We arrived in KL a while back, I think it was Monday, also known as yesterday, which is tomorrow if you are reading this from the other side of the international dateline. Something like that.

Since hitting Kuala Lumpur, M.’s aunt has done yeoman’s duty shuffling us around to the sites. Today was Melaka, where it all got started Malaysia-wise. Cool little town. Kind of like visiting Plymouth, MA give or take a few hundred years of human history and another hundred of colonializing nonsense from Europe.

What I really haven’t had time to describe in writing words or show in photographic splendor is the drive from Penang to Kuala Lumpur. We drove one car with two teenage/young adult cousins and a dog and followed the caravan lead of M.’s aunt and uncle (and owners of one said adolescent and dog).

The thing is, Penang is an island connected to the mainland by bridges. Consider holiday traffic at it’s peak in the U.S., since we were holidaying here, on a Sunday when everyone’s trying to get back from their family homes to their real life homes. Now, factor in an island. And, throw in the body count of Asia’s higher population numbers. Finally, stir in the fact that Penang drivers are the joke-butt crazies that back where I am from would equal Boston drivers.

When the radio traffic reports promised gridlock, we scuttled our after lunch departure plan. It became a waiting game to see if positive reports would reach our eager to leave ears. No such joy.

The plan then became an after dinner plan. But, where to eat? That question and its answering became another bit of a delay. So then we ate.

We said our goodbyes all over again and hit the road at about 9 p.m. We didn’t hit KL until about 3 or 3:30 a.m. Monday, hours after what is meant to be a four-hour ride.

Here’s what I want to show in pictures some day and find the words to describe — The truck stops along the route were mad crazy crowded. Traffic jam crowded. Like crowds you sometimes see maybe on the New Jersey Turnpike, or heading back from Cape Cod on an August Sunday. But, it was fucking 2 a.m.

Everyone was doing what one does, grabbing snacks, coffee, soda and the toilet, when one is on the road. But, it was fucking 2 a.m. and men, women and playing children were out in force.

And, it was all Asian and shit — meat on sticks and tropical fruits and Muslims ducking into the prayer room.

When I have more time, I will strive to write more and better. But, now, we prepare for healing soup that is only available at a certain vendor up around midnight.