Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur

Malaysia re-opened its borders

post Covid-19, and I booked my trip. I had fond memories of my previous visits to the country, and looked forward to roaming around the markets and soaking up the culture. Unfortunately, during the two-years of Covid-19 closures, hotel rooms remained vacant, unswept, unkempt. Dank corners became breeding grounds for mold and insect colonies. When Malaysia flung its borders open, hotel owners failed to clean up their properties before the guests arrived.

Enter me. I checked-into my hotel, located in Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur with great anticipation. However, my “city view window” overlooked the interior hallway. I trudged back down to the front desk and complained, to which the receptionist informed me they no longer provided such rooms. I didn’t know if it was the fault of Agoda over-promising and under-providing, or the hotel’s fault for not closing those rooms from Agoda.

In any case, refusing to let my interior hallway view room ruin my excitement, I stashed my suitcase in the room and quickly scampered outside. First stop: Dig into delicious street food. I noted a crowd of locals around one stall selling a variety of Malaysian dishes. I opted for tandoori chicken, sautéed okra, spicy eggplant, on a mound of white rice.

The heart of the outdoor market in Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur.

What better way to burn off a big lunch than to walk elbow-to-elbow with the masses in the outdoor market? Judging by the crowds of foreigners, it did seem to appear as if “revenge tourism” was alive and well. People jostled for position as they shopped for sneakers, for purses, and for graphic t-shirts. I located a laundromat, where I spilled my clothes into the washing machine.

Hankering for a postprandial coffee, I continued to stroll through the market. The humid air infused with savory scents of steamed dim sum buns, freshly baked pastries, and noodle soup. I happily stumbled upon this warehouse-art-food court space. It also housed a gourmet grocery store, wood-fired pizzas, a bookstore, and a café.

Hipster vibes in Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur.

Bugs, bugs, bugs

Returning to my hotel room with freshly laundered clothes, I set about to mop the floors on my hands and knees. This is something I do in every hotel room (obviously, omitting carpeted rooms) due to the fact that I roll out my yoga mat to do yoga, to meditate, to give myself acupuncture. It may come as a surprise, but even in top rated hotels, I have discovered loose hairs on the floors, a tube of KY-jelly under the bed, and strong cologne odor emanating from an unwashed duvet. Thus, the only cleaning I trust is my own.

Using several wet wipes, I set about mopping my room. The wet wipes quickly turned black from the two-years of accumulated dirt, dust, and mold. However, I was totally unprepared to confront a medium-sized insect hill under the desk, in the corner, with insects actively moving in and out of it!

I swiftly collected my suitcase and bag and checked out. With utmost diplomacy, I explained what I had discovered to the receptionist.

It was raining when I stepped outside.

I reserved another hotel using Agoda. This time, I chose a known hotel brand. It was located in an unfamiliar neighborhood, but I trusted the brand name. Pity that.

My second hotel was in Little India. I dragged my suitcase up a narrow staircase, where an Indian man waited behind the reception desk. He handed me the key and pointed down a skinny hallway with peeling mint green paint. I opened the door to two full-sized beds with mismatched pillows and comforter. The wallpaper revealed water stains from the ceiling. The desk, caked in dust, sat in disrepair. I opened the drawer to discover a baby shirt.

The bathroom had not been cleaned. A clump of black hair coiled in the shower drain, the toilet revealed excrement from the previous guest, maybe before Covid-19. The beds—a living nightmare of stains—might as well have been set atop a rubbish heap. I peeled back the sheets to discover crawling bugs on the mattresses.

I got the hell out of there without explaining anything to the Indian man. I didn’t even ask for a refund. I ran away, and wanted to run away from Malaysia.

Sleeping in chairs at KLIA. The person next to me draped a jacket over their head.

Slumber party at KLIA

I had experienced two bug-infested rooms in a row, in different neighborhoods. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It was a case of hotel owners over-valuing their product, keeping prices high to recoup from Covid-19 losses, and causing me to question coming to Malaysia. I stood in the downpour outside of the filthy, foul, brand-name hotel.

It was approaching night time. I refused to book another hotel room, sight-unseen, and risk another bedbug situation. It may sound extreme, but I decided to leave Kuala Lumpur.

I ordered a taxi to take me to the airport.

I entered KLIA, the domestic airport. I had purchased a ticket departing for Penang at 6:00am, with a check-in time of 4:00am. Thus, I determined to catch some shut-eye at the airport, reasoning that it would be the most hygienic place to sleep.

To my shock, I wasn’t the only one. As I rolled my suitcase around the terminal, hundreds of passengers had already commandeered all available seats, chairs at a fast food restaurant, the couches at Starbucks. Groups even slept in heaps on the floor. I had made one lap around the terminal, looking for a vacant seat, when I spotted one in a row against a wall.

I didn’t feel self-conscious or unsafe, surrounded by others doing the same thing. Savvy passengers inserted earplugs and used eye masks for sound sleep. I copied the human next to me by covering my head with a scarf. Leaning my head back against the wall, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Not a bug in sight, my frazzled nerves calmed. I settled in for a slumber party at KLIA.