Destination Truth: Memoirs of a Monster Hunter by Josh Gates Read Free Book Online Page B

a gas station. I sit on the curb and devour the food with a huge smile. Somewhere, a footprint with my name on it is speeding through the darkness toward Kuala Lumpur.
    In the morning we check out of our hotel, and I choke on my coffee at the front desk when I notice a picture of me on the front page of the Malaysian New Straits Times . Similar pictures and accompanying articles appear in every newspaper in the city. We’re overnight celebrities in Malaysia. I snatch a copy of each paper at a newsstand and have Gupta translate them in the car as we head to Uncle’s house. They’re all very complimentary and highlight that this find is going to be a boon for the country’s tourism sector. We’re delighted to learn that we’re repeatedly referred to as “the American Expedition.”
    Exploding up through the canopy of the verdant jungles, Kuala Lumpur, or KL as it’s universally called, is nothing short of an architectural mirage. No other metropolis on earth even comes close to managing such an intense marriage between untamed nature and modernity. Originally a malaria-infested mining town, the city has punched up through the rain forest to become one of the shining beacons of Southeast Asia. The shimmering tent poles of this unlikely metropolis are the mighty twin Petronas Towers. Like an Arabian Nights tale dreamed by a futuristic Scheherazade, the gleaming steel of these star-shaped spires rises to a dizzying 1,500 feet. Though they’ve now been eclipsed as the tallest buildings in the world, they are still arguably the most beautiful skyscrapers ever constructed. Beneath them, Malay, Chinese, and Indian cultures blend in a complex but seemingly balanced cultural soup that has been simmering for more than ten thousand years. One can hear the Islamic call to prayer from a Chinese market while the smell of Indian curry hangs in the air; a trip through KL is simply a joyous and confusing cultural mash-up.
    Uncle’s house lies in the suburbs of the city, and as we arrive I can’t help but notice that there are a lot of cars in his driveway. I also can’t help but notice that every single second-and third-floor window of the house is blocked entirely by sandals. Thousands of flip-flops press against the glass, giving the very real appearance that the whole house might actually explode and release a tidal wave of footwear across the city.
    Inside, I’m amazed to see at least twenty reporters with cameras, microphones, and portable lights. The Seekers girls are milling about in their trademark black ensembles, which I’m starting to wonder if they sleep in. Uncle, on the other hand, has changed into a leopard-print velour top, which I guess is his press conference attire. He offers me a bowl of hot mutton soup, just what I need in this 105-degree heat. I see a staircase leading to the upper floors with loose sandals along the steps. “Uncle, I don’t mean to pry, but what’s the deal with the sandals?”
    “I made a bad investment,” he says. “It’s a long story.”
    “I see.”
    “You’re not a size nine, are you?” he asks hopefully. “No. I’m afraid not.”
    On the back porch, the footprint has been moved into a glass display case (nice touch) and Uncle, who I’m quickly realizing is the P. T. Barnum of Southeast Asia, drifts off to glad-hand the press and milk this auspicious occasion for all it’s worth. I’m stunned by the turnout, and Uncle and I take a seat in front of the press in his backyard to answer questions. I’m asked repeatedly if I think the print is legitimate evidence of Bigfoot. The short answer is that I have no earthly idea. Frankly, the print looks a little troubling to me. It’s ungainly and doesn’t appear overly anatomical. On the other hand, it was discovered in an anonymous corner of a vast forest, and I certainly can’t account for how it got there. I tell the media my honest opinion: the print raises important questions and invites us all to continue the search.