Over the pre-Christmas weekend, I took a short break at Kuala Lumpur (KL) with two of my friends. It was a mistake, though a minor one, to travel in threes and I should have known better because to be left constantly out of the pack while the duo engaged in their bilateral conversations was a complete turn off. And ironically, traveling in threes wasn’t an uncommon arrangement; my past trips to Bangkok and Taiwan were also in threes. On a remotely related note, Benson must be filling himself with remorse whenever I brought this topic up.

I wanted to get out of town desperately, away from all the emotional stress that had been accumulating along the semester. The trip was finalized on such a late notice that we didn’t even have an itinerary. When the previous attempt to gather the right souls to Bangkok failed, Perry and I were determined this time round to see this trip materialized. So imagine the hurdles when we were close to confirming dates and coaches?  I felt like throwing in the towel when local media sensationalize recent coach accidents by flooding the evening news and when parents (not mine) object unanimously to our plans.

Still, there was a moment of relief accompanied by excitement when the accommodation was booked and coach tickets were purchased. We are finally ready to set off.

When you do things the last minute way, chances are, things wouldn’t turn out very much the way you hoped for. I was the only one from the trio that had ever set foot on KL, and I had the slightest idea of where we were when the bus driver mumbled some instructions in Malay to get off the coach.

Our immediate helpline was to reach Chee Han, our Malaysian friend whose original intent was to join us but he couldn’t fit his schedule in ours. There we were, stranded on foreign land, clueless to street signs and the asinine Malaysian transport infrastructure. It was getting late by the time we figured out where we were on the map. We headed straight to Pertaling Street – famous for bootlegged brands and labels.

On first look at the transport system flyer, one could be easily impressed, or at least for me — Nicely-colour coded lines with interchange-stations prominently bolded. Being there is a different story altogether. In order to get onto the LRT, one will have to exit from the railway station, take a 50-metre walk, purchase another set of tickets and board the LRT.

Problem was, I saw more Malaysian-commuters (or so they looked like) purchasing train tickets than tourists. They have a similar smart card system, but I haven’t seen anyone using them. On top of that, conversing with their customer service officers to get the tickets can be quite a pain.

I remember asking a female customer officer for directions, but was offered in return a plethora of  directions other than the one I was asking for. The Malay language was their first language for most of them. The Chinese there speak more Cantonese than Mandarin, and which dialect you converse in largely depends on the state you came from. In a nutshell, to understand and be understood can be a feat for the linguistically-challenged.

Quite an adventure on the first day. I couldn’t wait for the next.