Pt1 - 2: DON’T BURN YOUR CHICKENS

 

Kuala Lumpur is the sort of place that makes your hotel room look inviting. The thrusting architecture in central KL is vaguely interesting as an expression of Dr Mahathir’s personal ambition to have the tallest this and the shiniest that, but since we could see Petronas Towers from the window of our room we didn’t feel the need to tackle the teeming, honking streets to go see the world’s tallest building. We’d only stopped over here to break up the long flight to Cairo anyway and weren’t much fussed about seeing the city, so we spent the day hanging around the hotel. Because we were in an exotic location it didn’t feel like waiting, but that’s exactly what we were doing.

A driver was due to pick us up at 8pm for the transfer back to Subang Airport where we’d enjoy another four hour wait before MH150 departed for Jeddah. We had to vacate the room mid-afternoon so we descended to the lobby where we could tread water in new surroundings. It could have been worse, we might have been sitting on our luggage somewhere out in the perpetual drizzle that fell across the city.

The driver rocked up an hour late and sped us through the demented traffic to Subang. Our Business Class status conferred priority and, at last feeling as though the premium cost of the tickets had been worth it, we passed straight through to the Golden Wing Lounge. The room was a smaller, more crowded and threadbare version of the one in Perth – the chicken wings would have looked at home floating in specimen bottles. With the long haul ahead of us we couldn’t afford to abuse the complimentary booze as much as it deserved so we occupied ourselves stuffing as many freebies – bags of nuts, packets of bikkies, cans of juice – into our day packs as they could handle. Content for the moment, we stretched out on the footworn carpet awaiting the boarding call for Jeddah.

As much fun as the waiting was, we were getting a mite edgy when the announcement hadn’t come by 11.25pm and I was on the verge of enquiring at the desk when the PA system answered all our questions, first in Malay (which to my unaccustomed ear sounded like someone playing a jew’s harp through their fundament) and then:

“Attention passengers on flight MH150 to Jeddah. Departure had been delayed until 1 o’clock tomorrow, Saturday 22^nd February. Malaysia Airlines apologises for the inconvenience”

Small drama I thought, in the grand scheme of things another hour hardly matters. We were by now accomplished in the fine art of waiting.

I was dozing when the PA intruded:

”…to Jeddah has been delayed until 1300 due to technical problems. Will passengers please report to the Malaysia Airlines desk for transport and accommodation arrangements…”

It took a few seconds to focus on my watch. Ten past midnight. The first announcement had failed to make it clear they weren’t talking 0100 hours, but 1300 hours! Another thir…teen bloody hours! This couldn’t be happening! One day into the Awfully Big Adventure and two years’ worth of meticulous planning goes down the toilet! This is the sort of cock-up we’d steeled ourselves to expect after the organised tour in Egypt; not here, not now. It was an object lesson the First Law of Travel: Expect the Unexpected. The implications raced through my head: our recovery day in Cairo lost, our hotel bookings in disarray, every chance we’d miss the tour all together…I calmly and rationally went ballistic.

Exactly what happened next is, as they say, unclear. Normally I’m a reasonable man but I refused to release the hostages until the airline provided us with written proof of their culpability so our travel insurance could sue them into bankruptcy. I just made that up of course, but we were in no mood to appreciate the subtle point that we’d have been even less happy if we’d plunged into the ocean with a dicky engine twenty minutes after take-off.

The airline laid on a Mercedes back to the city and a night’s accommodation at a hotel called the Nikko, a name that meant nothing to us until we drew up outside.

We ascended the Nikko’s polished steps into a cavernous lobby. The invisible ceiling rested on pink marble columns tapering away into the stratosphere between glittering chandeliers. A uniformed bellboy ushered us into the lift – or is that elevator – and ignited the boosters for the 25^th floor. The g-force made me fart.

Room 2502 was elegance itself; warm wood panelling, brass fittings gleaming in the subdued light, two single beds - a quaint Muslim custom we would get used to in the coming weeks. The bathroom alone made the whole suite at the “luxury” Perth Park Royal look like a broom cupboard. Although the paperwork, so to speak, still had to be completed manually, it boasted gold-plated, sensor operated plumbing. Decadence, thy name is Nikko.

Determined to make the airline suffer we ordered the King Abdul Aziz Imperial Breakfast for two from the elaborate menu. We rationalised the extravagance thus: the airline had issued us with breakfast, lunch and dinner vouchers as well as a free drink at the bar – we’ll only be here for breakfast so bugger ‘em, we’ll consolidate the coupons into a single nosh up that’ll last us till Cairo. It seemed like a good idea at the time – which was, incidentally, nearly 3am.

The bedside phone dredged us out of a restless sleep at 8. “Good morning, this is your wakeup call” the digital voice intoned. We hadn’t organised a wake-up call so we assumed the airline was responsible and would keep us informed of developments. We bumbled through our ablutions in a state of mild despair.

Breakfast arrived at 8.30. Wheeled in on a stainless steel trolley with a built-in warmer for the cooked course and laid out with linen, silverware and fine china it comprised fruits, juices, cereals, croissants, toast, bacon and eggs and all the tea/coffee we could desire. I was half expecting the waiter to strew rose petals on our chairs. Stress had stolen our appetites so we forced down a couple of mouthfuls of soggy cereal, speared the googs with our forks and nudged them around the plate a bit and drank some coffee.

Just as well I didn’t eat much because I left the contents of my stomach on the ceiling of the shuttle simulator as I plummeted back to the surface of the planet to fire off a couple of faxes to Egypt, one to the hotel in Cairo and one to the tour operator explaining the situation as best I could and confirming our revised ETA. On the way back to the lift I spied a lectern tucked away in a corner of the lobby with a small notice taped to it. For no particular reason I wandered over and read: Malaysia Airlines requests that passengers on delayed flight MH150 to Jeddah report for check-in at 1100. It was almost ten now.

I rocketed up to the room, literally, and burst through the door. Tess was soaking in the bath. Her voice issued from somewhere inside a quivering mountain of foam with the answer to my breathless question, “No, there haven’t been any messages.” I gave her the update. “Rats,” she said, “I was enjoying this.”

I puzzled over the lectern as we raced around the room organising ourselves. I’d only come across it by sheer accident, what use was it poked away in a corner like that? Then it dawned on me that it would have been planted at the entrance to the restaurant where we were supposed to have eaten breakfast. Served us right for being naughty.

One last mission in the lift – I was used to the weightlessness by now – and we presented ourselves at reception for the reckoning. We’d half resolved to pay for the breakfast until I saw the bill as I handed the key over. The King Abdul Aziz Imperial Breakfast for 2 – A$173.23. I smiled weakly and kept my mouth shut. I am eternally grateful to Malaysia Airlines that the receptionist returned from her phone call to their office saying, “That will be alright sir, there is nothing to pay.”

Face saved, but suitably chastened, we jumped into the Mercedes 300SE the concierge had arranged back to Subang. At 1.20 we were caressing the keypads of our armrest LCD screens aboard the top deck of 747-400C “Penang” and cruising for our first cultural collision in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.

Next time: The Jitters in Jeddah...