I spend nearly half the year in Thailand, basking in its sunny paradise on tourist exemption visas. Every 60 days, I embark on a visa run, a necessary evil that forces me out of my comfort zone and into the wild world beyond.
Not that I mind, though. It’s an excuse to explore, and this time, I had my sights set on Kuala Lumpur—a city I hadn’t seen since 2018. The lure of the newly completed Merdeka 118, the world’s second-tallest skyscraper, was too strong to resist.
My four-day escape from reality was booked, and I was ready to soak in the city’s skyline from a three-bedroom apartment, a perfect choice for our family of four. Or so I thought.
Merdeka 118 – 2nd largest building in the world.
The Storm Before the Calm
Our trip started on the wrong foot—or, more accurately, the wrong ferry. My husband, bless his heart, managed to book us tickets on a ferry that didn’t exist, at least not on our timeline.
Our flight from Krabi was ticking closer, and the ticking visa clock added an extra layer of anxiety. I cursed under my breath (and maybe aloud) as we waited, stewing in frustration and watching our precious minutes slip away.
Ferry from Koh Samui to mainland Thailand
Miraculously, we made it to Krabi Airport just in time, and my stress levels finally dipped to a manageable level. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a downward spiral. Here is my story of the online booking scammers in Kuala Lumpur.
Scam 1 – Agoda’s Mirage of a Three-Bedroom Apartment
I always prefer staying in the Kuala Lumpur City Centre (KLCC) area, where the Petronas Twin Towers stand tall like gleaming sentinels. Agoda lured me in with the promise of a three-bedroom apartment, boasting a stellar 9.5 rating from six reviews.
It seemed perfect. But the red flags started waving before I even left Thailand. My messages to the host went unanswered, but I brushed it off, hoping for the best.
On the fast train from the airport to the city, I tried again to reach the host. Still nothing. And when I stood outside the apartment block, phone in hand, ready to call, I was met with the ominous sound of dead air. The number didn’t even connect. My stomach dropped—this wasn’t just a hiccup; it was a full-blown disaster. We were stranded.
We found refuge in a nearby shopping center, surrounded by the tantalizing aromas of a food court, but the smell did little to ease my frustration. I wrestled with Agoda’s chatbot, which was about as helpful as a chocolate teapot. Customer service? Nowhere to be found.
Eventually, I resorted to Twitter, where a kind soul slid into my DMs and offered a refund—one that would take five to seven business days to hit my account. They threw in a $35 booking credit for good measure as if that would mend my shattered trust.
Scam 2 – Booking.com’s Bait and Switch
By now, it was 7:30 PM, and we were homeless in Kuala Lumpur. With Agoda’s failure fresh in my mind, I turned to Booking.com, hoping for a quick fix.
I found another three-bedroom apartment, and my heart lifted at the thought of salvaging our trip. The booking confirmation arrived, and I immediately contacted the host. But, surprise, surprise—the apartment I booked was no longer available. Instead, I was offered a two-bedroom unit in some other part of the city.
Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover it. I contacted Booking.com, and, as expected, I was met with the same brick wall of customer service incompetence. This time, after a tedious call to a local Malaysian number, I was offered a refund—another five to seven-day wait for money I’d rather spend on a tranquil beach somewhere.
Temporary Relief – The Last-Minute Scramble
Now it was pushing 9 PM, and I was running on fumes. I scoured the internet, ignoring the booking platforms altogether. Instead, I called around, hoping to secure a place we could actually sleep in.
After what felt like an eternity, I found something—two one-bedroom apartments in a nearly finished building. The catch? We’d be serenaded by the sweet sounds of construction from 7 AM onwards. At this point, it was either endure the noise or sleep on the street, so I took the former. We were at least safe for the night.
The building was decent, the pool area even boasted a spectacular view, but nothing could drown out the pounding hammers and droning saws that jolted us awake the next morning. I had booked for two nights, but I was already planning our escape.
Scam 3 – Booking.com’s Deceptive Listings Strike Again
Why, oh why, did I turn back to Booking.com? Maybe it was the comfort of familiarity, or maybe I was just desperate. Either way, I found yet another promising three-bedroom apartment, this time with stellar reviews and a prime location near Pavilion shopping center.
It was more expensive, but I was determined to salvage the last leg of our trip. The host confirmed everything was in order, and I was even told I could check in early.
As our taxi pulled away from the city centre, my excitement turned to confusion, then to dread. The Petronas Towers, once so close, were now distant specks on the horizon. We finally arrived at the building, which looked suspiciously like the one in the photos but was over 4 kilometres away from where it was supposed to be. I could’ve screamed.
Yeah that is the distance between the scam address and the real address.
Another marathon session with Booking.com’s customer service followed. After a 45-minute wait, I finally spoke to someone who seemed to care. I was told that because I was a Genius Level 3 member, they’d issue a refund. Gee, thanks. I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t verify the location before allowing it to be advertised. It was too late for logic.
My Not-So-Glamorous Five-Star Hotel Experience
At this point, I was done playing games with apartments. I decided to splurge on a five-star hotel—Hotel Maya, just a stone’s throw from the Twin Towers. I booked through Expedia, my last bastion of hope. We checked into a family room, sacrificing some privacy for the convenience of being close to everything.
Finally, we dumped our luggage and headed out to explore the city, doing all the touristy things—sky bridge at the Petronas Towers, shopping sprees, and a movie. I left my husband and kids at the cinema and retreated to the hotel room, desperate for some “me time.”
But Kuala Lumpur wasn’t done with me yet. In the shower, I managed to slice my hand open on a sharp edge, the pain sharp enough to bring tears to my eyes. Bleeding and cursing, I called the front desk. To their credit, the staff was quick to respond, performing first aid and offering us an extra room as an apology. Great, except it was only for one night.
Then, as if on cue, our second night at the hotel was interrupted at 5 AM by water dripping from the ceiling onto our kids’ bed. Another call to reception resulted in a bucket and some help moving the beds away from the leak. No extra room this time, just the soothing sound of water splashing into a bucket for the rest of the night. Five-star service, indeed.
Was It All a Bad Dream?
Our last day in Kuala Lumpur finally arrived, and as we headed to the airport, I received one last parting gift: a message that our flight was delayed by two hours. At this point, I could only shrug—Kuala Lumpur had beaten me into submission.
We flew back to Krabi, where, to my pleasant surprise, our hotel had upgraded us to a better room at no extra charge. Maybe my luck was turning. The rest of our trip, including a breathtaking visit to Khao Sok National Park, was a balm to my frazzled nerves.
Khao Sok National Park Thailand – paradise.
Enshitification: The New Norm for Online Booking
Back at home in Koh Samui, I stewed over the whole ordeal. I was ready to leave scathing reviews to warn other travellers, but the platforms didn’t allow reviews for cancelled bookings. And there they were, those scammy apartments, still flaunting their fake high ratings, ready to ensnare the next unsuspecting victim.
The word of 2023, “enshitification,” floated to mind—a term Wikipedia describes as the decline in the quality of online services over time. It perfectly encapsulated my experience. Once-trustworthy platforms were now little more than polished turds, pushing out whatever garbage they could get away with, all at the expense of the users who made them successful in the first place.
As I closed my laptop, I couldn’t help but feel like the entire online booking industry had gone to the dogs, leaving travellers like me to navigate a minefield of scams and disappointments. Here’s hoping the next visa run doesn’t turn into another nightmare. But with the way things are going, I’m not holding my breath.
