There's an awful lot more to Malaysia than Kuala Lumpur's huge buildings
On the morning of Monday 24th November I hopped on the bus to Johor Bahru, across the Causeway, leaving Singapore behind.
Planning a trip through Malaysia isn't that easy: well, it's not when you're sitting in a penthouse suite in Singapore, TV and hi-fi within infra-red range, fridge bristling with beer, clothes drying on the line. Never before have I read a guidebook and been so utterly uninspired.
Take this description of the Perhentian Islands, a gorgeous spot off the east coast of Peninsular Malaysia: 'As far as things to "see and do" go, it's a simple case of lazing around watching the coconuts fall.' Aaargh! It's full of stuff like this, places that would have sounded great to me two years ago, and which sound simply terrible now. Have I lost the point?
Or the Cameron Highlands, one of the most popular backpacker spots in Malaysia: 'Jungle walks are the thing to do here...' Jungle! If I never see jungle again, I shan't be sorry1. From my scouring of the book, Peninsula Malaysia has nothing I want to see, and eastern Malaysia is still full of bloody smoke from Kalimantan. Shit.
So do I skip a whole country because it sounds boring? Of course not, but I won't hang around if it turns out to be as crap as it sounds. The man in the Singaporean park said Malaysia was pretty much exactly the same as Indonesia: if that's the case, I'll go through Malaysia faster than a Bali burger goes through an Englishman.
Something else bugs me, too. I look ahead, and whatever my plans, I feel apathy. Travelling – at least at the moment – has lost its sparkle: it started halfway through Indonesia, and hasn't evaporated like most chemical depressions. So what the hell happened? I think it's this: I now know I can cope with anything, go anywhere, explore any park, survive in forest, desert, ocean, mountain, river, cope with cultural challenges, language barriers, health problems, sourcing money... what else is left?
The housebound of you will answer, 'The travelling is left; now you've got an experience where you don't have to worry about the logistics, 'cos you know you'll cope. Just go out and enjoy the experience!' So why do I keep thinking that I can't be bothered, that it's all a little bit too much effort to go and see Malaysia, Thailand and so on? Not for the first time in my life I'm at a total loss: my lifestyle for the last two years is becoming normal, everyday, almost mundane. It's no longer a challenge, and this is exactly why I left my job in the first place. Am I destined to have to screw up my life every two years just to keep the variety intact? I bloody hope not...
One thing that does keep me going is reading other travelogues, though. For example, I spent some of my Singapore trip reading Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent, one of the few books in this world that actually makes me laugh out loud (the other being Terry Pratchett's Mort). When I read book reviews that contain lines like 'tears ran down my face' I normally squirm at the blatant lie, but seriously, I laughed out loud at The Lost Continent. Buy it. It's a hoot.
(The above was written on the way into Malaysia. I ended up loving Malaysia to bits, of course...)
1 I wrote this paragraph before deciding to spend a week in the central jungle of Peninsula Malaysia. Funnily enough, after that week I vowed never to go on a rainforest trek again: the lack of views, the hard going and the astounding selection of creepy-crawlies is enough to wear down any resolve. I also remember making the same comment after leaving Fiordland, and Hinchinbrook and Fraser Island all came complete with rainforest... and, of course, I'd end up in the forest again in the future. I obviously don't listen to myself a great deal.
