Blog 10: 23rd April 2014. Hiring a car abroad

Three flights left to go...

It was a typical hot sunny morning by the time Emma and I left the room and had breakfast for the last time at the Concorde. For some reason we always chose cereal here, always served with thick UHT milk. The hotel shuttle bus took us to the airport, and we arrived at the terminal with plenty of time to spare, to check-in at the MAS desks housed on the top floor of the spacious multi-purpose terminal building. It was about the size of a football field, with departures above arrivals, themselves above the offices and these above the transport hub below containing the KL Ekspres train and bus station. The roof of KLIA was as spiky as the grandstands at Sepang F1 Circuit, but inside formed of brown wooden grilles high above our heads balanced on tapering concrete columns. There was an air of calm in the terminal, a low hubbub of voices just audible above the low rumbling of the air conditioning units and occasional sound of jet engines spooling up ready for take-off all echoing off the building's polished white and grey floor.

We were too early for lunch - MH1436, our flight, was at 13.10; our large and late breakfast would have to do until we arrived in Langkawi! We passed uneventfully through the security gates, this time to the far left of the terminal building as we were travelling internally. All electronics placed on a tray so as not to confuse the scanning man, shoes and belt off, and nothing metal on our persons. Domestic departures was far less exciting a place than International, consisting of only a small row of shops and some rather expensive bunches of Toblerones taped together in a 6 at a small cart selling sweets. The main KLIA terminal is a rectangular glass-fronted building, with northern and southern spars sticking out at the eastern side for domestic departures. International departures could take a short monorail ride from the main terminal to a cross-shaped building, similarly glass-fronted and airy inside, located between the airport's two main runways, each arm of the cross serving as aircraft parking and departure gates, arriving and departing passengers divided into two floors of the building.

We arrived at our gate, and with nobody at the desk simply took a seat and waited for the crowds to slowly trickle in. After about 15 minutes, sitting and talking, watching the occasional 737 taxi past out of the window, the 30 or so of us who had gradually gathered on the rows of seats were told to get up and leave the waiting area, and show our boarding passes at the desk we'd walked past, now finally staffed! We queued, showed our passes and passports, and sat back down in the seats from whence we'd come, continuing to look out of the window as our characteristically oval-nacelled white 737-400 was waved into its parking place by a man waving a couple of high-vis flags below us. These 737s were the workhorses of the MAS fleet, old versions slowly being replaced by the larger and newer -800 versions complete with silver wing-tips, sweeping skyward. Our -400 had no such tips, instead simply a bulbous trailing edge extension to the wing housing a white anti-collision light. The gantry was still attaching to the plane by the time the luggage cart driver had opened the main cargo door and climbed aboard; the fuel bowser driver hooked up his ground line and hose to the wing and the ground crew attached the yellow tow-bar to the nose-wheel by the time all the passengers had been offloaded. It was finally our time to board, and we took our place in the queue to board the plane, eventually sitting in row 25 seats E and F, on the right hand side, some way behind the wings near the back of the plane - leading to a rather bouncy experience when taxiing over the concrete pavement!

We departed to the north via runway 36-Right, spotting the grandstands of the Sepang race track disappearing behind us from our right-sided windows, before spotting the tall buildings of Putrajaya and KL in the distance as we climbed into the clouds. By the time they had served the in-flight peanuts and orange juice, less than 30 minutes into the 55 minute flight, we were already clear of the northwest coast of Malaysia, nearing the island of Penang, its snaking new bridge clearly visible below us connecting to the mainland of the peninsula. Cruising at 27,000ft we were at the top of descent, and the captain updated us on our progress - it was a nice day in Langkawi, if a bit hazy, and temperature about 33°C. Emma noted the plane change its attitude, and noting nothing but the water of the Andaman Sea outside was worried slightly that the pilot was going to land well before the island! I tried to reassure her with maths (ballpark descent rate figure divided into altitude gave about 15 minutes flight time remaining), but I think that this method doesn't work for everyone, I'm unsure as to why!! Needless to say, about 15 minutes later we levelled out at about 2000ft above the waves, easily spotting tourist vessels and fishing boats going about their daily business on the sea below us, before the flaps were extended fully, the landing gear went down with a dull thump, and the trailing edge vortices could be seen spiralling their way behind the wings. At last the greenery of the island of Langkawi appeared out of the window, the main harbour of its capital town of Kuah sprawling out infront of us before disappearing behind a hill and giving rise to a white sand strip of beach parallel to a road lined with hundreds of low buildings, the Cenang Beach area of Langkawi, near where we'd be staying. We landed with a bump on Runway 03, famous due to the theories of the disappearance of MH370 in that it is a huge runway, nearly 4km in length!

The short walk to the small terminal building started with disembarking the plane from the back door, by a set of metal steps wheeled up to us, the blast of the Malaysian mid-day heat combined with the exhaust from the slowly spinning turbines equating the experience to opening an oven door. Entry to the terminal through a set of sliding glass doors revealed that baggage reclaim was to the right, separated from the tarmac by a wooden door flapping in the breeze, upon it a large sign reading ironically "keep closed and locked for security and safety purposes". A group of tourists crowded around a large map of the island placed inside a glass cabinet against a pillar, we took a glance and opted to photograph the map for later perusal. Our bobbles arrived in good time on the conveyor, and we took our cases from the belt before heading to the far right side of the arrivals hall, lined with a dozen small desks with tourist agency names in bright signage above them, eager company reps attracting the eye of unsuspecting tourists shouting "you want hire car?" "hotel cheap!" "diving tours here!". Emma had thought ahead, and brought up a TripAdvisor page about Langkawi, listing three hire car companies that were considered reputable by previous visitors. We chose Kasina car rental as it was the only one here matching our list; oddly, its sales assistant was a quiet lady keeping herself to herself, not leaning over her counter waving brochures like the rest. Her neighbouring stall owners seemed both surprised and dejected by our choice, though we had a sneaky suspicion that the young Malay chap to her right was actually a relative of hers, possibly her son, by the amount they chatted and shared information and phonecalls while we were booking in!

Car rental was cheap, Rm180 including deposit for 3 days (equating to just over £30, i.e. £10 a day!). We would pay her when we left the arrivals hall and passed through customs; then the car keys would be handed over to us. Noticing that Kasina was also a travel agent, I enquired about snorkelling experiences, and luckily such a thing was possible for a further Rm200 for the pair of us, including hotel pickup and drop-off for tomorrow morning, so we chose to do this too!

We passed through customs with our sales assistant in tow, and proceeded to the cash machine to pay her, where she handed us over to a Malay chap about our age who took us to the car. I had tried to refrain from signing the acceptance slip but she had insisted, so without looking at the car first we followed our new guide, receipt already received. I was filming the events, however! Langkawi airport was a single-storey, though high-ceilinged rectangular building, wider than it was deep. The arrivals hall occupied the top-right of the building if you looked from above, the departures hall the top-left, and the main concourse, before security, occupied the whole southernmost side; it contained numerous shops and eateries, from McDonalds to more extravagant noodle outlets. Camera accessories were available on the side furthest from the tarmac. A jet ski with three fluffy minions riding it stood proudly under a paragliding parachute suspended from the ceiling, advertising local company "Naam" and their adventure packages. We took a rain-check on this, but thought of perhaps investigating later. Langkawi is an entirely duty-free island so is slightly cheaper than the rest of Malaysia, especially for alcohol, although export limits restrict the amount you can take home with you!

Our hire-car helper led us across the carpark out from the front of the terminal building, firstly via a pedestrian tunnel capped with a blue translucent awning that did the opposite of what it was intended to - instead of shading from the sun, the temperature beneath the radiating awning felt a good 10°c hotter than the surrounding breezy car park! Never mind. We approached our car, a small silver runaround (Perodua Viva, known to us in the UK as the Nippa), about the same size as the old model Corsa B. It had seen better days, but we were assured it was all roadworthy and good to take away immediately! I stopped to photograph it from all angles, just in case they claimed the numerous dents in the side and the hanging-off rear wiper were our doing. The petrol gauge read empty on clicking the key to auxiliary - we were advised to return it in a similar state! Our man turned the key to start and she ticked into life immediately, air-con on full, no warning lights on the dashboard. The petrol station, the guy said, was just to the right of a set of traffic lights as you exited the airport to the left, so adjusting our seats and loading our luggage, we said thanks and climbed into the car. We nearly didn't get very far - while we were faffing with the luggage a guy in a silver Proton had parked directly in front of our bay, so our first real interaction with the locals of Langkawi was a quick toot on the horn, following which after friendly waves and gestures he backed up and let us out of our space to battle the traffic exiting the airport carpark. Immediately jumping to my attention was a dreadful creaking noise coming from the left front wheel, I hoped it was just a bearing rather than the wheel about to fall off; cranking the steering to full deflection either side didn't seem to show any defects and nor did heavy braking, so I tentatively drove to check the roadworthiness of the vehicle before taking it to speed on the roads. "This is a small island, no speed limits to bother with, just don't go above 100kmh!" the man had said. OK then!

Our little carriage awaiting us

We followed the turn left, then right at the lights instructions, but, petrol light flashing, could we find a petrol station? Could we 'eck! I wasn't particularly worried because we had the guy's number, but my copilot was cautiously anxious! It turns out that the great machine that is Google hasn't really taken off in Langkawi yet, searching for Petrol took the map screen a few hundred miles away to the mainland. Not quite what we wanted! Luckily I spotted a green teardrop sign, the Petronas logo buried amidst other signs on a lamppost that we drove past, with a small black arrow indicating ahead and left, and the letters "5km" beneath it. Fingers crossed that our game of petrol roulette would last us that long!!

The road from was wide, with only a handful of cars other than our own making their way along it. It was covered with a fine layer of golden sand, and the odd piece of litter floated around in the afternoon breeze. The edge of the road was poorly defined, sort of blending gradually into the sandy greenery beyond. We passed Langkawi's international exhibition centre, an arch across the road still advertising last year's International Aviation Expo. Damn, we missed it! A smattering of other buildings populated the road on either side as we drove along, some businesses with open shop fronts, some residences; from time to time big rusting advertising banners tried to attract us to buy motor oil. The greenery of the island was all around us, open fields with buffalo grazing on them, interspersed with wooden houses on stilts, leading to the mountainous centre of the island a few km into the distance.

We took a right at the end of the road, stared down upon by yet more billboards, and headed toward a less developed part of the island, with a greater density of grey concrete houses and dusty cars parked in driveways. Kids on mopeds buzzed around, overtaking slower vehicles or staying well to the left of the road, in the grit, if they were going too slowly. None of their riders wore helmets of course. Some mopeds which appeared to be two-up, on closer inspection were actually three-up, the third passenger revealed to be a small child sandwiched between the two adult riders!

The orange gearbox-shaped engine management light decided to blink to life, so with the low petrol gauge we now had two warnings screaming at us from the dashboard, and our Petronas logo had chosen to direct us in the direction of the mountains! 3km to go. The road was getting narrower, still two ways but not as spacious as before. I tried to save as much petrol as possible by being easy on the gears, smooth on the accelerator and allowing the idle-cutoff servo to do its job on downhills or deceleration but to my utter annoyance one of Malaysia's finest drivers happened to be ahead of us, nearly coming to a standstill on every slight turn as we progressed into more hilly areas of the winding road. We couldn't overtake for two reasons - firstly, we'd be killed by oncoming trucks, and secondly we'd push the petrol consumption up! So we sat there, by now both of us concerned about the pump sucking up the last of the liquid in the tank!

Emma the navigator was telling me we were rapidly approaching the island's famous cable car station, and that meant mountains - not the best tactic for saving petrol, but the only one we had. We snaked our way along the undulating road, and after a particularly steep ascent we were glad to see ahead of us that the road was now descending again. We had rounded what must have been a headland, and were coasting in the direction of the settlement of Kampung Kok. Less than 1km to go said the green teardrop; finally around a corner, the welcome sight of a Petronas logo, and the petrol station, sitting to the left of the road, a gorgeous coastline and bay coming into view to left of it and the road. As we approached the petrol station, we noted a white amphibious Duck was filling up too - useful information to save for a later date!

Petrol in Malaysia is ridiculously cheap by our Western standards, costing about Rm2.30 a litre. Apparently this is actually a subsidised price by the government - how's about that, subsidy, not tax! Rm2.30 works out to be about 40 British pennies. What a bargain! We put in Rm25, just over 10 litres, enough to get us 100 miles assuming about 40mpg of the little car. The petrol seemed cheap, but then on thinking about it, the average Brit earns about £1500 a month, and we pay £1.30 per litre; the average Malay earns less than Rm1000 per month, and pays Rm2.30 a litre - so really, we can see why the government is forced to subsidise petrol, the relative cost of petrol is over twice that of ours, even though Petronas has huge refineries and oil fields around the country.

Petrol in the tank, with a sigh of relief from both of us we turned the car around and headed back up the mountain road toward the airport; our hotel, The Villa Langkawi, was situated near Cenang Beach (Pantai Cenang), on the opposite side of the airport to that which we were currently located! Getting a tiny bit lost in a village while trying to re-trace our petrol-hunting steps, and again while trying to find the hotel (actually driving straight past it without noticing and continuing on for a couple of miles) we finally arrived. The modern yet minimalistic red, white and grey concrete building stood out like a sore thumb amidst the wooden shacks and roadside eateries of its neighbourhood; a small mosque stood next door, its dome and tower noticeable but not dominating the area. Slightly down the road, a larger hotel stood proudly behind a wall guarding it and its car park. Up the road stood a selection of small houses, bungalows, concrete, and none of them looking particularly well maintained. The road was quiet save for a few motorbikes and cars whizzing along from time to time. We parked up easily in the empty car park, which previous visitors to websites had described as "lacking". First job: unload. Second job: check the reason for the engine management light. Third job: check-in! Fourth job: find a laundry!

First job - done. Yellow and black cases, complete with bobbles, sitting in the sunlight. Job two revealed that the cooling water tank filler cap had come off and there was no water left in the system. There was no expansion tank like in UK cars, but instead a low pressure reservoir. Job 2 part A: find some water!

The hotel was a single storey construction, its minimalistic modern style including a rectangular entranceway leading to a corridor opening out to the left of a lovely blue swimming pool, also rectangular. Some rooms overlooked the right-hand side of the pool behind large curtained windows. A few chairs and tables rested to the left of the pool, between it and more windows, this time floor-to-ceiling, running the length of the reception area and what appeared to be the breakfast hall, complete with tables and chairs already laid out, and silver food domes neatly placed in a row along a central island. We walked to a pair of glass doors mid-way along the pool, and entered the reception area, paying a Rm50 deposit but our stay already paid for via Expedia.co.uk months beforehand. Third job complete - the keycard for room 113 was handed to us. Breakfast was served from 6.30 til 10, but there was no bar or food facilities here outside that time. Fourth job - price per laundry item was ridiculously high, we'd find another way later.

Good enough to be a brochure shot. The swimming pool and rooms of The Villa Langkawi, photograph taken later that evening.

Further down the swimming pool, beyond the end of the breakfast hall and swimming pool and opposite a triplet of black massage chairs, for some reason incredibly popular in Malaysia, the door to our room was within a concrete rectangular tunnel. Entering and turning on the light, we found the room was minimalist but to a good quality, the heavy wooden door impressing me firstly, and two towels neatly rolled and placed like iced buns upon the neatly made bed. A safe sat on a white makeup desk across the room from us, to the right of which a mirror hung on the wall. We placed our cases down. The bathroom was a good size, and made from grey polished stone, with white porcelain features and a good quality rain-effect shower behind a glass divider. Nothing to complain about!

As much as we both wanted to lie down and relax after our day of travelling, and after a bit of persuading poor exhausted Emma who was so drawn in by the prospect of the relaxing blue swimming pool only metres away, I filled the kettle in the room with water to complete Job 2A - and we sneaked it past the glass fronted reception desk and past a pair of intrigued staffmembers. I can imagine their conversation went something like "Tsk. British! Whatever next" *roll-eyes*. Car now filled up with water again, Job 2A could be checked off the list. The laundry was next. We returned the kettle to its rightful holder, probably to the relief of the watching staff (damn those glass walls), and locked the room, leaving my BMA Membership card in the power slot to keep the air conditioning running. Leaving the hotel we crossed the dusty road and approached a stall advertising AIS BLENDED MANGO/ORENGE/APEL JUICE, and COCONUT JUICE.

Despite having advertised coconuts, the girl serving the stall did not understand what "coconut" meant - instead shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders (despite the pile of green coconuts in the corner). Never mind,
"ais mango dua!" I said, and she promptly started shovelling ice-cubes into a blender and filled it with mango juice.

Once the noise of the rattling and slushing had stopped, Rm4 handed over (about 80p), I asked,
"Di mana 'laundry'?"
another blank look. She disappeared from view into the wooden kitchen to the left, and another lady popped out.
"Di mana laundry?" She pointed at and shouted something to her friend washing dishes at the back of the small shack's plastic seating area, who looked at us and said,
"Laundry? That way (pointing in the direction of the beach). Five minutes, walk".
Thumbs up. "Terima kasih!" We walked off in that direction, drinking deliciously quenching ice-blended mango juice. It turns out that the word for coconut was kelapa, and had I known that, we would have been holding two delicious ice-filled coconuts, straws poking out of their axe-made craniotomies. Never mind!

We were a few score feet from the drinks stall when "Allahu akhbar!" suddenly filled the air from the massive loudspeakers of the nearby mosque. Imagine a Christian church doing that back home, there'd be riots! Not one of the dozen or so native Malays scattered throughout the nearby stalls even flinched, all instead carrying on with their daily routine, smoking or reading the newspaper. The call to prayer continued, and walking past a dozen or so more wooden shops and buildings to the right we finally stumbled across a larger hut, with a few workers inside tending to large washing machines, a woman outside sorting out linen.
"Buka?" I asked. (Open?)
"Yes. Until 10pm! 8 Ringgit for a service wash, collect tomorrow" (our white faces gave the game away).
"Ah OK lah. Terima kasih!"
"You're welcome". Smiles all around.

Back at the hotel we chose simply to wash some clothes by hand in the sink. We only needed 3 days' worth before heading to KB. If we hadn't buggered up the visas, we'd have had plenty from a planned laundry trip in Perth, but never mind. Laundry left to soak, we changed into swimming gear, and at last headed for the inviting pool! It was delightfully cooling, and though being as salty as the tourist reviews had said it was, it was clean and clear. Seawater probably. We spent a good half an hour just lazing around, me swimming and doing lengths underwater as always, Emma opting to be less energetic and soak up the sun's rays. Refreshed, we headed back to the room to rinse off the salt, and got dressed in smarter clothes to go for dinner at the beach.

It was only a short car journey, the engine management light still on despite the water. Turning left down a side road before arriving at the main strip of Panta Cenang, I hoped to find the wooden waterfront restaurant that I'd eaten in with dad back in 2000. The Langkawi Holiday Resort and Spa was a sprawling complex, and in fact the one we thought we'd booked into until only a few days prior, owing to the poor utilization of Google by businesses in the area. It was at least a 4-star resort from the looks of it, traditionally themed wooden-frontage buildings but surely over a metal/concrete substructure. A central hallway linked the entranceway to the back of the building, where I knew the beach to be. We weren't guests, but dressed smartly and walking with purpose, nobody batted an eyelid as we walked through the complex. Past an open-air bar to the right, complete with musical stage and roadies preparing instruments presumably for a show later in the evening, we emerged from the building next to the hotel's luxurious and large curvaceous swimming pool, surrounded on all sides by the main building, outdoor restaurant and two room blocks, amidst a landscape of tasteful shrubs and curving cobble paths. A few dozen swimmers and splashers were enjoying their evening dip. We walked on, toward the beach; palm trees ahead of us swayed in the breeze, and we could see the blue sea stretching out beyond a strip of white sand. A small wooden hut formed an open but sheltered bar area, complete with stools. No sign of our old restaurant, though. A paraglider took off, complete with the roar of twin 150hp Evinrude engines of its towboat. Jetskis whizzed around in the distance, the spurts of water from their watercooling pumps firing high arcs of water behind them. The beautiful Cenang beach stretched for a couple of hundred yards to the left, before ending in a tree-covered rocky headland; to the right it curved around for miles, forming a bay. Directly in front of us, out across the water, the small tree-covered island of Pulau Epor lay about a kilometre offshore. We heard an AirAsia Airbus A321 roar into the air from the runway about 3 miles away to the right, taking a gradual climbing turn to the left, leaving our view to the left having flown parallel to the beach during its climb. A european tourist stood meditating into the warm onshore breeze, her red sarong flowing in the breeze; children played in the surf, a few venturing out further into the water to swim. It was a little slice of heaven, the low sun just to the right of Pulau Epor reflecting off the calm tropical water. We stayed for a little while, admiring the scenery, before heading to the modern-looking open-air and covered bar/restaurant that we'd walked past on the way to the beach, from the swimming pool.

Cenang Beach, complete with paraglider and paddlers.

The restaurant was as modern as the rest of the spa resort, with glass panels and a tastefully lit bar. It was shaped a bit like a mobile concert stage, closed at the back, used for an air-conditioned, glass-walled dining room, and open at the front, the ceiling serving as an awning for the tables in the main area. It opened out onto a few more tables outside placed around its main attraction, a stunning infinity swimming pool, with a now reflecting the evening sunset. A couple of palm trees were dotted around the pool's perimeter, amidst a few cushioned deck chairs and softly glowing light cubes, like those you'd see in an Ikea showroom. To our surprise and slight disappointment, the restaurant served mainly western foods, but we ordered from the small Local Cuisine section of the menu, and chose a pepsi and ice lemon tea to drink. We'd started by sitting outside by the pool, but noticing some ominous clouds building to the northeast behind the restaurant, we moved inside under the cover of the awning. A plasma TV showed a football match between the team of the Malaysian state of Negeri Sembilan and another - it all seemed normal, except for there being NOBODY in the grandstands behind them. Very odd.

The sun set; thousands of lights flickered to life out in the bay, the softly glowing cubes now brightly shining against the subtly lit background of the swimming pool. Strings of lights wound around palm trees provided a soft orange glow in the background, enough to see dozens of large bats flying around in the newly darkened sky. The meal was lovely, if served a little bit slowly, and was of a sensible price. We didn't do anything else that evening, instead opted to head home and chill, ready to get up tomorrow for our long day at sea!

Blog 7: 20th April 2014. A successful failure

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. 

Emma, me and Ben waiting for the show to start, in the auditorium at the Creatures of the Night show

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Creatures of the Night show!" a female voice rang out through the auditorium's PA system, with a very slight Asian accent to it. Out onto the crazy paving sprang a tanned young park assistant. Fifteen minutes to go before the show started, she introduced the show, the park; she then went to great efforts to ensure everybody with a flash camera had the flash turned off, even involving the audience, making us shout "OFF!" when she asked what the flash should be set to. She recited this message in Mandarin, Malay, Korean, Japanese and even a dialect of Indian, for the benefit of the dozens of nationalities present in the audience (discovered by a show of hands). Once the flash message had settled in, she introduced three early stars of the show, three very wise, very large, owls. Apparently they can turn their heads over 270°, but not quite the full 360° that it seemed many people in the audience assumed. She talked in great detail about the owls, and their trainers, before they received a round of applause and she announced the show proper about to start. By this time, the sun had set, and it was nearly pitch black.

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.

Emma and a concrete rhino; Rhinos are not to be confused with hippopotami. 

Before the night ended, we had dinner at a Chinese restaurant he'd been to a few times. I have no idea what we ate, but I do know it was very nice. Cantonese style sweet and sour for sure, and various combinations of rice and noodles with vegetables and meats thrown into the mix in the middle of the table. A pint of lager each, Coke Light for Emma, and Ben took us back to our hotel via the 7-Eleven for a couple of litres of mineral water.