The plan for Feb 12/13th: drive from Whitianga to Auckland, drop off the ancient wheels, get the airbus to the airport and sleep on a bench until it was time to check in for my flight to Sydney. One problem – well, actually two: coffee and that crazy Hwy 25 have left me so wired that sleep doesn’t end up being on the cards. Instead, I get through security and settle in with my awesome packed lunch and, feeling slightly delirious because of having been up since six the previous morning, wait to board my flight.
Flight boarded, bag stowed, heading for Bangkok with all of my stuff, ready to get the 2-week Malaysia leg started. Well. That’s what I thought, anyway. Turns out my bag thought differently and decided to try skipping this leg.
There’s an interesting feeling of dread that gradually creeps in when you’re standing around the baggage carousel, waiting patiently for your bag; watching other collect theirs while you’re still standing there; watching the crowd grow ever smaller while still you stand there; watching the stream of bags as it changes to a trickle and then finally dries up… while you’re still standing there… Crap. Hasn’t happened since Tanzania in 2006, so I suppose I’m overdue the added adventure of having to ad lib. Fortunately for me, I’m in Thailand, where helpfulness is part of the DNA. The lost luggage man asks for a description of my bag and for the baggage receipt. Feeling a little dazed (I got maybe 3 hrs of sleep on the plane, bringing my total hrs of sleep in the last 43 hrs to… 3), I hand the paper over and pointed to the colour chart saying it falls somewhere between yellow and orange. The news that I fly to KL the next morning is about as welcome to him as it is to me in the current situation, but after checking the system he has good news: the bag fell off a conveyor in Auckland, but was put on another flight arriving in 10 mins. The next bit of good news: the flight has arrived early, the luggage is already on the carousel, and my bag meets me as we come around the corner. Oh, and that taxi I was going to hire to sort out the airport transfer? No need. There’s a free shuttle and it runs every half hour. Score, score aaaand SCORE. Transfer made, supper eaten, quiet deserted bench found, tired body deposited and, after 47 hrs on the go, I finally get 5 hrs of sleep.
I wake to find that I’ve gained company while snoozing. A LOT of company. It seems like the surface of every seat – and not a few bits of the floor – in the area has a body part draped across it as we all wait to check in, which is now starting to open. I ditch the backpack at the desk and set out to continue my 4am meal habit. Interesting fact: once through security, there is NO Thai food available at Don Mueang airport. Subway, MacDonalds, Krispy Kreme, sushi, Nandos, some seriously boring sandwiches… No Thai. Surprise of the day, and it’s not yet 6am. Anyway, uneventful flight followed by uneventful transfer to the central train station followed by very short walk to hotel. Thank heavens.
Feeling more than a little hungry, I knew that now was not the time to collapse on the bed (a BED! How novel! Seems like a month since I’d been at the Eccleses’) – time to go for a walk, explore a little, and find lunch. Kuala Lumpur proves to be a bit of an attack on senses that already felt slightly under siege. In many ways, KL is “Asia lite”: the majority of the population speak at least some English, the language is written using the Roman alphabet, and the airport is (depressingly) inundated with Western chains. But our hotel is right on the outskirts of Little India and, after a lunch-time game of ‘how much can you get for 2 dollars?’ (answer: A LOT – laksa, 2 potato puffs, one sardine puff, 2 other curry/potato/filo pastry things, and an iced lemon tea), I go for a walk that leaves my head spinning more than 3 servings of that Purple Jesus back in Auckland could. The silk shops, the pakora and fritter vendors, the grilled meat and fish restaurants with their warming dishes full of mystery curries, the ear-splitting volume of the Indian pop music streaming from shop speakers (helpfully placed at head level just to make sure you hear it), the heat that doesn’t so much make you burst out sweating as make you STICK to yourself… It’s all a bit much for this weary traveller today, so after a couple of hrs, I head back to the hotel for a break. While engaged in a raging internal debate about how long I could stave off sleep, I hear a new noise coming from outside: rain. Lots of rain. With no reason to go out in it, I shower and settle on the bed with a movie (!), my book, and my phone, thinking I might do something productive, but am simply relieved to eventually let sleep take over.
Grateful for: a bed, friendly vendors, banana fritters
