Of All the Bars, In All of Kuala Lumpur…

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…we had to walk into that one.  Grandma, if you’re reading this, think about saving it for later; I’m sure you are near some Thomas Hardy novels that will be less trying for you to read.

Sara and I arrived to Kuala Lumpur and were immediately impressed by its size and modernity.  Our hostel was in the heart of Chinatown, so after a walk through narrow alleyways rejecting calls of, “My friend!  Cheap for you!” and “Louis Vuitton!  Real!” we arrived at our refuge, where we had a view of the famous Petronas Towers.

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Sara and I ate nothing but street food while we were in Kuala Lumpur – soups, fried noodles, bacon, jackfruit, and milk tea included.  I was most looking forward to Kuala Lumpur because my friend Dan, with whom we explored Cambodia, agreed to meet us in Malaysia before we continue south and he heads to India.  He arrived in the city with two friends, Dylan and Neville, both from the Bay and both incredibly kind, relaxed, and fun-loving guys.  The five of us spent a day walking around the city, using an amazing pocket tour guide I downloaded on my phone, playing caou in cricket fields, next to mosques, and outside of government buildings.
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This is a cau.  It is easier than hackeysack, and SO MUCH FUN.
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Kuala Lumpur is an eclectic architectural mix of mogul Malay, Art Deco, and colonial.
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The night was kind of a clusterfuck from the beginning, although I don’t think any of us minded.  We played cards at our hostel, drinking a traditional Malay rice wine, and (after asking several aloof taxi drivers where to go to a club) finally decided to take the metro to an area of town that a group of young people on the street recommended.  As some of the only people still on the metro, we were holding ourselves back from making complete fools of ourselves.  Eventually, lost and confused, we decided to try to find a pool hall that Dan frequented during his last trips to the city.

During our walk to the mysterious pool hall, we found a place on a corner with a neon electric guitar and a sign reading “Ladies’ Night: Ladies Drink Free!” outside.  The name of the “club,” in which we were nearly the only patrons, was Almika.  Inside, several bouncers roamed an empty dance floor while a woman loudly sang Indian songs onstage.

I approached the bar and asked the bartender, “What can we get for ladies’ night?”

He replied with a smile, “What do you want?”

Sara and I ordered two drinks while the boys flirted with the singer.

Five minutes later, the bartender approached where Sara and I were sitting, handing us a bill for 35 ringgit (about 20 dollars). “No,” I smiled and shook my head. “I asked you what we could have for ladies night, and you said that these drinks were free.”

“Oh, of course,” he replied, backing away. I got an uneasy feeling. Sara read my mind and suggested we leave.

I told the boys we were leaving and Sara and I walked outside. When we turned around, we saw that Dan and Dylan, who were attempting to join us, were inside being detained by the bouncers. I had a feeling that it had something to do with our drinks, so I entered the club again. Dan and Dylan took the opportunity to leave, fairly sure that as a woman, no real physical harm could possibly come to me. Sara, the friend that she is, joined me inside.

I explained the situation in a calm and clear voice to the “manager” of the club. He called the bartender over, who readily concurred with my story. Things were said in Hindi between the manager, the bartender, a random woman (who I am fairly sure now was the wife of the owner), and the bouncers. Suddenly, Sara and I were at the door alone – the bartender and the manager had returned to the bar – and a row of bouncers blocked our exit.

“Excuse me,” I said politely, attempting to leave. The first bouncer, who was at least 6’3″ and spoke poor English, stepped in my way. “No,” he replied, “You must pay.”

I couldn’t believe that we were being trapped inside of a club for twenty dollars. Honestly, I don’t think Sara and I even thought that paying was an option; these men were so horrendous, so conniving, that our obstinance directed our choices.

“I have nothing but respect for you and your manager, sir, but right now I feel unsafe, physically intimidated, and unfairly treated,” I said to him, before going to the bar to say something similar to the manager. The manager was equally cold and, for lack of a better word, scary. At this point, Sara and I knew that it would probably get ugly. “You need to let us out of this establishment right now,” I demanded, throwing cursory (and futile) threats of lawsuits into muted ears.

Sara grabbed my arm. “Annette, we have to force our way out the door. There’s no other way. Let’s go.”

When we did this, we were pushed and pulled from every direction by at least four men. Our friends outside were shocked, and desperate to escape the situation. Sara and I, pulling men off of each other, spitting words that she and I did not realize were in our vocabulary, finally broke free and felt the humid, night air. The owner of the club ran outside, screaming, “Assholes!” at us, while I politely curtsied as we ran away. Sara and I, a team until the end, hopped into the nearest taxi, shaking and crying, completely ignoring that we began the night with three additional people.

If I learned anything from the events of the night, I learned that Sara and I really have each other’s back, I can’t always trust that other people will do the right thing, and I should not let emotions get in the way of objectivity (and personal safety).

3 thoughts on “Of All the Bars, In All of Kuala Lumpur…”

  1. I love you. Dude you curtsied! Why did these boys leave the establishment? I’m still lost from your explanation. All in all, the owner made a misnomer, You and Sara hold the title: BadA$$.

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