Upon arrival at the Puduraya bus station I was descended upon by taxi drivers. The 'Number Eight' hostel that I was staying at had provided walking directions to the hostel from this particular station, but I thought we were at a different one so I said ok to one of the taxi drivers and showed him the street name I needed to go to.
"Twenty Ringits?! I'll go with you for 15."
"No. Twenty Ringits. Standard price, standard price"
"Alright, alright" But then, out of the corner of my eye I spotted the 'Puduraya Hotel'.
"Is this the Puduraya bus station mate?"
"Bus station yes, bus station!" as he tries to grab my guitar and put it in the boot.
"No, but is this the Puduraya bus station?"
"Yes! This is bus station! Yes!" Yanking harder at my guitar case now.
"Nah it's alright mate I'll walk from here"
"Ok ok! I do it for 15 ringits!"
"No thanks mate I'm walking"
"Fifteen! Fifteen!" The poor man shouted as I faded into the distance.
And so began my adventures in the capital city of Malaysia. Death defying stunts were required to cross the main road, with hundreds of mopeds slaloming back and forth around imaginary posts, cars speeding along at 50mph, fumes bellowing from exhaust pipes - the threat of lung collapse looming with every passing motorist. The sun was actively trying to destroy my very being, sweat was pouring down my face and my shoulders were aching from the less-than-adequate backpack as I desperately tried to follow the directions written in my book. I failed obviously, as I always do with 'turn left turn right' instructions. I can never trust them. If they say "turn left after the carpark" and the road in question is a little alley I think maybe they mean the bigger road just up ahead so I inevitably get lost and end up asking for directions from a local, who in turn asks a local security guard. Shrugs aplenty, I say "thanks anyway" and ask a taxi driver just up the road. "Two roads over" he says, and then follows me a little way behind to make sure I was going the right way. "No! Through there!" he shouts as I murmur genuine appreciation at a taxi driver who should be cursing at the bloody foreigner and trying to get me in his car and take my money.
So I reached the hostel - tired, sweaty and hot - but relieved and most importantly, loving KL. 'Number Eight' is amazing as well. The mattresses and sheets are nigh on brand new, the dorms are some of the best I have ever seen in my life, and the general layout is great with vibrant colours, comfy furniture and friendly staff. After taking a cold power-shower and organising my laundry (RM10 for a full service wash) I walked up the road to a Indian restaurant and got a full spread of poppadoms, dhal, sauces, naan bread, tandoori chicken and rice for RM10 (1 pound 50). I stuffed myself to the brim and then went back to the hostel to chill out with my guitar, meeting two people from Wells - Sarah and Sam - in the process. That evening we just stayed in the hostel chatting and drinking Tiger beers so we could get a feel for the place.
Today I went for a little excursion into (yet another) Chinatown in the old part of KL. Spent some time checking out the main square in the stifling heat, and witnessed a much needed torrential downpour that cleared the air for at least 5 minutes afterwards. Back at the hostel now after another lovely Indian meal (can't get enough of them over here) and a couple of shishas. Kuala Lumpur just keeps growing on me. I love the manic traffic, the total disregard for personal saftey, the weird smells, the diversity. You always have to have your wits about you. Everything is go go go, but in a way that isn't uniform and boring like the cities back home - it's just pure craziness. My advice? Come here... It might be a bit of a culture shock at first, but it just gets better and better as each day comes and goes.
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