Next bus to anywhere

The moment was right, the way you feel in baseball just before you swing. I was finished with my business in Kuala Lumpur, and my flight home was a week away — it was time to see something new.

Kuala Lumpur is a big place that looks like the shinier parts of every modern city in the world, with a sleek commuter rail system, and fast trains, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, none of which interest me when abroad. It’s hard to feel like I’m having an adventure while drinking a root beer from an A&W like the one back home.

So I strapped my world to my back and walked to a commuter rail station, looking woefully out of place among businessmen and students. No matter. Soon I would be at KL Sentral, the main transit station where I could escape to somewhere I felt more at home. I had no idea where that could be, and it didn’t matter — that feeling would return and tell me, as it guides everyone who trusts their instincts.

KL Sentral is the place to catch the KLIA Express train out to the airport, trains to Singapore or Thailand, buses to the interior and everything else. It’s where the adventure starts, with a feeling like being in one of the wings of Grand Central Station in New York City — people hurrying everywhere, fast-food counters in the walls and giant flickering displays with arrivals and departures.

All of the commuter rail lines connect to KL Sentral, either directly or by linking to another line. I arrived easily. Without a cellphone, without the internet, without a plan, there was nowhere I needed to be and no way to reach me with other people’s problems — and no way to ruin the adventure with over-planning. It took me years to discover this freedom, and to realize how simple it is for anyone to step into the madding hordes and disappear and know, truly know, that wherever you end up things will be just fine.

The big, expensive international flights take off from KLIA — that’s where my Malaysian Airlines flights come in, but I couldn’t afford any other flights out of that terminal. An hour away by taxi or bus is the Low Cost Carrier Terminal, where Air Asia will sell you a ticket on the spot for any plane that leaves more than twenty minutes later. Other budget airlines pull up to those gates as well, and when you buy a ticket, you buy whatever seat you reach in the rush to fill the plane. They let you out onto the tarmac and point you to the plane. There are usually two ladders up into the fuselage and a great rush of people with oversized carry-on bags all trying to make it inside first to get the best seats.

Then they’re off to Johor Bharu, Kota Kinabalu, Manila, Chiang Mai — all these exotic-sounding places, in Malaysia or countries where you get a visa upon arrival either free or very, very cheap. I could go there and pick a plane, put my money down and let come what may. Anyone could, any time of day, and worry about the rest when you land.

But I wanted a bus, for some reason I didn’t question. The best station for long-distance buses is three stops away, taking the green line to the gold line and stopping at Plaza Rakyat, on the edge of China Town. I could walk or grab a taxi, but following that old impulse, I got back on the commuter train and made it there in just a few minutes. With some mini-bananas and a dragon fruit from a hawker near the train stop, I hoofed it over to the bus station and looked in awe at the people, stalls, noise, lights, and touts. Everyone was selling something, either tickets or taxis or chopped fruit in a bag. It was exactly the kind of chaos that blissfully overwhelms me, such that in having entirely too much to take in, I shut it all out and focused on the simple task of walking and reading the signs.

There are destinations all around Malaysia, like the Cameron Highlands and their tea plantations, or Penang with their restored British fortress where tourists play paintball. For most of the cities, I had no idea what to expect — so I looked at the departure times, searching for the next bus to anywhere.

It was Melaka, a name that sounded right in my mind. The ticket spelled it differently — Malacca — from the sign, which was itself a different spelling — Malaka — than I saw on the bus placard. Phonetics are important for white guys in Asia.

I paid about three bucks US, threw my bag under the bus, and rode off.

When you take the next bus, or train, or plane to anywhere, you don’t worry about accommodation or ruin the adventure with over-planning. It took me years to discover this freedom. You can sort it out at the other end — if you don’t have a guidebook, you walk a few blocks from the station and hail a cab. The touts that wait for travelers like me are usually rip-off artists, but the regular cabbies you hail out of traffic a few streets over are the kind of folks I don’t mind trusting. I got a ride, and simply said “cheap hotel”. He asked me where, and gave me an introduction to Melaka — the Indian district, China Town, the old Dutch city center — so many choices.

It was the perfect way to start an adventure.

A penny for your thoughts? Please comment.

1. 
   TripIndia Says:
   

   I have heard a lot about Kuala Lumpur. Your article is impressive and informative. I think, I should make a tour there.

   February 2nd, 2010 at 10:47 pm
2. 
   Ariel Says:
   

   Hm, Very similar stories are heard all through the wondrous south east of Asia. So many choices, the good, the bad, the ugly. I never tire of reading of peoples adventures when in the colorful and unpredictable world of Asia. Its people are colorful and never dull. A smile receives a smile. There are many scammers, as with other countries, yet in Asia it is overt and we feel it is unusual when in fact this type of business is conducted world over. The lesson is to be aware and do not fight for something that is not worth fighting for.

   July 1st, 2010 at 12:11 am

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