Living in Shopping Malls

It has been a week focused on Kuala Lumpur. I have walked the inner city into the ground and asked myself the same questions again and again. Could I imagine staying here for a longer period? Kuala Lumpur’s answer is: Then you had better like shopping malls.

In California, they hide large oil pumps inside buildings in the middle of cities. In Kuala Lumpur, they hide shopping malls. Every place I have visited that looks even slightly interesting turns out to be a shopping mall in disguise. A shopping mall or a bank. Sometimes both. It is a city built by wealthy corporations. I think I walked through at least five malls in two or three days. They were packed with people. The food courts were full, and even shops that you would expect to be completely empty back home regularly had customers. They were not simply places people went to buy things. They seemed to be some of the city’s actual living spaces.

On one of my first days, I just wanted some fast food. I had been walking all day, so I searched for and found a nearby McDonald’s. The route took me through Jalan Alor, Kuala Lumpur’s main food street. There were three or four hundred metres of vendors, lights, noise, crowds and cheap food, all fighting against my very simple decision to get a burger. I came out the other side mentally exhausted.

I arrived at McDonald’s, and it was packed. As much as I needed the comfort of fast food, I also needed some peace and quiet, and I nearly gave up on eating altogether. So I continued towards a Burger King that was not too far away.

Burger King was in Pavilion.

I had not understood just how large Pavilion was. I spent around twenty minutes trying to work out which floor Burger King was on and which floor I was on. When I finally found it and reached the counter, I was told that I could only order a Whopper Meal. None of their other burgers. Fine. Anything to bring the day to an end. I sat down and felt the exhaustion wash over me. The staff were closing the place, and from the kitchen I could hear someone singing “I’m Lovin’ It”.

It was late when I left the Pavilion food court. But the city was still running at full speed.

Kuala Lumpur on Foot

Kuala Lumpur on foot is a mixed experience. In some areas, you can walk on broad pavements with plenty of space and few, if any, obstructions. But only as long as you remain inside those areas. A large, integrated motorway network divides the city into small islands. As a pedestrian, moving from one island to another can feel like risking your life, because the only apparent option is to cross the motorways themselves. And they are both wide and busy.

I have not yet attempted a motorway crossing. One day, I had picked out a park I wanted to visit. When I reached the area, I realised that getting into the park would require crossing a major motorway junction. After walking up and down the road looking for a bridge or underpass, I had to conclude that none existed. By then, I was also lost and standing in what looked like a service entrance to a large complex. There was a steady flow of pedestrians, so I simply followed the crowd to see where it would take me. Suddenly, I was standing in a shopping mall.

Shopping mall is not entirely accurate. I had ended up at TRX. It is an enormous complex with several skyscrapers and an elevated park linking the buildings, with views across large parts of the city. There is even a police station up inside the complex. It feels extremely luxurious and well maintained, but also slightly like its own closed-off territory. A city within the city. That is one thing I am still trying to understand about Kuala Lumpur: the districts are so different that each one feels a little like its own city. You do not spend an afternoon “seeing TRX”. You spend an afternoon working out how to get in, where the exit is and why there is a police station sitting in the middle of a garden on top of a shopping mall.

Goodbye to the Rats

I moved from Bukit Bintang to Chinatown halfway through the week. I had already booked the new hostel, Mingles, but the final morning at the old hostel confirmed that it was a good time to move on. When I went out to brush my teeth, I saw a rat in the communal area. It crawled under a door beside the locked staff toilet. There were also rat droppings on the floor.

I have a fairly high tolerance for slightly run-down hostels. The old place was extremely central and actually quite cheap for Bukit Bintang. But rats are not ideal. One rat is all it takes to end up with a ruined backpack and a very bad day.

Mingles started better. It had a rooftop terrace, communal areas, an attached café space and a proper towel at no extra charge. Small things make a surprising difference. I could use my own coffee, get hot water and sit in a communal space where people actually started talking to one another.

The hostel did, however, have its own peculiarities. One night, a physical alarm clock went off at six in the morning. Not a phone alarm, but an actual alarm clock. It rang for several minutes before I got up, found the bed and woke the man who owned it. Five minutes later, it went off again.

At my own bed, right beside the door, I had a different problem. Whenever the door closed, it slammed so hard that the whole room almost jumped.

So I made small balls of toilet paper and placed them in the frame where the door and frame struck each other. Not enough to stop the door from closing, just enough to soften the impact.

It made a world of difference.

I have no plans to walk around improving hostels as an unpaid operations consultant. But when I am already sleeping beside the door and being woken by it, I am willing to put a little toilet paper in the frame.

Waterfalls

One morning, there was a sign-up sheet at reception for a trip to some waterfalls and Batu Caves. The picture showed people swimming beneath a waterfall. Appealing, and I had not yet been outside Kuala Lumpur. It simply said that you could add your name to the list, so I did.

We met outside the hostel. There were twelve of us going. We split between taxis and travelled out to the waterfall area, only twenty-five or thirty minutes away. When we got out, we were standing in a small car park at the edge of a large jungle. Apart from a couple of stalls selling food and drinks, there were only a few signs pointing us into the undergrowth.

As we started walking, I thought to myself that I had packed far too much. A towel, swimming trunks, electronics and everything else. Most of the others had a plastic bag and flip-flops. I had a daypack and trainers.

It turned out that this was less a trip to see a waterfall and more a hike up a mountainside to see eight of them, in roughly thirty-degree heat and extreme humidity. Although I was happy with my choice of footwear, the backpack setup was less than ideal. But at least I knew where my laptop was.

We began on concrete steps, but after the first four waterfalls, the trail turned into gravel and rocks. Between the seventh and eighth waterfalls, we were told that we would need to climb using ropes in a couple of places. I replied that I would simply wait for the others at the seventh waterfall.

While I waited, I watched the monkeys. They were everywhere. They kept to themselves and only approached items that people had left beside the pools.

The others came back down from the eighth waterfall, and we walked down to the fourth, where it was almost time to leave. The entire group was ready to cool off in the water. The waterfall there emptied into a larger pool and seemed to be the most popular place for swimming. There were quite a few people around, but only a small number of us were Westerners.

After sweating in the jungle, the cool water was refreshing. We spent about half an hour in the pool. A couple of boys discovered that they could climb up the side of the hill and slide down the wet rocks into the pool. It quickly turned the place into a small natural water park. While everyone else was having fun sliding over the rocks, I kept my neck deep in the cool water and enjoyed a quiet break.

After having fun at the waterfalls and dealing with a couple of curious monkeys that had started investigating the group’s abandoned nets and bags, we headed back down the mountain. The group split up, with some continuing towards the sacred caves. I returned to the hostel. It was good to know that there were also things to experience not far outside Kuala Lumpur for when the city became a little too much.

An Evening at the Pub

I generally do not drink very much alcohol, especially not alone. But one evening, I saw a pub and thought that a draught beer and a little pub atmosphere were exactly what I needed. I sat down, ordered a beer and looked around. I was early. It was only me and the staff. I made some small talk with the waitress and asked about the evening’s programme. Apparently, there would be live music with guest singers.

I had just reached a state of relaxation when I heard a woman at the entrance say that she had come to sing and ask when she could start. She was politely told that the music would not begin until later. She then positioned herself by the stage and started loudly singing over the speakers, which were playing “Hotel California”. She made eye contact with me and interpreted it as an invitation to begin a conversation.

She introduced herself as a PhD student in quantum physics, a business owner and a life coach. When I asked about her business, she pulled out her iPad and showed me her website, which used horoscopes and quantum worlds to explain how people could manifest the reality they wanted. The next thirty to sixty minutes were spent discussing spirituality, chakras, relationships, energy, romantic partnerships, sex and what men and women ought to do. I mostly tried to translate her spiritual language into something I could recognise.

After a long conversation about everything under the sun, she remembered that she had come there to sing. I took the opportunity to pay for my beer and position myself accordingly: I am leaving now. Let us say goodbye.

Onwards to George Town

My original plan for Kuala Lumpur had been to stay for three or four weeks. The city is not bad. I could walk around, see all kinds of things and find new shopping malls, libraries, parks and café areas. I did not, however, find a place to linger that spoke to me. And after more than a week, I felt the need for a change.

So I continued to George Town, where my American friend Andy is currently volunteering at a hostel. Standing at the bus terminal, something clicked for me. My experience of Kuala Lumpur had felt a lot like being in a transit zone. Come and experience the spectacle, but there is not much reason to stay and hang around. So I am curious to see what George Town has to offer.

Want to support the journey? Read more here.