Kuala Lumpur to Cameron Highlands

 KL is an expensive city, I think part of that is psychological. How am I supposed to take the currency seriously when it’s called Ringgit? That’ll be 100 Ringgit sir. Sure, that doesn’t spoil so bad. How much could a Ringgit hurt? This place is like Vegas, designed to pull as much money from the visitor’s wallet as possible.

I’m also getting tired of the “I am the main character” photo culture. I’ve seen people stand in the street, block sidewalks, and almost get their kid run over in a quest for a perfect shot. They’re always surprised when four cylinders of reality come roaring for their abdomens. Idiots. Get the fuck out of the right of way if you want something for your socials.

I have about an hour and forty-five minutes to kill between checking out of my hotel and my bus departure for Cameron Highlands. Since I’m in KL and hungry, grabbing a bagel on the way to the bus terminal should take all of that time. Predictably, after breakfast I get to the bus terminal five minutes before departure. Can you tell I’m getting tired of this city?

The bus is comfy, if a little old. Gold curtains with a vaguely floral jacquard and tassels keep the sun off the windows. The bus slowly crawls and rattles its way up the hills through the Malaysian countryside. The AC blows cold, but not to every seat. The German couple ahead of me is having trouble grasping the idea that they can go to a non-ticketed seat if it keeps them cool. I think the three hour bus ride is going to be a long one for them. With the time on the bus I catch up on errands. 

Just outside KL

I still haven’t gotten tracking from my tailors for my suit. Not a big deal, if they ghost they can just take it up with Visa after a dispute. Since I could not find a repair shop in KL to take in my Zorki, I’ll have to buy supplies to fix it myself. I’ve accumulated a collection of tools over the years but this sort of precision stuff is new for me. Oil has to be light and lightly applied. Many people suggest using a syringe to make sure you don’t overdo it. An entire drop can be fatal, spraying lubricant all over the insides of the camera.

Just outside KH

This place is strange. I knew coming in that it was intentionally built for British people to relax in but Tudor buildings in the jungle wasn’t on my bingo card. Also, there are a ton of tourists here. That’s not odd for a vacation spot but it is odd for a place that’s a five hour drive from an international airport. Lots of British, lots of Germans, and a shocking amount of Americans. I check in to my hotel and breathe. Taking stock of the situation I realize I’ll need a motorcycle, just my luck the hotel has bikes and a reasonable rate to boot.

I hit a hotel bar to understand further who comes here. I sit down next to a group of Americans having a semester at sea. Working hard or hardly working? The fact that any of what they’re doing qualifies as school baffles me. It’s a little too early to hit the smaller hostel bar with the pool table (yay pool). I’m wandering the main drag and strike up a conversation with an American. He and his wife are wandering around as well. They’ve been cruising Southeast Asia for three months, between houses. Sounds familiar. He’s from Chicago and in typical midwestern fashion talks my ear off. I’m loving it, I haven’t had this experience for ages and it’s a good reminder of home. If all goes well, I’ll see him and his wife for happy hour tomorrow.

One of the big food items here is the steamboat. This is essentially hot pot. I’m not sure what make it different here but I’m always game for boiled tasty snacks so I’ll make an effort to find a bucket for dinner. Having finished it I can’t say I really understand what all the fuss is about. It’s just hot pot but the meat is spiced differently. Good, but nothing to lose your mind over.

Back at my hotel I get caught in a conversation in the lobby with some other folks staying here. Two Aussies and one expat Aussie with his much younger female companion. The conversation shifts to the state of political affairs in the US. Good grief, didn’t Australia lose a head of state when he went out for a swim. Can’t we all use relax for a bit. Mister wife-the-age-of-his-daughter is obnoxious. Doom, gloom, and certainty. Vacillation to misery is a luxury of the old. Young people aren’t so lucky to just throw up their hands and concede that the world will go to hell.

I pop out for a drink and finish my book. I’ve been powering through Death Of A Salesman. I can’t remember the last time I read a play. This one is sad, powerful, and well written. As a bonus, it’s short and the second act ends as the bar closes. 

My shower here is like nothing else I’ve seen. One valve. There’s a hot water heater in the shower that nukes the water on an as needed basis. Want cold water? Crank up the tap so there’s so much moving through that the heater is overwhelmed. Want to scald yourself? Cracking just a little bit so the thing has time to boil itself. Good fun.