The Genting Rave Story Pt 1

When we decided to spend the weekend in Malaysia, it was motivated entirely on the idea of cheap food, decent shopping and a tempting lure of the bright lights of Kuala Lumpur’s hottest nightspots.

Then almost as if fate intervened to turn the mundane into a resolute purpose of losing our conscience to alcohol and trance music, LB called the next day to inform us that we were going to head up to Genting for Speedzone’s rave party, complete with VIP tickets.

There was hardly a need for second considerations or to allow any hesitations to plague the planning. After all, everything seemed to have been planned and taken care of up to the very doorstep of Genting. This is going to be the greatest weekend this year.

Then 2 days before the trip, LB called to inform me that the hotels in Genting were fully booked and proposed an alternative solution of partying through the night and camping out at the casino or hotel lobby before hopping on to the earliest bus out.

Now, I obviously had no issues with this because it’s not like we’ve not had a hotel to sleep in before, but there was one minor problem that I needed to address and stress to the guys.

“I need to come back by Sunday. I have my reservist in-camp training on Monday. I repeat, I HAVE to be back on Sunday.”

So RotiPrata was tasked to book our transport because LB was weighed with enough responsibilities of having to arrange our lodging in KL. Then Faith jumped on to the bandwagon and decided that she would help arrange for our transport back from Genting.

When Poca heard that we didn’t have a room because the rooms were full, she decided to check it online and realize not only were there rooms, they probably had enough to house half of Bangladesh.

Now we had a room, but we still didn’t have a confirmed means of transport back and it seemed like I was the only one truly concerned about it.

RotiPrata: “Very easy to get a bus one. For every one bus you see that is full on the internet, there are 3 more empty buses there.”

I don’t know where he plucks up his data from because he always has these remarkable statistics that are never accurate that I wonder why he isn’t working for the global census collection agency.

Me: “If I don’t make it back by Sunday, I am dead. Do you understand? You can start booking a ticket to the detention barracks.”

RP: “Relax la, everything will be fine.”

Me: “I am travelling with LB, I cannot relax. Do you not know what happens when we travel together? Anything and everything that can fuck up, will.”

It’s not that I’m a perennial pessimist but if you’ve gone through so many travel escapades that are highlighted with transportation fuck ups like I have, you’ll also give reality a call. Apparently that pretty much turned into a self fulfilling prophecy.

I can’t complain about the journey up because the coach ride was infinitely more comfortable than being on a economy class plane, minus the service from cleavage-baring air stewardesses.

There was ample leg room, a personal monitor with decent in-cabin entertainment, just that some of the movies looked like they were suspiciously ripped from a video camera. Oh, and that my right directional pad was spoilt so I effectively ruled out playing video games.

When we finally got to KL 5 hours later, our travel curse came stinging so promptly, I thought the trip was going to end even before it started. We got off the bus and started unloading the bags.

Faith: “My bag is missing!”

We stood there frozen. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone was fleeing in the opposite direction lugging a huge bag. Then it hit us, could the bag be stolen? But surely not even the brazen crime rates here would entitle us to see a snatch thief right under our noses.

Could they have misplaced it? Could someone have taken the wrong bag, which would have required an immense amount of stupidity? Could she have left them at customs? COULD SHE HAVE LEFT THEM AT CUSTOMS?

We started a forum of recollections, placing our last memory of her before we boarded the bus. There was the last cigarette break after customs. We left the bags at a corner. And, we don’t remember her carrying the bag. All we needed was a camera pointing at us, and this would have been the pilot episode of CSI: Kuala Lumpur.

And amidst the panic and her wild intention to take a cab back to the check point 4 hours away, I turned to RotiPrata.

Me: “I told you something is going to fuck up. I wonder what's next?”