Last Day Drama

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Our flight out of KL would depart at 3:20 pm. Melody worked hard on the decision of where to spend our last night. Hotels near KL International Airport are expensive. Taxis from suburban hotels to the airport are expensive. We all wanted another full day and night in Singapore. An overnight train would cost us sleep and arrive too early. So she decided we would get up at 5 am, cross the border, catch the first bus to KL, then take the express airport train back south. It should work.

Please forgive the excruciating detail about this excruciating day. And the lack of photographic documentation ... we weren't in the mood.

We awoke, dressed, and packed on schedule. While I checked out, Melody found a cab to get us to the nearest metro station. Except the driver didn't speak English and thought she intended some other destination. We figured that out when we entered the freeway, headed who knows where. So after some small panic, we did get to a metro station. Turned out to be a bit of a shortcut after all. Fine.

We thought we knew which station to use for the border crossing to Jahor Bahru, but the PA on the metro said a different station. OK, whatever. We asked around and found the bus number. At the border we got instructions not to re-board the same bus, but to change buses to get to the main JB bus terminal, which succeeded.

By now it's about 8 am. Although we’ve missed the first bus, things are about on schedule. We should arrive in KL by noon to catch a little lunch then the airport train. We set about picking a bus, advised by a couple of bus sales guys who had glommed onto us. One advised us to change buses in Seremban. That made some sense because the KL airport is something like 40 km south of the city center, so going all the way into KL is out of the way. But that sounded more complicated, and what the hey, we have the extra time, right? So we boarded an "express" bus to KL, which left about 8:30 for a 3 hour tour. A 3 hour tour. I mean bus ride.

We lost a bit of confidence in our choice when, about a half hour into the trip, the bus seemed to get lost on side roads and actually had to stop, back up, and turn around. A little later we found ourselves in town traffic someplace and shortly at a bus station. What happened to the "express" part? Underway again, I asked the driver, are there any more stops? Just for lunch, he said. Hmm.

About 10:00 we stopped at the Malaysian equivalent of a truck stop, except for buses. Everyone got out and went inside, except Melody and Andrea. Benjamin found a hamburger, and I found a bowl of noodles with fish balls. Back out at the bus, the driver found me. There is a problem with the bus, he said. What is it, I asked. “Clang, clang.” He will help us find another bus to take us to KL. We need to get all our stuff off the bus now.

Hmm. I told Melody "Why just us? We'll get off when everybody else does." Sure enough, a little later the driver made an announcement in Malay and everyone started getting up. As promised, he whisked us (alone) to another bus. These Malaysians are trustworthy and straightforward. Soon we were underway again. Now it's 10:30. I asked the driver, how long to KL? He replied, "Three hours."

WHAT?? We've just lost 90 minutes. Our time cushion has vanished. KL, we have a problem, and three hours to fret over it. Benjamin worried out loud, if we missed the plane where would we get the hundreds of dollars to buy new tickets, and would any of it come out of his allowance?!? For the next hour Melody studied the guidebooks for details of how to get from the main bus station to the airport express train station. By cab and monorail, she concluded. But it might be tricky; KL has three separate intra-city trains with independent tracks and stations.

Central KL traffic is legendary, even at midday, one reason we had avoided it to this point on our trip. That’s probably why the bus driver decided to just let everybody out on the street rather than continue inching toward the bus station (was that it in the distance?). I primed the family to charge forward from our last-row seats, with all our stuff, at the first sign of any passenger arising, lest we have to wait for everybody else to get off. (Our first charge was premature and followed by a chagrined retreat.)

Once out on the street, Melody and I parked the kids on the sidewalk waded into the stationary traffic in opposite directions looking for a taxi. I found one first … but moments after a nicely dressed European couple. The man gave me a “better luck next time” smile as he opened the door. I launched into an appeal for them to relinquish the cab as an act of mercy to desperate children trying to get home. The woman (naturally) decided in our favor. I yelled to Melody that I had procured a cab, and we all piled in.

Unfortunately this cabby knew even less English than the one in Singapore 8 hours earlier. We tried to ask him how many minutes to several possible destinations. He would type a number into his calculator and show it to me. (We decided later he was giving us fares rather than times.) Nevermind, this traffic is horrendous, just take us to the nearest metro station! Is that one up there? OK, selemat tingal dude! We jumped out and raced past the stalled traffic to the station and up the steps.

The ticket lady smiled and assured us we could take her monorail to the airport express terminal. So we bought our tickets and waited. When the train arrived it was less like a regular city train and more like a little amusement park shuttle. Downtown KL rolled past the large windows. At some karmic risk, I hazarded a projection to the family: “I think we’re going to make it. I’m not sure, but I think so.”

Getting from the monorail and the airport train meant navigating a long maze of crowded terminal buildings, only guided every so often by small but promising signage. In time we arrived and bought train tickets. Good news: the train was boarding; bad news: Andrea decided to go to the bathroom. Melody retrieved her. It was 2:05.

This was advertised as a 25-minute express. If it performed as advertised, we would arrive at the airport - somewhere - exactly 50 minutes before scheduled departure from some other where. In between would be customs/immigration, check-in, and security, not to mention lunch. Just kidding.

The custom and security lines were mercifully short. On the other side we got into a shuttle to the terminal. “Kids,” I said, “this is our last train ride in Malaysia.” More karmic risk. Wait, where is the wallet I carry around my waist? Oh yeah, at the last minute I bunged it in one of those little white dishes at the X-ray machine. I forgot to get it on the other side. What was in it? My remaining 60 ringgits or so. We could live without that. Uh, also credit debit cards. For them, I have to risk taking the time to go back.

So getting off the train, they headed for the gait with instructions to hold the plane for me, by force if necessary. I got back on another train. Running to the checkpoint, I found two security people examining the contents of my wallet. They apologized for opening it; I thanked them profusely. (Malaysians are trustworthy and honest.) They wanted me to wait there for a supervisor to arrive, to confirm nothing missing. Sorry, I said, no can do. Instead I offered to wave and smile a thumbs-up to the rotating surveillance camera in the ceiling on its next pass. Oops, we missed it, wait for another circuit.

Run back to the shuttle, run to the gate. Ah, there they are, still comfortably seated with all the other passengers. Apparently boarding is running a few minutes late. I stop to take a picture of the family cheering my arrival. Time: 3:10.

Once comfortably seated, I told the children in fatherly-advice-mode: “If anyone ever asks you, is it possible to wake up in the morning in Singapore and travel overland to KLIA to catch a mid-afternoon flight, tell them yes, it is, but you don’t recommend it. Tell them to take a shuttle flight from Singapore to KL.”

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