It all started so well. Canberra was sparklingly clear on a beautiful Tuesday morning and one last Aussie coffee and Eggs Benedict with Lauren sent me on my way. Cutting through the Great Dividing Range the bus reached Sydney airport in three hours and I checked in with ease and time to spare for a Bondi Burger. The flight departed Sydney, taking some five hours to leave Australia beneath us, before hopping across the sea to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
I’ve never set foot in Asia before (excepting airport terminal buildings which don’t count), and I hadn’t intended to this time but a “technical problem” hit the onward flight to London, which first got delayed two hours then a further twelve! What ensued was the stuff of TV reality airport shows – loud Brits in their “this is not acceptable” tone, backpackers crumpling into a mass of blankets and bags on the seats and Aussies turning up pissed wanting to know “where’s the bloody plane gone?!”. It took some three hours or so to then get from the airport into the sultry night air and a hotel…not any hotel but the Palace of Golden Horses, an exquisitely adorned, oh-so-slightly over the top huddle of towers and fountains on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. It was 4am local time Wednesday and 24 hours since I left Canberra.
Three hours sleep later and the cars and trains were whizzing to a day of economic productivity in KL, making any further sleep challenging. I took the opportunity to wander around the hotel, first taking in the views from my room. Hazily in the distance were the twin Petronas Towers.
I’ve never set foot in Asia before (excepting airport terminal buildings which don’t count), and I hadn’t intended to this time but a “technical problem” hit the onward flight to London, which first got delayed two hours then a further twelve! What ensued was the stuff of TV reality airport shows – loud Brits in their “this is not acceptable” tone, backpackers crumpling into a mass of blankets and bags on the seats and Aussies turning up pissed wanting to know “where’s the bloody plane gone?!”. It took some three hours or so to then get from the airport into the sultry night air and a hotel…not any hotel but the Palace of Golden Horses, an exquisitely adorned, oh-so-slightly over the top huddle of towers and fountains on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. It was 4am local time Wednesday and 24 hours since I left Canberra.
Three hours sleep later and the cars and trains were whizzing to a day of economic productivity in KL, making any further sleep challenging. I took the opportunity to wander around the hotel, first taking in the views from my room. Hazily in the distance were the twin Petronas Towers.
I then went for some breakfast and an exploration of the quite sizeable hotel, resplendent with golden domes and mock waterfalls and big lush green plants. I think a few other guests were doing the same, taking pictures by some golden horse or other.
A much more organised return to the airport followed shortly after, including provision of free food and shopping vouchers (hot noodles, ouch!). Finally, some 15 hours later than planned flight MH002 departed for London. The good news was I had 3 seats to myself and could try my hand at chess over India, doze off during Afghanistan and try watching Back to The Future three times without falling asleep! It was late evening Wednesday when the plane reached London and the city was aglow on the approach from Canary wharf along the Thames to Heathrow, where we sat a further half an hour waiting for a parking spot.
Heathrow was as tumultuous as ever and not a good place to be after little sleep and too much time crammed into an aluminium tube. Speaking of tubes, it was with joy that I revisited the Piccadilly and Northern Lines and, I have to say, they were flawless!! The best transport experience I had for this long trip was on the underground, and I can’t believe I’m saying that…it’ll get its revenge on me again soon I have no doubt. The tube dropped me off at West Finchley where I had an unscheduled six hour stopover and managed to grab 5 hours kip at my friends Melita & Geoff’s flat. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but it didn’t seem at all strange to be on the underground or back in Finchley, like I’d never been away.
Day three and some 55 hours into the journey and it was back to Heathrow on the faultless underground to catch the short flight to Alicante in Spain. Thanks to Mr B. Laden and associates this was hardly a tranquil and calming experience but I managed to board the flight along with numerous families and loud people going on stag dos. Have I mentioned how sick I was of airports and aeroplanes at this stage? Thankfully it was only a couple of hours and we touched down in Alicante, where I was met by Mum and Dad who were holding a thankfully modest sized “Welcome to Spain…at last” sign. We travelled half an hour west of Alicante, along pink flamingo dotted salt lakes flanked by dry and barren mountains to their gorgeous little holiday home, checking in at about 3pm local time. I made that, from door to door, 62 hours to get to my destination. Who said it was a small world?
Heathrow was as tumultuous as ever and not a good place to be after little sleep and too much time crammed into an aluminium tube. Speaking of tubes, it was with joy that I revisited the Piccadilly and Northern Lines and, I have to say, they were flawless!! The best transport experience I had for this long trip was on the underground, and I can’t believe I’m saying that…it’ll get its revenge on me again soon I have no doubt. The tube dropped me off at West Finchley where I had an unscheduled six hour stopover and managed to grab 5 hours kip at my friends Melita & Geoff’s flat. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but it didn’t seem at all strange to be on the underground or back in Finchley, like I’d never been away.
Day three and some 55 hours into the journey and it was back to Heathrow on the faultless underground to catch the short flight to Alicante in Spain. Thanks to Mr B. Laden and associates this was hardly a tranquil and calming experience but I managed to board the flight along with numerous families and loud people going on stag dos. Have I mentioned how sick I was of airports and aeroplanes at this stage? Thankfully it was only a couple of hours and we touched down in Alicante, where I was met by Mum and Dad who were holding a thankfully modest sized “Welcome to Spain…at last” sign. We travelled half an hour west of Alicante, along pink flamingo dotted salt lakes flanked by dry and barren mountains to their gorgeous little holiday home, checking in at about 3pm local time. I made that, from door to door, 62 hours to get to my destination. Who said it was a small world?
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