There’s a theory that states that the flap of a butterfly’s wings, in one location, can have an exponentially cumulative effect over time such that thousands of miles away, on the other side of the world, a tornado might occur. And so it is that a broken down catering lorry at Heathrow airport results in us arriving, thousands of miles away in Kuala Lumpur, without our luggage.
With brains asleep on Greenwich meantime, we somehow manage give the necessary information to the ‘Lost luggage’ office – a large room full of bagless people and peopleless bags – so that we might, at some point, be reunited with our clothes. We exit the airport and locate our driver, who immediately jumps down from his minivan to load our non-existent suitcases.
Our hotel is enormous, shiny and wonderfully comfortable. The concierge undertakes to communicate with the airport on our behalf and, feeling cocooned by smiles and reassurance, we take a lift to our room and a much needed shower. Here, as at the airport, the Malay staff are polite to a fault, the fault being, as we gradually discover, that they’re inclined to tell us what will make us happy. But we’re jet-lagged and more than ready to flop onto the vast softness of our extra-large king size bed. In no time, we’re asleep.
The afternoon, when we emerge, is overcast, warm and humid, just as it is, Adrian tells me, pretty much all the time. He was at school here until the age of ten, but KL is no longer the place of his childhood. With its massive, architecturally imaginative skyscrapers and busy freeways, it’s completely unrecognisable; a thoroughly 21st century city.
In this part of KL (and possibly all parts), people don’t move around at street level, something that is brought home to us by a polite and smiling security guard when we mistakenly try to reach our destination by sidewalk. The streets are for cars. Clearly. Pedestrians navigate the city either overhead or underground along miles of walkways that connect major landmarks, shops and parks.
We walk up, along, down, along and up again and arrive at the KL Convention Centre Park, complete with extensive paths, specimen trees, artificial lakes and huge dancing fountains. Oh, and it has the largest children’s playground I’ve ever seen. But the children aren’t playing here; there’ll all in the artificial lakes and I don’t blame them. I take off my unsuitable shoes and wade in to cool my feet. I’m looking forward to the arrival of my suitcase and my sandals.
But when, after a look at the Petronus twin towers that rear up behind the park – they still hold the record as the tallest twin buildings in the world – we return to our hotel, there’s still no sign of our cases. ‘By seven o’clock’, we’re told, ‘our apologies, m’am’, but it’s almost nine before we see them again. However, we’re not complaining. It’s good to have clean clothes to wear and we’re just happy to know that tomorrow, when we drive to the Cameron Highlands, our boot will be full of our luggage.
