Ferris Bueller was spot on

I'd originally only intended to stay in Langkawi for a couple of days, maintaining the momentum of the previous fortnight's travels up the peninsular.

But on arriving here I decided to stay a bit longer; after all, life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while you could miss it.

Funny how cod John Hughes' philosophy sticks in your brain - and influences a year of your life.

I had checked into the 20 quid a night AB Motel expecting nothing much, but found I had an A/c room to myself only 10 yards from the beach.

As I stood on the beach that evening watching the sunset it dawned on me how soon I would be back in England. Don't get me wrong, I want to come home, but as I watched the sky redden I resolved not to rush up to Bangkok - I wanted to stop and look around.

I was actually pretty relieved to get here after catching the Vomit Rocket as the ferry from Penang is known. I didn't find it as bumpy or puke-inducing as some had said it would be, but I did find it strange that their choice of in-sailing film was Poseidon, a recent Kurt Russell remake of The Poseidon Adventure.

Seriously. As we hammered our way up the Straits of Malacca we watched a boat-based disaster movie. The crew walked the aisles asking if we were enjoying the movie laughing uproariously to themselves.

I would have stayed to watch it to the end, determined not to develop another transportation-based phobia, but the DVD cut-out with about twenty minutes to go. I'm sure I can work out the ending.

So it was up on deck to join those who'd been terrified topside early doors to watch our approach to Langkawi.

The next morning I headed back to the beach, only to find it utterly deserted. Bliss.

In the wake of my Bueller-based revelation the night before, I changed my reservation from two nights to six.

I then proceeded to do not a lot.

I'd wake up at about 10, bumble sleepily into the sea for a swim, have a shower, go for brunch at about 1pm, have a siesta, head back to the beach about 4pm, have a cold beer on my porch about six, go out for dinner and then go to bed.

It was really just me and the sea and it's been lovely.

I wasn't completely alone though. I had my friendly neighbourhood strays to keep me company in the evenings - I suspect it was the tinned tuna I bought for them that they were friendly with rather than me, but it was nice to have some company that didn't ask 'So how long are you travelling for?'.

I also seem to have got addicted to monkey nuts. My room is full of little piles of shells dotted around that haven't quite made it into the bin. Sorry Mum!

Don't worry, I tidy them up every morning before the cleaners arrive.

It's now my last night, and for the first time in God knows how long I'm actually writing my blog from the place it's about.

But then I have sat on my arse for the last week.

Me and you Ferris, me and you!

The reappearance of the lambs

These dawn starts are really beginning to get on my wick. I'm supposed to be on holiday!

Sadly, given the minibus driver wanted to be back in the Camerons for his tea and Penang is a four-hour drive away, it was the only option. Still it was nice watching the sun rise over the mountains.

Initially it was just me and the driver, but we stopped to pick up the boss - boss of what I never found out - who wanted dropping off on the way.

If the driver felt the need to impress the boss with his driving his skills, he went about it in a very strange way. Overtaking on blind bends at speed is not my idea of fun - even the boss got his prayer book and worry beads out.

We stopped at a service station when we got back to sea level, not an interesting event in itself, I just thought you might like to see what a Malaysian motorway service station looks like - not a Burger King in sight!

The deal I thought I'd made for a transfer to my hostel in Georgetown on Penang island turned out to actually be a transfer to Butterworth ferry station on the mainland. Oh well.

The hostel was in the old Chinese district of Georgetown, much like Malacca but on a bigger scale. It seems the Chinese have cornered the tourist market in Malaysia.

Although the scenery was much the same as in Malacca, it was still pretty nonetheless and I spent a couple of days wandering the backstreets taking it all in.

Georgetown has a delightfully delapidated feel, which gives it real character.

There's an old East India Company fort in Georgetown, Fort Cornwallis, which aswell as being historically interesting played Mozart from loudspeakers over the whole site - presumably in an effort to lend it an authentic 18th-century feel. Weird, but not unpleasant.

The food in Georgetown was delicious and cheap, as it had been throughout Malaysia. I'd struggled to find a definitive Malay dish, as the restaurants either serve Indian or Chinese-style meals. Presumably, given the ethnic mix of the country, that is what actually makes up Malay cuisine.

And for two quid a pop I had some of the best curries I've eaten outside of Brick Lane - and even the local places served Chicken Tikka Masala!

The toilets in Penang were some of the worst I've seen anywhere in the world though - this one being a particular highlight.

And there's nothing behind the door, that was it, just a grate in the floor.

While I'd been hiding in Kuala Lumpur I met an English couple, Matt and Christine, over breakfast and they'd given me their email address to get in touch when I got to Penang as Christine has family there.

Throughout this trip, I've never ceased to be amazed at how immediately open, generous and helpful other backpackers are to each other. But it hit me again when I emailed Matt only to find I was invited along to meet the family, join them for dinner and generally be made to feel welcome. I'd only talked to them for five minutes over breakfast!

I was taken to one of the hawker food markets in Georgetown, where we enjoyed a lovely dinner of satay, noodles, chinese sausage and fried tofu in the company of the local buses and taxis. Fantastic!

And I tried the delicious Apom for the first time - a kind of sweet fried pancake made with coconut - made for us on the spot.

That was my last night in Georgetown and after trying but I suspect failing, to express my thanks to Matt and Christine and her family - they hadn't let me pay for a thing - I set off back to the hostel.

Only to find my headless nemesis had followed me from a fridge in Patagonia to a fridge in Malaysia. And brought his mate.

Devious bastards.

Highs and lows of the Cameron Highlands

Malaysia and The Philippines are probably the hottest places I've ever been too, and coupled with the humidity temperatures that often approach 40 can make for a pretty uncomfortable time.

Fortunately, a few hours north east of Kuala Lumpur are the Cameron Highlands, a series of little towns perched on a plateau about 4,500 feet above sea level in the mountains.

I wasn't exactly sure what went on up there, but I did know it would be a lot cooler than Kuala Lumpur. And it took me in the direction I wanted to go, so off I went.

It's tea country in the Camerons, and the British influence is obvious in the architecture as the Malaysian ruling classes used to escape here much as they did to places like Darjeeling in India.

It was deliciously overcast and cool when I arrived at Father's Guest house in Tanah Rata, and my hopes of a decent dorm were raised as I walked up the drive to the lovely building perched atop hill above the town.

Those hopes were dashed upon the Nissen hut dorms I was lead to on the other side of the building though.

Twelve backpackers packed into a converted Nissen hut is not pleasant I can tell you. But again, for a couple of quid a night, I couldn't complain.

I spent a couple of days in Tanah Rata, exploring the jungle and generally relishing the cooler temperatures - apparently it never tops 20 degrees up there and it was actually cold at night. Properly cold. I shivered for the first time in months!

There are lots of jungle walks that start in the town, and though I'm no big trekker I did try a couple of the less strenuous ones out.

This isn't just a badly taken picture of a bit of pathway, it's a badly taken picture of two butterflies dancing over the path.

And here's some pics of genuine Malaysian jungle!

One of the trails was advertised as ending in a delightful jungle waterfall. And from a distance it certainly seemed delightful.

However, on closer inspection it turned out to be more akin a drain than a waterfall.

Which is a real shame, because like much of the Camerons, Tanah Rata could be an amazingly picturesque escape from KL as it must have been in its glory days, but because it's so badly maintained nobody ever bothers these days.

The city that never was

After Tokyo, Hong Kong, Manila and Singapore I wasn't particularly interested in what Kuala Lumpur had to offer - it was just another Asian city packed with skyscrapers and shopping malls as far as I could gather.

It does have the Petronas Towers, but after Tokyo's cityscape even they were a bit dull - especially when I found out you can't go to the top! I was content to photograph them from afar.

As I was only there for two days I challenged myself to see as little of the city as possible. Not too tricky as there isn't much in KL, but I gave it a crack.

At first I did pretty well staying in the Times Square shopping mall on the other side of the street from the hostel. And it was a pretty big place, so I was able to occupy myself fairly easily.

I even went to watch Terminator at the Imax they had inside in an effort to avoid the city.

But then just as I thought I was going to manage to see nothing of the city at all and fulfil my goal, Chris announced it was his 30th birthday. Bugger.

So off we set on the monorail to have a look at the towers and grab a celebratory dinner. And bugger me if they're not actually pretty bloody impressive at night.

I'm not sure what Chris is doing in the picture. I think he was trying to hold up the towers, but it just looks like he's complaining about how noisy they are.

We decided to walk back to the hostel rather than get public transport, further exposing me to the city I'd wanted to avoid, dammit.

I'm glad we did though, as we found a nice little expats pub. It didn't look much from the outside

but the owner was friendly, we met and chatted to a couple of expat businessmen and there wasn't another traveller in sight. Perfect.

There then followed a bit of an impromptu bar crawl to a locals' bar where the deafening wail of Chinese karaoking to Cantopop drove us out after one drink,

and to an English-style pub where the young Malay companions of the many middle-aged expats earned their drinks by the hour. If you know what I mean.

I'd come so close to seeing nothing of KL, but was foiled at the last. Nevermind, it was fun in the end!

A load of old Malaccas

What follows now is a bit of a whistlestop tour up the Malaysian peninsular, so lots of photos and not too many words you'll be pleased to know!

Waking up at the crack of dawn (why does travelling always seem to involve waking up at 5am?!) I caught a bus from central Singapore to Malacca, of straits fame.

I met a nice guy called Chris from King's Lynn at the bus stop and we travelled together for the next few days.

After pretty much abandoning the hostel trail in Australia, apart from a brief period with Jude in Japan, I was now well and truly back on it. This was the un-air-conditioned, mosquito-ridden dormitory we stayed at in Malacca.

It wasn't as bad as it looks or sounds, honest. And the owner was really helpful and friendly. It just took a bit of getting used to after the cheap hotels I'd been using in The Philippines, Hong Kong and Japan. And for two pound a night, I couldn't really complain!

Malacca was recently made a Unesco World Heritage site and so the locals are pushing tourism hard.

There's an old 16th century Portuguese church and surrounding buildings were added to by the Dutch and British as they took over through the 18th and 19th centuries.

Our guesthouse was in Chinatown, which was a really atmospheric part of the city; the rest of which was covered in malls, as seems to be the Asian way.

The rickshaw drivers had taken the tourism thing a bit too much to heart though, decking their vehicles out in this kind of garish decoration. And fitting them with seriously powerful sound systems that blared out terrible 90s pop and dance music!

There wasn't much nightlife, but I did manage to make friends with a couple of locals (who all seemed to be called Sam) at a bar round the corner one evening and we had a good chat about Malaysian life - it's a much more corrupt and racially troubled country than I'd imagined.