We were in plenty of time to get to the bus, and decided to walk rather than get a taxi. We queued politely until we realised that that was never going to get us anywhere, and then just pushed onto the bus. The seats we were allocated were already taken so we stole someone else's but no-one seemed to care. The bus, with its obligatory ice-cold air-conditioning, left almost on time and made its precarious way through the traffic. There was not enough leg-room even for me, and I'm short, and every bump anywhere left me with bruises. But the trip only took six hours, so it could have been worse! We drove through hills and forests and past signs that said the speed limit was 80km/jam which made me happy. And then the two-hour uphill bit started, round hairpin bends and blind corners with horn-blaring abandon. It was a very long trek, but the end result was worth it. We ended up in the Cameron Highlands, a formerly British-colonised hill station, in a town called Tanah Rata.

We immediately bought our return tickets as we were 'forewarned' to do so on the bus, and then the hotel sent a minibus to pick us up and take us up the hill to a pretty little place. It was once a school for the children of the British colonists but was turned into a hotel in the 1930s. Because Malaysia is taking a couple of weeks to celebrate its 47th birthday, this is peak season in the country and as a result we were only able to find a suite available here, but we thought we'd try. The hotel was very pretty, rather English, with rose gardens and hanging baskets and fake Tudor-style black-and-whiteness, and our room, although new and made of concrete and corrugated iron, had beams in the ceiling and dark wooden furniture. There was even a little upstairs room with a desk and a spare bed.

We had scones and cream and local strawberry jam with our tea in the garden. It was a very home-like feeling, especially as it rained and was significantly colder than KL. Then we went for a wal before supper, trying to find a waterfall that we were told was nearby, and failing. There was a nice view from the hill behind the hotle, though, with forest-covered hills in the mist and, if you discount the huge high-rise hotelsbeing built, unspoiled landcape as far as we could see, with palm trees and ferns and orchids everywhere.

We had supper in the hotel restaurant, a very tasty five-dish curry affair, and then fresh local strawberries. I ate far too much again, and the walk up the hill to our room seemed like a very long way. I fell asleep while Mikey found the end of the Belgian Grand Prix, and even got to see the bit where the drivers say a few words in their own languages, apparently a rare treat. I heard the Malaysian sports presenters discussing the race afterwards, one of them talking in English and asking the other guy what he thought: the reply came in Malay, and then the English-speaker answered his questions. It was rather funny but I was asleep to the sound of crickets outside by then.