Now there are several things that I tend to take for granted about pavements and pedestrian crossings. They are for pedestrians, you don’t park on them, and, should you have to cross one in a motor vehicle, you give way to those on two legs. In Kuala Lumpur none of the above applies. Sure, as a pedestrian you might try to stay on the sidewalk as it is marginally safer than walking in the road, but generally, your path will be blocked by a collection of cars and motorbikes, some stationary, others not. Drivers take advantage of the narrowest pavements to pull a couple of wheels off the road as they visit their favourite ‘kedai kopi’ - it lessens their chance of being shunted and it is easier that finding a parking space. Broad pavements, even those with frighteningly high curbs are simply viewed as a long, narrow parking lot.
Pedestrian crossings, zebra crossings as we call them in England, serve two purposes. At busier times hundreds of motorbikes pull on to them as they wait for the traffic lights to change. If they are not already full of bikes, inevitably a bus or truck will pull slowly onto the crossing as you, the man foolish enough to walk, step hastily sideways to avoid being crushed.
Finally, at rush hour, when the traffic of KL grinds to halt, despite the frantic waving of dozens of policemen, the pavements become a freeway for motorcycles. Pedestrians beware.
Not so many years ago, driving on the sidewalk would never have been possible. Huge storm drains - ‘parit’ - would be randomly exposed, concrete paving slabs broken or missing, drain covers non-existent. Where intact, a street trader would have set up a stall or a cafe owner would be washing their dishes in a bowl. Being a pedestrian, of course, was just as hazardous. Taking your eyes from the ground in front for even a moment was foolhardy indeed. One of the first phrases I learned in Malay was “Encik Smith jatuh ke dalam parit”. Mr Smith has fallen into the drainage ditch. I used to think it quite funny until, that is, I saw an Australian girl step confidently from the pavement and land in a metre deep ditch, breaking both legs. It was raining at the time and the parit was half full of filthy brown water and the odd swimming rat.
Pedestrian crossings, zebra crossings as we call them in England, serve two purposes. At busier times hundreds of motorbikes pull on to them as they wait for the traffic lights to change. If they are not already full of bikes, inevitably a bus or truck will pull slowly onto the crossing as you, the man foolish enough to walk, step hastily sideways to avoid being crushed.
Finally, at rush hour, when the traffic of KL grinds to halt, despite the frantic waving of dozens of policemen, the pavements become a freeway for motorcycles. Pedestrians beware.
Not so many years ago, driving on the sidewalk would never have been possible. Huge storm drains - ‘parit’ - would be randomly exposed, concrete paving slabs broken or missing, drain covers non-existent. Where intact, a street trader would have set up a stall or a cafe owner would be washing their dishes in a bowl. Being a pedestrian, of course, was just as hazardous. Taking your eyes from the ground in front for even a moment was foolhardy indeed. One of the first phrases I learned in Malay was “Encik Smith jatuh ke dalam parit”. Mr Smith has fallen into the drainage ditch. I used to think it quite funny until, that is, I saw an Australian girl step confidently from the pavement and land in a metre deep ditch, breaking both legs. It was raining at the time and the parit was half full of filthy brown water and the odd swimming rat.
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