It was uncanny. The man who stood before us on the grass verge really did look just like Michael Jackson. A young, pre-surgery Michael Jackson, that is.

But while the King of Pop has rocked some pretty crazy outfits in his time, I'm reasonably sure he never greeted his public wearing a loincloth, a cylindrical straw hat, and not much else - and carrying a blowpipe.

We'd left the comparative cool of the Cameron Highlands and were heading back down a very windy road on our way to Kuala Lumpur.

In between enthralling us with legends and folk stories and making us groan with his awful riddles, our guide Vijay told us he had a surprise for us: we were on our way to meet Michael Jackson.

I'd read something in my travel guide about a popular Malaysian drink with the slang name 'Michael Jackson', because it's made of soy milk (white) with strips of grass jelly in it (black). So I was feeling smug, thinking I knew what he was talking about - but also slightly nauseated, because the idea of a nice glass of jelly and soy milk while suffering from motion sickness really didn't appeal.

When the van pulled over in the middle of nowhere, with forest all around us and no drinks stall in sight, I was confused.

But there on the side of the road was a dwelling: a traditional woven hut on poles, home to an indigenous Malaysian or Orang Asli family. A couple of guys in shorts and t-shirts sat at the entrance and children were running around outside, along with a few chickens and some woeful-looking baby monkeys on chains.

Vijay told us the family would have killed the monkeys' parents in the jungle, eaten them for food, and decided to keep the babies as pets for a while.

Someone had bolted inside when we drove into view, and now he reappeared at the open door of the longhouse in his traditional garb. "There you go," Vijay said, "Michael Jackson!"

"Michael" came out and we all smiled and waved at each other. He spoke briefly with Vijay and then motioned for us to follow him a little way away from the house. We did, trying not to catch him at the wrong angle (the loincloth left little to the imagination).

 Lifting the long, slender bamboo pole he was carrying, he fitted a small dart into the top, took aim at a target and blew. We heard it whistle through the air and thunk into the target.

Next he proffered us the blowpipe. The boys in our group had a go, finding they needed more puff than they thought to propel the dart, but getting the hang of it pretty quickly. I wasn't keen, still feeling kind of queasy.

Vijay told us we were welcome to take a look inside the house, so a few of us gingerly stepped inside and immediately felt uncomfortable and rude.

It was almost empty apart from blankets in the corners and a few items hung about the walls. The floor was simply made of a loosely woven flax-like fibre. It was springy underfoot and you could see the ground through it.

At the back of the house the rest of the family sat and stared at us. We smiled, thanked them and backed out hurriedly.

As Vijay handed Michael his fee, we saw the next tourist van pull up and a crowd of travellers pull out. It was on with the show for Michael and his family.

Next stop: even more monkeys at Batu Caves.

Amy Williams travelled to Malaysia courtesy of Malaysia Airlines and Tourism Malaysia.

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