Eastern & Oriental Hotel

It all started weeks ago. I was talking to a passenger about their favourite upcoming destination and they mentioned Mumbai. "Oh, I'm not getting off in Mumbai because I didn't get a visa", I replied. She looked at me. "You still need a visa even if you don't get off the ship", she said. I suppressed a "Don't be ridiculous woman" and instead opted for a more cautious, "Are you sure?". She sounded sure and she turned out to be right. Whats more it transpired we wouldn't even have been let on the ship had the passport controls at Southampton been more rigorous. At reception I was shown a piece of paper I had never seen before verifying the conversations I just had. The situation was left unresolved.

Let me take you back a little. I didn't miss out on an Indian visa out of tardiness or forgetfulness, it was deliberate. Despite the fact that we were scheduled to be in Mumbai for only a day, the Indian authorities were insisting on the purchase of a six-month, multiple entry visa at a cost of around £60 (I forget the exact figures). Living in Brighton, my closest option would have been to go to the London embassy, renowned for queues and where you are not guaranteed to be seen that day. It would also cost me a day off work, and there were plenty of them coming up as it was. The alternative was to use a third-party managed service where the price increased to around £120 per person, which you may agree is too much. It was late-November when we were alerted to this and we couldn't send off passports at this point as James was going away for a weekend. That took us into mid-December, Royal Mail were planning strikes, Christmas post delays etc etc. So we decided not to get off at Mumbai, sad but pretty much unavoidable.

Back on board, the threat of fines or some fiendish action hangs over us, so being the dynamic, thrusting individuals that we are, we decide to find a solution ourselves. The next stop is Singapore, after which it's Kuala Lumpur, Mumbai and then Muscat. Some frantic internet research reveals we could get off at Singapore, travel overland to Penang via Kuala Lumpur, fly to Bangkok, having a day or two in each, and then fly on to Muscat to rejoin the ship - thereby missing out Mumbai. Obviously it will cost a few bob extra, but it's an exciting option and we decide to take it, especially in the absence of any other solution being suggested. We type out the itinerary, double-check the dates, confirm with the ship that it's ok, and then embark on a orgy of internet purchases.

Day 1 - Singapore

So it is that we disembark at Singapore with a suitcase each and a sheaf of papers for various trains, planes and hotel rooms. Our first stop is the Scarlett Hotel, an upscale boutique hotel where we alerted to a good deal by my brother, who is also staying here with partner Elly. Strangers to Singapore, they have however lived and worked in south-east Asia a fair bit and have already sniffed out a nearby food market for lunch. Frequented mainly by locals, the market comprises a few covered rows of tiny shop fronts selling every type of Asian food imaginable, with communal tables and chairs in the middle. It's only a couple of dollars per meal so you can go out on a limb safe in the knowledge that you can just buy something else if you don't like it. Charged up with five-spice pork and noodles we walk down to Chinatown, where we spend the afternoon looking at various tat and bumping into people from the ship.

I've done no research on the basis that my brother will have, and he doesn't let me down. Early evening sees us hail a cab to the Swissotel, where a lift takes us straight to the 69th floor New Asia bar. Double-height floor-to-ceiling windows cause my head to spin a momentarily, and an hour or two later my head is spinning for real after a few vodka martinis. Darkness falls and the city is lit up below us.

Day 2 - Singapore to Kuala Lumpur

We head back to the same hotel the next day as it's Sunday, and all the hotels offer various brunch deals. Most follow the same formula of unlimited champagne and a posh buffet. The contrast with the previous day's lunch could not be more stark as we have oysters, sashimi, rare roast beef and more, all washed down with a gallon of Moet. It's not cheap, but it's worth it, for tonight our holiday within a holiday starts as we take the overnight train to Kuala Lumpur. We still have an hour or two to kill so walk over to Raffles in humidity that threatens to suffocate us. I had been to the ludicrously overpriced and overrated Raffles' Long Bar a few years ago, but we go again and pay through the nose for a Singapore Sling that tastes like Calpol. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

At the station that evening we board the train and find our cabin. The deluxe first-class couchette (their description) could be described as modest. Shrill Asian pop music blasts through a tinny speaker in the wall. It can't be turned off. There is a television that doesn't work. The bunk beds are adequate, with a single sheet, blanket and pillow each. We stow our luggage and sit on the beds. The grating music continues and we search in vain for a means to switch it off. The air-conditioning is ferocious to the point of hypothermia and we get into bed as the train starts without warning. Thankfully the music stops as the train starts. Twenty minutes in, the darkness is interrupted by the elusive guard who delivers plastic containers of chicken and rice. Twenty minutes after this we have to get off to pass through Malaysian immigration, after which we spend a fitful night as the train lurches onward to Kuala Lumpur.

Day 3 - Kuala Lumpur to Butterworth

We rise at 6.30am to the manic tones of the guard announcing we are nearly there, followed by more Asian pop, a Guantanamo-like sensory device to render sleep impossible. There is a toilet, washbasin and shower in our cabin, and James has been furtively stealing additional towels from vacant cabins at regular intervals. I jump in the shower and find I can only tease the merest of trickles from the shower head. I break the news to a less-than-impressed James, but temper it by saying that there are bound to be showers at the newly built Kuala Lumpur Sentral station. Indeed there are, and there are three options; shower with towel and soap, shower with towel, or simply shower. The attendant sits benignly by the sign. "Two showers with towel and soap", I say. He shakes his head, "no soap". "Ok", I reply, "two showers with towel". He smiles and shakes his head again, "no towel". The irony is not lost on me; we have just left a train with four towels and no water and now have showers with no towels.

We tour Kuala Lumpur that morning having sprayed deodorant liberally over ourselves, the luxury of champagne buffets a distant memory. It's a modern city pitching itself at conference trade and day-tripping tourists like us. We take a hop-on/hop-off bus tour that guides us through tropical gardens with a huge aviary further into the city and the huge Petronas towers, until recently the tallest in the world. Joined at the fortieth floor by a connecting walkway, this is the highest the general public are allowed, and the better bet is to ascend to around 1000 feet at the nearby Kuala Lumpur tower. They have a revolving restaurant with a good lunch deal so we sit there and regroup over seafood soup and beef curry.

Sleepy at the best of times after a big lunch, we're exhausted by mid-afternoon given the previous night, and we still have hours to go before another train ride north that evening. The tour bus passes a hotel that advertises a four-hour stay for 50 ringitt (about ten pounds). I'm familiar with the target audience of premises that rent rooms in this way, but this was a big place on a the main street with a huge banner. Surely not. Well, yes. I checked in, attracting looks ranging from puzzled to disgust, and was then asked for a further fifty ringitt as deposit. The room was spartan but clean, and mobile phone numbers for various services adorned the inside of the cupboard doors. On the bedside table was a laminated card outlining the costs guests would incur for a variety of infractions, among them broken ashtrays, dirty sheets, dirty pillowcases, blocked toilets and on and on. One can only imagine. We showered and then slept with the door firmly locked.

Amazingly I got my deposit back without argument and we continued our tour through the city, stopping at the Golden Triangle district and Chinatown before doing another circuit of the Petronas Towers as night falls, when they are lit up quite spectacularly. We then pass a street full of lively bars in Tengkat Tong Shin. It's fairly westernised but we feel in need of home comforts, so we get off and I have a chicken curry with a pint of Heineken while watching Sunderland on satellite TV. You could argue I didn't really need to come to Kuala Lumpur to do this, but cut me some slack, it had been a challenging day.

The delights of tonight's train journey surpass our previous experience. We are heading for the Malaysian island of Penang, but there is no couchette car on the journey north through Malaysia to Butterworth. Instead we merely have first-class seats which looked to be of generous size and recline on the booking website. Why I thought this would be ok I will never know. The carriage is tired and a little grubby, the seats are cramped and we are situated near the front where a procession of people pass by to the toilet on a regular basis, causing the automatic door to bang shut and waking me with a jolt every time. It's refrigerator cold again and we have shorts and t-shirts on. In short, it was purgatory, a fact confirmed to me regularly throughout the night by my sweet-natured travelling companion. We pull into Butterworth at around 6.30am and stumble off the train. Little Miss Sunshine brings up the rear as we trudge along the platform, mumbling variations on a theme about never forgiving me for this.

Day 4 - Penang
 
From here it is a short boat ride over to Penang, and from there a cab ride to our hotel. The mood is sombre, and it's clear to me that the retention of my testicles is dependant on this hotel being satisfactory. I've booked a room at the Eastern & Oriental and thankfully it's fantastic from the moment we step into the palatial reception, possessing the kind of colonial elegance that Raffles maybe once had. My request for early check-in is granted and we are directed to a breakfast room with sun terrace overlooking the ocean while they prepare the room. Coffee, croissants and fruit juice revive us a little and we are then shown to our quarters. A standard room here comprises a huge bedroom, lounge, dressing room and double-size bathroom with a walk-in shower that fires torrents of hot water from an oversized head over our weary bones. We spend the afternoon by the pool under a fierce sun before venturing out for an excellent Chinese meal at a new, modern restaurant on the marina. I'm off the hook.

Day 5 - Penang

After the best breakfast buffet ever, eaten in the sun, we meet Robert, a local cabbie recommended by a fellow guest as a cost-effective tour guide. Robert is third-generation Chinese, knows the island inside out, and soon wins my favour by treating me as the boss and addressing me as Mr. David. Malaysia is a Muslim country but Penang leans towards Buddhism, due to the high proportion of Chinese immigrants, and the main places of interest are temples. I would say 'yet more temples' but Penang's are really quite something. We stop first at the Burmese Buddhist temple where an imposing golden Buddha presides over tranquil cloisters. A Thai Buddhist temple is across the street, colours equally vibrant and housing a huge reclining Buddha surrounded by family tributes to loved ones who have passed away. After this we drive through a street market and then up into the hills to visit temple number three, Kek Lok Si. The site is visible from miles away, an absolutely huge Buddha, at least a hundred feet tall, dominating the hillside. Started in 1890 and still a work in progress, it also comprises a network of temples, landscaped gardens and links to another temple lower down via a furnicular railway. It's ornate and fascinating, but it's also a feat of engineering, and one that evidently needs maintaining as teams of workers scrabbling over rooftops and shinning up pillars testify. We walk around the botanical gardens and then visit the beach for fresh mango juice. It's been another successful day and I'm back in credit.

Day 6 - Penang to Bangkok

The ever accommodating staff have granted me a late checkout so we loiter by the pool until lunchtime before Robert picks us up and takes us to the airport. We chat to the predominantly English residents, where the hot topic is the increasing number of affordable apartments being built (three bed with sea view for £50k). We are travelling with Air Asia to Bangkok, a relatively new outfit dubbed an Asian Easyjet. The flight is smooth, it was cheap and we arrive on time. At the risk of sounding a bit weird, Bangkok airport is brilliant, a colossal aesthetic triumph of steel and glass where everything is clearly signposted. For the first time ever my case is first off the plane and meets me at the carousel, there is no queue for a taxi and the traffic is light. Within an hour we've arrived at the hotel, scarcely believing our luck.

Around the corner from our hotel is yet more great, cheap food at the Suan Lum night market. It's huge, hundreds of stalls selling take away dishes, dozens of larger restaurants and bars, with shops selling anything and everything wedged inbetween. We eat our fill, wander around having the odd drink and, for reasons not clear to me now, agree to sit with our feet in a tank of water and have little fish exfoliate our feet by nibbling them.

Day 7 - Bangkok

I've been warned that in Bangkok that taxi drivers are to be treated with extreme caution. Despite all cabs having meters, they prefer not to use them and instead offer an inflated price. And so it proves, and it takes about three attempts before we are on our way to the riverside to catch a boat up to the Grand Palace. Even then the driver offers to buy us boat tickets, which turn out to be a far more expensive commercial operation than the public boat we catch for pennies. We're crammed into the boat with fellow tourists and commuters, passing by hotels, ten-a-penny temples and a number of naval vessels on patrol, presumably to guard against water-borne protestors.

The Grand Palace is, as a street-seller asserted, 'better than your Buckingham Palace'. It's a huge site, a collection of buildings old and new that are breathtaking, vast amounts of gold leaf and marble as far as the eye can see. We spend the morning exploring before going to Jim Thompson's house for a further tour. An ex-American soldier, Thompson fell in love with Thailand and resurrected traditional methods of silk production, and his house has been preserved as it was when he mysteriously disappeared on a business trip.

We've walked for miles and so decide to go for a foot massage around the corner from the hotel. We end up having haircuts, foot massages, foot scrubs and a head massage. We are there for about three hours, the total comes to around twenty pounds and we leave walking on air.

Now obviously partaking in cocktails on the rooftops of international hotels is in danger of becoming dreary to us, but we do the Banyan Tree hotel the courtesy of visiting the Vertigo Bar, up a mere 59 floors. The main difference here is that this bar is in the open air, with a waist-high fence separating you from a brush with mortality. We pitch up before sunset and secure a table on the edge. It ticks every box with funky furnishings, cheery, attentive staff and great drinks that they really could get away with charging more for. There is also a restaurant here, with tables and chairs clad in white linen, where the prices are a bit steep so we descend four floors to the sushi and teppenyaki bar to finish the evening with an all-you-can-eat special.

Day 8 - Bangkok to Muscat

It's an early start today back to the airport and we pass through numerous military checkpoints on the way to the airport as the protests gather momentum again. We're flying with Oman Air and in a fit of largesse we are flying posh, as it was strangely only about 20% more than economy. The seats are great, the television is huge and the food and drink just keep coming. At the risk of going off on a tangent I can recommend the Michael Jackson memorial-pic, 'This is it'. Yes he was completely weird and damaged, but he still had it and the rehearsals looked incredible. My champagne is topped up as I watch 'The Damned United' and after a quick snooze we descend over the desert into Muscat.

After buying a visa from Travelex that is essentially a till receipt, we are let through customs. It's a compact airport with limited traffic and we're soon on our way to the hotel. I had booked the hotel online, primarily because it is in the Sultan Qaboos area where the ship will dock. Except it's not - Sultan Qaboos is an area inexplicably miles away from Port Sultan Qaboos, and our hotel is on a particularly unattractive roundabout next to a dual carriageway.

Muscat itself is a bit of a letdown. The souk is a covered market about a tenth of the size of the Grand Bazar in Istanbul and with about a tenth of the charm as well. The old town is actually quite new, having been renovated . The palace is nice enough, kind of art deco meets Arabia, and sits at the end of a vast colonnade, but after that you are struggling for things to please the eye. You also struggle to please your palate in the town, and most restaurants of note are housed in hotels. we end up at the deserted Inter-Continental at Trader Vics, Nandos for the upwardly mobile.

After a night in Muscat we are excited at embarking onto the ship once more and catching up with the gossip. Soldiers bar our path to the port as we don't have an exit pass from the ship but we're soon back on board and feted like a pair of returning Livingstones. A man who sits near us at dinner hands us the ships daily newsletter for the day the ship was in Mumbai. It states that, contrary to the information handed out previously, those not in possession of an Indian visa will not face any reprisals and can simply stay on the ship whilst it is in port. It's a staggering turnaround. Caught between not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I do neither. We've had a great week off the ship so I decide not to analyse it any further. Look forward, not back. In this case forward means Dubai the next day and we leave Muscat under cloudless skies and dry desert heat, a welcome respite from the humidity of previous days. Things really ain't that bad.