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!
Saturday, 8 November 2008
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.
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