My KL Syndrome

There are essentially three things that make me sick every time I confront them: a dish of Slavic sour green beans, spit on the street and crawling insects. You get a lot of each of these in Kuala Lumpur.

I booked my flight for a weekend in the Malaysian capital while we were living in Singapore. The trip takes just about an hour and there is a steady flow of people going both directions every day: Malaysians commuting to work, Singaporeans traveling for leisure. Ethnically both cities are similar and they share a common colonial heritage. The two countries were joined in a political union for a period of time after they gained independence. The similarities end here.

While Singapore is organized, squeaky clean, safe and rule-abiding, Kuala Lumpur is chaotic, filthy, polluted and susceptible to terrorist attacks. Interestingly enough, it is still a relatively safe city due to the strong business community and the government’s commitment to build a new business hub.

The day I arrived I walked in the city from dawn to dusk until my feet hurt. After sunset I checked into the first hostel I found. It was a busy weekend so there was only one room available. I didn’t really mind. I had been on my feet since five in the morning and could have slept anywhere.

The room smelled vaguely of Durian, a South-Asian fruit that emanates a pungent gasoline-like odor. The inside is juicy and prickly on the tongue, leaving a terrible aftertaste long after you have eaten it. In spite of this Malaysians love it. I don’t usually get migraines when traveling – but the next morning I woke up with a terrible headache. Durian might be the most delicious fruit in the world but after breakfast I checked out of the hostel and went looking for a less ‘toxic’ accommodation for the second night.

Then I consulted Lonely Planet for a recommendation and picked a hostel that the guide described as ‘spotlessly clean, cozy, comfortable and friendly ambient’. I was given an attic room with no window but with nicely smelling hardwood furniture, paintings on the walls and a private bathroom. More than satisfied I let out a blissful sigh and went exploring the city once again. I came back in the evening, tumbled into the bed and immediately fell asleep.

Sometime later a slight itchy feeling on my arm woke me up. Still half-asleep I scratched and underneath my fingernails felt something soft and mushy. I opened my eyes, switched on the lamp and shot off the bed, shaking. My arms were covered in light-brown bugs of various sizes. They were crawling on my T-shirt, on my neck, in my hair, on the sheets. Anxiously, I lifted the pillow and gave a shriek. There was a whole bug nest, about the size of a small orange, swarming with little beasts. My heart beat wildly. I literally thought I would die. The only thing that I could think of doing was covering the whole bed with a thick, woolen blanket I found in the closet. Then I went to take a shower and stayed there for a good half-hour, still trembling. All the time I thought that the Durian room was, after all, not so bad.

I put my pajamas in the sink and poured hot water over it. Slowly the bugs bobbed to the surface. I sprinkled them with the toilet cleanser that was in the bathroom. Die, you motherf***er, die. I probably never felt such hatred toward a living creature before.

After I calmed down I thoroughly inspected the other bed in the room and, having discovered no other aliens, went back to sleep. In the morning I woke up refreshed and full of energy.

Ever since my trip to Kuala Lumpur I always check underneath the pillows in every hotel room I stay at. I once even did this in a hospital and a nurse looked at me strangely, not understanding. ‘It’s just my Kuala Lumpur syndrome!’ I explained.