14/10 Forward to Singapore

Sunday 14^th Train to Singapore

We packed, finding that we didn’t need to put much in the new plastic suitcase – although we haven’t ditched J’s holey backpack yet (its easier to carry). We took ourselves to the station, Macca’d (yes it’s a verb too) bought some biscuity/nutty/chippy/cakey schtuff for the train and headed off to the platform – our train is 40 minutes late L This meant sitting on the floor on the platform until it arrived.

We had good seats, albeit not in the solitary first class carriage, which had been full. My geriatric concession fare was $7 and J paid $11. We were at the front of a carriage with our own little table, facing forwards, heaps of leg room and unobstructed view of the large flatscreen which, as usual, did not work. We stowed our big luggage on the shelves about 3 metres in front of us and settled down for the trip.

We confirmed Malaysia’s place as 2^nd largest producer of palm oil. Mile after mile of plantations in measured rows.  The terrain was generally flat, unlike the first leg to KL.

About 3 hours short of the border there was a large influx of passengers. A Chinese man sat about 3 rows back and settled into a mind-numbing nerve-jangling routine of crunching sunflower seeds. For the benefit of those who were not following our blog in China 12 months ago . . .

After a while, I became aware of a persistent and insistent noise as if nails were being clipped close by. Regularly, infuriatingly regularly. On closer auditory scrutiny I discerned that it was more like nuts being cracked. Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4 Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4 Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4. The train went through a tunnel, which offered the opportunity to observe the reflection in the window of this wretched little man in the row in front cracking sunflower seeds with his teeth and reloading and unloading the husks with one hand. Practice has obviously made perfect. Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4. Pandas at the Research Centre had the ability to roll totally flat onto their backs and settle into a metronomic rhythm of cracking the bamboo shell and twisting it to expose the soft inner flesh Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4  then biting off a length. They did it with staggering efficiency and utter precision. Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4 Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4. This man is a Panda-morph. Heaven can he keep this up all the way to Chong Qing? Grnch-crigggt 2 3 4 How many seeds can he have?

There was also a large extended family of Indian folk. They based themselves around the space between carriages just in front of us and then overflowed in both directions. 2 small girls were sat on the floor in front of us and the adults jostled one another in a perpetual random Brownian motion seemingly without purpose other than to keep the automatic sliding door opening and closing. GrrrrTHUMP GrrrTHUMP. They then settled down and Mama1 stood herself just this side of the door with Papa1 just on the other side, right in the sensor field for said door GrrrTHUMP GrrrTHUMP. This also totally negated the ecconshning.

From a sociological standpoint, they obviously felt most comfortable maintaining a constant babble which nobody seemed to be listening or responding to. At least the children were quiet . . for the time being. NOOO I am NOT a grumpy old man. Grumpy perhaps but never old. We were aware that there was a solid mass of people between us and our luggage but there wasn’t a lot in there worth stealing unless you were particularly fond of football jumpers and size 2 crocs. And they looked respectable and well turned out. And we just couldn’t be bothered.

After a while the girls (8-ish) got over their awe at being in a train in close proximity to a white woman with blonde hair and started seeking attention. They hung off Mama1 until she drove them off and then they started wriggling and squirming and dancing. Which of course is code for showing off. They went through a series of Bollywood type moves and then had a go at Gangnam Style. We started smiling and they both launched into shameless flirting with J, pushing each other and jabbering away while keeping a corner of an eye out to make sure she was watching. One was very westernised and is going to be a right little movie star.

We seemed to be sitting around a lot waiting for passing trains or signals or something and it was getting late. The kids got ratty and one was obviously feeling ill. J meanwhile was fully ready to expel Vanilla Coke and Singapore was not going to come fast enough.

Eventually we arrived, after a brief stop at Johor Bahru (a very clean and modern looking station) and an on-the-run stamp from Malaysian immigration. And so across the causeway to Singapore. We have been using The-man-in-seat-61 a very excellent website for details of how to save money and book train travel all over the world. We found it a godsend in Europe and were delighted that it covers Asia and most of the rest of the world as well. We therefore knew what to do on arrival but unfortunately we had to detour to get Singapore dollars (thought we had brought some) and the train had got in very late. We caught the 911 bus to the MRT station but then found that the trains had started closing down for the night and we couldn’t get to Dhobi Ghat.

Fortunately the train ran far enough for it to be a short taxi run into Little India and we easily directed the driver to the hostel, where we settled into our favourite room and were quickly and chastely stacked in our steel bunks.