Perhentian islands & Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

The night bus was uneventful and fairly comfortable, and a much quieter old woman, instead of screaming men, greeted us upon our arrival. We followed her to book the speedboat that would carry us to the Perhentian Islands, waiting for the sun to rise before we could board the boat.

It was a bumpy boat ride...

The next two days were spent basking in the sun on one of the least developed islands we’ve seen. Our place was very simple, with no electricity from 7am to 7pm. There was only 1 or 2 nice resorts, the rest little beachy bungalows with the bare minimum amenities. We lounged on silent beaches, swam in incredible water and waves, and really enjoyed the peaceful, uncroweded, private little slice of paradise. I've never swam in better water. It was perfect.

Next to our humble aboad was one of the 2 resorts, and we spent both evenings snuggled in beach chairs enjoying the hosted movie nights under the stars. Both interesting picks, Django Unchained and Trance, we ignored the subtitles and sipped on our fruit shakes.

A newly developed island is incredible, but it comes with its downfalls. Trash is a huge problem throughout Southeast Asia, scattered in yards and streets, collecting in corners, piled in vacant lots and decrepit buildings. The little path lining our way to the impeccably quiet beach was spattered with trash, mostly from the construction going on to build new bungalows and resorts. Islands are especially trash filled, as any garbage needs to be removed from the island. And then where does it go? So it piles up and blows around. The amount of plastic we see is unnerving. My recycling efforts are so insignificant compared to the immense lack of care or knowledge of the importance of proper disposal practices. I should just throw my bottles out the window, I think, there is no way my small efforts help this much larger battle. Of course, that’s not the way to think, and if everyone thought that way, everywhere would look like the little newly developed islands, suffocating from rubbish. So, we collect our rubbish and recycle when we can.

But that’s the balance of the world. All this beauty, all this greatness, would leave the planet leaning too far in one direction. The bad comes with the good. Positivity needs negativity. Light needs dark. And apparently, stunning islands need trash. It’s all about balance.

We took another speedboat back to the mainland and learned there were no buses to the Cameron Highlands, our preferred next stop. With no explanation as to why we weren’t able to book anything, we opted to take the longer ride all the way south to Kuala Lumpur, an 8-10 hour ride through winding roads. We prefer our long rides to take place during the night, but with very few alternatives, the long bus ride was the most appealing option. Will bought the tickets as I ran to get bus snacks, we barely ate breakfast before hopping on the speedboat, and the bus took off the instant my second foot stepped onto the bus; we had barely made it! The ride was terrifying, extremely tight turns were taken at even more extreme speeds. We were on the top of a double decker bus, making every left and right turn feel like it would be the last. I later learned about the drug-use issues with bus drivers in Malaysia.

We got in and grabbed dinner at McDonalds, home of the Happy Meal and free Wifi, and did some research of must-see's in KL. We hadn’t planned to be in Kuala Lumpur already, and knew very little about where to stay and what to do. We decided Chinatown was a great place to stay, found a spot to rest our heads, and departed the Golden Arches, where miraculously, or unnaturally, everything tastes the exact same, no matter what country you’re in.

The one night in our little hotel was enough; I don’t prefer to kill cockroaches right before I turn down my sheets, so we left early the next morning to grab breakfast and find a new home. Chinatown is bustling from sun up to well after sun down, and vendors are putting up or taking down their stalls almost non-stop. We found a porridge stall and ordered the ‘Famous Eight Treasure’ blend, featuring 8 different ingrdients ranging from chicken floss to liver to peanuts. It was surprisingly delicious, even though I secretly scooped around the liver after my initial taste. I love savory oatmeals, frequently cooking up a batch at home with eggs, beans, and salsa, and the hearty bowl was enough to share, leaving room for a pretty dragon fruit dessert.

Although we couldn’t find the guesthouse we sought, we stumbled upon a great spot, negotiated a rate, and booked a few nights in air-conditioned heaven. They didn’t have a double, but the twin beds with white sheets were just fine. We were greeted with bottled water and extremely friendly staff, and thoroughly enjoyed our new, much nicer, and oddly less expensive home.

I fell in love with Kuala Lumpur that first full day we spent exploring the city. We ventured to a coffee shop called Lokl Coffee, for kopi susi, kopi O (coffee with milk and black coffe, which still comes sweetened with plenty of sugar), and free smells of their beautiful brunch, and slowly made our way to a huge bookstore. The owners boasted ‘over 3 million books’ lined the shelves of 4 rickety floors. Low ceilings, wobbly railings, and the smell of much-loved page after page filled the shop.

Will asked the sweet old-woman owner if she had and Ian Flemming:

"James Bond! Right this way" and together we marched up three flights of stairs right to a stack of James Bond novels. No Dewey Decimal system, no computer, not even a spread sheet, and that little old woman knew exactly which shelf the books were housed.

We moseyed through fabric shops, me heading the mission to find the perfect fabric for a DIY on the ever growing summer to-do list, and eventually made our way to the National Mosque of Malaysia. I grabbed some more vendor fresh fruit across the street as Will snapped some photos. I love the architectural changes we see as we travel, heavily cenetered around religion and sacred buildings, moving from heavily Buddhist areas into a mix of Hinduism and Islam. It's brought great diversity to not only the people, but our surroundings, as well.

Longing for a restroom, we ran into the Sultan Abdul Samad Building and used their facilities before enjoying the crisp, super cool air of an exhibit on Malaysia. It was extremely well done, and although we didn’t read every single display, I was thoroughly impressed by the free exhibit.

On our way to the Central Market, Will suggested we stop in the National Textile Museum, and although I had read about it, I wasn’t convinced I wanted to go in. With a little coaxing, we peaked our heads in, and within seconds I fell in love with my surroundings. We walked through every room and gallery, watched movies, played interactive games, and learned all about Batik and Malaysian textiles and jewelry. It was a stunning exhibit. I really enjoyed our time in there, and, it was free!

We were exhausted after a long day of city exploration by foot, and only spent a little amount of time walking through the Central Market. It’s huge, aisles of shops winding endlessly, and I was immediately lost. I always am. Thankfully, my other half is never lost, so he navigated us out the door. I picked a tasty little Indian hawker for curry puffs and fried bananas, and we headed in the direction of home. Along the way, this nice man (who is anything but nice-looking in this photo. He wasn't scary in real life!) insisted on taking numerous photos with me. I don't think I've been held this tightly in a photo ever. He snuggled right on in as he made Will snap shot after shot. Thankfully, we took one on our camera, too.

Around this time, The DRESS was the great debate, and Will and I, not surprisingly, saw opposite colors. I see blue and black, he see’s white and gold. One time, I accidentally saw white and gold and was convinced Will switched the photos to trick me. He didn’t, my eyes just switched sides. That was the only time I ever saw white and gold. I know better than that.

We spent the evening walking through Chinatown, looking at fake bags and glasses and dodging aggressive vendors, convincing us we NEEDED to purchase anything. One vendor told me I looked very tired and needed a massage. I laughed and kept walking, proving his sales tactic unsuccessful.

I woke early the next morning and followed my nose to coffee, finding a great local spot called Ali, Muthu, and Ah Hock. They made me 2 great cups of kopi susu, poured it into 2 plastic baggies, and sent me on my way with my morning cup. Drinking his hand delivered coffee, Will packed the daypack and together we returned to the café for breakfast. I couldn’t resist this cute little café, and we ordered the unofficial official dish of Malaysia, Nasi Lemak. Rice cooked in coconut milk with a savory, salty, spicy sauce, roasted peanuts, sundried anchovies, cucumbers, and hardboiled egg filled our bellies, and a second cup of kopi susi washed it down. We’re well used to hearty breakfasts, and this national version was delicious. I found a few good recipes, pasted them in my journal, pinned a few others on Pinterest, and am excited to try my hand at this labor-intensive Malaysian treat when we get home.

Before the heat consumed the day, we marched to the train station and boarded the train to the Batu Caves. A brief 45 minute airconditioned train ride delivered us right to the temples. We watched a Hindu offereing ceremony and many families enjoying a late lunch surrounded by serenity and tranquilty at the temple, and walked through the huge caves. The larger of the caves houses a huge festival, where thousands of Hindus flock to worship and celebrate. There were as many monkey’s roaming the caves as humans. We made it out without being bit (whew), and took the train back home to cool off and freshen up.

Sometimes I do research, too, and had a surprise planned for the evening. We took the monorail from Chinatown to City Center and explored another neighborhood in Kuala Lumpur (which we liked much less than our little neigborhood). We found a great vendor market filled with tasty smelling street food options amidst pricey, upscale restaurants, and enjoyed a shared dinner finished with friend bananas and fried banana bread balls (YUM!). We walked a few blocks to the building housing my surprise and got in line early. Doors opened at 6, and I wanted a good seat.

I read about Heli Lounge on a 'local's love' list of KL. 34 stories above street level, the lounge is a bar-by-night and working helipad-by-day. After waiting for a bit, we were ushered into the bar, where we bought pricey drinks (even to US standards), and headed up the stairs onto the helipad. The only thing keeping us from falling off the edge were flimsy red stanchions, but the sunset view was worth it. We grabbed a spot and snapped photos of the Patronas Towers and KL Tower from our bar lounge.

Before the buzz of adult beverages made us toss caution to the wind and creep too close to the edge, we opted to view the Patronas Towers from ground-level, and took a few pictures before the dark of night engulfed us. We had a lovely time with the selfie stick. Super successful…

Clearly the selfie stick is tired of traveling, so we asked a nice man for some help.

Just a regular Annie Leibovitz... Not.

We went back to our little local café for breakfast and kopi, ordering a new must-try Malaysian dish, and explored our neighborhood. There were many wholesale and retail jewelry and accessory shops, and I stopped in almost every single one, purusing the sparkly aisles and window shopping.

I spent the afternoon writing and enjoying a conversation with some Malaysians visiting home from school in London. They shared plenty of information on Malaysia’s history, especially on the interesting dynamic between the Chinese, Indian, and Malay people. She shared that it wasn’t until her generation that the three ethnic groups started mingling. Her grandparents still scoff over their Chinese and Indian neighbors.

We went back to Chinatown to spend our evening eating another yummy hawker stall dinner of roti two ways, both delicious, and washed it all down with fresh lime juice. I almost cried when the naan stand was closed. We'd had the best garlic naan a few nights prior. It tasted like Hungry Howie's butter garlic crust. Somehow, I managed to survive.

Will had his eye on a Piston’s jersey that he thought was a great bargain, and after three nights of searching every stall and bargaining with vendors, he settled onthe perfect one. We brought it home and wrapped it up nicely, protecting it from harms way and the dirt and grime our packs so easily collect.

We had decided to head to Borneo, the next island east of mainland Malaysia, and booked a flight last minute. Borneo is home to part of Malaysia in the north, part of Indonesia in the south, and a very little, very rich country called Brunei. We opted to start our journey in the jungles of Borneo in the oil-rich mini country, and packed our bags for our early departure.

We opted to walk to the subway station that would carry us one stop to transfer to the airport express train, so we got up well before the sun, grabbed a 7/11 coffee, and ventured to the station. For some reason the station was all locked up, even with trains making stops, and we very confusedly looked around for an explanation. Noone there to direct us or explain, we finally saw a sign stating the station didn’t open until 6am, which was far to late for us to wait, and we started by foot to Central Station, where we could catch the train to the airport.

20 minutes later and still no sign of the station, we gave in and hailed a taxi to carry us the rest of the way. A short and speedy ride later, we paid the driver and bought tickets for our train. We were behind schedule, and quickly calculated the 45 minute train ride to the airport left us exactly -10 minutes to get checked in at the gate. Annoyingly, AirAsia, among other recent downfalls, closes check-in over an hour before the flight, and although we online check in and have no checked baggage, we still need approval of our boarding tickets from the check-in counter. Furthermore, the gate closes well before the flight takes off. I’m talking 45 minutes plus in some cases. You’d guess with all this extra time they plan for, the list would be made and checked twice, exceeding proper protocol and safety measures and having time for a pre-flight round on the house. This obviously is not the case…

We’ve run to departing vehicles before, but nothing quite like what we were about to experience.

Luckily, we semi budged in the check in line with exhausted ease. Our panting scared everyone out of the way, and although the nice AirAsia employee navigating traffic told us the gate would certainly be closed, Will shouted assurance that the 5 minutes we actually had would be plenty of time to check in, go through customs, pass security, and navigate to the gate. The employee rolled his eyes and continued directing the abundance of must-be first-time fliers failing miserably at getting anything flight related figured out.

I begged the woman at the check in counter to call the gate. We have never missed a flight before, we had no intentions of starting. She smiled politely, her hairline covered with a pretty scarf, mouthing a friendly “run” as she handed back our paperwork, adorned with the compulsory clearance to approach customs.

Winding through rows of lost traveling souls like drug-stuffed bus drivers, we ran to customs, and the nice agent directing the ever growing traffic jam preemptively offered the ‘locals only’ line where no one was waiting. Stamped and approved to exit the country, we still needed to pass through security. According to the clock, the gate was closed, but we weren’t giving up hope.

Full speed ahead, we ran to what must be furthest gate imaginable. Like arm pumping, sweat splashing, Olympic race-worthy running. Convinced the further I ran, the further away security moved, we finally made it to our next obstacle. I hurled my bag on the line, whipped my toiletries out, ran through the metal detector, and turned to see my stuff lazily floating through the scanner. Panicked, I looked at Will, still on the other side of the magic metal arch.

“Grab my stuff, I’ll run to the gate and tell them to wait.”

The thumbs up was all I needed, and as if I was stuck in a shuttle-sprint nightmare, I pivoted and ran. Again. Without my pack, I was a good 20 lbs lighter, and my legs pushed me a slightly ridiculous speed ahead. I gradually slowed my pace, realizing running through an airport was obnoxious enough, and I didn’t need to call anymore attention with my almost inappropriate hyper speed, and I watched every “P” gate pass. All the odds were on one side, evens on the other. And as I thanked Buddha, Allah, and Jesus himself for my assumed next-approaching gate, the gates skipped from P6 to P10. My lungs were on fire, this was the worlds longest airport and my flight opted for the furthest gate imaginable. Desperation set in as my throat started to crack from my heaving, and for whatever reason P8 showed up after P9, on the odd side of the road.

The attendant looked at me and laughed. Sucking air, I wheezed, “My husband is coming. Can you wait? We can make fun of him for taking longer than his wife” and the nice man smiled, confirming there was no rush.

Pacing for my cool down, like any proper sprinter would, I waited and waited and waited, but no Will. Something happened at security. They wouldn’t let him take my bag. My liquids were an issue. They found a bomb! I thought as I tried to calm my heartbeat. A few breaths later and still no Will, I turned back to the attendant, stating I needed to help my husband. He confirmed, and took my boarding pass as collateral.

Running, again, by the same passangers, again, in the opposite direction of the gate was not on my to-do list for this early morning. It wasn’t even 8am!!! But, that’s exactly what I did, until I found Will, grabbed a pack, turned right back around (good heavens would this shuttle-sprinting-elementary-school-gym-class nightmare EVER end?!) and sprinted right by those same people for the third time. Will handed over his passport, I snagged my boarding pass back, and we ran to the gate. FINALLY, THE GATE, and the ever sexy AirAsia flight attendants, laughing in their saturarated red compression blazer and pencil skirt, necessarily tight to assist with proper blood flow, of course, told us to slow down. NO rush.

No rush?! I yelled inside my head. Your pal at check-in told me I wouldn’t even make it before I commenced this rat race. What do you mean “No rush?” That plane better be halfway down the tarmac, stopped just in time for my arrival, after the workout I just had.

We waited, sweaty and drained, in our seats, for a lovely 20some minutes before they even started preparing for take off.

Of course, we had to laugh. We were the world’s most ridiculous looking fliers that morning. Cooled down, I asked what took him so long at security.

“They made me take the computer out (a very uncommon practice on this side of the Prime Meridian), and my sandals are too slippery for sprinting!"

It took him all of 2 seconds to fall into an open-mouthed slumber, and I read the in-flight magazine and enjoyed the smell of stupidly overpriced coffee for the quick flight to Brunei.

From Kuala Lumpur, with Love,

Sara + Will