We were ushered into a large treatment room and instructed to lie down on a mat. We lay in the darkness, listening to the usual soothing, chiming spa music, unsure what to expect. Very gravely, our therapist began to bang a gong, while lights flashed overhead. It wasn't long before the giggles set in. Next, we were told, was an exercise in deep breathing. Oh good, I thought, this should calm us down a treat.
"Inhaaaaale..." the therapist intoned. I inhaled until my lungs were full to bursting, waited in as the silence grew agonising, then gave up and let it all out again.
"...Through your noooose..." Oh no! We're still meant to be breathing in - dutifully I inhaled again.
"...Exhaaaaale..." Phew! I let the air out gratefully, then tried grimly to hang on for the next instruction.
"...Through your mouth..." There's nothing left! I'm going to die like an asphyxiated goldfish in a five-star Malaysian hotel.
After five minutes of this no one's breathing was steady at all and I could hear tittering from every direction as we struggled to follow the instructions.
Eventually we sat up, still in darkness, and turned our attention to the little tray of goodies by our mats. There was a bowl of water and several tiny plates, each containing a little fragment of food.We were to sip from the water, then touch the contents of each little plate to our tongues, 'visualising the flavour' of the ingredients that were salty, sweet, bitter and sour in turns.
This didn't calm us down much at all.
Next there was a blissful 20-minute foot and leg massage as we lay on our mats, then we were led away to individual treatment rooms for the full-body treatment. It was nowhere near as exotic as my strawberry sensation, but very welcome, because we needed our bodies to be in tip-top condition for the evening's entertainment.
Later that night, after a delicious multi-course dinner at the Ritz-Carlton's chinese restaurant Li Yen (and a second trip to the Petaling St markets), we headed out to party.
We started off our evening at a Latin-themed bar round the corner. It was done up like an abandoned church, with angel statues draped in fairy lights gazing sombrely over the bar staff and a flashy salsa group playing.
We'd already learned to our dismay that wine is practically worth its weight in gold in Malaysia. As it's a Muslim country, this wasn't a massive surprise, but it was hilarious to see what we would consider bargain-bin bottles back home on sale for the equivalent of NZ$90. Accordingly we stayed well away from the wines, but even still a Corona set us backMR34, or about NZ$17.
Luckily, we had a cunning plan. One member of our group is a KL native, now living in Sydney, and she'd used her extensive knowledge and contacts to find us a cheap but glam night out.
At her suggestion we took a taxi to Asian Heritage Row, a street full of colonial buildings which were all but condemned until an enterprising businessman restored them and turned the area into a hot nightspot.
Heritage Mansion is one of 80 bars, restaurants and clubs in the Row and it's very exclusive: entrance is by invite only. We'd managed to wangle our way onto the guest list for the evening, so we breezed through the gates and into the mansion.
The lower level of the mansion was crammed so we carried on to the next floor. Upstairs was lavishly furnished, with plush velvety couches, chandeliers dripping all over the place and a clear perspex dancefloor. I was very glad I hadn't worn a skirt.Upstairs was also the venue for a private birthday party, judging by the speeches and the cake-cutting that was going on when we arrived. No one seemed to mind that we were crashing, though - in fact, we were handed plates of cake!
Our entry included some vouchers for free drinks, so we cashed those in and started to enjoy ourselves. The guys in particular busted out some vigorous dancefloor moves, even pulling out the old "hooking a fish" routine. It was hard to take their pictures while simultaneously pretending not to know them, but I like to think I succeeded.
Eventually we decided to check out the actual back downstairs, where a live DJ was performing. It was kind of fun dancing along to songs in another language and watching the crowd scream when they recognised the next track.And what a crowd! Wednesday night at the mansion is 'model night', meaning a very high proportion of 'beautiful people' from all over the world.
It was strange trying to adjust to the fact that everyone was smoking inside. It's been so long since smoking was allowed in NZ bars and clubs that I'd taken it for granted. But now I was all too aware of the thick, hazy air, so we headed out into the mansion's garden. While we chilled in the warm evening air, we had to fend off the advances of a couple of over-friendly male models, one of whom attempted to sing me a song before pretending to burst into tears at my cold-hearted lack of encouragement.
Sadly, our free drink coupons had run out and we didn't feel like bankrupting ourselves, so we decided to head for home - but not until we'd stopped at another club on our way back, to sit outside and enjoy a cheeky apple-flavoured hookah pipe.
Next stop on my Malaysian adventure: we experience colonial splendour and some chilling ghost stories at a very exclusive hotel.
Amy Williams travelled to Malaysia courtesy of Malaysia Airlines and Tourism Malaysia.
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