Mount Kinabalu, Malaysia
I'm not sure where I first heard this quote but it's a good description of our ascent of Mount Kinabalu. Now this was something I had really been looking forward to. A proper mountain! Low's Peak, the one that can conveniently be climbed on foot and without special equipment or skills, an impressive 4095 meters tall and thus for me the highest point of this journey. A quick introduction to those who don't want to read the Wikipedia entry:
Mount Kinabalu, Malaysia's highest mountain, stands in Kinabalu National Park in Sabah State of Malaysian Borneo. It has five peaks, the highest of which is the afore mentioned Low's Peak which with 4095 meters. The ascent covers an altitude difference of a bit less than 2200 meters and a distance of about 8.7 kilometers one way. Most people spend two days on the ascent. On the first day you climb to the mid point at Laban Rata where there's a guesthouse and you can rest your weary bones. Very (very!) early the next morning you set off for the second half to catch the sunrise (if you're lucky) from the peak and then descend back to the base camp. Sounds easy enough, right? We heard there have even been people who attempted this in a single day. We were also told what they looked like afterwards. Not a pretty sight, I imagine. Because this mountain is hard (hence the heading of this entry). It is not for the weak and timid. Not for the faint of heart - literally because the air gets thin at that altitude. Nor for the weak of leg - the path is rough, rocky and quite steep; if there are steps they can be as high as your knee. To think that I was disappointed that a car would already take us to an altitude of almost 2000 meters! Us, that's me and a couple that I met at the hostel: Mattias from Sweden and Kirsty from Australia. We would be sharing the guide (and later also the toil) and thus at least some of the expenses. Mount Kinabalu is also an expensive mountain - RM 100 just for the climbing permit. Ouch! The pain started in my wallet but was quickly diverted to my legs.
I'll give you the highlights.
It all started with a briefing (for which only us three were actually punctual). Take heart, we were told, the oldest person to successfully reach the peak was 96 years old (crazy Japanese!) while the youngest was a mere four years old (Malaysians no less mad). We were all average and shouldn't have any trouble. "I'm not too old for this shit!"
We started out at nine o'clock from the base camp loaded with energy food (peanuts!), warm clothing and water. Our greatest worry was the weather, which can be highly unpredictable around the mountain. It had been overcast and rainy when we arrived. If this continued there would be no view from the peak, neither scenery nor sunrise. Also if it rained heavily our guide might not even let us continue the ascent for safety reasons. And there was no way to wait a day because all guesthouses were booked out in advance. When we set off there was a patch of blue sky around the peak, so I sent a prayer to heaven that this would be a good sign.
Mattias and Kirsty had bought a pair of sturdy walking sticks to lean on. Five Ringgit they charged for each! Nonetheless, Kirsty liked her stick. I decided to go without; I had done mountains before and never needed a stick. I was also being stingy. But changed my mind when we found a almost six-feet long, straight stick by the road side. Not a stick but a proper staff! That was just too cool to resist: to be equipped like Gandalf himself. And it did attract a lot of attention. A staff +10 to awesomeness (an insider joke if you're a role player). At some point along the way I even picked up a rock that fit quite neatly into the little fork at the upper end. It became a regular prophet's staff and was declared +15 to awesomeness. It was also a source of endless entertainment - imagine the pick-up line "hey, lady, do you want to take a look at my awesome staff?" or just the door with a sign "staff only". It did actually seem really funny at the time.
That first day we spent around six hours climbing up to Laban Rata. Even though it was already quite cool up here the clouds had scattered and the sun burnt down mercilessly. I've rarely ever been that drenched in sweat. Now I was also glad I had brought a second T-shirt, so I'd be able to change later. I think our speed was quite average. The only ones that regularly overtook us were the porters that carried supplies up to the guesthouse. Our guide said they do this trip up to three times a day earning around RM 8 per kilo they carry. I noted a fair number of women among them. Some carried huge loads but the muscles on their legs were impressive to say the least. You can even hire them at the same price to carry your bags for you. Some, notably girls, had done that and several porters carried bundles of some six or seven backpacks strapped together. I wouldn't feel right doing that - it's my bag, I packed it, so it's my load to carry. Anything else would feel like cheating.
The sunset from Laban Rate was a gorgeous preview of what might still be to come the next morning. It also showed how chilly it got up here at night. Mattias and I agreed it was a bit like a cool spring day back home. But were not used to it anymore after four months or more in Southeast Asia. I can only say I was glad for the luxury of a hot shower that evening. Once I lay down on my bed I must have been out like a lamp.
Only to wake up again at 2:30 (am!) to commence the final ascent. It had been raining earlier (I had slept through it) but now the weather was dry and even clear in places. In the dark we joined a train of people who toiled up this much rockier, steeper part of the mountain. It didn't take long to find out who was tough enough and who wasn't. Groups of people were resting where ever there was space next to the path hardly a few hundred meters from Laban Rata. One (I believe Singaporean) girl had broken down in tears and several other members of her group were trying to comfort her, telling her she should take it slow. Several people even turned back and gave up. We forged ahead, climbing clear of vegetation and onto bare rock which in the limited light of our head lamps seemed to end or drop away into blackness. Maybe it was good we couldn't see how high we were. In places we had to hold on to a rope to climb up very steep surfaces.
Eventually, the sky in the east turned grey. There were clouds above and below but the air was clear, so we should be able to see for many miles. I tried to encourage the others to greater speed. I was terribly frightened we would miss what we had worked so hard to see. At the same time, I didn't want to go ahead alone - we had set off together, so we'd finish it together. I didn't want to become like the French guys at the Leaping Tiger Gorge. But as it turned out there was no need to worry. Our guide (whose name I had forgotten again) had timed our departure well. We arrived at the 8.5 km marker just as the sun began to rise. I wish I had it in me to capture the sight with some poetic words. We only had a clear view of the sun for a short time but it seemed to set the cloud carpets on fire. Even my photos don't capture it because they came out way too red. It was breathtaking. If the views of the previous day hadn't made all the sweat and pain worthwhile this finally did it. In the light of the new day the wooded mountains and hills of Borneo stretched out beneath us and in the northeast and northwest we caught glimpses of the ocean. And the sun was also welcome for another reason: sun meant warmth. The wind chill made your fingers numb up here.
I don't exactly know when we began the descent but the sun was already quite high. Now began what I always think is the most painful part of climbing a mountain: getting back down. I believe humans are not built for walking down long slopes. The prospect of 8.7 km of this was not encouraging. A Singaporean girl we had met on the peak together with her friend, Elaine and Sylvester, had a particularly difficult time. Her toes kept bumping into the front of her shoes and turned out to be badly bruised - bruises that were still healing when I met her again a week later in Singapore. Their guide supported her and even carried her part of the way. I know I would have been to proud to accept any help but I did need many more breaks on the way down than on the way up. So, my memory of the way down is a blur of staring at the ground so as not to fall and looking for landmarks that would tell me we had made progress. I wonder if anybody (except the guides) felt any different? To think I wanted to start at sea level! Well, now I know better, don't I?
When we reached the base camp again we basically fell into the chairs at the restaurant. We still didn't know when and how to get back to Kota Kinabalu bit it didn't matter - there were chairs and food. We had made it. And we lived to tell. Here we also learned that only 35 out of 50 climbers had made it to the peak that morning. The group of school boys from KL we had passed repeatedly had given up 200 meters from the peak. So had two big, strong-looking Finnish guys. Which only goes to show that it's a climb much tougher than it seems. But I'm still mystified: how can you come within reach of your goal and then give up? I for one am proud of my peak photo. I paid a price in sweat and pain (and several hundred Ringgit) but would I do it again? Hell, yeah!
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Monkeys on Wheels
Johor Bahru, Malaysia
A good Malaysian friend of mine was always scared of monkeys we saw in the forest here. She told me I shouldn't go near them or they would attack. I never believed her, even made fun of her saying they surely also wore face masks and carried guns. Today I learnt with certainty that monkeys in the forest are much less worrying than on the road.
It's been a long trip from Kuala Terengganu to JB (Johor Bahru) in the very south on the border to Singapore. I left from Kuala Terengganu last night. The bus was to run over night from 9 pm due to arrive at JB at around 6 am. When I got to the bus station there was no bus. I wasn't even sure which platform. Afraid to miss it I checked all buses from that company (Transnasional - remember that name!). Nothing. I went to the counter. They told me to keep checking platform 6 or 9 and wait. I waited. It turned 9 and still no bus in sight. A local girl next to me sighed: "That company - always late." But as I learnt there was only that company going from KT to JB. Sigh. I went back to the counter. "The bus is on its way", I was told confidently. Thank God I'd had dinner - or my mood would already have been stinky. It was 9.30 when we finally pulled out of the station. Well, I thought, I minor delay by many standards, as long as we got there.
In the middle of the night the troubles began when I was awakened from my light sleep by the smell of burning plastic or rubber. The driver ignored it for the longest time until, it seemed, another passenger told him. We stopped. It was dark. The vehicle was inspected with an air of professionalism but without light. Smoke was clearly rising from the rear wheel. Here, the smell was also the strongest, eye watering, but there were no flames. Another bus stopped behind us. More drivers joined the inspection. That bus driver had a torch. Did our bus have anything on board? They prepared some newspaper and one of them crawled under the bus. Whatever was wrong they evidently couldn't find it. Hence, everything had to be okay, so everybody was sent back on the bus and we headed off again. Maybe nothing then...
The driver gunned it until about five minutes later - I was just settling in to catch some more sleep - a loud bang shook the bus and then came the sound of something flapping. Apparently "nothing" had just burst us a tyre. And now it was smoking for real. I left the bus again to join the drivers inspecting the damage. The other bus (the one carrying the only functional torch) had left, so we were "guesstimating" the damage, I suspect. Finally, a replacement bus was called. I don't recall the time, it was pitch black night, lightning flashed ominously in the distance. All luggage had to be transferred to the other bus, which was way not as good a vehicle as the first. Well, I thought, as long as it finally gets us to JB, what the heck? After more waiting - the drivers loved chatting - the doors were closed and we headed off.
I chose some music on my mp3-player, settled in again and nodded off quickly. What woke me up was actually not noise but its absence. It took a moment but I realised there was no engine noise but the bus was still rolling. What was going on now? The bus pulled up at the road side. I got up and went to the front finding the driver resting his head on the wheel. Confused I got off and looked around - middle of nowhere - looked at the bus - no obvious damage - checked the time - just 15 minutes after we had set off again. Somehow another passenger who spoke some English guessed my question, his answer made my jaw drop with sheer shock: we had run out of fuel. I was literally speechless - something that doesn't happen often. No more fuel!? There was no humour in the other passenger's face. "These mon-", I began. I wasn't sure if the driver spoke any English. "You monkey", I shouted at him. I hate calling people names but this had to be said. He replied with something that sounded like "babun" (Malay speakers: any idea what he might have said?). "Yeah, baboon", I responded still in shock, "or whatever you prefer." For some time I just paced coming to grips with an unbelievable reality. How could they take over the new vehicle and not check the fuel gauge?? I thought that was the first thing you did before you started the engine. "Get the phone, make a call, get fuel", I told the driver, annoyed now. More pacing followed while we could only wait. Wait for something to happen - the staff were not telling us anything. The other damaged bus actually caught up with us. They got off and started discussing. The problem was, it turned out quickly that we had nothing. No fuel canister, tube, funnel, just a single bucket. Never have I seen such ill-prepared drivers. Our big luck was that a house was nearby and the family there had already got up - it was around 5-something now. They lent us everything we needed - except fuel, I believe they were unwilling to pump fuel out of their vehicles. The boys from the other bus starting pissing around (I really can't find another word for what they did) with what we had. In the end they took the canister and left with the other bus. "Maybe we change back into the other bus", I remember suggesting to the driver at some point. He only patted our new bus and said: "This bus goes to Johor Bahru." He said it with a conviction as if Allah himself had whispered in his ear. So, the waiting began again. Me and another driver could shake our heads at this turn of events. He told me this company was so badly prepared but there was no alternative from Kuala Terengganu to JB. So passed what I believe was an hour at least. I paced, squatted, read my book. In the bus it was hot and stuffy, so I couldn't sleep.
I think the sun had already come up when the other bus returned (events are a bit hazy because I was tired now). They had managed to fill the canister with fuel. Now the three boys - I started referring to them as "monkeys" - began pouring the fuel. I've rarely seen this done so inexpertly even given our limited equipment. They fussed around a lot, giggled, made jokes. Petrol sloshed and in the middle of all that one of them was cooly smoking the stub of his cigarette. I got annoyed with them, they were not just wasting time, smoking around petrol was barking mad! I waited at a safe distance. I suddenly had the image in my head of the one bus that could take us to Johor Bahru going up in a ball of fire - along with everyone's luggage. "We'll need a pump", the other passenger was saying but at the time I didn't understand what he meant. "When there's no more fuel it's very difficult to start." I was just relieved that we had fuel, we were actually going on. Weren't we?
I soon found out what my new friend meant: when fuel runs dry it initially has to be manually pumped into the engine. Neither the monkeys nor the driver seemed to know this when the engine refused to start despite fuel in the tank. Is there a mechanic in the house??
There was. Another passenger. We were being too lucky. First the kind family and now this passenger with knowledge of engines. He showed them what to do while the monkeys looked on. So, they pumped, tried the ignition. Nothing. This cycle started repeating. The mechanic started checking other parts of the exposed engine. I began thinking back to Laos where everyone in the bus seemed to be proficient in mechanics and a wheel change took a mere 15 minutes. It was around 8 am now. We should have been in Johor Bahru by then. In fact, we were still more than 200 kilometers from our destination. At least three more hours of driving - after we had got the engine running. I was getting hungry. Watching them vainly trying to start the dead engine just got me annoyed again. Finally, the little shop across the road opened and I went to buy a pack of Milo and some Tiger biscuits. I told the auntie that ran the shop about our plight. She laughed. It was laughable. In the end I told the driver I was heading to the nearby rest station to get a proper breakfast - I had heard they had rice and maybe nasi lemak. I guess, it turned out other people were hungry, too, so we took the damaged bus there driving slowly. It was almost 10 now.
The rest station had some nasi lemak and roti and we returned in slightly better spirits. Me and the other passenger, a guy from Nepal working in Malaysia, still agreed the incompetence of the Transnasional staff was at least legendary. They could have called another replacement bus and then attempted to fix the fuel problem. Like that we might have been on our way. When we got back they were still trying hard and failing. I took a nap in the other bus - it had a working air conditioning unit, at least.
Finally, my Nepalese friend (I beg forgiveness, his name has escaped me) nudged me and said we were going. Another solution had been found at last - they had called a professional mechanic. It seemed like magic but he seemed to have no trouble getting the engine to start. Still, half asleep I stumbled back to the other bus (lost count of buses yet - I had) and - when? 11 am? 12 pm? - we were at long last on our way again. The driver gunned it so hard that I was fearing another breakdown. I dozed. Then we reached Mersing and - guess what - were made to change buses again. "You guys are a pack of monkeys." I could find no other goodbye for our driver. When this bus, the third I had been on that day on that trip, finally reached Johor Bahru's Larkin Station it was two in the afternoon. I had hoped to spend the day looking around Johor Bahru again before catching my flight but now there was only time for a late lunch and a taxi to the airport. We had been eight (8!) hours late.
A good Malaysian friend of mine was always scared of monkeys we saw in the forest here. She told me I shouldn't go near them or they would attack. I never believed her, even made fun of her saying they surely also wore face masks and carried guns. Today I learnt with certainty that monkeys in the forest are much less worrying than on the road.
It's been a long trip from Kuala Terengganu to JB (Johor Bahru) in the very south on the border to Singapore. I left from Kuala Terengganu last night. The bus was to run over night from 9 pm due to arrive at JB at around 6 am. When I got to the bus station there was no bus. I wasn't even sure which platform. Afraid to miss it I checked all buses from that company (Transnasional - remember that name!). Nothing. I went to the counter. They told me to keep checking platform 6 or 9 and wait. I waited. It turned 9 and still no bus in sight. A local girl next to me sighed: "That company - always late." But as I learnt there was only that company going from KT to JB. Sigh. I went back to the counter. "The bus is on its way", I was told confidently. Thank God I'd had dinner - or my mood would already have been stinky. It was 9.30 when we finally pulled out of the station. Well, I thought, I minor delay by many standards, as long as we got there.
In the middle of the night the troubles began when I was awakened from my light sleep by the smell of burning plastic or rubber. The driver ignored it for the longest time until, it seemed, another passenger told him. We stopped. It was dark. The vehicle was inspected with an air of professionalism but without light. Smoke was clearly rising from the rear wheel. Here, the smell was also the strongest, eye watering, but there were no flames. Another bus stopped behind us. More drivers joined the inspection. That bus driver had a torch. Did our bus have anything on board? They prepared some newspaper and one of them crawled under the bus. Whatever was wrong they evidently couldn't find it. Hence, everything had to be okay, so everybody was sent back on the bus and we headed off again. Maybe nothing then...
The driver gunned it until about five minutes later - I was just settling in to catch some more sleep - a loud bang shook the bus and then came the sound of something flapping. Apparently "nothing" had just burst us a tyre. And now it was smoking for real. I left the bus again to join the drivers inspecting the damage. The other bus (the one carrying the only functional torch) had left, so we were "guesstimating" the damage, I suspect. Finally, a replacement bus was called. I don't recall the time, it was pitch black night, lightning flashed ominously in the distance. All luggage had to be transferred to the other bus, which was way not as good a vehicle as the first. Well, I thought, as long as it finally gets us to JB, what the heck? After more waiting - the drivers loved chatting - the doors were closed and we headed off.
I chose some music on my mp3-player, settled in again and nodded off quickly. What woke me up was actually not noise but its absence. It took a moment but I realised there was no engine noise but the bus was still rolling. What was going on now? The bus pulled up at the road side. I got up and went to the front finding the driver resting his head on the wheel. Confused I got off and looked around - middle of nowhere - looked at the bus - no obvious damage - checked the time - just 15 minutes after we had set off again. Somehow another passenger who spoke some English guessed my question, his answer made my jaw drop with sheer shock: we had run out of fuel. I was literally speechless - something that doesn't happen often. No more fuel!? There was no humour in the other passenger's face. "These mon-", I began. I wasn't sure if the driver spoke any English. "You monkey", I shouted at him. I hate calling people names but this had to be said. He replied with something that sounded like "babun" (Malay speakers: any idea what he might have said?). "Yeah, baboon", I responded still in shock, "or whatever you prefer." For some time I just paced coming to grips with an unbelievable reality. How could they take over the new vehicle and not check the fuel gauge?? I thought that was the first thing you did before you started the engine. "Get the phone, make a call, get fuel", I told the driver, annoyed now. More pacing followed while we could only wait. Wait for something to happen - the staff were not telling us anything. The other damaged bus actually caught up with us. They got off and started discussing. The problem was, it turned out quickly that we had nothing. No fuel canister, tube, funnel, just a single bucket. Never have I seen such ill-prepared drivers. Our big luck was that a house was nearby and the family there had already got up - it was around 5-something now. They lent us everything we needed - except fuel, I believe they were unwilling to pump fuel out of their vehicles. The boys from the other bus starting pissing around (I really can't find another word for what they did) with what we had. In the end they took the canister and left with the other bus. "Maybe we change back into the other bus", I remember suggesting to the driver at some point. He only patted our new bus and said: "This bus goes to Johor Bahru." He said it with a conviction as if Allah himself had whispered in his ear. So, the waiting began again. Me and another driver could shake our heads at this turn of events. He told me this company was so badly prepared but there was no alternative from Kuala Terengganu to JB. So passed what I believe was an hour at least. I paced, squatted, read my book. In the bus it was hot and stuffy, so I couldn't sleep.
I think the sun had already come up when the other bus returned (events are a bit hazy because I was tired now). They had managed to fill the canister with fuel. Now the three boys - I started referring to them as "monkeys" - began pouring the fuel. I've rarely seen this done so inexpertly even given our limited equipment. They fussed around a lot, giggled, made jokes. Petrol sloshed and in the middle of all that one of them was cooly smoking the stub of his cigarette. I got annoyed with them, they were not just wasting time, smoking around petrol was barking mad! I waited at a safe distance. I suddenly had the image in my head of the one bus that could take us to Johor Bahru going up in a ball of fire - along with everyone's luggage. "We'll need a pump", the other passenger was saying but at the time I didn't understand what he meant. "When there's no more fuel it's very difficult to start." I was just relieved that we had fuel, we were actually going on. Weren't we?
I soon found out what my new friend meant: when fuel runs dry it initially has to be manually pumped into the engine. Neither the monkeys nor the driver seemed to know this when the engine refused to start despite fuel in the tank. Is there a mechanic in the house??
There was. Another passenger. We were being too lucky. First the kind family and now this passenger with knowledge of engines. He showed them what to do while the monkeys looked on. So, they pumped, tried the ignition. Nothing. This cycle started repeating. The mechanic started checking other parts of the exposed engine. I began thinking back to Laos where everyone in the bus seemed to be proficient in mechanics and a wheel change took a mere 15 minutes. It was around 8 am now. We should have been in Johor Bahru by then. In fact, we were still more than 200 kilometers from our destination. At least three more hours of driving - after we had got the engine running. I was getting hungry. Watching them vainly trying to start the dead engine just got me annoyed again. Finally, the little shop across the road opened and I went to buy a pack of Milo and some Tiger biscuits. I told the auntie that ran the shop about our plight. She laughed. It was laughable. In the end I told the driver I was heading to the nearby rest station to get a proper breakfast - I had heard they had rice and maybe nasi lemak. I guess, it turned out other people were hungry, too, so we took the damaged bus there driving slowly. It was almost 10 now.
The rest station had some nasi lemak and roti and we returned in slightly better spirits. Me and the other passenger, a guy from Nepal working in Malaysia, still agreed the incompetence of the Transnasional staff was at least legendary. They could have called another replacement bus and then attempted to fix the fuel problem. Like that we might have been on our way. When we got back they were still trying hard and failing. I took a nap in the other bus - it had a working air conditioning unit, at least.
Finally, my Nepalese friend (I beg forgiveness, his name has escaped me) nudged me and said we were going. Another solution had been found at last - they had called a professional mechanic. It seemed like magic but he seemed to have no trouble getting the engine to start. Still, half asleep I stumbled back to the other bus (lost count of buses yet - I had) and - when? 11 am? 12 pm? - we were at long last on our way again. The driver gunned it so hard that I was fearing another breakdown. I dozed. Then we reached Mersing and - guess what - were made to change buses again. "You guys are a pack of monkeys." I could find no other goodbye for our driver. When this bus, the third I had been on that day on that trip, finally reached Johor Bahru's Larkin Station it was two in the afternoon. I had hoped to spend the day looking around Johor Bahru again before catching my flight but now there was only time for a late lunch and a taxi to the airport. We had been eight (8!) hours late.
Thursday, 23 October 2008
Bad Influence - Manglish
Kuala Terengganu, Malaysia
I may have been here for too long already. I know, if I stayed here for much longer - a year may be more than enough - I'll start speaking Manglish, too. I find it grows on you easily. I enjoy listening to it. Sometimes, back in UK I would even try to imitate it. And here I'm surrounded by it. Whether it's the sign at the bank saying "close" ("closed") or labels in shops saying "buy one free one" ("buy one get one free"). And most people that speak English speak it in this way - some stronger, some less strong.
Then, at the bus station a tout annoyed me. He asked where I was going - Johor Bahru - and then told me everything was full. I hate it when people just tell what I want is impossible. It's as if they enjoy trying to make me nervous. So, I snapped at him. "What makes you think I'm going today", was the intended message. What came out naturally and in my best Manglish yet was: "Not today, lah!"
When I get home Chinese may not be the only language that I need to practice.
I may have been here for too long already. I know, if I stayed here for much longer - a year may be more than enough - I'll start speaking Manglish, too. I find it grows on you easily. I enjoy listening to it. Sometimes, back in UK I would even try to imitate it. And here I'm surrounded by it. Whether it's the sign at the bank saying "close" ("closed") or labels in shops saying "buy one free one" ("buy one get one free"). And most people that speak English speak it in this way - some stronger, some less strong.
Then, at the bus station a tout annoyed me. He asked where I was going - Johor Bahru - and then told me everything was full. I hate it when people just tell what I want is impossible. It's as if they enjoy trying to make me nervous. So, I snapped at him. "What makes you think I'm going today", was the intended message. What came out naturally and in my best Manglish yet was: "Not today, lah!"
When I get home Chinese may not be the only language that I need to practice.
Another day in Paradise
Pulau Perhentian, Malaysia
Thinking about my stay here, I have to think about the line from the famous song by Phil Collins:
"It's just another day for you and me in paradise."
After my stay in Taman Negara was unexpectedly cut short I decided to follow the general flow of travelers here, a fairly newly developed group of islands in the northeast of Malaysia (I know, my route is slightly stupid going back north). I planned to stay here for about five days if the weather was nice here (sceptical voice) and then move on. Like in the song I ended up extending and extending my stay a day at a time until four or five nights had become almost twice as much.
And paradise it really is and was. If ever I saw one. The weather: gorgeous - there's no other word to describe it. Imagine brilliant sun every day, blue sky, mere whisps of white clouds and towards evening sometimes a slight breeze to cool things down a bit. The islands were no less amazing: Crystal clear water (literally!) that when viewed at an angle appears azure blue or tuquoise green, white sand, palm trees (beware the coconuts!) and in between a few chalets (the smaller island is not so developed yet, so things are beautifully basic). It took my breath away the moment I stepped off the boat at the jetty and first surveilled Coral Bay. I'm sure there were little bells tinkling. And the great thing is: if you're not an enthusiastic diver there is not so much to do, so you can't fill your day with activities and that forces you to relax.
And that was exactly what I came here for. Kayaking along the coastline of the island (exercise!) I spotted even more amazing beaches - the literal deserted strips of sand that you fantasise about when you hear about tropical islands. I couldn't resist stripping off and enjoying the sun for a while - au naturel. Well, it didn't all go smoothly. The beaches here suffer from similar problems as the ones on Kho Lanta: rubbish. Left by irresponsible tourists or careless locals. In the end I couldn't stand it any more and loaded some of it into my boat on the way back. Then once when approaching the beach I underestimated the current and surf I had to pass through and my little boat capsised dumping me unceremoniously on rocks and shallow water (no worries, just a few scratches). A bathing couple just stared.
I also went snorkeling which is just amazing in this kind of water. We saw sharks, swift and elegant, great turtles, majestic, and swarms of colourful fish against the backdrop of coral reefs. And all that just a few meters under the surface! The marine life is dazzling. The downside we felt and saw when at night our boat hit something in the water when just the day before we had seen a turtle with an injured flipper. The local boatmen gun their craft at such speeds that neither turtles nor boatmen have a chance to avoid the collision. It might do well to have that regulated.
Then, on my final day, I even gave in to all the people telling me about it and went scuba diving. This was an introductory lesson to get a taste of diving. The teacher was Steffen, who's a really competent professional when it comes to diving and teaching, and a fun person to chat with also ("divers, move your ass, please"), so I want to recommend his school. We just went around the jetty but it was still a step into another world. After being a bit uncomfortable under water I got used to it and was already a bit disappointed when it was time to go back on land (and tired because on land the gear is f**king heavy!).
What else? Oh yes, even though after my last big piss-up in China I should have known better I went for drinks again. Vodka this time - alcohol is limited because this is technically a strictly Muslim state. I don't know which devil rode me (a German expression) but some way through the fourth bottle (between the five of us) I remember sitting and drinking, then nothing, then retching in the sand, then nothing, then coming back to with someone calling my name. At that point I was lying spread-eagled in the sand. People needed me to light the way back with my torch. Not easy if you have an alcohol-induced emotional crisis. Sorry people! The next day I felt to way I looked, everything felt slow and mellow. I ate cautiously and swore (like before) never to drink again. This later became "never to drink vodka again", which then a few days later became "never to drink that much vodka again". When we had another drinking evening. Honestly, I drink for sociable reasons, I truly loathe vodka.
Finally, a word to those that claim October is too late to come here because everything will be closed or the weather shit. Wrong and wrong. Come here during the first three weeks of October and things will be quiet since there are much fewer tourists, prices will be lower (almost by 50%), the weather, as mentioned above, is still breath-taking and there are enough places open to be able to choose. I know from now on I won't do high season ever. October is the month! And if you don't know where to stay then stay at Maya Chalets (Karimah and her husband are very nice) and go for the diving tour with Matt, Karimah's brother-in-law. 'Nuff said.
I've rarely on this trip been in a place and with people that grew on me so much. In the end, I would announce my leaving in the morning and change my mind after breakfast. Then I gave up announcements and just stayed. Nine and a half days.
Thinking about my stay here, I have to think about the line from the famous song by Phil Collins:
"It's just another day for you and me in paradise."
After my stay in Taman Negara was unexpectedly cut short I decided to follow the general flow of travelers here, a fairly newly developed group of islands in the northeast of Malaysia (I know, my route is slightly stupid going back north). I planned to stay here for about five days if the weather was nice here (sceptical voice) and then move on. Like in the song I ended up extending and extending my stay a day at a time until four or five nights had become almost twice as much.
And paradise it really is and was. If ever I saw one. The weather: gorgeous - there's no other word to describe it. Imagine brilliant sun every day, blue sky, mere whisps of white clouds and towards evening sometimes a slight breeze to cool things down a bit. The islands were no less amazing: Crystal clear water (literally!) that when viewed at an angle appears azure blue or tuquoise green, white sand, palm trees (beware the coconuts!) and in between a few chalets (the smaller island is not so developed yet, so things are beautifully basic). It took my breath away the moment I stepped off the boat at the jetty and first surveilled Coral Bay. I'm sure there were little bells tinkling. And the great thing is: if you're not an enthusiastic diver there is not so much to do, so you can't fill your day with activities and that forces you to relax.
And that was exactly what I came here for. Kayaking along the coastline of the island (exercise!) I spotted even more amazing beaches - the literal deserted strips of sand that you fantasise about when you hear about tropical islands. I couldn't resist stripping off and enjoying the sun for a while - au naturel. Well, it didn't all go smoothly. The beaches here suffer from similar problems as the ones on Kho Lanta: rubbish. Left by irresponsible tourists or careless locals. In the end I couldn't stand it any more and loaded some of it into my boat on the way back. Then once when approaching the beach I underestimated the current and surf I had to pass through and my little boat capsised dumping me unceremoniously on rocks and shallow water (no worries, just a few scratches). A bathing couple just stared.
I also went snorkeling which is just amazing in this kind of water. We saw sharks, swift and elegant, great turtles, majestic, and swarms of colourful fish against the backdrop of coral reefs. And all that just a few meters under the surface! The marine life is dazzling. The downside we felt and saw when at night our boat hit something in the water when just the day before we had seen a turtle with an injured flipper. The local boatmen gun their craft at such speeds that neither turtles nor boatmen have a chance to avoid the collision. It might do well to have that regulated.
Then, on my final day, I even gave in to all the people telling me about it and went scuba diving. This was an introductory lesson to get a taste of diving. The teacher was Steffen, who's a really competent professional when it comes to diving and teaching, and a fun person to chat with also ("divers, move your ass, please"), so I want to recommend his school. We just went around the jetty but it was still a step into another world. After being a bit uncomfortable under water I got used to it and was already a bit disappointed when it was time to go back on land (and tired because on land the gear is f**king heavy!).
What else? Oh yes, even though after my last big piss-up in China I should have known better I went for drinks again. Vodka this time - alcohol is limited because this is technically a strictly Muslim state. I don't know which devil rode me (a German expression) but some way through the fourth bottle (between the five of us) I remember sitting and drinking, then nothing, then retching in the sand, then nothing, then coming back to with someone calling my name. At that point I was lying spread-eagled in the sand. People needed me to light the way back with my torch. Not easy if you have an alcohol-induced emotional crisis. Sorry people! The next day I felt to way I looked, everything felt slow and mellow. I ate cautiously and swore (like before) never to drink again. This later became "never to drink vodka again", which then a few days later became "never to drink that much vodka again". When we had another drinking evening. Honestly, I drink for sociable reasons, I truly loathe vodka.
Finally, a word to those that claim October is too late to come here because everything will be closed or the weather shit. Wrong and wrong. Come here during the first three weeks of October and things will be quiet since there are much fewer tourists, prices will be lower (almost by 50%), the weather, as mentioned above, is still breath-taking and there are enough places open to be able to choose. I know from now on I won't do high season ever. October is the month! And if you don't know where to stay then stay at Maya Chalets (Karimah and her husband are very nice) and go for the diving tour with Matt, Karimah's brother-in-law. 'Nuff said.
I've rarely on this trip been in a place and with people that grew on me so much. In the end, I would announce my leaving in the morning and change my mind after breakfast. Then I gave up announcements and just stayed. Nine and a half days.
Monday, 20 October 2008
Crafty Buggers
Pulau Perhentian, Malaysia
I can't believe I'm having animal problems again. It seems to be happening at least once per country I visit now. They're also getting cheekier with every time.
Here, it started with a packet of Tiger biscuits I had left opened on the table in my room. When I returned I found the packet on the floor. Had I dropped it? Then I saw that the biscuits hadn't broken, they had been nibbled on. And the packet had been torn open much further. I guess it's not surprising: I'm in a wooden chalet, it's hot, so I leave my window open and this island is small, so the jungle starts pretty much outside my window.
I put the biscuits outside. It didn't take long for the perps to return: several squirrels started fighting over my Tiger biscuits.
But they don't stop there. My iron rations, packets of instant noodles all the way from China (mmm, 牛肉面), were in my big backpack. They were still sealed and under layers of clothing. The next time I went to get a new T-shirt I found crumbs all over them. The packets of noodles had been torn open - torn open by little claws and teeth from the looks of it. And the noodles inside had been munched on, too. The little shitheads must have somehow smelt the noodles, They crawled into my bag, through the clothing, found the packet, tore it open and started eating their way in. It really looks like nothing is safe from them now. I'm also impressed at their intelligence. You have to hand it to them: I'll have to get up quite early (figuratively speaking) to make sure I eat my food and not them. On the down side I'm not entirely happy at squirrels digging around my bag. Who knows where their paws have been.
I can't believe I'm having animal problems again. It seems to be happening at least once per country I visit now. They're also getting cheekier with every time.
Here, it started with a packet of Tiger biscuits I had left opened on the table in my room. When I returned I found the packet on the floor. Had I dropped it? Then I saw that the biscuits hadn't broken, they had been nibbled on. And the packet had been torn open much further. I guess it's not surprising: I'm in a wooden chalet, it's hot, so I leave my window open and this island is small, so the jungle starts pretty much outside my window.
I put the biscuits outside. It didn't take long for the perps to return: several squirrels started fighting over my Tiger biscuits.
But they don't stop there. My iron rations, packets of instant noodles all the way from China (mmm, 牛肉面), were in my big backpack. They were still sealed and under layers of clothing. The next time I went to get a new T-shirt I found crumbs all over them. The packets of noodles had been torn open - torn open by little claws and teeth from the looks of it. And the noodles inside had been munched on, too. The little shitheads must have somehow smelt the noodles, They crawled into my bag, through the clothing, found the packet, tore it open and started eating their way in. It really looks like nothing is safe from them now. I'm also impressed at their intelligence. You have to hand it to them: I'll have to get up quite early (figuratively speaking) to make sure I eat my food and not them. On the down side I'm not entirely happy at squirrels digging around my bag. Who knows where their paws have been.
Sunday, 12 October 2008
S is for Sweat, L is for Leeches ...
Taman Negara, Malaysia
I could probably do the whole alphabet like this, e.g. A is for Animals, B is for Boats (or Bats), C is for Caves, D is for Disappointment, E is for Expectations, etc., and so describe my entire visit here but I'm sure people would be bored out of their wits. So, I'll do it in prose instead.
I'll start with E above: Expectations. I arrived at Malaysia's number 1 forest reserve ("Taman Negara" literally means "National Park") with certain plans and hopes. Since this is the world's oldest virgin jungle I wanted to spend as much time in it as I could. Reading up in advance I had spotted the possibility of doing a jungle trek all the way to Gunung Tahan (Mount Tahan), with 2000-something meters height the park's highest peak. This trek would take around seven days there and back and was the longest you could do. So, the first thing I did when I arrived was to start asking the local agencies for this. I was referred to the park headquarters. There I was met only with astounded looks. Gunung Tahan? They consulted their big book of - visitors maybe? Nobody for this month. Nobody for next month. Last month there had been a group. Which brings us very smoothly to D. Alternatives were short "Real Inner Jungle" experience treks. There were two day, three day and four day treks. So, I began asking for the longest, a four day trek. More apologetic looks. They only offered two-day treks. As it turned out only very few people spend more than a few days here, especially now during low season. Would I be interested in a two-day trek? Teeth grinding I considered my options. I could see the length of my stay reducing drastically. I had planned up to ten days but now it looked more like less than half that. After annoying people with repeated questions about extending and other options I finally settled on a two-day trek. Make the best of it and smile.
I started my stay with a guided night walk of one and a half hours through the jungle near the headquarters. This walk had, I would like to think, a Russian commentary. There were four Russians of who only one woman spoke English, so she would translate and comment everything to the others. I'm not actually sure. Only that they were constantly talking about something. Drove me nuts! What was more: we didn't actually see much (except some big spiders). Makes me wonder even more what they were talking about. Of course, there's the darker side of me that blames them for the animals not coming out.
Then came the "inner jungle" trek. I won't go into too much detail to avoid boredom. We'll start with S. I've rarely sweated that much. I believe part of it was due to natural moisture in the air (the place is not called "rain forest" for moot). The rest was pure sweat from marching, climbing up and down hills and over roots and rivers. The terrain was muddy and treacherous, so I didn't actually pay that much attention to the scenery. It consisted of trees mostly anyway. That's why it's called "inner jungle", right? Water and mud seeped into my shoes, splashed onto my trousers. After about an hour of this I was soaked in every possible sense of the word and every possibly imaginable place. Then there's of course L. When they hear jungle people always worry about mosquitoes. Malaria is the buzz word (no pun intended). What they forget to worry about it the little worms sticking out of the muddy ground, lashing around frantically, sniffing for something alive, trying to latch on, then climbing stealthily up your leg until they find a bare spot, then dig in and draw blood until they are full. This can take ten minutes or you can pluck them off first. You'll then bleed for some time until the effects of their saliva that stops blood from clotting wear off. Some guys in the group got spectacular blood stains in their socks like that. I pulled my socks over my trousers and avoided all but one bite (little bastard hit when I had taken my socks off).
We explored a bat cave where bat sh- excrement was almost ankle deep and more seemed to be dripping from the ceiling. "When you look up close your mouth", our guide advised. We slept in a large cavern that reminded me strongly of the mines of Moria in Lord of the Rings. There were no bats but a room that had been used as the human toilet and smelt like that. And we got to swing on a vine across a little stream. A French girl in the group let go to early and crashed into the slope rather than landing on it. Maybe because of that I completely forgot to do the Tarzan yell. Coming back on the second day I've rarely wanted (or required) a shower that badly. Sadly, we saw lots of green and little (read: no) wildlife.
On my third day, after a long rest, I went on the famous canopy walk, apparently the highlight of the park. You walk along rope-bridge-like walkways built into the tree tops. I was surprised that my fear of heights never kicked in. Maybe because most of the time you don't see the ground - only leaves and more leaves.
Finally, on the last evening I wanted to stay overnight in one of the observation hides and try to spot some animals at last. That also fell prey to the letter D when park rangers upped the time it would take me to get to the hide and when I set off it turned out to be too late. So, I went on the "night safari" (not to be confused with the one offered at Singapore Zoo). This is driving around palm oil plantations in a 4x4 pickup with the guide on the roof using a mega-strong search light to spot animals. The theory is that he'll then use that light to blind animals, so that the buggers will stand still while everyone takes a photo. We successfully did that with a sleeping bird and a tiny, harmless (and probably scared shitless) snake. People's cameras flashed duly. Other animals wouldn't come out to be blinded. The bird remained the biggest thing we saw. If I were an animal in that plantation I wouldn't come out either. That light was seriously strong! But I discovered that I have the same musical taste as our driver Faisal. Even his mobile phone ring tone was by Slipknot. Rock on!
So, after too much of D, I finally gave up on animals and activities and headed back to Jerantut after only three days. At least that leaves time for me to head to some islands and lie in the sun some more.
I could probably do the whole alphabet like this, e.g. A is for Animals, B is for Boats (or Bats), C is for Caves, D is for Disappointment, E is for Expectations, etc., and so describe my entire visit here but I'm sure people would be bored out of their wits. So, I'll do it in prose instead.
I'll start with E above: Expectations. I arrived at Malaysia's number 1 forest reserve ("Taman Negara" literally means "National Park") with certain plans and hopes. Since this is the world's oldest virgin jungle I wanted to spend as much time in it as I could. Reading up in advance I had spotted the possibility of doing a jungle trek all the way to Gunung Tahan (Mount Tahan), with 2000-something meters height the park's highest peak. This trek would take around seven days there and back and was the longest you could do. So, the first thing I did when I arrived was to start asking the local agencies for this. I was referred to the park headquarters. There I was met only with astounded looks. Gunung Tahan? They consulted their big book of - visitors maybe? Nobody for this month. Nobody for next month. Last month there had been a group. Which brings us very smoothly to D. Alternatives were short "Real Inner Jungle" experience treks. There were two day, three day and four day treks. So, I began asking for the longest, a four day trek. More apologetic looks. They only offered two-day treks. As it turned out only very few people spend more than a few days here, especially now during low season. Would I be interested in a two-day trek? Teeth grinding I considered my options. I could see the length of my stay reducing drastically. I had planned up to ten days but now it looked more like less than half that. After annoying people with repeated questions about extending and other options I finally settled on a two-day trek. Make the best of it and smile.
I started my stay with a guided night walk of one and a half hours through the jungle near the headquarters. This walk had, I would like to think, a Russian commentary. There were four Russians of who only one woman spoke English, so she would translate and comment everything to the others. I'm not actually sure. Only that they were constantly talking about something. Drove me nuts! What was more: we didn't actually see much (except some big spiders). Makes me wonder even more what they were talking about. Of course, there's the darker side of me that blames them for the animals not coming out.
Then came the "inner jungle" trek. I won't go into too much detail to avoid boredom. We'll start with S. I've rarely sweated that much. I believe part of it was due to natural moisture in the air (the place is not called "rain forest" for moot). The rest was pure sweat from marching, climbing up and down hills and over roots and rivers. The terrain was muddy and treacherous, so I didn't actually pay that much attention to the scenery. It consisted of trees mostly anyway. That's why it's called "inner jungle", right? Water and mud seeped into my shoes, splashed onto my trousers. After about an hour of this I was soaked in every possible sense of the word and every possibly imaginable place. Then there's of course L. When they hear jungle people always worry about mosquitoes. Malaria is the buzz word (no pun intended). What they forget to worry about it the little worms sticking out of the muddy ground, lashing around frantically, sniffing for something alive, trying to latch on, then climbing stealthily up your leg until they find a bare spot, then dig in and draw blood until they are full. This can take ten minutes or you can pluck them off first. You'll then bleed for some time until the effects of their saliva that stops blood from clotting wear off. Some guys in the group got spectacular blood stains in their socks like that. I pulled my socks over my trousers and avoided all but one bite (little bastard hit when I had taken my socks off).
We explored a bat cave where bat sh- excrement was almost ankle deep and more seemed to be dripping from the ceiling. "When you look up close your mouth", our guide advised. We slept in a large cavern that reminded me strongly of the mines of Moria in Lord of the Rings. There were no bats but a room that had been used as the human toilet and smelt like that. And we got to swing on a vine across a little stream. A French girl in the group let go to early and crashed into the slope rather than landing on it. Maybe because of that I completely forgot to do the Tarzan yell. Coming back on the second day I've rarely wanted (or required) a shower that badly. Sadly, we saw lots of green and little (read: no) wildlife.
On my third day, after a long rest, I went on the famous canopy walk, apparently the highlight of the park. You walk along rope-bridge-like walkways built into the tree tops. I was surprised that my fear of heights never kicked in. Maybe because most of the time you don't see the ground - only leaves and more leaves.
Finally, on the last evening I wanted to stay overnight in one of the observation hides and try to spot some animals at last. That also fell prey to the letter D when park rangers upped the time it would take me to get to the hide and when I set off it turned out to be too late. So, I went on the "night safari" (not to be confused with the one offered at Singapore Zoo). This is driving around palm oil plantations in a 4x4 pickup with the guide on the roof using a mega-strong search light to spot animals. The theory is that he'll then use that light to blind animals, so that the buggers will stand still while everyone takes a photo. We successfully did that with a sleeping bird and a tiny, harmless (and probably scared shitless) snake. People's cameras flashed duly. Other animals wouldn't come out to be blinded. The bird remained the biggest thing we saw. If I were an animal in that plantation I wouldn't come out either. That light was seriously strong! But I discovered that I have the same musical taste as our driver Faisal. Even his mobile phone ring tone was by Slipknot. Rock on!
So, after too much of D, I finally gave up on animals and activities and headed back to Jerantut after only three days. At least that leaves time for me to head to some islands and lie in the sun some more.
Monday, 6 October 2008
You're a Winner
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
My grandfather often says: "There's an entire category of people that spend all day thinking about how to best get at your money." I may not like it sometimes but the world keeps proving him right. Here's what happened to me.
I was browsing Bukit Bintang's shopping complexes looking for a suit of a special design that I had fallen in love with years ago on my first visit to Malaysia (apparently that's called the "mandarin collar"). I was just outside Sungei Wang when a young man pushed a leaflet into my hands. I was going to fold it and stow it as "adverts to be thrown away later" when he stopped me asking: "Don't you want to see if you've won anything?" Yeah, why not (as if!). I tore open the secured bit. It said something and that wasn't "better luck next time". All of a sudden the boy became very excited. "You're a winner", he blurted. He couldn't believe it. I couldn't either. This had never happened before, he told me. He'd been here all day and everyone else had just drawn blanks. I was skeptical but then the whole thing might just be a promotion of one of the shopping centres. To support his claim he produced a stack of torn open envelops all of them indeed containing blanks. Mine, he insisted, was a winning ticket. I would now enter a final draw with a minimum guaranteed prize of a short trip to somewhere near Malaysia (worth 10,000 RM), the first prize being a new car worth much more. He waved the listing in my face. I told him I was traveling, I had no use for a car. That was no problem either: there was a cash alternative for all prizes. Now, the first thing to do was to call his boss to confirm the winning ticket. I don't know what made me humour him; maybe it was the vague hope that it might just be legitimate and I might just get something for nothing. Besides I had nothing to loose - as long as I didn't sign anything they couldn't make me do anything. So, moments later I found myself talking to his manager telling her: "yes, it does say 'winner' on the ticket." That done, he said the final step was only to follow him to their offices and collect the prize. Where were their offices? Nearby, we could walk. So we started walking. I noted we were not entering the shopping complex but started making our way around it into a side street. I wondered quietly what their offices would be like.
He was still babbling excitedly about the fantastic prizes that would soon be mine. A thought struck me. To clarify, I told him, I wasn't in the position to buy anything from them. I reminded him I was traveling and had little money. Once again he assured me this was no problem. No purchase was necessary. I would even receive two free promotional items of the company - a vacuum cleaner and another thing I can't remember. I reminded him again of my traveling status. I had no way of transporting those things. "No problem!" His trademark answer. The law just required me to pay tax for these items.
Do you know the moment in comedy films when something goes wrong and the happy music suddenly grinds to a screeching halt? That's what happened to me that moment. I stopped dead in my tracks. It took him a moment to realise I wasn't with him anymore and he came back for me. Tax? How much? 2000 RM but, he continued immediately, that was nothing since I'd still have 8000 RM left of my minimum guaranteed winning. He would repeat this last sentence many more times. He emphasised all the right words like "8000" and "guaranteed". I stopped him again. Why did I have to pay tax for items I didn't want? It was the law, he said. Well, then I should pay it to the government, shouldn't I? No, I should pay it when I collected the prize and the company would transfer the money to the government. I persisted that this was no procedure to pay tax and he insisted that this was the procedure we had to follow. He kept reminding me of the fantastic prizes - to fuel my greed and cloud my judgement, I suspect. He hadn't realised that he had effectively lost me already. I was just interested what else he would try. I suggested the tax be calculated into the prize money and they should just give me 8000 RM. No, that was impossible. I had to pay the tax first. He calculated it in US Dollars for me to show me how little money it really was compared to my winnings. I asked him, did I really look like someone who'd carry that much money in my pocket - in Ringgit or US Dollars?! He suggested almost timidly that I could go to a nearby cash machine and withdraw the money. I didn't have a valid card anymore. He offered waiting while I found a money changer. He really didn't leave anything untried. He gets an A for effort. But this was where I drew the line. It wasn't going down like this, I told him, I was not going to pay anything in advance. Full stop. He grew frantic: But then I couldn't collect my prize. He launched into a description of the fantastic (literally) prizes again. I said it again slowly both in English and in Chinese to make sure he understood. I. Was. Not. Going to. Pay. Anything. In. Advance. Then I turned to leave. He shouted after me. Was I sure? Did I really want to forfeit my prize? I told him I didn't want it anymore. He couldn't believe it. He continued shouting for a while but I stopped listening and continued walking.
I wasn't actually disappointed or angry. I don't think I had believed in the prize in the first place. I had merely confirmed my first impression. The only thing I had lost was a bit of time. I guess these kind of scams exist everywhere. Here, of course, they try to prey on trusty or naive tourists. I wonder if it's worth it. How many people are actually stupid enough to fall for this? Who would pay the "tax" before collecting the "prize"?
My grandfather often says: "There's an entire category of people that spend all day thinking about how to best get at your money." I may not like it sometimes but the world keeps proving him right. Here's what happened to me.
I was browsing Bukit Bintang's shopping complexes looking for a suit of a special design that I had fallen in love with years ago on my first visit to Malaysia (apparently that's called the "mandarin collar"). I was just outside Sungei Wang when a young man pushed a leaflet into my hands. I was going to fold it and stow it as "adverts to be thrown away later" when he stopped me asking: "Don't you want to see if you've won anything?" Yeah, why not (as if!). I tore open the secured bit. It said something and that wasn't "better luck next time". All of a sudden the boy became very excited. "You're a winner", he blurted. He couldn't believe it. I couldn't either. This had never happened before, he told me. He'd been here all day and everyone else had just drawn blanks. I was skeptical but then the whole thing might just be a promotion of one of the shopping centres. To support his claim he produced a stack of torn open envelops all of them indeed containing blanks. Mine, he insisted, was a winning ticket. I would now enter a final draw with a minimum guaranteed prize of a short trip to somewhere near Malaysia (worth 10,000 RM), the first prize being a new car worth much more. He waved the listing in my face. I told him I was traveling, I had no use for a car. That was no problem either: there was a cash alternative for all prizes. Now, the first thing to do was to call his boss to confirm the winning ticket. I don't know what made me humour him; maybe it was the vague hope that it might just be legitimate and I might just get something for nothing. Besides I had nothing to loose - as long as I didn't sign anything they couldn't make me do anything. So, moments later I found myself talking to his manager telling her: "yes, it does say 'winner' on the ticket." That done, he said the final step was only to follow him to their offices and collect the prize. Where were their offices? Nearby, we could walk. So we started walking. I noted we were not entering the shopping complex but started making our way around it into a side street. I wondered quietly what their offices would be like.
He was still babbling excitedly about the fantastic prizes that would soon be mine. A thought struck me. To clarify, I told him, I wasn't in the position to buy anything from them. I reminded him I was traveling and had little money. Once again he assured me this was no problem. No purchase was necessary. I would even receive two free promotional items of the company - a vacuum cleaner and another thing I can't remember. I reminded him again of my traveling status. I had no way of transporting those things. "No problem!" His trademark answer. The law just required me to pay tax for these items.
Do you know the moment in comedy films when something goes wrong and the happy music suddenly grinds to a screeching halt? That's what happened to me that moment. I stopped dead in my tracks. It took him a moment to realise I wasn't with him anymore and he came back for me. Tax? How much? 2000 RM but, he continued immediately, that was nothing since I'd still have 8000 RM left of my minimum guaranteed winning. He would repeat this last sentence many more times. He emphasised all the right words like "8000" and "guaranteed". I stopped him again. Why did I have to pay tax for items I didn't want? It was the law, he said. Well, then I should pay it to the government, shouldn't I? No, I should pay it when I collected the prize and the company would transfer the money to the government. I persisted that this was no procedure to pay tax and he insisted that this was the procedure we had to follow. He kept reminding me of the fantastic prizes - to fuel my greed and cloud my judgement, I suspect. He hadn't realised that he had effectively lost me already. I was just interested what else he would try. I suggested the tax be calculated into the prize money and they should just give me 8000 RM. No, that was impossible. I had to pay the tax first. He calculated it in US Dollars for me to show me how little money it really was compared to my winnings. I asked him, did I really look like someone who'd carry that much money in my pocket - in Ringgit or US Dollars?! He suggested almost timidly that I could go to a nearby cash machine and withdraw the money. I didn't have a valid card anymore. He offered waiting while I found a money changer. He really didn't leave anything untried. He gets an A for effort. But this was where I drew the line. It wasn't going down like this, I told him, I was not going to pay anything in advance. Full stop. He grew frantic: But then I couldn't collect my prize. He launched into a description of the fantastic (literally) prizes again. I said it again slowly both in English and in Chinese to make sure he understood. I. Was. Not. Going to. Pay. Anything. In. Advance. Then I turned to leave. He shouted after me. Was I sure? Did I really want to forfeit my prize? I told him I didn't want it anymore. He couldn't believe it. He continued shouting for a while but I stopped listening and continued walking.
I wasn't actually disappointed or angry. I don't think I had believed in the prize in the first place. I had merely confirmed my first impression. The only thing I had lost was a bit of time. I guess these kind of scams exist everywhere. Here, of course, they try to prey on trusty or naive tourists. I wonder if it's worth it. How many people are actually stupid enough to fall for this? Who would pay the "tax" before collecting the "prize"?
Sunday, 5 October 2008
The Epiphany of Puduraya
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Standing at the side of the road tonight I was trying to make up my mind what to do. Suddenly, something, like a little bundle, near me hit the ground with a hollow smack. I looked and it turned out it was a cat that had fallen off the top of the nearby building. It's back was bent in an unlikely way. After a moment of stillness, it slowly, as if in slow motion, tried to lift its head, eyes staring as if in shock at what had just happened. A paw moved very slowly, then the head sank back. I think it knew that this was it. I walked on but still felt compelled to turn around once more. It seemed its gaze had followed me as its head bent forward a bit. I stood there watching the little creature die until I believed its eyes had gone dim.
Now I think, is this a sign? An omen? Life is short and you never know what might suddenly happen - in the same way as this cat with all its grace did not expect to fall. You might think you're on top of things and get complacent, take those things for granted, and then before you know it everything is gone in the blink of an eye.
Standing at the side of the road tonight I was trying to make up my mind what to do. Suddenly, something, like a little bundle, near me hit the ground with a hollow smack. I looked and it turned out it was a cat that had fallen off the top of the nearby building. It's back was bent in an unlikely way. After a moment of stillness, it slowly, as if in slow motion, tried to lift its head, eyes staring as if in shock at what had just happened. A paw moved very slowly, then the head sank back. I think it knew that this was it. I walked on but still felt compelled to turn around once more. It seemed its gaze had followed me as its head bent forward a bit. I stood there watching the little creature die until I believed its eyes had gone dim.
Now I think, is this a sign? An omen? Life is short and you never know what might suddenly happen - in the same way as this cat with all its grace did not expect to fall. You might think you're on top of things and get complacent, take those things for granted, and then before you know it everything is gone in the blink of an eye.
Friday, 3 October 2008
Traveler Sense Tingling ...
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
I never thought any further about this but I believe I spot a pattern here.
Way back in Phnom Phen I met two women from KL, Malaysia who were very talkative, just chatting me up in the central market. They asked where I was from and on hearing Germany they became excited and one wanted to introduce me her sister or niece who was going to Germany to work. That niece/sister relative was very nervous she said and it would be good for her to hear about Germany first hand from a local. I agreed and they wanted to go straight away but at the time be it out of wariness, be it because of other plans I declined. We agreed to meet later but in the evening I couldn't find them at the agreed place.
I never really gave it another thought until this afternoon a woman offered me help with directions and also started to chat. Germany - she had a sister going to Germany to work. It began the same way. Come to think of it, the two women even looked similar, were of similar age. This struck me as strange. I didn't really want to continue the conversation and left before finding out what it was about. There's something fishy about this coincidence. Maybe next time I'll indulge her purely for reasons of curiosity. I now really want to find out what this stuff is about. Anybody heard of this before?
I never thought any further about this but I believe I spot a pattern here.
Way back in Phnom Phen I met two women from KL, Malaysia who were very talkative, just chatting me up in the central market. They asked where I was from and on hearing Germany they became excited and one wanted to introduce me her sister or niece who was going to Germany to work. That niece/sister relative was very nervous she said and it would be good for her to hear about Germany first hand from a local. I agreed and they wanted to go straight away but at the time be it out of wariness, be it because of other plans I declined. We agreed to meet later but in the evening I couldn't find them at the agreed place.
I never really gave it another thought until this afternoon a woman offered me help with directions and also started to chat. Germany - she had a sister going to Germany to work. It began the same way. Come to think of it, the two women even looked similar, were of similar age. This struck me as strange. I didn't really want to continue the conversation and left before finding out what it was about. There's something fishy about this coincidence. Maybe next time I'll indulge her purely for reasons of curiosity. I now really want to find out what this stuff is about. Anybody heard of this before?
Thursday, 2 October 2008
The League of (Elderly) Gentlemen
Georgetown, Malaysia
When the Lonely Planet said that the 75 Travelers' Lodge in Georgetown is popular with travelers I was expecting the usual crowd of 20-something backpackers swapping stories of how they trekked across Laos or Australia. Well, stories were swapped but those were ones from tens of years ago. Older than your average backpacker. The patrons almost all seem old enough to be relics of English Imperial times, left-overs from the colonial days of Georgetown. All older men from various countries. It feels a bit like walking into a local pub (Stammkneipe) full of old regulars somewhere in Germany talking about the politics from Adenauer's days. And they seem like they've lived here for ages. Quirky types that spend all day indoors writing things or shuffling around seemingly checking if everything is in place. Makes me wonder if they have no other place to go, been kicked out of their house. Or are they here to make sure that the Imperial heritage gets treated with respect? In the Her Majesty's service? In contrast to more common hostels where I usually turn out to be older than the average, this place positively made me feel young.
When the Lonely Planet said that the 75 Travelers' Lodge in Georgetown is popular with travelers I was expecting the usual crowd of 20-something backpackers swapping stories of how they trekked across Laos or Australia. Well, stories were swapped but those were ones from tens of years ago. Older than your average backpacker. The patrons almost all seem old enough to be relics of English Imperial times, left-overs from the colonial days of Georgetown. All older men from various countries. It feels a bit like walking into a local pub (Stammkneipe) full of old regulars somewhere in Germany talking about the politics from Adenauer's days. And they seem like they've lived here for ages. Quirky types that spend all day indoors writing things or shuffling around seemingly checking if everything is in place. Makes me wonder if they have no other place to go, been kicked out of their house. Or are they here to make sure that the Imperial heritage gets treated with respect? In the Her Majesty's service? In contrast to more common hostels where I usually turn out to be older than the average, this place positively made me feel young.
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