Denial
- is in his mid 20's - is a taurus male(all you perverts can leave now) - always craves for good music - will never put up naked pictures of himself here(all you perverts who are still here can finally get lost now) - will realise his dream of travelling around the world - will own properties and one of which is a resort by a beautiful beach - hopes to strike 1st division lottery someday so that he can bum professionally - is currently brain dead and will continue some other timeFriday, May 13, 2005
Current track: Erasure - Don't say you love me
Current mood: Calm and collected
Had a weekend getaway a fortnight ago at the neighbouring country's capital, I'd posted more stunning night pictures of Petronas Towers and the roadtrip but my camera's hardware was fucked on the second day, leaving me utterly disappointed as I was looking forward to do up a great first travel blogging experience with images.
______________
Nevertheless, to kick it off, we took a 6.30pm first class Transtar coach that left me speechless throughout.
Get this: imagine a huge comfortable leather chair, control panel on my left that activates a multiple internal massage system, in front of me my very own LCD plasma screen that features a wide selection of video games and movies of different genres and languages. There was even an on-board attendant who served dinner and hot teh tarik later. I could sense people in other coaches looking at ours in God-awesome envy. After My boss's daughter and Van Helsing, we were at the border gantry of Kuala Lumpur.
We alighted at some brightly lit shopping centre and took a cab to the Renaissance. Looking at it overall, a five-star hotel like this didn't really impress me much, especially if a gay club called Cream was just two vehicles length away from the main entrance.
After dropping off the bags at the hotel room, I realised that its been quite a while since the last time I travelled, which was three years back to NZ. First thing I need to do is hook up with some exotic foreign babe and get her back to the room, I thought, then shook it off. My drifter fantasies are persistent but impotent.
______________
Two things I love: Waking up in a hotel, and their complimentary breakfast buffet, which means that I'm with little in the way of real responsibilities and having a chef do you up a personalised omelette is just the way to enjoy life la, huh. A bonus would be a butler whom I can slap.
I throw open the hotel shades and it’s Good Morning Kuala Lumpur. Strong sunlight and a refreshing panoramic view of the city with various skyscrapers seemingly trying to outstretch each other skywards but alas, the glorious Twin Towers sneering them all. Looking down on the city, you got the sensation you could push a button up here and make things explode down there.
By noon, we were at KLCC(which is the shopping centre at the foot of the Towers) hanging out which then I noticed there were not only gays at clubs alone, they're virtually everywhere, hanging out in groups like herds of cows all over the green. What's worst is that they have no dress sense; one middle-aged man was wearing a pink polo tee, a pink beret, greyish-white faded-out army-patterned berms and lousy slippers which you know you can get for less than twenty bucks at a night market back home.
My cousins(who were born and bred in Malacca) filled me in about the local scene and culture; things like the only people that work out here were gays, that locals were daring and readily confrontational especially those who had backing from their parents who had status and power, and how dangerous it would be if we were to take a cheap coach and arrive at the central bus station with addicts waiting to rob anyone to trade for dope.
______________
People at home drive with a sense of entitlement, people here drive with a sense of opportunism. I can't explain to you how different but it just is.
We commuted around in cabs for most despite our hotel being smacked right in the middle of town. And surprisingly, even though shopping centres and streets were much more packed than the city streets at home on the weekend, everywhere is much cleaner and better smelling than I expected.
Every restaurant/eating place we dined at, each meal filling up the entire table like Roman Emperor style. The food was generally great tasting such that we gorged like convicts just outta prison, also inclusive of the fact that it was much cheaper than our ridiculously over-priced foodcourts back home.
Drinking was on the itinery every night and even met some fellow countrymen while at it. Amongst them all, Bar Savana(which I think is associated with the Indochine group) ranks high with the oh-my-gorgeous babes and their mature crowd partying non-stop throughout the night. The pub-club BarFly left me the most impression with the DJ's technical ability and his selected tracks. But strangely though, alotta people there do not really know how to dance well, and you know what they say about people who can't dance for shit. *grin*
The rest of our time was spent chilling out at our cosy hotel lounge area called Mezzo playing pool and drinking. Either that, we just lazed in our rooms watching free cable, occasionally bothering the Concierge for our needs.(And I meant stuff like cigarettes for the cousins and getting their laundry done.)
One thing that disturbed me though. After clubbing hours on the Monday morning 3 am, there were gays flooding the clubs after the crowd made their way out, like there was somekinda private party going on in there or something. We tried probing and insisting on entering the clubs but some club personnel wouldn't let us in, even begging us not to when we abused our hotel guests status at Cream. Just WTF is going on in there? Mass orgy?
______________
The last day of my trip turned out to be not very different from the first; both were somewhat interesting experiences. I dozed off on the homeward bound coach and was shortly awaken to a moan from my eldest cousin. When I gave him a ridiculed look, I realised he was as pale as the moon. Instinctly it should be the chilli prawns he ate before the ride and left uncontrollable shit in his pants.
As you should already guessed, it was in liquid form. It got so bad that it dripped onto the floor and soon there were a few stinking yellowish streams flowing to the back of the bus. I felt very sorry for him and the people sitting behind us as we were sitting in the middle of the coach and there were no windows. I advanced to the driver and requested for a short interval at the nearest toilet stop. When the bus came to a still, every single passenger seated behind us while minding the disgusting streaks of man-waste juice, unbearably rushed down the vehicle to get some fresh oxygen.
Later at the customs he called a cab to fetch us from further embarrassment. It's not the first time something like this happened to him in my presence, which leave me and his brothers to wonder what else karma has installed for him after these, since he doesn't humble himself or stop making himself look good at the expense of people around him.
______________
Break's over and back to the real world. I shouldn't have gone on this trip but I really needed some time off, besides the fact that it was already planned a few months beforehand and also almost fully sponsored.
I’m an “Ends-Justify-The-Means” kind of guy, you see. I’m also a “Socks-Should-Match-The-Shoes-Not-The-Pants” kind of guy, but that’s another story my friend.
P/s: And if you still really don't know, it's such that they say people who can't dance, aren't good in bed either.
Current mood: Calm and collected
Had a weekend getaway a fortnight ago at the neighbouring country's capital, I'd posted more stunning night pictures of Petronas Towers and the roadtrip but my camera's hardware was fucked on the second day, leaving me utterly disappointed as I was looking forward to do up a great first travel blogging experience with images.
______________
Nevertheless, to kick it off, we took a 6.30pm first class Transtar coach that left me speechless throughout.
Get this: imagine a huge comfortable leather chair, control panel on my left that activates a multiple internal massage system, in front of me my very own LCD plasma screen that features a wide selection of video games and movies of different genres and languages. There was even an on-board attendant who served dinner and hot teh tarik later. I could sense people in other coaches looking at ours in God-awesome envy. After My boss's daughter and Van Helsing, we were at the border gantry of Kuala Lumpur.
We alighted at some brightly lit shopping centre and took a cab to the Renaissance. Looking at it overall, a five-star hotel like this didn't really impress me much, especially if a gay club called Cream was just two vehicles length away from the main entrance.
After dropping off the bags at the hotel room, I realised that its been quite a while since the last time I travelled, which was three years back to NZ. First thing I need to do is hook up with some exotic foreign babe and get her back to the room, I thought, then shook it off. My drifter fantasies are persistent but impotent.
______________
Two things I love: Waking up in a hotel, and their complimentary breakfast buffet, which means that I'm with little in the way of real responsibilities and having a chef do you up a personalised omelette is just the way to enjoy life la, huh. A bonus would be a butler whom I can slap.
I throw open the hotel shades and it’s Good Morning Kuala Lumpur. Strong sunlight and a refreshing panoramic view of the city with various skyscrapers seemingly trying to outstretch each other skywards but alas, the glorious Twin Towers sneering them all. Looking down on the city, you got the sensation you could push a button up here and make things explode down there.
By noon, we were at KLCC(which is the shopping centre at the foot of the Towers) hanging out which then I noticed there were not only gays at clubs alone, they're virtually everywhere, hanging out in groups like herds of cows all over the green. What's worst is that they have no dress sense; one middle-aged man was wearing a pink polo tee, a pink beret, greyish-white faded-out army-patterned berms and lousy slippers which you know you can get for less than twenty bucks at a night market back home.
My cousins(who were born and bred in Malacca) filled me in about the local scene and culture; things like the only people that work out here were gays, that locals were daring and readily confrontational especially those who had backing from their parents who had status and power, and how dangerous it would be if we were to take a cheap coach and arrive at the central bus station with addicts waiting to rob anyone to trade for dope.
______________
People at home drive with a sense of entitlement, people here drive with a sense of opportunism. I can't explain to you how different but it just is.
We commuted around in cabs for most despite our hotel being smacked right in the middle of town. And surprisingly, even though shopping centres and streets were much more packed than the city streets at home on the weekend, everywhere is much cleaner and better smelling than I expected.
Every restaurant/eating place we dined at, each meal filling up the entire table like Roman Emperor style. The food was generally great tasting such that we gorged like convicts just outta prison, also inclusive of the fact that it was much cheaper than our ridiculously over-priced foodcourts back home.
Drinking was on the itinery every night and even met some fellow countrymen while at it. Amongst them all, Bar Savana(which I think is associated with the Indochine group) ranks high with the oh-my-gorgeous babes and their mature crowd partying non-stop throughout the night. The pub-club BarFly left me the most impression with the DJ's technical ability and his selected tracks. But strangely though, alotta people there do not really know how to dance well, and you know what they say about people who can't dance for shit. *grin*
The rest of our time was spent chilling out at our cosy hotel lounge area called Mezzo playing pool and drinking. Either that, we just lazed in our rooms watching free cable, occasionally bothering the Concierge for our needs.(And I meant stuff like cigarettes for the cousins and getting their laundry done.)
One thing that disturbed me though. After clubbing hours on the Monday morning 3 am, there were gays flooding the clubs after the crowd made their way out, like there was somekinda private party going on in there or something. We tried probing and insisting on entering the clubs but some club personnel wouldn't let us in, even begging us not to when we abused our hotel guests status at Cream. Just WTF is going on in there? Mass orgy?
______________
The last day of my trip turned out to be not very different from the first; both were somewhat interesting experiences. I dozed off on the homeward bound coach and was shortly awaken to a moan from my eldest cousin. When I gave him a ridiculed look, I realised he was as pale as the moon. Instinctly it should be the chilli prawns he ate before the ride and left uncontrollable shit in his pants.
As you should already guessed, it was in liquid form. It got so bad that it dripped onto the floor and soon there were a few stinking yellowish streams flowing to the back of the bus. I felt very sorry for him and the people sitting behind us as we were sitting in the middle of the coach and there were no windows. I advanced to the driver and requested for a short interval at the nearest toilet stop. When the bus came to a still, every single passenger seated behind us while minding the disgusting streaks of man-waste juice, unbearably rushed down the vehicle to get some fresh oxygen.
Later at the customs he called a cab to fetch us from further embarrassment. It's not the first time something like this happened to him in my presence, which leave me and his brothers to wonder what else karma has installed for him after these, since he doesn't humble himself or stop making himself look good at the expense of people around him.
______________
Break's over and back to the real world. I shouldn't have gone on this trip but I really needed some time off, besides the fact that it was already planned a few months beforehand and also almost fully sponsored.
I’m an “Ends-Justify-The-Means” kind of guy, you see. I’m also a “Socks-Should-Match-The-Shoes-Not-The-Pants” kind of guy, but that’s another story my friend.
P/s: And if you still really don't know, it's such that they say people who can't dance, aren't good in bed either.
Archives
June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 June 2006
