12th May 2012

We woke to yet another glorious, sun-drenched morning. After breakfast, we hopped on the monorail to visit the Bird Park, proudly billed as the world’s largest indoor aviary. Both of us are suckers for anything bright, feathered, and noisy.

The walk from the hotel to the station was mercifully short, and we purchased two plastic tokens at RM2.10 each (about 50 pence). Access to the platform was simple: tap the token on the barrier, wait for the polite beep, and in you go. Within five minutes, the train whisked us to KL Sentral, the end of the line.

From there, the park was “just under a kilometre,” or so we were told. In a rash moment, we decided to walk. Big mistake. Within minutes, we’d gone the wrong way entirely, looping back to our starting point like disoriented pigeons. Attempt number two was more successful, but the blazing heat, chaotic road crossings, and complete absence of pedestrian-friendly pavements made it a trial. It seems Malaysian drivers view walkers as an eccentric nuisance to be ignored at best and menaced at worst. By the time we ducked into a café for cold drinks, we felt as wilted as last week’s lettuce.

Revived, we tackled the final stretch, trudged up the hill, bought our tickets, and stepped inside. The place is vast and teeming with extraordinarily tame birds. While waiting for Sue outside the ladies, I found myself in a silent staring contest with several storks, each apparently trying to work out whether I was edible. A brief tropical shower forced us under a gazebo beside a waterfall where pink flamingos waded with theatrical grace. Once the rain cleared, I snapped photos of Sue, now adorned with a living necklace of parakeets. Two happy hours later, we finished with icy fruit drinks and monumental fruit sundaes.

Directly across the road lay the Orchid Gardens, an explosion of exotic blooms, all with names long enough to be small poems. From the hilltop, there was a sweeping view of Kuala Lumpur.

Our next stop was the Butterfly Park, smaller but no less captivating. Like the Bird Park, it was enclosed under an immense net to keep butterflies in and monkeys out. The air shimmered with fluttering wings, though convincing them to stay still for a photo was an exercise in patience. Inside was also an impressive insect display, along with a few lizards and snakes.

Unbeknownst to us, while we were admiring butterflies, a monsoon had begun. When we finally emerged, raindrops the size of golf balls were turning paths into rivers. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the roads were awash. Spying a taxi driver sheltering in the café, I negotiated a RM15 fare back to the monorail. The taxi splashed and churned its way through the floodwaters, and we were profoundly grateful not to be wading.

Back at the hotel, coffee revived us once more, and by evening we were ready for dinner. An Indian restaurant caught our eye, and it was excellent, proved by the sudden arrival of tour buses unloading hordes of hungry Indians who clearly knew a good thing when they saw it.

We wandered back through the Parkson Mall, an absurdly enormous retail palace catering to the very wealthy. This one wasn’t about variety; it was about status, Armani, Gucci, Burberry, and other brands Sue recognised, but I didn’t. There were no price tags, which reminded me of a Prague Armani shop years ago, where a salesman once told me, “Sir, if you have to ask the price, this shop is not for you.” Shoppers were scarce, staff were plentiful and immaculately dressed, and the few customers we did see appeared to have bought their clothes during a blindfold challenge. We left empty-handed.

By the time we returned to the hotel, the day’s heat and humidity had caught up with us. We fell into bed, content but utterly spent.