A Little (Indian) Wander About Kuala Lumpur

Once more a pseudo-transcription from my notepad - 23/09/09

Corrrrrrrrr Love a duck! Well actually I couldn’t because there weren’t any at the Kuala Lumpur Bird Park. But I was ready and willing just for the Charlie Brooker/Ray Winstone reference (YouTube “Top 10 Cocks in Advertising” if you‘ve no idea). That’s the pre-emptive intro I started writing when visiting said bird park was on the agenda, minutes before realising I had in fact been there before - three years ago. And forgotten. I think. It’s the world’s largest enclosed aviary with hundreds of species of colourful flying stuff, all squawking their beaks off, and all relentlessly engaged in a turf (or rather branch) war over those comically crucial head-poopable perches. There’s also a butterfly enclosure housing some other colourful flying stuff too. If you’re lucky, they’ll land on you. If you’re luckier still, they’ll treat you to some gross, point-blank defecation. Worth checking out if you’ve a thing for pretty colours and being shat on, but once you’ve seen a load of foreign birds in an enclosure and failed to construct a half-decent tasteless joke, foregoing a second visit is probably best.

Just to set the scene, I‘m currently sat in McDonalds in the middle of Little India. It’s a part of town which, on my basic reconnaissance, seems the same size as KL’s other pint-sized ethnic locale to the south, Chinatown. In practically every Malaysian city you’ll find a Little India and a Chinatown because the country’s population is made up of three main groups, those being: (and you may have guessed the first two) Indian, Chinese and native Malay. But before I get bogged down with interesting facts, I’ll simply say you know you’re guaranteed to find great food in any neighbourhood partly named after a popular British takeaway. Except in Mini Kebabville. That’s just nasty. Now I sense your universal condemnation for being in such a bastardly western fast-food joint when I’m no doubt surrounded by wonderfully authentic Indian cuisine. Well just hold your blinkin’, judgemental horses, alright?! I’m here a) for dessert, having just eaten in one of the wonderfully authentic Indian cuisine outlets, and b) primarily because it’s air-conditioned and it’s hot as hell outside. So give me a break. Plus, of course c) it means I can abuse their flat writing surfaces (tables) to pen this rubbish for the benefit of you - one of the four people who’ll be actually reading this thing. Aaaaaand relax.

Rewind. Minus the crowd saying ’Bo’, and me shouting ’Selecta!’. Instead of the Bird Park, I decided to take the KL Rapid Transit train from my base in Chinatown to have a wander round a different part of the city. It’s been thus far very easy to be touristically lazy - I’ve been to the Petronas Towers (the tallest twin towers in the world, don‘tcha know), been up the Sky Tower (sort of a mini CN Tower in Toronto, but still very tall, offering great views and detailed info about what you‘re squinting at), went to most of the museums and historically/culturally significant places, the Bird Park (I think - coloured birds and poo were involved anyway) We even managed a trip to the Sunway Water Park - welcome relief to the KL climate of hot, sticky, hot, a bit hotter, and a bit stickier. So my routine of hanging about during the day, then drinking beer and eating out in the evening has been achievable relatively guilt-free. But waking up today after another late night, this time spent partly in the Beatles Bar for karaoke and partly in the Reggae Bar (just under my hostel) for leery guys and shockingly shit none-reggae-based music, I felt some exploring had to be done.

I’ll quickly mention last night while I’m sort of on the subject. I met an Aussie guy called Andy and his travel buddy Joey (from San Diego) in my dorm earlier that afternoon. They’d both been working aboard a surf boat - a concept that begged explanation to the none-surf-savvy pencil pusher like me. Apparently around 80km off the coast of Sumatra - Indonesia’s largest western island - lie a collection of much smaller, uninhabited islands that generate some toadally rad surf conditions and some most bodaciously patronising surfer language. Dude. As there’s no infrastructure, the only way to surf such surf is by heading out on an all-inclusive boat from the mainland that drops anchor nearby. For the princely sum of $2500 US you can book your place amongst the delightful company of Andy and Joey, for two weeks of surfing paradise. My immediate reaction was “Shit, that’s expensive - is it mostly yuppies?”
“No, you’d be surprised. And when you think of it, people pay a lot more for two weeks skiing in Europe, and they don’t include your food and booze,” or the sea-sickness. But it was a valid point, and really it sounded pretty damn cool. Unlike the temperature in here: the AC isn’t working any more. Perhaps the vents are clogged with fat, or other more solid attempts at derisory McDonald’s humour.

So it was with Andy, Joey and another Aussie (a girl called Miriam) I headed to the massively inaptly-named Beatles Bar, where such classic hits as Hotel California and Rock the Casbah were being slaughtered by try-hard locals and tourists alike. We had a fun time despite my feelings toward karaoke, as outlined on Improvised…..see the link below. Drinks and good conversation were had, and our two surfer friends had a go with varying degrees of success. Just as I’d built up enough courage (or blood-alcohol content) to blast out a bit of Backstreet Boys in the style of Trey Parker, time was called and my chance of fame and fortune on the Malaysian parody-karaoke scene was lost. So that was that. And I realise I’m completely a million miles from where I intended to be with this piece. I’ll re-focus, just give me sec.

Indian food. Yes. So I took the train a few stops north of Chinatown to Little India and ambled (Ha! Ambled!) around a bit. After going the most roundabout way to reach its centre, walking past tons of street vendors and shops pumping out some extreme bhangra tunage, I eventually found a signage-devoid eatery that had a locals to hapless tourist ratio of about 50:1. After I’d taken a seat. This, I reasoned was a good thing, because if locals ate there, they couldn’t be dishing out the bugs too heavily. Given, it was a buffet style setup with a people who only eat with their hands, so chances are any second helpings would cover the serving spoons with tons of gob and flu of swine. But I just threw caution to the sewer-filtered wind and went for it. It was bloody lovely too. The naan bread was particularly amazing. Baked fresh in a tandoor oven, they arrive on your plate at finger-burning temperatures and make Patak‘s attempts taste like bum. Mass-produced bum. A large plate of assorted veggie curries (chiefly potatoes and chickpeas), rice, two delicious naans and a can of Sprite set me back seven Ringgits, or about £1.40. Hardly got a smile the whole time, and half the staff appeared borderline hostile to my presence. But I was very gracious and didn’t ask for a knife and fork - not that I’d expected any within a square mile. Or a circular one for that matter. By the end, after lots of my smiles, nods and probably unfathomable contentment-indicating gestures, it felt like they’d sort-of warmed to me. Slightly. Which was nice.

So here I am now - initially in search of somewhere to wash the curry off my hands, I spied a McDonalds and figured I’d get dessert. Even if it did cost 75% of what was just paid for the Indian meal. But then they had to be put to the test. If the Malaysians couldn’t muster a half-decent chocolate Cornetto McFlurry, their country clearly has serious problems. Fortunately it was good and the staff in here have been patient enough to allow me to scribble all this down. And looking back over the last page, it really has all turned to barely legible scribbles. There: my irrelevant postscript for your pleasure. Look out for the imminent food-poisoning update - I’ll be detailing precisely how the lovely curry decided to leave my body soon.


I’ll spare the details - let’s just say it all went to plan. Hooray! My views on Karaoke: here. Oh, I also discovered there are a number of duck species in the KL Bird Park, so my intro failed miserably, unless you haven’t read this final sentence.