The darker side of traveling

So it's been a rough couple of days.

I'm currently holed-up in a hotel in Kuala Lumpur, nursing a few bruises and lumps... pondering the fate of my little tiki-tour of South-East Asia.

This city certainly hasn't made me feel welcome... and I think that could also be said for the rest of the country.

But let me go back a few steps...

The bus trip up to Georgetown, Pulau-Penang was relatively smooth. I managed to make friends with the bus driver, which proved useful for tidbits of information and a kind observer during the JB Customs experience into Malaysia.

After a nervous chat, deciphering broken english and warped Singaporean, I got on and we were ready to roll. There were two drivers, who would share what I thought was an eleven hour trip, starting at 9pm, Singapore time.

As we busted out on to the main street, causing a barrage of horns and screams from on-coming traffic, the driver reached up to the TV and pressed play.

I sunk into my chair and laughed nervously as I watched the opening credits for the movie 'Doomsday' - a gritty Zombie movie set in a time where the world is battling an horrific Ebola-type virus - where only one elite team of para-military commandos can rescue and preserve the Doctor who has the cure.

Focus on the Zombie.... and Military.... and.... Blood, guts, violence....

I was kind of shocked (but thought it was kind of funny) that the driver decided to put this on... I looked back at the rows of -very- muslim and Hindi families covering their (and their childrens) eyes and ears as regular bursts of blood and internal organs flew from Zombie and 'rescuer' alike....

Fun times!

So we rolled through the 8 lane highway that leads up to Johar Baru and into the swamp-pit called 'Malaysia' that I would begin to loathe.

I remember being so cold in that bus. I thought I had 'dressed for the occasion' and bought a light-fleece, just in case. Man, I should have also packed my jeans, ski-jacket and beanie.

I slept most of the way, dozing in and out, waking to the bright light towers that served the causeway as we wound our way up through Melaka, KL, Ipoh and Butterworth, eventually (and finally) stopping in Penang.

Except, I wasn't dropped off where I was supposed to be. I was some 25 minutes drive from the station in Penang. And to make matters worse (well, some would say for the better), the bus had made some good time and was 2 hours early. Making it 6am. In a city that was making me increasingly uncomfortable by the second.
But I pushed on through the feeling, as I knew I was tired and justed needed to get past the clutter, rubbish and filth that lay spewed across the streets, underneath the decaying buildings that sat decreptly and dilapitated above it.
I was instantly approached by a taxi driver husking 'foreigner, foreigner' and pointing to his beat-up, rusted 1982 Toyota Corolla. I quickly glanced at the bus driver who said 'good taxi, good taxi' and so I began the haggle over price.
Eventually we agreed on some 25 Ringgit to take me to the backpackers that I'd selected from my trusty guide. (thanks Tim and Fay!)

I loaded up and we sped off into the lonesome night.

My following thoughts went along the lines of 'The place is a fucking hole.' Excuse my language but I really have no other way to descibe it.

We weaved across town on the highway, at times selecting 2 lanes at a time. Bah! Why have 1, when you can have 2! Good thing there was no traffic.

OK, so I eventually got to the backpackers - 100 Cintra Street - 75 Travellers Lodge. The street was even worse than where I was dropped off, scaring rats and roaches alike as I grabbed my bags and wandered into my accommodation.

It was pitch-black and whispered 'Hello?'..... Nothing. 'Uhm.... Hello, is anybody there?' I said louder.
Someone stirred and walked out from the dark and switched on a light. This someone, an aged man beyond his years, struggled to stand upright and squinted at me, looking surprised.
'I know it's early, but do you have a room available?'
'Thi int no Hilton, y'know?' he garbled, in a tired slur.
.............Yeah, really?
'That's fine - Single dorm available? Can I have a look please?'

He then led me up a flight of wide stairs and into a dark hallway which housed roller doors with massive security locks, that look like they were built for the ultra-paranoid ('excellent', I thought, that's me!)
A plan 3x4 room, mosquito net, thin mattress, pillow and fan. 'Excellent', I thought again. A fan. That means power.
'Looks fantastic. Is it quiet?' I spoke in pretty slow, almost patronising English.
'Tah be honest, discoteque run all hours, over street, just being honest... some times run till 5 in morning'
Caring. I've withstood festivals of the 'doof-doof' and lived with muppet flatmates who have no sense of volume in places with cardboard walls...
'Done - how much?'
'25 Ringgit. Need details. Come downstairs'
I appreciated his honesty so was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I filled in the details and intoruced myself. The man introduced himself as 'Kenny' but he said that everyone called him 'Boss.'
Oooook, boss!
It took me a while to get to sleep - it was getting light and my mind was racing. What I was thinking about, I can't remember, but I chucked on my ipod, listened to some Hybrid, finished off some sweet buns that I picked up from a roadside food and rest-stop on the way up and slowly drifted to sleep.

I woke at about 11 to the blaring heat and took a shower. I was expecting a bucket and ladle but I was impressed, hot water!
I wandered around, checked my emails (the place also had free wifi - score!) and had a chat to 'Boss'.
It was an interesting conversation. I asked about the 'discoteque' that he mentioned earlier and he said it was run by the local gangs, for locals only. Turns out Penang is somewhat of a criminal haven for drugs, prostitution and arms, as it's on the coast and gets very little ocean patrolling.
Awesome. Why the hell am I here again?
Anyway, we continued chatting and I finally decided to venture out into the world.
Lots of markets, criss-crossed streets, street vendors, searing heat, unhappy people and LOTS and lots of motorbikes. Like, bazillions. And yes, that is a word. I said it, so it must be.
I ended up heading in the direction of the 'tourist info' shop, which was few km's away to the East. I battled traffic (as there are no sidewalks in Penang) and almost got hit by cars and trucks on the other side of the road. I picked up a few maps, asked about getting out and the ferry across to Pulau Langkawi - which is supposed to be 'idyllic'.

Hmmmm.

This was where things get a bit blurry. And painful.
I had gone back to the backpackers to get my bag as I wasn't sure how long I was going to be out and I wanted to venture a bit beyond the centre of Georgetown, as it really was a filth-fest.
Sometime later, early evening, I was walking through a market and reached the opposite end of where I came in. A Chinese guy, who looked in his late twenties, started talking to me.
'Where you from?'
'I'm from New Zealand' I said smiling.
'I like your bag' as he pointed to my bag.
'Uhh. Thanks.' I started to walk away and he reached out to grab the strap over my shoulders.
'Buddy, please don't' as I grabbed his hand as it was reaching and trying to pull it off my shoulder.
At this point I thought something was wrong. My 'fight or flight' kicked in, as did my adrenaline and my heart-rate and I started to gauge my next move. Lots of people, check. Exits - check - ahead of me, 20 metres ahead, passed large stall selling t-shirts, about 10 metres to my left. A busy road ahead of me though, so I'll take the left if I have to.
The guy got increasingly more aggressive and managed to pull the strap off my shoulder down my arm.
'HEY, PLEASE DON'T DO THAT' I yelled.
I started to back up and turn around and bumped into another guy behind me. The guy in front of me was trying to get into my bag now, so I swung round, yelled 'HELP...HEY, HELP' at the top of my lungs, then felt a crack against the back of my neck and head. My knees then buckled as I was kicked in the back of my calf.
At this point I was flailing my arms and got really angry. I attempted to fight back but failed and took a couple of blows on the ground. I tried to get up and run but, yeah, failed.
I remember looking up at the sky, then across the market and wondering WHY, THE, HELL, ISN'T, ANYONE, HELPING, ME?

Next thing I remember is coming to in a 4 feet deep street-ditch on the side of the road, wet, bag on top of me, some...maybe 40 metres from where I originally was.
I crawled out and somehow managed to get back to the backpackers. I don't remember the walk back. I think it was, maybe 10 or 15 minutes after the event actually happened.
Unfortunately Boss wasn't any help and proceeded to ask me if I was staying another night.
'Hell, no' I whimpered, as I was trying to flick through my guide-book for details on a police station, or some damn place that I could try and feel safe.
'Good, can't offer 1 more night, sorry, we shut'
'Fine. I'll be gone in the morning.'
I then trudged up the stairs and showered and rinsed my stinking clothes from the sewage-mess that I woke up in.
Didn't sleep much that night. Don't think I would have, even if I hadn't been assaulted. The 'doof-doof' from the 'discoteque' a few roads over kept me awake. The deep rolling (and insanely fast - like - 180BPM) bass managed to pierce through my ear plugs.
I got up at about 8 after dozing for an hour or so, then packed my bag and ventured out.
I got out on to the street and about 30 metres down the road my heart sunk and 'fight or flight' kicked in again as I saw the two guys who attacked me the night before.
I ran towards the bus station (well, more like waddled, with my pack and strap-ripped bag) but unfortunately they got another round in before they got scared. Or something.
I made it to the bus station and tried SO hard to communicate with the girl that I needed a ticket NOW. She failed to understand me and had to bring someone off the street to help translate.

I eventually got on a bus and made my way back down to KL, where I am now.
I'm still in a large portion of shock, and bruised ego.
I've arranged for a flight to Muscat, Oman, tonight (after arranging one last night and missing it... god, I hope I don't have delayed concussion!) where I will reassess and recoup for a while.

Where my travels will take me next, I'm not sure. But, I my passport, my stuff and I'm alive.

More updates soon.