Bonn, Germany
Okay, I've been back home about two weeks now. Someone once said I'd have to be home for some time to appreciate all that I've seen and done and experienced. I think if you go on such a long trip you already digest as you go. So, all that remains now is to wrap up. There are some (big) gaps to fill in this blog and a lot of entries to backdate (I've been lazy for some months and sometimes just didn't have time). I hope there are still people interested (aside from myself). Once I'm finished this will be readable as a single piece from start to end, a complete account of my trip. Some people even suggested that this weblog should become a book. While I'm flattered by such praise, realistically I have my doubts. After all, isn't that what every traveler dreams of? Then again, who knows? Any publishers reading this, please leave a comment and I'll get back to you.
As a matter of fact I'm also curious how many people (if any) have followed this regularly (or as regularly as I've posted). Maybe you can leave a comment and I'll count?
In the meantime I thought I'll also do some recap. People often ask where the most interesting place was or the best food or the most beautiful girls. So, I'll try to answer these questions and some more since I've now had time to look back and evaluate.
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Wrapping Up
Bonn, Germany
One year, three months and two weeks. Roughly. It seemed endless when I set off. But now, in retrospect, it feels more like a two week holiday. The day of my departure is still so vivid in my mind that it seems like yesterday. How could that have been more than a year ago. And while time seen moment by moment seemed long then it still rushed by, days becoming weeks becoming months becoming a year. And now I'm back wondering where it all went.
I've been home now for a few days. I'm amazed how quickly things have gone back to normal. The sun is lower here than in Southeast Asia. It's almost winter, so days are shorter - the sun goes down at five already. It's cold outside amd will get even colder, so that I have to wear a jacket and soon a sweater, too. Two out of three meals are cold and I miss hot congee or noodles or roti in the morning. I don't need to speak foreign languages anymore to make myself understood. And I know all the streets without a map. Of course, this is normal. Still, I had expected there would be a certain alien feel to it because of being away for so long but there isn't. A day after arriving I had already got back into a routine again. I don't have to think about what to do or where to go. I have to go to a shop and my feet carry me there without deliberation. I need to find something in the house and I just know where it is as I go to get it.
Already it's my trip that begins to feel unreal, like a dream that I've just woken up from. Scores of email addresses, thousands of photos and this diary the only reminder that it was real. And yet it's hard to imagine that at this time last week I was in Johor Bahru, Malaysia, half a globe away, preparing to cross the border to Singapore. Then I had to worry about transportation, changing money, booking accommodation. Now, my concerns are much more mundane, like what I'll do on the weekend or what's on TV or for dinner tonight. I've already placed (and received!) my first order with amazon - a new computer game.
I guess, there are two sides to this normality. There's a lurking sluggishness that makes you go on the way things are, not wanting to change anything or do anything different, essentially wasting your life. On the other hand, there are the things I mentioned last time: comfort and protection that let you relax and let down your guard, that make you feel at home. It'll be up to me to benefit from the refreshing comfort of my home but not give in to its inherent lure.
The world. It's so big. Enormous. Vast. And the more you see of it the more you realise that there is so much more still to see. One place leads to another, which leads to yet another and so on. It's maddening. A life-time is not (never) enough. With all these wonders, natural or man-made, ancient or modern, how can you choose? The opposite force of the above normality is greed. You want to see it all. I've met people who had traveled for years. Always on a shoe-string, hanging out at individual hostels for weeks planning their next trip or wondering what to do, waiting for some financial boost that would keep them going a while longer. Of course, it's difficult to see the world without money. And that's what you do need a home for. But there's a deeper lesson I learned: How can you appreciate the great wide world if you can't even appreciate you own home? People go on holiday and don't even realise what's just outside their own door. I used to be the same. But now, it's one I'm back here. I wouldn't want to go on traveling forever, even though I do sometimes envy those that do. I want to have a home, a job and a life, and I believe that even from a backpacking globe trotter point of view there's nothing wrong with that. As long as routine and sluggishness don't get the better of you, that is. This is where I make the money, gather the strength and lay out the plan. So, I'll go find a job, maybe a new place to stay, a life, and I'll dream of the days when I was free. And I'll prepare. So that the next time the world calls to me I'll be ready.
One year, three months and two weeks. Roughly. It seemed endless when I set off. But now, in retrospect, it feels more like a two week holiday. The day of my departure is still so vivid in my mind that it seems like yesterday. How could that have been more than a year ago. And while time seen moment by moment seemed long then it still rushed by, days becoming weeks becoming months becoming a year. And now I'm back wondering where it all went.
I've been home now for a few days. I'm amazed how quickly things have gone back to normal. The sun is lower here than in Southeast Asia. It's almost winter, so days are shorter - the sun goes down at five already. It's cold outside amd will get even colder, so that I have to wear a jacket and soon a sweater, too. Two out of three meals are cold and I miss hot congee or noodles or roti in the morning. I don't need to speak foreign languages anymore to make myself understood. And I know all the streets without a map. Of course, this is normal. Still, I had expected there would be a certain alien feel to it because of being away for so long but there isn't. A day after arriving I had already got back into a routine again. I don't have to think about what to do or where to go. I have to go to a shop and my feet carry me there without deliberation. I need to find something in the house and I just know where it is as I go to get it.
Already it's my trip that begins to feel unreal, like a dream that I've just woken up from. Scores of email addresses, thousands of photos and this diary the only reminder that it was real. And yet it's hard to imagine that at this time last week I was in Johor Bahru, Malaysia, half a globe away, preparing to cross the border to Singapore. Then I had to worry about transportation, changing money, booking accommodation. Now, my concerns are much more mundane, like what I'll do on the weekend or what's on TV or for dinner tonight. I've already placed (and received!) my first order with amazon - a new computer game.
I guess, there are two sides to this normality. There's a lurking sluggishness that makes you go on the way things are, not wanting to change anything or do anything different, essentially wasting your life. On the other hand, there are the things I mentioned last time: comfort and protection that let you relax and let down your guard, that make you feel at home. It'll be up to me to benefit from the refreshing comfort of my home but not give in to its inherent lure.
The world. It's so big. Enormous. Vast. And the more you see of it the more you realise that there is so much more still to see. One place leads to another, which leads to yet another and so on. It's maddening. A life-time is not (never) enough. With all these wonders, natural or man-made, ancient or modern, how can you choose? The opposite force of the above normality is greed. You want to see it all. I've met people who had traveled for years. Always on a shoe-string, hanging out at individual hostels for weeks planning their next trip or wondering what to do, waiting for some financial boost that would keep them going a while longer. Of course, it's difficult to see the world without money. And that's what you do need a home for. But there's a deeper lesson I learned: How can you appreciate the great wide world if you can't even appreciate you own home? People go on holiday and don't even realise what's just outside their own door. I used to be the same. But now, it's one I'm back here. I wouldn't want to go on traveling forever, even though I do sometimes envy those that do. I want to have a home, a job and a life, and I believe that even from a backpacking globe trotter point of view there's nothing wrong with that. As long as routine and sluggishness don't get the better of you, that is. This is where I make the money, gather the strength and lay out the plan. So, I'll go find a job, maybe a new place to stay, a life, and I'll dream of the days when I was free. And I'll prepare. So that the next time the world calls to me I'll be ready.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Still More Border Thoughts and Returning Home
Bonn, Germany
Technology has me in awe sometimes. The distance that I spent one year, three months and about two weeks covering on the outward journey up to Singapore only took a mere 12 hours on the return trip. For me it was only three movies and a nap later that my Boeing 747 touched down in Frankfurt and returned me to my home country. It was quite curious to see signs and hear announcements in German language again.
Then came the first culture shock. Passport check at the immigration check point. Wearily I bade the officer a good morning and was greeted with hardly a look and a grunt in return. Next to me I witnessed an Asian couple that presented their officer with a required document, not on paper but by showing her on the screen of their laptop computer. The officer inspected whatever was on the screen and with a stern "Next time you print it out, ya?" sent them on their way. Talk about German clichees. At this moment I was handed back my passport and, with a curt "thank you", allowed to set foot on German soil. After this sort of treatment - in my own home country no less - I'm not surprised anymore that many foreigners see us essentially as the Hollywood image of SS troopers. In countries far away from here I was greeted with, at least, a little smile or even a few friendly words but in my home country, my Vaterland: this. I don't feel very welcome. Probably only Russian (or American) border police can surpass their German counterparts in unfriendliness. You may say that there may be many people at these border check points that cause trouble or are just plain annoying. True. But I say, these men and women in uniform are the face of my country. They may well be the first Germans that foreigners interact with. Now imagine this as a first impression. I told all my friends during my trip that they would be welcome to come to Germany but these officers seem to do their best to make me a liar. I am sorely disappointed.
Later sitting on a train back to Bonn and a bus from the train station to my parents' house I marvel at the sights and sounds around me. I'm home. I witness my first sunrise over German fields again. I see all the castles along the Rhine that I've known since I was a child. There's a vague feeling of sadness, of conclusion, of loss, of all the things, places and, most of all, people I've left behind. Still, it doesn't feel as strange as I thought it would after being away in the a different part of the world for so long. I'm almost disappointed. But it is still home, after all. It's always been with me in a way. And it has hardly changed. And that's the really amazing part. While cities like Beijing and Singapore had changed a lot since my last visit two years ago Germany still was - felt - the same as before. As if time had stopped until I got back. A new shopping complex had opened near my family's house, some shops had changed or closed, buildings may have had a paint job but those are just details. The town of Bonn as a whole hasn't changed one bit. Traffic lights are still set to slow traffic down. On a Sunday morning bakeries are the only shops that are open. I have my first bread roll with cheese in one year, three months and two weeks. It tastes nice, familiar, and I don't care that it costs almost two Euros, which would be 20 Yuan or 10 Ringgit just for a bread roll with cheese. This is Germany and this is normal. Later, a neighbour is the first to spot me. She's eager to question me and I try to be patient. When she decides that her dog really needs to do its business now I finally get to walk the last few steps to our house. I am greeted with smiles and hugs. It's been an amazing trip, a great adventure, an exciting experience, a hundred valuable lessons, that last of which is this: As much as I loved and enjoyed the far-away countries, exotic foods and countless new acquaintances, now I can kick off my shoes, have my own room and let down my guard. There's no place like home and that will always be here.
Saturday, 8 November 2008
The Road Goes Ever On
Singapore
It's very strange to be going home. I feel sad and also a certain happiness. I have two hours left at the airport and no idea what to do with them. I feel restless (and tired from last night's KTV). This is when I feel the loneliness of travelling alone again. I wish someone was here to keep me company but in the departure area I'm alone in the crowds. I've met so many people and somehow I miss them all at this very moment. I guess, that's the price of travelling. Always on the move you have to leave those behind that you grow to like or love, or be left behind by others that move on. But it's like Bilbo's old walking song:
"The road goes ever on and on [...] and I must follow if I can."
It's very strange to be going home. I feel sad and also a certain happiness. I have two hours left at the airport and no idea what to do with them. I feel restless (and tired from last night's KTV). This is when I feel the loneliness of travelling alone again. I wish someone was here to keep me company but in the departure area I'm alone in the crowds. I've met so many people and somehow I miss them all at this very moment. I guess, that's the price of travelling. Always on the move you have to leave those behind that you grow to like or love, or be left behind by others that move on. But it's like Bilbo's old walking song:
"The road goes ever on and on [...] and I must follow if I can."
The Last Night
Singapore
I realised I just spent the last night of my trip. The next one will be on an airplane and the one after that in my own bed thousands of kilometers west-north-west of here in Germany. How do you spend the last night of a one year and three month journey?
I can only say I was very lucky to have met Elaine and Sylvester while climbing Mount Kinabalu, and had the chance to meet them again in Singapore. So, after spending an amazing afternoon with Elaine on Sentosa under a gorgeous sun and sharing a huge portion of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (slurp!) we met Sylvester. We first went for Ba Ku Teh (肉骨茶, Hokkien stewed pork ribs), proceeded to a selection of beers at a local microbrewery (burp) and finally crowned the evening with a Karaoke session that lasted until closing time at 4 am. The latter means, of course, that I'm both tired and slightly vocally challenged today (Linkin Park songs have that effect) but I couldn't have imagined a better conclusion. It was literally going with a bang. When the sun began to colour the eastern horizon grey I was still sitting at a small shop with Elaine drinking tea. I find myself wishing this night would never end. It's been an awesome ending for a memorable trip. Thank you so much guys!! Hope to see you again soon!
I realised I just spent the last night of my trip. The next one will be on an airplane and the one after that in my own bed thousands of kilometers west-north-west of here in Germany. How do you spend the last night of a one year and three month journey?
I can only say I was very lucky to have met Elaine and Sylvester while climbing Mount Kinabalu, and had the chance to meet them again in Singapore. So, after spending an amazing afternoon with Elaine on Sentosa under a gorgeous sun and sharing a huge portion of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (slurp!) we met Sylvester. We first went for Ba Ku Teh (肉骨茶, Hokkien stewed pork ribs), proceeded to a selection of beers at a local microbrewery (burp) and finally crowned the evening with a Karaoke session that lasted until closing time at 4 am. The latter means, of course, that I'm both tired and slightly vocally challenged today (Linkin Park songs have that effect) but I couldn't have imagined a better conclusion. It was literally going with a bang. When the sun began to colour the eastern horizon grey I was still sitting at a small shop with Elaine drinking tea. I find myself wishing this night would never end. It's been an awesome ending for a memorable trip. Thank you so much guys!! Hope to see you again soon!
Thursday, 6 November 2008
It's Almost Unreal
Singapore
No, this is not about the song by Roxette. But I do feel like this at the moment.
The realisation is hitting home that I have only 2 more days to my long holiday and this trip to the other side of the world. If you're going away for so long the end, going home, always seems to far in the future. You think that you have one entire year - such a long time to be away that it seems forever. You can stay in a place for a week because you like it, get stuck for another day or two because there are no train tickets available. Or in a single week you spend nights in three different hotels in three different locations, cities or even states. You think about your next destination, what you'll see next or about all the things that you have already seen. You meet some many people, some you get to know better because you hang around for a while, others are just brief acquaintances. Thus, being on the road becomes your life. You think in terms of hostels, train or bus connections, sights or activities. Like one new friend said, it would be cool to spend your entire life just wondering whether you'll go diving today or take a boat trip or which sights you'll visit. Home becomes a distant memory, the life you used to live. Sometimes missed, sometimes happily left behind. But to think "I'll be home soon" is just unreal. Surreal. I look outside and I see Singapore with its Chinese and Tamil street and shop signs, its food centres that serve curry and chicken rice; I sweat in the warm breeze even at night as I listen to people speaking Mandarin or Bahasa Melayu or Tamil. How could I be in Germany in just three days? How could all this change into German speaking bakeries and soon-to-open Christmas fairs?
The thought of going back to the old life evokes both a sense of relief to have a home again and sadness because the free life is coming to an end. It's bitter-sweet. It's the return to the real world. I knew it was coming of course but that's the point: it was always so far in the future. I've been in Asia for so long that I actually don't feel that much as a stranger here anymore. I feel comfortable. It's going back to Germany that makes me wonder whether I'll fit in, whether I'll feel restricted or confused by the way things are done there. It'll certainly be interesting.
No, this is not about the song by Roxette. But I do feel like this at the moment.
The realisation is hitting home that I have only 2 more days to my long holiday and this trip to the other side of the world. If you're going away for so long the end, going home, always seems to far in the future. You think that you have one entire year - such a long time to be away that it seems forever. You can stay in a place for a week because you like it, get stuck for another day or two because there are no train tickets available. Or in a single week you spend nights in three different hotels in three different locations, cities or even states. You think about your next destination, what you'll see next or about all the things that you have already seen. You meet some many people, some you get to know better because you hang around for a while, others are just brief acquaintances. Thus, being on the road becomes your life. You think in terms of hostels, train or bus connections, sights or activities. Like one new friend said, it would be cool to spend your entire life just wondering whether you'll go diving today or take a boat trip or which sights you'll visit. Home becomes a distant memory, the life you used to live. Sometimes missed, sometimes happily left behind. But to think "I'll be home soon" is just unreal. Surreal. I look outside and I see Singapore with its Chinese and Tamil street and shop signs, its food centres that serve curry and chicken rice; I sweat in the warm breeze even at night as I listen to people speaking Mandarin or Bahasa Melayu or Tamil. How could I be in Germany in just three days? How could all this change into German speaking bakeries and soon-to-open Christmas fairs?
The thought of going back to the old life evokes both a sense of relief to have a home again and sadness because the free life is coming to an end. It's bitter-sweet. It's the return to the real world. I knew it was coming of course but that's the point: it was always so far in the future. I've been in Asia for so long that I actually don't feel that much as a stranger here anymore. I feel comfortable. It's going back to Germany that makes me wonder whether I'll fit in, whether I'll feel restricted or confused by the way things are done there. It'll certainly be interesting.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Strange Encounters
Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia
Kota Kinabalu (KK for short) is a scary place at night sometimes. Streets are empty with just some cars or scooters speeding past. Still, it's not a wild cowboy town like Kuala Terengganu. There just seem to be a lot of dark parking lots. And in the parking lots things happen that happen in dark parking lots around the world. Just with a slight twist.
I'm not talking about the packs of stray dogs that raced past me on my last evening yesterday. I'm talking about Malaysian ladyboys. I had seen them in Thailand. In Malaysia with its Muslim society this was new. I guess it is the oldest profession in the world. No religion or society will ever change that. Walking around the parking lots at night (something I do sometimes to clear my head before going to sleep) seems to be the agreed invitation. The thing is that here in Malaysia they don't seem to make an effort to conceal their gender very much. I still remember the first encounter about three days ago when a shape emerged from the shadows cast by the dim street lights. He already whispered/mumbled something as he approached but I had no idea what he wanted. Then he came into view, dressed like a female but the face distinctly male, longish, pock-marked. I almost jumped when he came into full view. The situation was just eerie, like some strange apparition you'd expect in a film that you may not want to see more clearly, his voice a soft but insistent whisper. If I wanted "ice cream", he asked. I wonder if my thoughts and feelings showed on my face. "Ice cream", huh? I extracted myself as fast as possible. I wasn't afraid but I've rarely ever been as uncomfortable in somebody's presence. I wonder if he attracts many customers. Yesterday a younger, slightly more feminine boy offered me if "I wanted to try it" but was very apologetic and polite when I said no. I wonder what situation you have to be in to go out and ask random men if they would like you to give them a blowjob or have sex with them. It's not a cowboy town here. Still, at night it's a very strange place.
Kota Kinabalu (KK for short) is a scary place at night sometimes. Streets are empty with just some cars or scooters speeding past. Still, it's not a wild cowboy town like Kuala Terengganu. There just seem to be a lot of dark parking lots. And in the parking lots things happen that happen in dark parking lots around the world. Just with a slight twist.
I'm not talking about the packs of stray dogs that raced past me on my last evening yesterday. I'm talking about Malaysian ladyboys. I had seen them in Thailand. In Malaysia with its Muslim society this was new. I guess it is the oldest profession in the world. No religion or society will ever change that. Walking around the parking lots at night (something I do sometimes to clear my head before going to sleep) seems to be the agreed invitation. The thing is that here in Malaysia they don't seem to make an effort to conceal their gender very much. I still remember the first encounter about three days ago when a shape emerged from the shadows cast by the dim street lights. He already whispered/mumbled something as he approached but I had no idea what he wanted. Then he came into view, dressed like a female but the face distinctly male, longish, pock-marked. I almost jumped when he came into full view. The situation was just eerie, like some strange apparition you'd expect in a film that you may not want to see more clearly, his voice a soft but insistent whisper. If I wanted "ice cream", he asked. I wonder if my thoughts and feelings showed on my face. "Ice cream", huh? I extracted myself as fast as possible. I wasn't afraid but I've rarely ever been as uncomfortable in somebody's presence. I wonder if he attracts many customers. Yesterday a younger, slightly more feminine boy offered me if "I wanted to try it" but was very apologetic and polite when I said no. I wonder what situation you have to be in to go out and ask random men if they would like you to give them a blowjob or have sex with them. It's not a cowboy town here. Still, at night it's a very strange place.
Tuesday, 4 November 2008
Welcome to the Jungle
Kinabatangan Forest Reserve, Malaysia
For this experience I actually have to thank Mattias and Kirsty. They had been here before climbing Mount Kinabalu and had told me of all the wildlife they had seen. Most notably, the forest reserve in the southeast of Sabah is home to wild orang utans. I had been in Thailand and never ridden an elephant, one of my major regrets, so I thought it would be stupid to come to Borneo and pass up the chance at seeing orang utans. They are something of the trademark animal of Sabah (very similar to the attention the greater panda gets in China). You can buy orang utan souvenirs, posters, soft toys, etc. everywhere. The hostel organised three-day trips here and since I had no other plans until I had to fly back to Johor Bahru I decided to go for it.
At the same time, I tried to keep my expectations low. I had been disappointed in the much more famous Taman Negara and the weather forecast didn't look too positive.
This trip took off on a much more optimistic note, however. On the transfer from the main road to the hotel in the park we already spotted monkeys, a large monitor lizard and a crocodile napping on the bank of the river. And it went on like this. The weather was fair, it only rained a bit at night. The MO here is also a very different one. There is fairly little trekking. The Kinabatangan is a river that runs through the reserve, so most of the time you get taken for boat trips up and down the river. A bit more for the lazy-minded maybe but I was quite glad. My legs were still killing me from the Mount Kinabalu hike. Walking up and especially down the stairs to my chalet was torture. So, I didn't complain about sitting around in a boat. The schedule was as follows: start with an evening boat ride, a night walk after dinner (more leeches - how I had missed them, and this time I only had shorts!), an early morning boat ride, day time jungle trekking (more leeches), another evening boat ride followed by another night walk (guess what) and a final morning boat trip.
Here there was really a lot of wildlife. The really impressive thing about Kinabatangan was the number and variety of monkeys. On the first boat ride alone we saw species from small hectic macaques up to the characteristic proboscis monkey (I'm proud I remember that English name, it's so complicated - why not call it "nose monkey" as in other languages?). The latter we saw quite often and in large numbers. Our guide explained that the screeching sounds we heard were the females while the males only make a soothing nasal honking sound, which sounds a lot like a resigned "be quiet". How they resemble humans! The first night walk was then crowned by a huge empress scorpion. Not as dangerous as it looks, explained our guide, since its sting is only as poisonous as a wasp's. With scorpions it's "the smaller the more venom". We also saw lots of birds (which I'm not so interested in) including several species of kingfishers, hornbills and some other huge insects. The next day went on like this. Taman Negara seemed like a wasteland compared to this place. More birds, lizards, monkeys and finally, during our evening boat ride, the big climax of the trip: Orang utans. An old male lazing around in a tree and a younger female teaching her baby how to move around the branches. I'm sure we stayed an hour at the two spots watching them. Technically, they don't do much except sit - while little monkeys are always active. Still, there's something mysteriously captivating about these big apes that have so much in common with us. You feel them leisurely looking back at you. It was hard to move on. On the last day, when leaving the reserve we still saw a wild boar with her young crossing the road. We might have even seen pygmy elephants (and actually did find some poo) but it's not elephant season now.
At the same time I also realised some of the dangers to this reserve. Aside from the boats that may or may not disturb the animals (I'm sure it's entertainment for the monkeys) more and more wild forest outside the 26,000 hectare reserve gets eaten up by oil palm plantations. And modern methods and technology allow development of even the more difficult terrain on hill sides. Of course, the plantations are also home to wildlife but I wonder if there are as many species as in the natural forest. Looking out over the endless rows of oil palms I hope to God that this is regulated somehow. It would be so sad to come back here and find all the animals gone. I also still wonder what the difference between a national park and a reserve is. Care to enlighten me?
For this experience I actually have to thank Mattias and Kirsty. They had been here before climbing Mount Kinabalu and had told me of all the wildlife they had seen. Most notably, the forest reserve in the southeast of Sabah is home to wild orang utans. I had been in Thailand and never ridden an elephant, one of my major regrets, so I thought it would be stupid to come to Borneo and pass up the chance at seeing orang utans. They are something of the trademark animal of Sabah (very similar to the attention the greater panda gets in China). You can buy orang utan souvenirs, posters, soft toys, etc. everywhere. The hostel organised three-day trips here and since I had no other plans until I had to fly back to Johor Bahru I decided to go for it.
At the same time, I tried to keep my expectations low. I had been disappointed in the much more famous Taman Negara and the weather forecast didn't look too positive.
This trip took off on a much more optimistic note, however. On the transfer from the main road to the hotel in the park we already spotted monkeys, a large monitor lizard and a crocodile napping on the bank of the river. And it went on like this. The weather was fair, it only rained a bit at night. The MO here is also a very different one. There is fairly little trekking. The Kinabatangan is a river that runs through the reserve, so most of the time you get taken for boat trips up and down the river. A bit more for the lazy-minded maybe but I was quite glad. My legs were still killing me from the Mount Kinabalu hike. Walking up and especially down the stairs to my chalet was torture. So, I didn't complain about sitting around in a boat. The schedule was as follows: start with an evening boat ride, a night walk after dinner (more leeches - how I had missed them, and this time I only had shorts!), an early morning boat ride, day time jungle trekking (more leeches), another evening boat ride followed by another night walk (guess what) and a final morning boat trip.
Here there was really a lot of wildlife. The really impressive thing about Kinabatangan was the number and variety of monkeys. On the first boat ride alone we saw species from small hectic macaques up to the characteristic proboscis monkey (I'm proud I remember that English name, it's so complicated - why not call it "nose monkey" as in other languages?). The latter we saw quite often and in large numbers. Our guide explained that the screeching sounds we heard were the females while the males only make a soothing nasal honking sound, which sounds a lot like a resigned "be quiet". How they resemble humans! The first night walk was then crowned by a huge empress scorpion. Not as dangerous as it looks, explained our guide, since its sting is only as poisonous as a wasp's. With scorpions it's "the smaller the more venom". We also saw lots of birds (which I'm not so interested in) including several species of kingfishers, hornbills and some other huge insects. The next day went on like this. Taman Negara seemed like a wasteland compared to this place. More birds, lizards, monkeys and finally, during our evening boat ride, the big climax of the trip: Orang utans. An old male lazing around in a tree and a younger female teaching her baby how to move around the branches. I'm sure we stayed an hour at the two spots watching them. Technically, they don't do much except sit - while little monkeys are always active. Still, there's something mysteriously captivating about these big apes that have so much in common with us. You feel them leisurely looking back at you. It was hard to move on. On the last day, when leaving the reserve we still saw a wild boar with her young crossing the road. We might have even seen pygmy elephants (and actually did find some poo) but it's not elephant season now.
At the same time I also realised some of the dangers to this reserve. Aside from the boats that may or may not disturb the animals (I'm sure it's entertainment for the monkeys) more and more wild forest outside the 26,000 hectare reserve gets eaten up by oil palm plantations. And modern methods and technology allow development of even the more difficult terrain on hill sides. Of course, the plantations are also home to wildlife but I wonder if there are as many species as in the natural forest. Looking out over the endless rows of oil palms I hope to God that this is regulated somehow. It would be so sad to come back here and find all the animals gone. I also still wonder what the difference between a national park and a reserve is. Care to enlighten me?
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Blood, Sweat and Tears
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!
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!
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.
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
More Inconvenience
Georgetown, Malaysia
I'm really getting annoyed now. It's Hong Kong all over again. I did a tour of central Georgetown's ATMs a second time without any success. My Lloyds card will expire soon and no bank is giving me any cash for it. It's actually quite urgent because I need to withdraw money for the last month before my card becomes useless. It means that I will have to call the damn hotline again (and be apologised to and called sir again). They think they are so clever. But this here, this thing here is pissing me off. This time, I think I'll just empty the account and transfer everything to Germany, so that I won't need that silly bank anymore. They don't deserve my hard-earned money.
Keranamu Malaysia!
Georgetown, Malaysia
I've finally arrived in Malaysia, crossing the border from Thailand at Sadao/Bukit Kayu Hitam. It was raining (and still is now) but for some reason I was (and still am) so happy to be here again. It was something, I realise, that I've been looking forward to for all this trip: to get back to Malaysia. I entered countries like Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, places I had never been to completely cool. But last night, after completing the border formalities and seeing signs of "Selamat datang ke Malaysia" (Malay: Welcome to Malaysia) I was almost giddily happy. Later, in Georgetown, things went wrong, it was now pouring down and my bank card was rejected and I had to find a money changer late at night. Still, I was excited like a little child (almost embarrassing myself in front of the Chilean friend who joined me for dinner) but I couldn't help myself. At a food court I ordered Hokkien Mee, Satay and Teh Tarik and the world was somehow good. Listening to a lady singing old Chinese songs (月亮代表我的心!!!) and watching some middle aged people dance I was in the mood for singing, as well. I'm here for the third time but this is what Malaysia does to me. It may have it's short comings but I still love it.
Keranamu Malaysia!
Monday, 29 September 2008
Damn those little buggers!
Kho Lanta, Thailand
There is a certain disadvantage to the back-to-basics charm of beach chalets. The ones I found here were a real bargain, I think. Little huts lined up just off the beach. The choice wasn't massive anyway since many places have already closed for the low season.
The point is this: For days now I've been looking for the little nut-bracelet that I bought in Luang Nam Tha in Laos. I was so sure I just left it on my bed one morning and went out. Then, in the evening it was gone. Or so I believed. But maybe, I thought, I had actually put it somewhere else. I'd look for it later...
I never thought anything or made any associations when, one time, I came into the room and there was a rat squatting on the wooden beam that runs around the room at mid-height holding the walls together. There we were - man and animal - staring at each other. It was hard to tell who was more surprised. Then I shouted and shooed it away and it disappeared into a gap in the ceiling toward the roof. I wish it had gone outside but at least it was out of sight. And at least it was not a sewer rat.
Then, when I prepared to leave Kho Lanta today I searched my bags for the bracelet. No sign of it. I hadn't put it in any of my bags. Then where could it be? In the end, I pulled the bed aside and found it there in a corner. How had it got there? Only when I picked it up I realised it was in pieces. The string that held it together was torn and some of the black and white nuts were strewn around the floor. They had been gnawed on! And the string wasn't torn but had been chewed! Now it clicked. I hadn't thought those nuts were still edible. The damn rodents had found out fast. So they had dragged the bracelet under the bed to eat it. Which also meant they had been all over the bed to get at it. Ugh, nice! Good thing I normally zip up my backpacks. I wouldn't want them crawling around in there.
I'm quite upset. It's Pakse all over again. It's as if I had learnt nothing. But who'd think there are rats frequenting the rooms? Who'd think that those nuts were edible and not painted with some chemical paint? Grrr! I should have thrown something at the beast when I had it in my sight. That's another souvenir I can't replace.
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Clean up Lanta
Kho Lanta, Thailand
The Lonely Planet Southeast Asia writes that on Kho Lanta you can "slip into a beachy existence". They fail to mention that what you slip on is almost obscene amounts of rubbish, ranging from plastic bottles and cups and miscellaneous packaging over discarded slippers and tooth brushes and actually dangerous things like broken glass. It's actually quite sad to see picturesque beaches being despoilt in such a way. I do believe that tourists have a hand in this, leaving their water bottles wherever they were lying. But many packaging suggest items that tourists would have no use for, which in turn suggests that some locals still don't appreciate the beauty of their country and use the beach as a rubbish tip. And that's what it looks like in many places. Even though tourism depends on it. Resorts only clean up within their little sphere of influence. Only in the south of the island where few people live the situation gets better. I think, apart from environmental and purely aesthetic implications people need to understand the business ones, as well. Tourists won't like relaxing on a beach full of rubbish. Maybe that would be a good opportunity to volunteer - but I've thought that so many times already, almost from the very start of my trip. I hope, that people will come to their senses in time to save these beautiful places if not for the sake of saving them then at least to ensure tourists will continue to come here to enjoy them. It would be a real shame to see this island get swamped by waste.
The Lonely Planet Southeast Asia writes that on Kho Lanta you can "slip into a beachy existence". They fail to mention that what you slip on is almost obscene amounts of rubbish, ranging from plastic bottles and cups and miscellaneous packaging over discarded slippers and tooth brushes and actually dangerous things like broken glass. It's actually quite sad to see picturesque beaches being despoilt in such a way. I do believe that tourists have a hand in this, leaving their water bottles wherever they were lying. But many packaging suggest items that tourists would have no use for, which in turn suggests that some locals still don't appreciate the beauty of their country and use the beach as a rubbish tip. And that's what it looks like in many places. Even though tourism depends on it. Resorts only clean up within their little sphere of influence. Only in the south of the island where few people live the situation gets better. I think, apart from environmental and purely aesthetic implications people need to understand the business ones, as well. Tourists won't like relaxing on a beach full of rubbish. Maybe that would be a good opportunity to volunteer - but I've thought that so many times already, almost from the very start of my trip. I hope, that people will come to their senses in time to save these beautiful places if not for the sake of saving them then at least to ensure tourists will continue to come here to enjoy them. It would be a real shame to see this island get swamped by waste.
Saturday, 27 September 2008
You want spicy? Sure?
Kho Lanta, Thailand
I had my first proper spicy Thai curry tonight. A red curry with seafood. Why is this worthy of ending up here? Well, it's not actually easy to get spicy food here if you're a foreigner. It seems too many Farang (Thai: foreigner) complain about spicyness or specifically don't want it or want it and then find out they really didn't. Or it's just the Thais believe their food is so spicy that no Farang could possibly take it. However this may be, restaurants that cater for foreigners will not put a single chilly into a papaya salad and leave curries tasting depressingly bland. So, I always ask for spicy. People look at me, then go away and bring back food that still tastes of nothing. In the end, to taste anything, I have to ask for extremely spicy (which of course in Thai term isn't). I order my papaya salad with three or four chillies (still nothing to average Thai people eating it with ten or so) and get shocked looks, hesitation - "Very spicy" - I have to assure people that they don't need to worry, I know what I'm doing. Really. Then, they watch me very closely to see if I'll react. I always quote the sentence heard in a small eatery in Xi'an, China, where the shopkeeper commented to a customer (not me) that noodles without chilly don't taste good (“凉皮没辣椒不好吃“）. But today, I just mentioned I liked spicy and the lady that ran the little restaurant went and brought back a fiery red curry. It's good being taken seriously once in a while. Thanks!
I had my first proper spicy Thai curry tonight. A red curry with seafood. Why is this worthy of ending up here? Well, it's not actually easy to get spicy food here if you're a foreigner. It seems too many Farang (Thai: foreigner) complain about spicyness or specifically don't want it or want it and then find out they really didn't. Or it's just the Thais believe their food is so spicy that no Farang could possibly take it. However this may be, restaurants that cater for foreigners will not put a single chilly into a papaya salad and leave curries tasting depressingly bland. So, I always ask for spicy. People look at me, then go away and bring back food that still tastes of nothing. In the end, to taste anything, I have to ask for extremely spicy (which of course in Thai term isn't). I order my papaya salad with three or four chillies (still nothing to average Thai people eating it with ten or so) and get shocked looks, hesitation - "Very spicy" - I have to assure people that they don't need to worry, I know what I'm doing. Really. Then, they watch me very closely to see if I'll react. I always quote the sentence heard in a small eatery in Xi'an, China, where the shopkeeper commented to a customer (not me) that noodles without chilly don't taste good (“凉皮没辣椒不好吃“）. But today, I just mentioned I liked spicy and the lady that ran the little restaurant went and brought back a fiery red curry. It's good being taken seriously once in a while. Thanks!
Friday, 26 September 2008
More on Foreigner Pricing
Kho Lanta, Thailand
Again, this is an observation that could have been anywhere along the trip but struck me in particular in Cambodia and Thailand. And for Thailand I (again) collected evidence (see photo).
It actually started in Russia but there I had been warned: Russians - 100 Rubles, Foreigners - 300 Rubles. I found that very annoying but I could live with it because I had been prepared. I even attributed it to Russian character - Russians not being friendly to foreigners. Now, I have to apologise to them for thinking like that.
I've got to say here that China was the fairest country in terms of ticket pricing: tickets were expensive for everyone but at least I could check both the Chinese and English writing and prices for Chinese and foreigners were the same.
The phenomenon started again in Cambodia and has followed me into Thailand. After many people had said that in these countries not many places required tickets and ticket prices China had been that exorbitant I had been looking forward to getting here. Then I realised that in Cambodia local people were just hanging out around Angkor Wat - they couldn't possibly be buying the same US$40 ticket for three days that I had bought. And I was right, the hotel manager confirmed, Cambodians didn't have to pay a single Riel to see the temples. I was shocked, not least because all these picnics would be leaving rubbish, rubbish that my entry money would pay to clear away! And it wasn't even being done.
The greatest insolence was then in Thailand where the people were taking advantage of the fact that foreigners normally can't read Thai. But my Thai friend told me it said in Thai that the price was 10 Baht, then in English that the price was 30 Baht. Now, I don't have a problem with paying 30 Baht (roughly a US$1) hoping that my money will help restore and preserve a historical site. What got me upset was the sneakiness with which they make foreigners pay more. I even got into an argument with a ticket seller over this demanding to only pay the Thai price. It was a futile argument, of course, because I would still not just walk in. Grrr! Sometimes I hate that law-abiding me.
My latest outrage was now here on the island of Kho Lanta, that's also where the photo is from. Observe that the foreigner price is five (5) times that of the one for Thais. And for what? I'm not quite sure - I went in after hours and only found a derelict light house and an (admittedly) beautiful beach. But that, however, beautiful the view, doesn't justify a 200 Baht entry fee! They must be having a fever!
I guess, however much I rant, it won't change anything but I just wonder what if, what if this was Germany? What would people say if tickets for Germans were, say, 10 Euros and for foreigners 20. Now, of course, Thais and Cambodians argue that foreigners are richer than them and can easily pay the higher fee. Still, I'd argue that foreigners coming to Germany, that can afford hotel stays and other expenses in Germany also have money, so why not make them pay higher entrance fees, too?! I'm sure there'd be an outrage - much similar to mine. But why do I need to take that shit when I come here and already bring a lot of my money into circulation. We don't do this to tourists, so why do we need to suffer this abroad? Then let's just do the same and see what tourists think. I'm sure they'd pay - grinding and gritting their teeth but they also pay and then it would be fair and square. Or maybe they'd realise how it is to be treated unfairly and maybe, just maybe, things in their countries would change.
Am I over-reacting with this? I'm sure I'm not. Other travelers have complained about this, too. We're all a bit pissed off, so, here it is. All my out-rage written down. Change something now!
Dream with Expiry Date
Kho Lanta, Thailand
I've finally had to buy my ticket home. Not really because I really want to but my bank card is about to expire leaving me without means to book online. My feelings about this are mixed: On one side it'll be good to go home; you can't stay on the road forever, never having a place where you belong, always living out of your backpack. On the other hand I don't want this to end. That's why I put it off for so long, risking even rising ticket prices. Buying the ticket gives my holiday an end date; I've set the date that I will have to wake up from my dream and go back to the real world, where I will have to deal with real problems like work and life instead of what boat trip I'll do tomorrow or which beach I will lie on next. On the 8th of November this dream will come to an end. I will fly out of Singapore Changi Airport at 23:05 straight to Frankfurt in cold Germany arriving at 5:15 local time (anyone willing to greet me at the airport is welcome - I'll need some cheering up, I think). That's my expiry date, the time for my wake-up call.
So, better dream as best I can until then!
I've finally had to buy my ticket home. Not really because I really want to but my bank card is about to expire leaving me without means to book online. My feelings about this are mixed: On one side it'll be good to go home; you can't stay on the road forever, never having a place where you belong, always living out of your backpack. On the other hand I don't want this to end. That's why I put it off for so long, risking even rising ticket prices. Buying the ticket gives my holiday an end date; I've set the date that I will have to wake up from my dream and go back to the real world, where I will have to deal with real problems like work and life instead of what boat trip I'll do tomorrow or which beach I will lie on next. On the 8th of November this dream will come to an end. I will fly out of Singapore Changi Airport at 23:05 straight to Frankfurt in cold Germany arriving at 5:15 local time (anyone willing to greet me at the airport is welcome - I'll need some cheering up, I think). That's my expiry date, the time for my wake-up call.
So, better dream as best I can until then!
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Shouting Match
Krabi, Thailand
A number of things have gone wrong today. I still can't get used to the fact that people here try to squeeze as much money out of tourists as possible. The "foreigner pricing" is only one aspect. Another thing that happens here is for mini-buses to drop off tourists somewhere in the middle of nowhere or somewhere inconvenient and then adding an additional fee to where you want to go. For example, you may get dropped off at a travel agency near your destination to choose a hotel but the rest of the transfer is not included. On my way to Railay Beach I witnessed some German tourists argue with the staff about this. In Krabi while going to Kho Lanta it was my turn to see Thai people, who are usually known to be polite, from a very uncharacteristic side. I don't deny that my own attitude was to blame, too.
At the hotel at Railay I thought I had paid for a transfer all the way from Railay Beach to the hotel I had had arranged on Kho Lanta. When the boat set us ashore at Krabi a woman at the travel agency there politely asked me to pay for the rest of my trip. I was surprised, told her about my arrangement but she denied. I had only paid a trip to Saladan, the island's major town. To be taken any further would cost more. I refused. I insisted that my arrangement should have included that, too. She also persisted.
Then things got heated. I don't know what got into me. I felt that after the incident with the other German tourists days back the same thing was happening again - to me. I felt cheated and was furious about it. So I shouted at her. That this was unacceptable. That I had paid for the whole trip and demanded to be taken all the way. She was shocked but still refused. After a short, noisy exchange a man came in. It was probably her husband. She said something to him. He asked me what was going on. I repeated my demands. It doesn't happen often that I blow my top, so I was on an adrenaline high. I don't actually remember much of the exchange until he tore up the payment receipt I had brought, came forward quite menacingly and told me I was not in my own country here. "Shut your fucking mouth", he snarled. At this point I realised that if I didn't back down it would probably come to blows. Was I up to that?
Fortunately, then a new load of young tourists filled the empty office and the confrontation was over. Not another word was said. When the minibus to the island pulled up outside the driver waved me over, too. I got in the back with the other travellers but I was not in a mood to talk. When we got to Saladan the driver stopped but made me understand in a conciliatory tone he would take me further, I just had to pay for it. Even some of the others asked me if I was sure. But my pride was hurt, so I got off and started walking.
Eventually I did let a tuk-tuk driver persuade me to take his ride. It wasn't far and I paid almost as much to him as I would have had to pay to the original driver. But when the sun is down and you don't know the place you haven't got much of a bargaining position. Some great start for this island. Maybe I should just have stayed at Railay.
A number of things have gone wrong today. I still can't get used to the fact that people here try to squeeze as much money out of tourists as possible. The "foreigner pricing" is only one aspect. Another thing that happens here is for mini-buses to drop off tourists somewhere in the middle of nowhere or somewhere inconvenient and then adding an additional fee to where you want to go. For example, you may get dropped off at a travel agency near your destination to choose a hotel but the rest of the transfer is not included. On my way to Railay Beach I witnessed some German tourists argue with the staff about this. In Krabi while going to Kho Lanta it was my turn to see Thai people, who are usually known to be polite, from a very uncharacteristic side. I don't deny that my own attitude was to blame, too.
At the hotel at Railay I thought I had paid for a transfer all the way from Railay Beach to the hotel I had had arranged on Kho Lanta. When the boat set us ashore at Krabi a woman at the travel agency there politely asked me to pay for the rest of my trip. I was surprised, told her about my arrangement but she denied. I had only paid a trip to Saladan, the island's major town. To be taken any further would cost more. I refused. I insisted that my arrangement should have included that, too. She also persisted.
Then things got heated. I don't know what got into me. I felt that after the incident with the other German tourists days back the same thing was happening again - to me. I felt cheated and was furious about it. So I shouted at her. That this was unacceptable. That I had paid for the whole trip and demanded to be taken all the way. She was shocked but still refused. After a short, noisy exchange a man came in. It was probably her husband. She said something to him. He asked me what was going on. I repeated my demands. It doesn't happen often that I blow my top, so I was on an adrenaline high. I don't actually remember much of the exchange until he tore up the payment receipt I had brought, came forward quite menacingly and told me I was not in my own country here. "Shut your fucking mouth", he snarled. At this point I realised that if I didn't back down it would probably come to blows. Was I up to that?
Fortunately, then a new load of young tourists filled the empty office and the confrontation was over. Not another word was said. When the minibus to the island pulled up outside the driver waved me over, too. I got in the back with the other travellers but I was not in a mood to talk. When we got to Saladan the driver stopped but made me understand in a conciliatory tone he would take me further, I just had to pay for it. Even some of the others asked me if I was sure. But my pride was hurt, so I got off and started walking.
Eventually I did let a tuk-tuk driver persuade me to take his ride. It wasn't far and I paid almost as much to him as I would have had to pay to the original driver. But when the sun is down and you don't know the place you haven't got much of a bargaining position. Some great start for this island. Maybe I should just have stayed at Railay.
Thursday, 18 September 2008
Long Live the King!
Bangkok, Thailand
It's interesting to spend some time in a real working monarchy. I've been holding off this entry because I wanted to observe this phenomenon in places in Thailand other than the capital.
Having lived in UK for a long time I'm used to the British Royal Family being loved and laughed at at the same time. People will gather in the thousands when the Queen makes an appearance in London but the Royals also often find themselves at the butt end of public scrutiny, criticism, humour even and never being taken entirely seriously.
In Thailand, as I had already heard from the news, this is an entirely different story. Portraits of the King or other royals as well as depictions of the royal crest (see above) are omnipresent, from large banners in the streets to small, framed photos in people's shops and homes. The punishments for offending the King are harsh, e.g. prison sentence for what we may consider a small transgression, like painting a mustache on a portrait of the monarch.
But in a nutshell, people here love the King. And this is not imposed from above. Especially on Mondays (His Majesty was born on a Monday), many people wear yellow shirts to show their loyalty and respect. Many places also have little, for lack of a better word, shrines to the King where people burn incense to show their devotion or at least wai the shrine when they walk past it. It feels almost like a faith in its own right. To the point of being worrying sometimes. In conversations some people will reverently refer to him as "my king". I was told that the government may say what they want, for many Thai people what the King says is what counts. Many people will rather follow his wishes than the government even though the King effectively has little power. People also worry what will happen when he dies one day (he's not the youngest anymore, after all). The crown prince is not too popular, I heard, and people would rather see the second son succeed his father. The seeds for further turmoil in the Land of Smiles have already been sown.
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Pussy Acrobatics
Bangkok, Thailand
It's a horrible stereotype. How did I slip into it? Well, I guess it's almost unavoidable. Similar to Amsterdam Bangkok has a reputation for sex shows. I'm even having my nose rubbed in it (figuratively speaking). The home of my friend here is practically next to one of the famous red light districts - if you can call it that. Walk home on the wrong side of the street and dodgy guys will sidle up and offer you porn DVDs, special massages or "ping pong shows". Now, my friend being a local had already explained to me that a ping pong show had nothing to do with table tennis. Rather it was a demonstration of an unusual way for a girl to shoot a ping pong ball from an unusual place. I'll leave the rest to be filled in by imagination.
I bravely resisted temptation and curiosity for days before I gave in.
The place was a bit dodgy, as expected, and had the expected dodgy, foreign patrons. Now I was one, too. The moment you sit down the working girls decend on you for tips. You're a walking wallet in there. Had I forgotten Amsterdam?
There's a difference, though. While sex shows in the Dutch capital are probably best described as "porky on stage" this was more like "pussy acrobatics". It was very creative in a way. The girls could blow out candles, shoot ping pong balls and even darts across the room. Acurately, too. They could hit and pop a balloon several meters away. And they could paint. Guess which part of the female body the above portrait of me was done with. Go ahead. Make a guess.
So I spent the evening having a few (over-priced) drinks and handing out tips. You end up having your arm always curled around one of the almost naked girls and generally feel like a pimp. They even tried to drag me off to the even shadier backrooms for some private time and were surprised to find that I resisted. The old matron at the backdoor gave me a look that suggested she doubted my sanity - or sexual orientation. Doesn't seem to happen often.
Eventually, it grew late, I had spent an embarrassing amount of money and the place closed. Another stage of my journey I can tick off.
- Watch Ping Pong Show in Bangkok: ☑
Friday, 5 September 2008
Sex, Drugs and Hip Hop
Phnom Phen, Cambodia
It could have been anywhere. The fact that I'm writing this in Phnom Phen in Cambodia is just a matter of where I found a convenient computer. I wish this was about the good old days of rock 'n' roll. It's not.
This is about reputation, about misconception and eventually about prejudice. This is about how people here, Asians from China, Laos, Cambodia, etc. seem to see us Westerners. It seems to break down into three categories:
Foreigners are either Americans or at least like American music when they party. Most of the time this is American hip hop. Any place catering for foreigners in Dali seemed to blast it into the street. Sometimes it really got too much. It's nice to hear some tunes from home, I'm sure, but why travel half-way around the world just find again what you have at home? I don't get it. I may not always enjoy local music but that's part of the experience.
Foreigners like to drink. A lot. Well, agreed that's often not prejudice but fact. Whether it's China, Laos, Cambodia or which ever country. Where foreigners concentrate you'll have bars, clubs all serving Western beer(read: Budweiser or Heineken), whiskey, vodka and whatever you'll expect in your favourite pub back home. You can get it cheaply, in buckets, what you need to get pissed. You go into a restaurant and before you've even made it through the door the first thing they offer you is beer. Signs outside will advertise it, people will shout it after you. When I ate at restaurants in China and ordered tea or water/fruit juice I often got surprised looks. Sometimes kind people in Laos invited me to drink (beer or the local laolao). After joining a local piss-up once I always declined - much to the surprise of the locals. He's a Westerner - why isn't he drinking alcohol? The Lonely Planet features a "Drinking" section for every destination. For countries it'll list the average price for beer to help travelers budget their trip.
Then there are, of course, the real controlled substances. Backpacker havens regularly have them. Whether it's Dali in China or the 4000 Islands in Laos. "You want to smoke?" is a common question. People will discretely wave around little bags of cannabis. I've had innocent little Chinese aunties offer me drugs! And travelers I've been with seemed delighted. With prices for beer and pot that low we'd be mad not to get completely stoned, right? Right?
Now, the last point doesn't get mentioned in guide books but judging from my experience is very much a reality. Foreign men like the little Asian girls. So, when they go on holiday they don't want to miss that "experience" either. Of course, that experience comes at a price. Again, where ever I went I was offered sex. That's the thing that happens to a single white male traveler. In China girls would wave me over to their massage parlours. Come evening in central Shanghai I could hardly walk a few paces without various girls trying to chat me up: "Hello, where are you from?" (And one guy I knew was proud that so many girls in Shanghai wanted to talk to him - poor fool!) In Laos, a kid from the travel office i rented a bike from invited me over to chat, then casually mentioned that, when i had finished eating, he knew where to get it if i wanted to "make". In Kratie, Cambodia I was innocently buying food at the night market when I noticed a girl next to me. I smiled, she smiled back and I returned my attention to buying food. The next thing I knew was a guy nudging me, pointing at her and me making indicative gestures. Did I want? I laughed at him. "Does she know what you're offering?" But again the offer was clear. He's a foreigner, surely he wants to try the girls here. And again, I've seen the truth in that assumption. Only once I went to a foreigner bar in Vientiane, Laos. I would swear that the customers were all but one or two white males and Asian prostitutes. I was grateful to have gone there with a female friend (not Asian and really just friend) I had met at the hotel, so they left me alone. Still, I believe there was a lot of business that night. A number of men seemed to succumb when I left the place.
So, why is this about misconception and prejudice. It is because not all foreigners are like that. I sincerely hope. I'm not like that. It's about prejudice and preconception because this seems to be how locals now see foreigners, particularly Westerners. It's quite sad. Tourists don't seem to realise or care that they're not at home but abroad. What do locals think of us behaving like that? I, for once, am not happy to be guilty by association. I surely haven't seen the end of it yet. I wonder what Thailand will be like. I've heard stories...
Update: I've actually collected some evidence here in Angkor Wat near Siem Reap. I spotted a group of Western men that supported every point I've made above. They came to a spot near the famous temple to watch the sunset bringing cigarettes, beer and girls (the kind that charges by the hour). They (the guys) were the clichee of the Western sex tourists - ugly, loud and vulgar. It was such a perfect scene to support this article that I just had to take a photo of them. Enjoy! By the way, to remove any national prejudice where most sex tourists may or may not come from: I found out that they were from Estonia (a big relief for my own national pride).
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
Checkpoint Nowhere
Cambodia
This has got to be the most deserted, God-forsaken border check point on this trip. A truck took me and a bunch of people from Ban Nakasang near the 4000 Islands to the border. I had booked a trip all the way through to Kratie in Cambodia.
"Book all the way", the ticket seller at the travel shop/book shop/internet cafe on Don Det had said. "At the border it will be very difficult to find a car."
I had thought it was a sales trick. Even on the Laos side of the Chinese border checkpoint there had been a number of tuktuks waiting. Only the general consensus of several travellers made me agree to buy the ticket.
Turns out it hadn't been a trick. The place where the truck dropped us off at around mid-day was in the middle of the jungle or some kind of plantation. There was the road, a house and a booth on the Laos side, a house and a desk on the Cambodian side and a barrier across the road. That was the whole setup. There were no other vehicles - no bus, no tuktuk, not even a bicycle. After unloading our backpacks the Laos truck also took off. For some absurd reason I had assumed we'd go on in that truck. Now that he was gone it was beginning to sink in that there was only one way to go now, so this prior arrangement had better work.
The checkpoint officer greeted us and made us fill in the usual paperwork. Please hand in your filled-in forms and one US dollar. Of course, we all knew where that was going. It was a common story among backpackers. Still, I couldn't help myself.
What was the dollar for, I asked him. He even had small change.
"Office fee", came the smooth reply. You had to hand it to him, he was prepared. You don't pay, you don't get the stamp, so you can't leave the country. Besides, it's not something you want to argue about in the middle of nowhere like here.
Smiling Laos border guards bade us farewell.
The procedure on the Cambodian side was similar. Here, the "office fee" had just been factored into the exchange rate. The visa fee is 30 US dollars. Could we pay in Kip and use up our remaining change? Sure, but at the border the rate is not 8000-something to the dollar but a round 10,000. Sigh. We had no more use for the wad of notes anyway. In Cambodia it'll be easier to calculate again, numbers are not so huge.
Eventually, even the little minivan arrived roughly as arranged (just the promised air-con meant opening the windows). And after waiting a long time for a local guy who appeared from the bushes, dropped some exceedingly heavy sacks (sand?) in the back and sat on the roof for most of the trip we were on our way.
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Ants!
Pakse, Laos
Today I'm upset. Really upset. Even though it's probably my own fault. My own stupidity. I've just arrived here. Got myself a hotel room and went out to have a look around, eat something, get myself some wheels.
Now I've just come back from my great ride. I can't even remember what I wanted to get from my small backpack. I just noticed it looked like its surface was moving. It was ants. All over my backpack. There must have been thousands! They had formed a regular road to a tiny hole somewhere in the wall. Even the floor all around my bag was crawling with them. Then I remembered I had left half a pomelo in the bag. They had smelt it and were swarming in to get some. I checked inside and rummaged. And was promptly bitten. Painfully so! They had got inside, too! The first thing on top was the necklace that Iris had bought for me at the Dai Minority Park the first time we went out together. The plastic bag I had put it in was covered in ants, too. I ran downstairs and got one of the staff to come up with some insect killer. Fortunately, they had a can left. He sprayed everything that moved for a long time. It seemed like he was almost emptying the can. I watched them die. "Don't leave fruit around", he advised helpfully. Thanks but I was not in the mood for advice. I was in the mood to complain about them having an insect problem in their damn hotel.
I started cleaning my backpack - one item at a time - cursing all the while. How could I have been so stupid? And still I kept getting bitten by more ants. They were far from dead. The worst thing was still come: They had not only eaten holes into the pomelo, they had found a way into the plastic bag and had chewed on Iris's gift. It was made of nuts but I had thought they were empty shells. Obviously they weren't. I took it out of its bag and it fell apart in my hands. The ants had eaten into the nuts and chewed through the string, as well. My only physical memory of Iris was ruined. I remembered the day she gave it to me. It said 西双版纳 on one of the shells. I could have cried. I couldn't even find all of the little plastic beads that were space holders between the nuts.
I went on brushing off every item that had been in my bag. I would still find more and more ants that had survived the poison. So, I killed them myself. In the end, when I had taken everything out, I rinsed the bag in the shower - only to find out that the damn little bastards could swim. I could see them paddle around on the floor of the shower! At least, I managed to flush all of them out of my bag this way. Then, when most ants had either died of the poison, me squashing them or had gone away I started putting together the pieces of Iris's souvenir. I'm still so upset. In the end, I managed to clean it, too, of ants. They kept coming crawling out of the nuts and disappearing into them again. The only way will be to keep it and take it home. Since I still have the beads and the nut shells are mostly intact I should be able to thread them on a new string. I hope it works. At least there's that hope to comfort me. I'll take a photo to document what it looks like.
When I finished cleaning and hung up my bag to dry (at least that shouldn't take long as hot as it is here) I realised I had spent almost three hours with this. It was dark outside. So, it's time for dinner. At least, that should lift my spirits a bit.
Today I'm upset. Really upset. Even though it's probably my own fault. My own stupidity. I've just arrived here. Got myself a hotel room and went out to have a look around, eat something, get myself some wheels.
Now I've just come back from my great ride. I can't even remember what I wanted to get from my small backpack. I just noticed it looked like its surface was moving. It was ants. All over my backpack. There must have been thousands! They had formed a regular road to a tiny hole somewhere in the wall. Even the floor all around my bag was crawling with them. Then I remembered I had left half a pomelo in the bag. They had smelt it and were swarming in to get some. I checked inside and rummaged. And was promptly bitten. Painfully so! They had got inside, too! The first thing on top was the necklace that Iris had bought for me at the Dai Minority Park the first time we went out together. The plastic bag I had put it in was covered in ants, too. I ran downstairs and got one of the staff to come up with some insect killer. Fortunately, they had a can left. He sprayed everything that moved for a long time. It seemed like he was almost emptying the can. I watched them die. "Don't leave fruit around", he advised helpfully. Thanks but I was not in the mood for advice. I was in the mood to complain about them having an insect problem in their damn hotel.
I started cleaning my backpack - one item at a time - cursing all the while. How could I have been so stupid? And still I kept getting bitten by more ants. They were far from dead. The worst thing was still come: They had not only eaten holes into the pomelo, they had found a way into the plastic bag and had chewed on Iris's gift. It was made of nuts but I had thought they were empty shells. Obviously they weren't. I took it out of its bag and it fell apart in my hands. The ants had eaten into the nuts and chewed through the string, as well. My only physical memory of Iris was ruined. I remembered the day she gave it to me. It said 西双版纳 on one of the shells. I could have cried. I couldn't even find all of the little plastic beads that were space holders between the nuts.
I went on brushing off every item that had been in my bag. I would still find more and more ants that had survived the poison. So, I killed them myself. In the end, when I had taken everything out, I rinsed the bag in the shower - only to find out that the damn little bastards could swim. I could see them paddle around on the floor of the shower! At least, I managed to flush all of them out of my bag this way. Then, when most ants had either died of the poison, me squashing them or had gone away I started putting together the pieces of Iris's souvenir. I'm still so upset. In the end, I managed to clean it, too, of ants. They kept coming crawling out of the nuts and disappearing into them again. The only way will be to keep it and take it home. Since I still have the beads and the nut shells are mostly intact I should be able to thread them on a new string. I hope it works. At least there's that hope to comfort me. I'll take a photo to document what it looks like.
When I finished cleaning and hung up my bag to dry (at least that shouldn't take long as hot as it is here) I realised I had spent almost three hours with this. It was dark outside. So, it's time for dinner. At least, that should lift my spirits a bit.
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