Touch Down Kuala Lumpur

This is the second time I'm typing this entry due to the rubbish computers here. It completely froze on me, I had copied it just in case but it needed a complete reboot. I had just finished typing about 10 paragraphs so I'm slightly disgruntled right now.

Anyhow, I checked out of the "Down Town Guest House" (Well I actually just handed the keys back) and boarded a pickup taxi. The taxi driver was the guest house owner's brother and didn't speak a word of English. I attempted to confirm with him exactly where we were going, but he just laughed. I laughed back, and here the conversation ended until we reached the airport where I (attempted to) said my thanks in Thai and paid him.

As I reached the door way of the airport instead of a warm friendly greeting such as "Welcome To Phuket Airport" I'm confronted by a message saying "Don't become an unsuspecting drugs mule, it could end your life.

Get your baggage shrink wrapped.". Charming I think, as I stroll through the electric doors towards a baggage scanner and metal detector.

After coming to Phuket via the Full Moon Party renowned in the past for its drugs and party scene I thought it was wise just to repack all of my rucksack before departing Thailand. Thankfully there was nothing dangerous or incriminating in my luggage so I found a trolley and dumped my bag and guitar on board.

My rucksack's outer cover has seen better days, with holes appearing around the zips so I decided for some strange reason it'd be quite amusing to get the rucksack shrink wrapped. Plus I had a few hundred Baht burning a hole in my pocket that I needed to spend before leaving. I also had a couple of large heavy diving books swinging freely around in the bottom of the bag, so shrink wrapping seemed like a good idea.

I wheeled my luggage to the shrink wrapping stand where three members of staff stood looking bored, in the background hung threatening messages about ending up in a Bangkok jail for drugs crime. My rucksack was spun around whilst shrink wrap covered it completely. I found it all quite amusing and took a couple of shots with the camera for the photo album. I left my guitar as it was, it was still pretty much in one piece.

I checked my luggage in with my shrink wrap covered rucksack looking very much like a giant lunch box sandwich, my guitar was going on as hand luggage. After about an hours wait I boarded the plane taking my seat next to the window. The flight wasn't busy and I had two spare seats to the left of me.

Before take off I decide to read some of the fascinating material in the seat pocket in front.

What I find there to my horror, shook me right to my very core. No, it wasn't a half filled sick bag, but an article informing me of Air Asia's partnership with Manchester United Football Club. I read an article with a photo of a bored looking Wayne Rooney and Paul Scholes posing with six Asian air hostesses. Worse was to come as I turn the leaflet over to be confronted by two Air Asia planes completely kitted out in Manchester United colours with Wayne Rooney and Ronaldo painted on the side! One of the planes was the exact same model as the plane I'm sitting in and makes me wonder. I lurch forward to grasp the sick bag (just incase) whilst my eyes attempt to take in just what they are seeing. My mind races, I mean who's sick idea was this? Who wants to fly on a plane with such a close relationship with a particular football club? These were miniature planes that could be purchased on board but as I hadn't seen the real plane before I boarded, suddenly fear washes over me at the realisation that I could in fact be sitting in the window seat right on a 20 foot Wayne Rooney's chin! I frantically start to match parts of the paint work on the miniature model planes with that of the real plane, from what I can see on the engine and wing they're an exact match. My heart sinks, I feel angry, used, surely I not sat on Wayne Rooney's chin? I start peering out of my tiny window, up, down, left, right to see if I can make out any more markings on this hellish plane. I can't see Wayne but think to myself that I'd rather be sat in window seat looking out on Christian Ronaldo greasy hair, but it's already taken.

Before take off I'm praying for a technical fault so we can change planes and hopefully board something normal. Unfortunately we take off without a hitch, a smooth journey and on landing I'm hoping we'll slightly over shoot the runway and scratch off Rooneys smug looking head. No such luck as the wheels touch down and I drop my passport it slides under the seat in front. I ask the girl in front if she can hand it back for me, shes from Kuala Lumpur. As the plane finally gets to a stand still she asks me if she can take a photo with me. Like a true rock star I agree and pose for a few photos as she jumps in the seat next to me, I'm slightly upset when there is no request for a signature and I grab my guitar from the shelf above my seat. At this point I'm desperate to get off the plane to view the hellish monstrosity of a plane I've been subjected to. As I get down the stairs to the tarmac I turn sharply and a wave of relief and slight disappointment come over me as I realise that although the plane has red paint work upon it, it has no nightmare like 20 foot Wayne Rooney.

My imagination had got the better of me once again, travelling alone can give you a lot of time to think. Whilst sometimes this is a good thing, on some occasions it can lead you to think too much about things.

As I walk to the airport still confused in my head about the whole plane branding nightmare, my new Mayalsian friend continues to chat to me before I head to passport control and the foreigners desk.

Eventually I make it through passport control and attempt to see a book shop of sorts to find a guide book as I have no idea where I am staying or where I am going or how big this city is. There are no book shops in sight so I ask a couple I spotted earlier if I could have a quick scan of their copy of "The Lonely Planet". I decide that I'll head to China Town where there seems to be plenty of budget guest houses. I wait by the luggage carousel for a few minutes before embarrassingly my large sandwich looking rucksack spins through the carousel's flaps like it'd just appeared on stage. Thankfully there was no spot light and I sneak the bag off before it can cause any further embarrassment. My rucksack looked a lot smaller wrapped up but was still pretty heavy as I zig zagged towards customs. As I walk I recall that earlier at passport control customs seemed to be making everyone open up their luggage in full view of everyone, at this point I laugh to myself, thinking "Good Luck!". As I'm called forward by the customs officer, in a minor show of defiance from myself I dump my bag straight onto the bench before he even asks me to, challenging the officer to my game of "pass the parcel". As I look him in the face he says "Just your passport sir" then says "You're here on holiday?" as I reply "Yeah, just for a month.". The officer hands back my passport then takes a brief look at my impressive giant lunch box type baguette of a rucksack before ushering me forward whilst muttering "Have a nice holiday.". I disappear through the electric doors into the blinding sunlight, a barrage of shouting taxi drivers and a crowd of people.

Welcome to Mayalsia.