DAY 485: "When you go to Los Angeles, you go to Universal Studios or Disneyland," Geow the CalPoly-grad told me in the truck as we drove in the pre-dawn darkness of 6:30 a.m. "When you go to K.L., you go to Genting Highlands."

The Genting Highlands was not in my Let's Go guidebook, nor was it on the standard tourist trail for Western budget backpackers in southeast Asia. Reason being, it's a rather pricey place, a huge tourist mecca targeted for Malaysians, as well as other midde- to upper-class Asian tourists in the region. Not only was it a getaway from the hustle and bustle of mundane modern life, but an escape from the hot tropical temperatures; at up to 6000 ft. ASL, the temperature was about ten degrees cooler than at sea level.

Encompassing 11,000 acres of land, the Genting Highlands is a self-proclaimed "City of Entertainment," a self-sufficient commercial complex akin to Disney World or Universal Studios, with six resort hotels, theme parks, restaurants, exhibition and concert space, casinos -- even its own police force and fire department. Geow was one of the head horticulturalists there, where he had served with a green thumb for twenty years.

With that said, I had a sort of unique inside look at the Genting Highlands resort scene, which started at Geow's company-given apartment that he still kept even though he and his family now lived in a house in the K.L. suburbs. It was there that his daughter (and my faithful Blogreader) Vivian was born and raised, attended early school, and learned to ride horses at the resorts' horse ranch. We stopped in at the apartment for a quick coffee and Milo before heading out to one of the local restaurants that catered to the estimated 7,000 employees that lived and worked on the grounds.

"They were asking me where you were from," Geow told me. The regulars recognized Vivian as Geow's daughter but were wondering about the new guy. He told them I was from the States.

"You should have told them Malay," Vivian said, knowing quite well that I blended in with her fellow people. Malaysian was just another nationality of mistaken identity for my list; in fact more cases were to come that day, none of the Filipino.

"IF YOU FALL, DON'T WORRY," Geow told us. "It's all rainforest. You don't have to worry about food, a tiger will come for you... if you're lucky," he joked when he dropped Vivian and me off at the lower station of the Genting SkyWay, which brought people from the golf courses of the mid-highlands to the upper-highlands at 6,000 ft. ASL. Using complimentary employee guest tickets, we took the "fastest and longest mono cable car in southeast Asia" for free, over the huge expanse of tropical forest, half of which was under Geow's jurisdiction. As we soared in our first of many "flight simulations" that day, Vivian pointed out things below of the inner workings of the resort complex, like the maintenance trails and the pumping station, until we arrived at the City of Entertainment in the clouds.

The Genting Highlands Resort complex was like Las Vegas in some respects, not just for its casinos, but its huge family entertainment and dining pavilions -- think New York, New York meets The Venetian. It was still pretty early when Vivian and I wandered around; nothing was open yet and the staff was still just getting to their daily posts. We wandered the hotel lobby and then killed time at the video arcade and strip of carnival games.

After redeeming our 80 collective points for a key chain and bookmark, we got what we were waiting for: employee passes for complimentary wristbands that let us into the outdoor Genting Theme Park where our day of flight simulation really began. Vivian, like myself, was a thrill-seeker and roller coaster enthusiast, and Genting Theme Park was our perfect playground.

"Let's start off easy," she suggested. There was no line for the small Cyclone coaster and since I was taller than the minimum height requirement, we climbed aboard. The short minute-long ride primed us for arguably the most terrifying ride of the whole park, the Space Shot, which took people strapped in chairs up to the highest point of the highlands and dropped them in freefall before catching them at the last second. It was a heart-pounding scream machine as seen in this video (4 MB Quicktime).

IT WAS A FULL ACTION-PACKED DAY of flying through the sky, from the three-loops-in-a-row Corkscrew, to the new Flying Coaster that twisted us upside-down while lying down, to the runaway Rolling Thunder mine train coaster. It was a weekday so there weren't many lines at all; in fact we did the Space Shot and Corkscrew twice -- although the second Corkscrew ride went faulty and that was enough of that.

It wasn't all flying coasters all day; it was a theme park with many attractions after all, from Dinosaur Land, to the dress-up characters, to the indoor Chinese New Year concerts, to the Super Toboggan Slide, to the Spinner, to motion simulator rides -- all staffed by people assuming I was Malaysian. "He was talking to you in Malay," Vivian pointed out at one point. "Add that to your list of nationalities."

There was also a "Pirate Train" funhouse, which turned out to be really lame with all its lame props. (That's not to say pirates are lame; pirates rule! Yaaaarrr!) Rounding out the fun was the biggest Coca-Cola can in Malaysia. "We have to take a picture with this!" I said, falling into the hype.

"Okay."

AFTER THE COMPLIMENTARY LUNCH of Pizza a'la Malaysian Chicken Curry (thanks to Geow's employee food debit card), it was time for a real flight simulator, so "real" that a warning sign was posted outside explaining that it was not a ride but an adventure sport. It was the Genting Sky Venture, a sky diving training simulator where you literally flew above a big fan blowing up winds of up to 193 km/hr. There was a special going on -- just 38 ringgit (about $10 USD) instead of the usual 50 -- and since it wasn't included on our wristband package, Vivian wooed me by paying the tab for me to brag that it was her that paid for my skydiving simulation. I was excited about it all, mostly because I wanted to end my Global Trip in New Zealand and do a real sky-dive there, but due to money and time constraints (mostly money), New Zealand had to be cut out of the itinerary. I signed up for the 1:30 session, while Vivian waited outside behind the glass.

With me in the session were the only two Caucasian guys we saw that day, Pascal and Michael from Switzerland, who thought they were going with a local Malaysian until they heard me say something.

"I heard your American English," Michael said. "We've been with many English people and their English is..." He mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Really, the English always tell me that British English is the real English."

"Bah! American English is much better."

Our Malaysian instructor, who also spoke English, was Mokhtar, and he gave us each a jumpsuit and helmet and led us not to the wind chamber but to a briefing room to learn about sky diving; on the board was a list of rules and a chart of hand signals. Great, I thought. Another adventure sport with another set of rules and signals I have to learn. Apparently there was more to freefall than knowing that one square yard of drag is enough to slow a falling body by twenty percent. Mokhtar had each of us learn to balance on this weird-looking massage table, and I learned that keeping balance in freefall was much more work than I thought. It is an abdominal muscle workout where you must remain on your abs and keep the rest of your body arched like a "U."

"I can't hear anything!" I said.

"What?!" Pascal said. We had just put in our earplugs, goggles and helmets and were all set to enter the wind chamber. The motor from beneath began to whirr and the airlock door opened for us to enter.

Mokhtar entered the chamber and was immediately in flight as the powerful winds blew him up into a state of zero gravity. He demonstrated how we should push off the wall with our hands and feet if we bumped into them and reminded us not to grab the grate on the floor if we hit the bottom. He showed us how to maneuver with simple tweaks of our appendages -- for example, looking up made you descend because more wind passed through at a steeper angle.

Michael had his two minutes, then Pascal, and then it was my turn. "Just go in?" I asked, but Mokhtar couldn't hear me with the motor on and earplugs in. I fell in forward and was immediately caught by the winds.

Woohoo! I'm flying! Peter Pan can kiss my ass! No pixie dust here; you just need an industrial wind turbine machine!

The good feelings only lasted so long because I was soon bouncing up and down, left and right like a lottery ball. Okay, concentrate. Looking up goes down. Looking down goes up. Up is down and down is up. Got it. I managed to stabilize my elevation, but my lateral motion wasn't so great. Soon I was spinning out of control like I was in the eye of a tornado. Luckily during the whole two minutes, Mokhtar would jump in and grab me for readjustments.

THE SWISS-GERMANS AND I SAT and watched as Mokhtar went into the chamber again solo to demonstrate to each of us what we were doing wrong. He was quite the expert at it as he could do head-spins and stunts that made him look like he was in The Matrix. For me, I had to learn to use my palms more to turn, and when it was time for my two minutes again, I really started to get the hang of it (picture above). With my arms extended and palms down like Superman flying, the slight tilting of my palms would turn me left or right. So this is how Superman maneuvers left and right! Amazing.

Outside the window I saw Vivian cheering me on with a handful of other spectators. Two Chinese people were pointing at me curiously; later Vivian told me that with my cheeks pushed into my face, they mistook me for some famous Taiwanese actor. (Add Taiwanese to my list of mistaken identities.)

"FILIPINO? I WOULDN'T HAVE GUESSED FILIPINO," Geow's other visiting friends from America said. "I thought you were some sort of interracial mix."

Back at the flat in the mid-highlands, Vivian and I rejoined her father, who was entertaining three other guests from the States, from Portland, OR and San Jose, CA. They were jokingly waiting for me to come back to share the wealth of big winnings from the casino -- however, I couldn't get into them without a collared shirt.

The seven of us hopped into either Geow's pick-up or a hired taxi for the two-hour ride back to their home in Subang Jaya, a K.L. suburb with new housing developments. Their house was a big one, with a living room, dining room, many pets, a younger 14-year-old brother named Villy, and a housekeeper who thought I was Indian. (She was looking for a dot on my forehead.)

It was at the house in Subang Jaya that I spent my final night in K.L. having dinner family style with my new K.L. friends, before using their broadband-enabled computer to check my e-mail and the latest from the Blog comments. My URL was already in the history of the browser.

"Look here," Vivian said. In the favorites, the URL was there as well.

For Vivian it was her one last time on "The Trinidad Show," and The Global Trip Groupie thanked me by doing the teenage, but very thoughtful thing of burning me a CD of music that she plays to remind her of me. The playlist was of a bit suggestive in nature -- "Lean Back," "Let's Get Married" -- and retorting in nature -- "It's Tricky," "No Woman, No Cry." I thanked her for the CD before we hopped back in the truck for her father to bring me back to my hostel in Chinatown.

"When you come again you can bunk at our house," Geow invited. I reciprocated the invite to the metro New York area.

Vivian and I hugged goodbye before I got out of the truck and walked back to my single room. Vivian's appearance on "The Trinidad Show" was over, but perhaps she'd be back in one day in the future if I came back to K.L. -- when she was finally of legal drinking age -- not only for beers, but for more "in-flight entertainment" with a faithful fan of my work. Some fans blow you up into zero gravity, but some fans are just plain fun.

SAVE THE DATE; DAY 503 IS COMING. MARCH 5, 2005, NYC.
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