Another day, another super-exciting place to visit in Kuala Lumpur! Well, perhaps super-exciting is going a bit far, but I did have my sights set on a place called the Bhatu Caves, which promised a gigantic golden statue, a giant staircase and, well, some caves.
It wasn’t too far from my hotel – about 12km – and I decided to take public transport. After all, it had worked in Honkers, and this place is almost as first-world as there, right?
Fucking WRONG.
The first part of journey was easy, and involved a 3km walk to the train station, which I undertook while munching on treats from the local bakery and sipping Mountain Dew. It gave me a great look at the city – I walked through nice parts of town, shit parts of town, across busy streets, past a river and through a series of underpass tunnels that were crawling with rats.
The train station was little more than a shed, but I was able to buy my ticket without fuss and was directed to the platform. Too easy. My train came, I jumped on, and it started rattling out towards the Caves. It was a weird train. It looked like one of the nice carriages I’d seen in Hong Kong and Singapore, but like most things in KL it was a case of them trying to make a Lamborhini when they only had the budget for a Kia, and ending up with some sort of bizarre Frankenstein’s monster. It rattled and rolled, the speaker system barely worked and it just felt cheap. It was also packed to the brim with scary-looking Indian blokes.
About 15 minutes in, I noticed that the stations we were stopping at were kinda sorta on the wrong line, and I was heading in the wrong direction, out into the wilds of KL. I jumped off at the next stop, at the delightfully-named Kepong. Kepong is a dump, with nothing but shacks and chickens. So I sat on the platform to wait for a train back to where I’d come from… and waited…. and waited. The sign above the track said the next train was 15 minutes away, then 45, then 17. It was at this point that I realised the Malaysian public transport system is even worse than Sydney’s.
Finally a train came, I scooted on with more smelly Indians, and I ended up back where I’d started. But with my extra experience, it would be easy to get the right train, yeah? I mean, there was a train with a sign in the window saying ‘Bhatu Caves’, an electronic sign above it saying ‘Bhatu Caves’ and the voiceover when I hopped on said it was going to Bhatu Caves.
Fifteen minutes later, I was back in Kepong. Nobody wants to go to Kepong, let along twice in one day. Determined to avoid another trip on the train system from hell, I managed to cross a sewer, go through a slum and find a couple of taxis by the side of the road.
The first taxi had a tall, thin middle eastern bloke in it who looked like Osama bin Laden. Hell, it probably was Osama bin Laden. Osama made no attempt to shake off my suspicions that he was one of the world’s most evil men, either,’cos he tried to rip me off by saying the caves were 25km away and he’d need a bucketload of dosh to take me there. I thanked him for being a cunt and moved onto the next taxi driver, who was more than happy to take me the 5km to my destination – and charge me one-sixth of what that terrorist-looking bastard had.
I finally made it to the Bhatu Caves and, yeah, the big golden statue was pretty cool. And, sure, there were heaps of steps and they were pretty steep. But after the effort I’d been through to get there, they would’ve had to have a fire-breathing dragon with big tits out the front to truly impress me.
I scoffed down a couple of packets of Mamee Monster Noodle Snacks (who would expect to find them in a place like that?) and took a stroll around at the base of the stairs, taking some photos before entering the caves. There were heaps of pigeons, and heaps of pigeon shit, but the highlight came when a monkey decided to get a bit fresh with one of the tourists. I was walking behind this middle-aged bird, snapping away, when this little monkey dude raced over to her. She looked hesitant but not too upset, until the monkey ducked under her skirt, reached up, grabbed her undies and yanked them down. Bloody hell, did she scream! Every eye in the place turned to her and watched in horror as this little bloke pulled down her beige granny undies, tore them off from around her legs and scampered off with them ON HIS HEAD.
Shit, if only it was so easy for me to get a lady’s knickers off.
He wasn’t the only sicko monkey in the place, though. I started climbing the near-vertical steps to the caves, more and more monkeys were climbing around and dancing and acting like arse clowns. Then I saw a cute little monkey, probably a baby, being stalked by a huge, ugly prick of a monkey that was easily three times its size. Oh shit, I was gunna see monkey-on-monkey rape!
But the little fella spun around, stepped to the right, circled the huge bully and started FUCKING HIM UP THE ARSE. The big monkey didn’t know what the shit was happening, and I just pissed myself and took a photo.
The top of the staircase provided a great view of the city, and opened up into a massive cave inside the mountain. I walked in, and the temperature immediately dropped. It was huge in there, like a cathedral carved out by God himself. The main cave led to another set of stairs, which took me to a smaller, yet no less impressive cave with an open roof that looked up towards the clear blue sky. It was all quite beautiful, really.
After an uneventful trip back to town and a meal of pork balls in Chinatown, I went back to the hotel for a swim (Monty sat in a corner, watching me and brooding, the whole time – then stuck his finger up at me when I left. What the fuck is that dude’s deal?) and then hit the piss. With a trip to the dry country of Brunei the next morning, I had to wipe out my remaining stock of alcohol, so I knocked back the rest of my vodka and headed out into the city for a decent meal and a few beers at a nice pub.
I found neither. In my drunken state I ended up at Dipak’s Indian Chow Down, gobbling a bowl of curry that looked like it had already been digested – twice – and another can of that jelly drink. I could feel the salmonella sliding down my throat with every bite, and every person in the place stared at me while I whoofed it down. Total cost of the meal? About $1.50, although it probably took five years off my life expectancy. As far as I was concerned, the countdown to shitting myself was on, so I went out into the night, keen for a beer.
I dodged the places with ladyboys out the front and went into a neon-lit joint that had the wrestling on the telly. No sooner had I received my overpriced beer than a gigantic, black, erm… woman, stomped up to me and pushed her monstrous boobzillas in my face. She outweighed me by a good 30kg and had me backed into a corner, so I had no choice but to talk to her.
Her name was Fantasy, she was from Tanzania and she ran a business management courses in KL. Yeah, sure. I told her I was Kevin from New Zealand and I was a professional Billy Ray Cyrus impersonator. As I’ve said before, the ladies love the Row-Row, but even I was shocked when she straight-up said she wanted to fuck me. Well, that’s not quite how she said it.
“How about we go back ta your digs and I wrap mah big black pussy around your delicious white cock?” she asked. I tried to watch the wrestling, but she wasn’t gunna give up.
“I’ll eat your arse. Suck your cock till your eyes pop out. Fuck yo’ white cock wit mah black asshole. Go on, feel mah titties, they yours, Kevin, they yours. You do what you want to them.”
She asked so nicely that I thought, what the fuck, and gave those bad boys a good squeeze. My hands have never looked so small – it was like a couple of little white spiders crawling around on the fucken Olgas. It was plenty of fun, but a stupid move, because it kinda sorta made her think that I actually wanted to take her back to her place and, erm, let her lick my arse.
She leaned in for a kiss and visions of the thousands of arses she’d eaten ran through my mind, and I stepped back just before she could get me. She reached out with a giant fist, and when she wrapped it around my arm it was like getting grabbed by King Kong.
“Give Mama Fantasy as kiss,” she growled, and leaned in. “I eat yo’ arse, I eat yo’ arse, give Mama Fantasy a kiss!” With nowhere to run, I was doomed… until someone called the thing’s name, and she turned around. This was my only chance! I dashed for the door and hid around the corner, and when Fantasy saw I’d done the bolt, she was ropable… for about three seconds, when she sidled up to a bloke in his late 60s and put her hand straight down his pants and started jerking him off. Damn, and I thought it was true love.
It was getting late and I had a big trip in the morning, so I decided to head home. The whole area was absolutely crawling with ladyboys, and I got my cocked grabbed by a tall Oriental with a mini skirt and an Adam’s apple. I was so appalled that I walked around the block and through the same patch, just to make sure it had really happened. And then I walked around the block and back through there again, just to be certain.
After an hour or so of getting free handies… uh, I mean being VIOLATED by ladyboys, I called it a night, and was ready to say buh bye to Kuala Lumpur.
I wrote this back in May, 2012, probably while waiting for a train in Kepong.
The Drunk and Jobless World Tour 