Batu Caves and a Bar-Crawl

From the base, the view was spectacular. The massive golden statue of Lord Murugan and the dramatic cave opening in the limestone cliff left me genuinely awestruck - mouth open, which also helped with breathing.

We navigated through what felt like entire nations of pigeons taking off erratically in all directions on a whim. Near-collisions were frequent.

Before climbing the 272 steps, two women approached me, gesturing enthusiastically. It quickly became clear: they didn’t want me to take a photo of them - they wanted a photo with me. First the mother, then the daughter swapped in. Much gratitude all around.

(This is actually quite common in tourist-heavy areas across Southeast and South Asia - I‘m not entirely sure why, but I‘m gonna guess it‘s a mix of curiosity and a certain enthusiasm for a photo with someone who looks visibly out of place…)

At the base of the stairs, I was promptly told off by a woman for showing my knees. Fair enough — I had prepared. Instead of renting a sarong, I produced my 100% cotton beach towel from my backpack and wrapped it around myself. Approved.
The ascent was intense. High humidity, heavy backpack, towel insulation - and my body activated every available sweat gland in protest. They all obliged.
Halfway up, the two women found me again - this time wanting photos with Anna as well. Same procedure. Then another round with me. Because… sure. Why not.

Inside the cave - I have to say - I was underwhelmed. Floodlights everywhere, and various brightly coloured structures that seemed placed without much regard for the natural environment. Likely temples and shops, but the overall effect felt somewhat chaotic and, frankly, tacky. A pity, given the natural beauty of the cave itself. The goal was clearly tourism at all costs - which, paradoxically, made it rather unattractive.

At one point, a staff member suddenly launched small rocket-like firecrackers that shot upward and exploded against the cave ceiling with a loud, echoing bang. We hypothesised it might be to deter birds - though given the sheer volume of pigeons, that strategy seemed limited in its effectiveness.

On the way down, we encountered monkeys - and, of course, people feeding them. From experience in Bali, I know that’s a terrible idea. They may look adorable from a distance, but they become aggressive quickly and lose all inhibition around humans once regularly fed and then they take whatever they want. What they give in return: rabies.

Back in the city, there wasn’t much time to rest.

In the evening, I joined my first - and ideally last - bar crawl. Four bars in total.

The first was my favourite: free spaghetti and relative quiet. Unfortunately, the drinks took ages to arrive - and then we had to down them within five minutes to move on.

The second bar: loud music. Enjoyment declining.

The third: live music. Extremely loud. I genuinely do not understand the appeal of music so loud that conversation becomes a shouting match - a particular delight with auditory processing difficulties. Also, the venue was tiny. Why the singer needed a microphone remains a mystery.

The final stop was back at our hostel. Convenient. I was especially fond of the “No Smoking” sign - largely ignored by staff, who smoked freely in an unventilated room. Naturally, there was also loud music.
I stayed longer than intended (I detest cigarette smoke)- the conversation within our little group was good, even if it required strained yelling throughout.

I also spoke to a young Brit who took it upon himself to mansplain travelling in Australia to me, fully aware of m having spent more time there and having been to more places. But he talked in superlatives. Everything he experienced was the best…
He was also particularly proud of his alcohol tolerance - unlike, in his telling, any Australian he had ever encountered. The sheer intensity with which he described his drinking achievements was something. I noted how much importance he seemed to place on that. He confirmed, proudly, and continued.
I left and he found new prey, happily relaying his stories on repeat.

Eventually, I said goodbye to the Dutchies (Japan-bound), retreated to bed, and apologised to my ears for the noise - and to my nose for the 1-pentanethiol assault.Read more