This is one of those "You wouldn't believe what happened to me" stories.
My family and I were in Kuala Lumpur, esteemed Malaysian capital of good barbecued chicken wings, taxi touts and predictable traffic jams, over the last few days. On Saturday, we were meant to make our way back to Singapore.
The coach pick up time was 3pm so we checked out at 2pm and waited at the Swiss Garden hotel lobby (we stayed at the new Residences built behind the Hotel. Nice but has its flaws, trying to keep all of their 4 stars.)
Waiting was not easy with a hyperactive 3 year old running around the Christmas tree. I think we gave him too much coffee. Our bus came at 4pm, apparently delayed by the Bukit Bintang traffic.
Once we boarded, we sensed something was not quite right - the temperature wasn't at the typical freezing-to-lull-passengers-to-hibernation setting. In fact it was warm and progressively warming up. No one really complained till it became a tad more unbearable. I had managed to doze off even. My asthmatic mum started feeling the choke of stifled heat first and had to take several puffs of her inhalers.
About an hour into the journey out of KL, the driver pulls over at Nilai rest stop and calls it quit. Passengers stream out, hoping for a cooler respite outside the bus and a quick resolution to this crisis. It was actually comfortable at the rest stop, with a natural breeze passing through. Thank goodness it was clean. (Malaysian highway rest stops manage to maintain exceeding contrasts in service and hygiene standards.) The time now was 5pm.
So we drank and ate a little, unaware of any planned resolution to our bus outage. The driver, a soft spoken Chinese man with black rimmed glasses and a beard (He was quite bear-like), was constantly on his mobile. We kept getting whispers of 'bus coming in 20 minutes'. So we waited patiently.
Having been tested long enough, I called the bus company office in Singapore at 640pm, and gave them a harsh lecture. Once again, I got the '20 minutes' message from a nervous girl. When I asked to speak to the manager, apparently there wasn't one around. The substitute bus came at 7pm.
When everyone had boarded Bus 2, we realised there was a seat short. I took my nephew on my lap and gave up his seat to a grateful passenger. So we were on our way south once more.
At about 10pm, we stopped at Yong Peng, a traditional stop for many bus services plying the North South highway. We hobbled out of the vehicle and had a Ramly burger, two tau sar paus and a coffee my mum didn't want. At half past or so, the bus was off again towards Tuas.
At about 1045pm, my nephew on lap noticed a man in a red shirt walk hastily from the back of the bus to the front. He asked why the man was running. I turned around to see a haze developing at the back of the bus. It was like a cloud developing. There was the smell of plastic smouldering and I instinctively shouted "Fire!". The driver slammed in the brakes and pulled over. A commotion and shouts ensued, and a hasty stream of nervous, startled passengers emerged from the front door onto the dark road and drizzle. I passed my barefoot nephew to my brother-in-law who joined the exit line. My asthmatic mum was yelling something and my sis was asking everyone in the back to get out quick. Oddly enough, a few sleeping passengers were oblivious to the smoke.
We all made it out in a couple of minutes. As I left the bus I turned to look back and saw a fireball of orange at the back of the vehicle. Educated by years of television watching, one has to get as far away from the flames before the whole bloody thing explodes. So we did, a good 50-60 metres down the road. No, the bus didn't explode.
The driver managed to douse the fire with god-knows-what and pretty soon it died down to a smoking rear end. In the meantime, some of us kiasu types managed to yank out all the luggage stored in the lower coach compartment and spilled the bags on the road and grass verge. I noticed black oil mixed with the stream that ran along the road and figured the fuel tank or some pipe must have leaked.
There was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing as people tried to identify their belongings while fast cars zoomed past, some slowed down in apparent surprise at seeing 20-odd persons in the cold and wet by the road side. I was afraid that some passing truck or car would not see the bus and crash right in, taking us down with the metal mess. I kept asking the passengers who strayed deeper into the road lane to stay in.
Well at least we could see the stars clearly now. Orion was practically shining down on us.
My nephew vomited in the drama. Scared people do that sometimes. My mum put a towel around his head and he looked like he had a tudung on. So cute. He remained as curious as ever, asking questions about what happened.
In an emergency, who do you call? Usually the answer is simple - police, fire brigade, medical services. When in a JB emergency who do you call? Apparently +65 999 doesn't work. My sis managed to get the Johor crime hotline and they despatched the highway vehicle emergency team. Their blue swirling lights appeared on the wrong side of the highway about half an hour into the situation. Not sure what Plus Ronda people did but eventually there was a smouldering box lying in the drain by the side of the highway.
The gods already laughing at us decide to turn up the tension by letting down more rain. Soon umbrellas were up and some passengers donned their raincoats. The bags now got even wetter. It was a fine mess. Someone came around to say we could wait in the bus. We were mostly appalled at the suggestion at first but came around to clambering up the stationary metal box because smoke inhalation seemed like a lesser evil that hypothermia. Up in the bus we went. There was a moment of relief actually when most of us were more comfortable in the dry. The passengers chatted about what got wet and even laughed about what had gone on.
At 1215, the replacement bus, the third one, arrived. Finally it seemed the drama was over and we could be on our way back home. The new driver apologised for what happened and carried on his way towards Johor Bahru. Somewhere along the way though, he announced he had no passport to enter Singapore. *Cue dramatic intro music* But there was a replacement driver with him who had his passport but didn't know the way around Singapore. *Cue dramatic rejoinder music*
I volunteered to navigate.
It seemed to take forever to get to Gelang Patah, like we were on a neverending highway with no lights and red tailights zooming past us every 10 minutes. People were just staring forward, anxious to see some semblance of hope in the form of the bright lights of immigration and customs control. A weird feeling, made worse by how tired we were. The document-less bus driver got off at the intersection that led to Johor Bahru, into a waiting car. Lucky bastard.
Eventually we crossed over the Second Link and made into Singapore. It must have been near 2am.
I took the chance to ask if the route back to the city could better accommodate the passengers. So I got the driver to make a diversion to Jurong East MRT and drop a lady off at the bus stop opposite NUH. Funnily enough, to cap the highly momentous day of travelling, I had to figure out the best way for Mr Unfamiliar to get back to JB. I navigated the simplest route - down the ECP Rochor Road ramp, stopped outside Bugis MRT and told the driver to go back up Ophir Road ramp into ECP then AYE Tuas. Ta-dah!
After a hot shower, I think it was 3am before I hit the sack. What a day.
Konsortium is the bus company. My sis went down to the office on Monday to raise hell. I think she got some money back. Hmm.
1 comment:
Post a Comment