope and hung down, to be received via a big hug by two trainers waiting for them below on the stairs. A round of applause. Clever way to start the show! The spotlights shifted to the hut at the back of the main stage next; three animals appeared, their black heads and pointy ears visible, a vicious looking mouth and two big eyes peering out across the crowd. Hyenas, the laughing type. Scary looking, not quite as funny as you'd think, if you were at the receiving end! Next up were snakes. A few huge beasts, carried out onto the paving by their owners. An Australian lad volunteered to come out front and hold one, and he was left alone holding a snake far bigger than him as the staff pretended to go for a teabreak! The spectacle went on, a young Australian girl was forcibly volunteered by her mother to test the sense of smell of (I think) a meerkat by hiding a grape in one of her hands. Highly trained otters put on a show about recycling, swimming through the pond at the back before placing scattered litter into the correct one of three recycling bins on the stage. Rounds of applause all around, and the end of the show. No tigers, but that was probably a good thing! No camera flashes either, well done everyone.
The next stop was the road train, the zigzagging queue stretching out in front of us as we rejoined the wooden shelter after leaving the auditorium, beating most of the crowd thanks to being at the back. The queue moved quite quickly, trains arriving regularly, their 6 leopard-print orange carriages seating about 12 people each, pulled by a quiet "locomotive". Again, we were told not to use a flash, and indeed, to tell anyone else off nearby for using a flash. The commentator of the vehicle had a keen eye for animals, but an even keener eye for a flashbulb, be it a mobile phone LED or actual strobe. The train pulled away from the station, and headed out into the unlit pathways of the night safari, at times through dense woodland, buzzing with insects and screeching with the real sounds of the jungle. There were no doors to the carriages, themselves really only glorified golf-buggies; they were about 6" above the ground. Ben sat behind Emma and me, in about the 3rd carriage from the front. The tour took a good amount of time, and even in the dim light we could see the huge array of species Singapore Zoo had to offer on this night safari course. They were mostly free-roaming, even the buffalo; only the lions, elephants, hyenas and indeed the tiger were kept behind varying degrees of secure fencing. I couldn't help but think of Jurassic Park - what happens if the power fails to the electric fence! Didn't bear thinking about.
About an hour later, and a really good time with good commentary, we arrived back at the main shelter and called it a night. No souvenirs bought, they were very expensive; the souvenir shop thoroughly scoured for a bargain! Ben hailed a cab, and one arrived, to take us back to Lorong 18.
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| Emma and a concrete rhino; Rhinos are not to be confused with hippopotami. |
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