Backpacking

delights, including its beach and some lovely British colonial architecture. It deserves another visit which unfortunately I doubt I'll be able to grace it with.

Back in Butterworth, I jumped on yet another night train for the main event, Kuala Lumpur, and to be reunited with a former travelling companion.

(Yes, I mean Noesha. Yes, I know, again.)

Day 185: 4th August Dere's a rat in me Starbuck's

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

A loud, wailing Indian kid woke me and the rest of the carriage, and very possibly the whole train and nearby houses at 0530 this morning. I figured I could certainly give the little blighter something to wail about if I hung him by one foot from the ceiling fan. This beautiful mental image kept me going for the hour it took for us to arrive at Kuala Lumpur.

We pulled into KL Sentral, a spotless gleaming whizz-bang station straight out of a sci-fi flick. It made poor old Hualampong in Bangkok, with its Family Fortunes-style departures board, look a fair bit dated. Having said that, I know which I

prefer; charming Hualampong has soul, brother.

After checking in, I went for a wander and ended up at a St*rb*cks for only the third time in my life (as it happens, as I write this, I'm committing crime number four). I'd hit a vein of creativity and needed a place to scribble before it faded.

As I sped across the page, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Something had moved under my table. I thought I might have dropped something, but it appeared not. Then suddenly a rat (which had probably been enjoying the fallout of my scone) legged it from under my chair across the room, making a beeline for the lattes. I pointed wordlessly; an Indian woman nearby screamed. An employee lunged ineffectively at it with, of all things, a dustpan and brush, but Roland had evaded capture for another day, holing up underneath the sink. Good on him, I say. Rat beats Corporate Fatcats.

Not content with the amount I'd scoffed, I returned to the counter for more fodder.

"I'll have a sugared rat, I mean doughnut, please."

The Indian lady had stopped screaming by now, but now her young son had started instead,