Malacca

After the sleepy kampongs of north-east Malaysia, where the rhythm of life is largely dictated by the weather, the tide and the call to prayers, the bustling, noisy town of Malacca, its streets chock-a-block with impatient drivers honking their horns, came as a shock. But it was good to check into a hotel, the Ramada Renaissance, that had all the bits a film crew on the road need – twenty-four-hour room service, telephones, televisions and minibars, a coffee shop open round the clock (as a useful alternative to the more formal restaurant) – and for me, joy of joy, endless supplies of hot water.