Saying getting to the airport was a bit of mission is an understatement.
I asked at the hostel how to get to the airport and was told that i needed to get a shuttlle bus from a bus station. It turned out to be the same as the one the sweedish girls needed to go to so we decided to go together, they had to catch their bus at 9:30 in the morningso i figured that I would go with them ( even though my flight wasn't untill 11:45 that night, atleast the airport would be airconditioned)
In the 34 degree heat we made our way to the bus station, they found their bus with out a problem but there didn't seem to be anything relating to the airport, i asked and was told that there is no bus from there that goes to the airport. I said goodbye to the girls and went in search of a taxi to take me where I needed to be. The driver quoted me 15 RM to take me there. 5 min round the corner he advised me we were there (ripped off!!!) I started getting my bags out and the driver disappeared. He came out and told me to put my bags back in and assured me the price would still be 15RM. Half an hour later we arrived at KL Central terminal (about 5 min on the monorail from my hostel) He helped me get my bags out and 9RM later was on my way to the airport. Lucky I left plenty of time to get there.
At the airport I confirmed my ticket, got some fod and called home & did more of my assignment. after killing time for a few more hours i checked my bags early and caught the airport train out to the terminal. The time was now about 4 pm only 8 more hours!!!
Once it got closer to time i went to my gate and a man started talking to me in French, after figuring out he was asking me to watch his bags he left, a few minutes later he came back with 2 bottles of sparkling water and 2 blocks of chocolate, one for each of us.
After being let through the gate to the waiting area inside we were told that cause Paris had a curfew we would be taking off 15 min later to make sure we didn't land outside the allowed times.
I was seated in the exit row with plenty of leg room and a nice Indonesian guy who was going to Paris to do his Masters in Finance and spoke less Fench than me.