Seasons on the Move

Kuala Lumpur – September 1

Another slow day in KL. Fab and I prepared ourselves for our departure to Siem Reap, Cambodia the following day. We carefully weighed our bags to ensure that we met Air Asia’s weight restrictions. We picked up a few supplies and then stayed up way to late watching “Casino Royale” on Mike’s labtop.

Kuala Lumpur – August 31

On August 31, 1957 the Malays took back control of the their country from British rule. Fifty years later, Malaysia stands a truly multicultural country proud of its past and looking toward the future. However, the country has a strange affinity with their flag seldom seen outside of the United States. Ironically, the Malay flag is strikingly similar to the American flag. Maybe it has something to do with the stars and bars.

We didn’t really do much to help the country celebrate. We always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We heard numerous parades, but missed most of them. We heard fireworks, but the city skyline obscured them from our view. We saw celebrations on television, but when we inquired about how to find them, we were told that it was either too far or sold out. Oh well, it was nice to be in the capitol for the occasion anyway.

Taman Negara to Kuala Lumpur – August 30

Because the camp needed to pick up supplies in Kuala Tembeling, Fab and I received a private boat back down the Sungai Tembeling. Slow relief washed over us as we stepped onto the pier. Despite the grueling day before, both of us were glad to have come to the jungle. We considered it a good introductory course to the Amazon.

The rest of the journey back to KL was a jumbled mess of mini-buses, regular buses, bus transfers and public transportation. What should have been a four hour journey quickly turned in a six hour test of endurance.

Around 5pm we rolled into KL, one day before the country’s 50th anniversary of independence. The city was filled with sailors from the USS Kittyhawk. Mike and Jen had arrived a day earlier and secured us a place to stay. After meeting up with them, we went to a pub below the hostel and shared stories over a couple of glasses of beer.

Taman Negara – August 29

After getting through the night before, we felt prepared to tackle the jungle proper. How wrong we were. First, Fab and I went to the canopy walk, a series of wooden planks and ladders roughly 45m above the ground. I found the walk kind of exciting, but Fab’s knees jittered as she made her way across the wobbly boards.

Once down, we walked about 2km back to the park’s main office to inquire about the trek to Gua Telinga, or Ear Hole Cave, further into the jungle. We asked if our shoes would suffice for the trek, “No problem,” we were told. We also asked if we could borrow a flashlight for the cave because I had left my headlamp back in the room. The park ranger obliged and we were off on our 5km trek.

The walk started off alright, the sun was shining, it was hot and the ground was dry. The ground condition did not last for long. The trail took a sharp turn off from the edge of the river and headed straight back into the jungle. The ground became a muddy mess and the trail’s incline rose dramatically. We had to hold onto ropes strung through the trees to make it up to the top. The dense brush also made for extremely humid conditions. Soon enough, both Fab and I were drenched in sweat. I perspired so much that my shirt became transparent. I looked like I had just come out of the shower.

After defeating the sharp incline, the ground levelled off and gave us a brief reprieve. However, leeches started to poke their godforsaken heads out of the wet soil. I’m not sure exactly how they do it, but leeches seem to find their way to tasty flesh with relative ease. Crafty sons a bitches, those leeches. I was also unaware that when a leech decides to suck your blood, you cannot feel it. Fab and I pulled off about a half dozen leeches, peeling away our clothes for a more intimate inspection.  

As we worked our way forward, we began to realize that we had not seen a single person on the trail. In fact, we didn’t see much of anything except for the odd monitor lizard and various armies of ants. I fell a couple of times, soiling my clothes and enhancing my paranoia about leeches.  All the creepy jungle noises and the rustling in the bushes didn’t help either. Needless to say, Fab and I were completely out of our element.

Then, something magical happened. We came into a clearing and stumbled across two Orang Asli, Malaysian aboriginals, walking through the jungle. One of them, a forty something man with a little afro, was setting up a series of bamboo poles (at least that’s what they looked like) around a tree. He was topless and barefoot and gave us a toothless smille as we passed by. The other, a sixty something woman, stood and watched us with tired looking eyes. She was also topless, with sagging breasts and a ragged skirt around her waist. We waved, they waved back and that was it.

By the time we reached the cave, we were exhausted. We had expected that, upon arriving at the cave, there would be other tourists. There was no one, only a couple of sets of dirty gloves on a small bench by the cave’s entrance. We sat and rested for a while. After drinking some water, we climbed over some jagged rocks to inspect the maw of the cave. It smelt dank, as caves are know to smell, and it was dark, as caves are known to be. Fab shined the flashlight into the opening. The batteries were going dead, only a dim mellow spotlight could be seen. While we were weighing our options, bats started to fly out of the cave. I believe my response was something akin to, “Fuck this.” The only way to get into the cave was through a small 1×1 meter opening (hence the name Ear Hole) that necessitates crawling through the same size tunnel and god knows what. Figuring a dying flashlight and the absence of any human life forms were reason enough not to venture further, we turned around, defeated, and headed back out of the jungle.

About half way out of the jungle we ran out of water which was not good being that we were sweating profusely. The leeches came back with full force and the sun was beginning to go down. Just when things couldn’t get any worse, we heard a series of loud snorts and grunts close by in the trees. Fab and I froze. Up ahead of us, about 20 meters, was a pack of wild boars. From what I could tell, there were 6 or 7 of them, enough to be accurately described as a pack. They were charcoal gray in colour with shaggy hair drooping from their large bellies. Banana-like tusks jutted out from the side of their snouts. I screamed at them, clapped my hands and smacked the empty water bottle against a tree. This startled them and they trotted off.

We continued on, quickening our pace to beat the sun and escape from the jungle. Apparently, the boars decided to follow us. The rest of the journey we heard snorting just out of sight in the trees. I searched my back for a knife in case I needed to get serious with the fuckers. Fortunately, the pigs merely had a passing curiosity and never poked their ugly mugs out of the bushes.

At night, back in the hotel room, we did once last leech inspection before rinsing the caked sweat from our bodies. Once clean, the whisky did its best to wash away the trauma.

Jerantut to Taman Negara – August 28

The boat up river into the heart of Taman Negara, roughly 4,440 sq km and 130,000 yrs old, snaked through the trees past cows lazing in the river bed, fisherman tossing their lines into the murky water and an assortment of tourists headed the other way.  The boat itself was similar to a voyageur canoe, but instead of burly Frenchmen, it had a gasoline powered Lund attached to the rear. The ride lasted nearly two hours during which I snapped too many photos of the low rolling clouds hovering above the canopy.

We pulled into Kuala Tahan, the town in the middle of the Taman Negara, and were promptly given an introductory course to the jungle. Afterwards, a private boat came and picked us up to escort us to our hotel, Nusa Camp, another 15km up river. We had booked at the Nusa Camp because we were slightly below budget and wanted to splurge on nice accommodations. We were a little dismayed with what we found.

Our room had holes in the floor (easy access for vermin), termites in and on the walls and a delightful set of mice hiding behind the armoir. Pissed about paying so much, Fab and I went and told the front desk that we wanted to leave. The lady at the reception was  understanding and told us that we could take a look at the rest of the “chalets” to see if we could find anything we deemed acceptable. Not wanting to go through the hassle of finding different accommodations, we settled on a clean room overlooking the river. The room was still not worth the money, somewhat commonplace in Malaysia, but we were excited about our first jungle experience and didn’t want to move.

When the sun went down, the jungle came to life. Fab and I sat in bed sipping whisky and coke and listened to the symphony outside the cabin walls. We felt slightly uneasy about the whole situation because we seemed to be the only people staying at the camp. It was like something out of a 1980’s horror movie: two innocent naifs, a remote cabin and nowhere to run.

I awoke in the middle of night in a panic. I heard a very loud, very reptilian, clicking and clacking in our room. It was similar to the sound a house gecko makes, only angrier and more vicious. Now, house geckos are a welcome addition to any room in the tropics as they take care of the bugs, but this was different. I woke Fabiola up. She wanted me to turn on the light to see what it was. There was no fucking way I was going to do that. I would rather be devoured in my sleep than have to face the creature that was making those noises. Instead, I bit the top of my bed sheet in sheer terror, closely my eyes tightly and eventually fell asleep.

Tanah Marah to Jerantut – August 27

Mohd Ariffin woke us up just after 6am for breakfast. We were to eat and then he was going to drive us into town to catch the train. Again, he had arranged for a special meal. Mohd had went into the local village before we awoke to get us some nasi lemak, a Malaysian staple consisting of rice, egg, dried fish, peanuts and chilis. Delicious. Fatimah told us that this type of nasi lemak was very special and that it was only on very special occassions that their family had it.

After eating and saying goodbye, we got into the car. A sad event. We were told that we could return any time and that our families, if ever in Malaysia, were welcome as well. Faruq told me that whenever I missed him, I could always look at his picture. In addition to their humbling kindness, the family had packed us two giant bags of fruit for the train ride.

At the station, we waited with Fatimah for the train to arrive. We promised her that we would keep in touch. When the train came, we said one last goodbye and then boarded. The rest of the day was spent on the train riding through the jungle. We read our books and vowed to extend the same kind of hospitality to people in the future. 

The train arrived in Jerantut, the jumping off point for Taman Negara, in the early evening. We checked into a hotel and then readied ourselves for our journey into the jungle the next day. 

Perhentian Islands to Tanah Marah – August 26

On the advice of a Malay man with a peculiar British accent, Fab and I decided to bypass Kota Bharu and instead go to Tanah Marah to catch the “jungle train” that winds its way down the penisula toward Taman Negara, purportedly the oldest rain forest in the world.  We left Pulau Kecil in the morning and took the jetty back to the mainland. Our plan was to overnight in Tanah Marah and then catch the train early the next morning.

Upon reaching the coast, we shared a taxi with a woman from Prague, Susanna, and her boyfriend, Vincent, from Paris. When we arrived in Tanah Marah, all four of us were lost and needed to find  bank (us) and some ointment to treat Vincent’s savage sunburn. A local Muslim schoolgirl, recognizing that we were in need of direction, approached us and offered to take us where we needed to go. The girl first took us to the pharmacy, then the bank and then asked if we wanted to join her and her friend for a bite to eat. Typical Malaysian hospitality. The girl, Fatimah, practiced her English over lunch and informed us about her hometown.

When we finished eating, Fatimah asked us if we would like to come to her home. She had orchards behind her house, just outside of town, and promised that she would take us to pick fruit. Susanna and Vincent declined since they needed to catch a train, but Fab and I gratefully accepted, having nothing to do but hunt for a hotel. We parted ways with Susanna and Vincent and then followed Fatimah to a local mini-bus that shuttled school kids in and out of town. We hopped into the bus with a group of head-scarfed school girls and we were off.

When we got to Fatimah’s house, she introduced us to her mother, Siti, and offered us some kurma, a traditional Muslim drink that tasted like a sweet mixture of figs and pears. We sipped the kurma and ate rambutans, dukus, salaks, mangosteens and guava, all indigineous fruits of Malaysia. We chatted with Fatimah and her mom for a little while about Canada, Mexico and our upcoming travel plans. Soon after, Fatimah’s father, Mohd Ariffin, returned from work, a little surprised to see two Westerners sitting on his veranda. Nonetheless, he welcomed us with open arms and offered us a place to sleep for the night. Fab and I were taken aback. However, we jumped in with both feet forward, wanting to continue what had so far been a strange day.

When Fatimah’s younger brother, Faruq, awoke from his post-school nap, they asked us if we wanted to go out to the orchard. ”Of course,” we replied. Faruq and Fatimah then took us around to the front of the house, pointed at two motorcycles and said, “Get on.” I rode with Faruq, Fab with Fatimah. Fab just about shit her pants when we roared out of the driveway and sped down the country back roads.  ”No helmets, no idea where we are, no problem,” I thought to myself, grinning at the weird, wonderful progression of the day.

The orchard was tucked away behind an old dirt trail, hidden behind a barn of some sorts on the side of the road. We dismounted the bikes and went about collecting rambutans into plastic bags. Faruq climbed up into the tree, with the agility of a monkey, to retrieve the hard to reach fruit. Fatimah asked me if I knew how to climb trees. “Of course,” I lied as I took off my shoes to begin my ascent. I have to say, I was impressed by my tree climbing skills. Fatimah, not so much. “You are like Tarzan,” she said with a sly grin on her face, “only a really bad Tarzan who does not know what he is doing.”

After we filled the bags with various kinds of fruit, Fab and I got back on the bikes and returned to the house. When we pulled into the driveway, we were welcomed by Fatimah’s extended family: aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, and even a grandmother. Fab and I introduced ourselves and then posed for some photos. We were told that this was now our Malaysian family. Afterwards, Fab played with Fatimah’s younger siblings, Zulaikha and Ain Sofia, while I smoked hand rolled tobacco with Fatimah’s father. All of this was followed by another riotous bout of motorcycle riding throughout the surrounding countryside.

We we finished our expedition, we came back to the house, showered up in preparation of a dinner made especially for us.  Faruq gave me a traditional Malay sarong to wear to dinner and Fatimah gave Fab a set of, shall I say, less western clothes.  Dinner was another experience all together. A table cloth was spread across the tiled floor of the kitchen. We sat around cross-legged passing dishes back and forth. Some of the plates had, from what I could tell, leaves on them while others contained dried fish and maroon coloured dips. We ate with our hands which, by now, Fab and I were accustomed to doing being that we frequented Indian restaurants in KL. Fatimah thought otherwise. She mocked my attempts at eating and made fun of my uncomfortable sitting position.

After dinner, we sat around with the family on the veranda drinking kurma and talking about our home countries, our professions, and, of course, the Canadian winter. Faruq, by now my buddy, watched me carefully and tried his best to imitate my posture and hand gestures. Fab, exhausted from the long day, went to bed early. I sat up with Mohd Ariffin past midnight and talked about his love of Sylvester Stallone and Jackie Chan.

When the night came to a close, Fab and I laid in bed (I woke her up), shaking our heads in astonishment at the day now behind us. We agreed, easily the most memorable day of the trip so far.

Perhentian Islands – August 25

Mike and Jen went back to the mainland in the morning. Fab and I spent the day lazing on the beach and reading our books. First, I finished off “The Road”, then the last little bit of Salvador Plascencia’s “People of Paper”, which I had started back in Railay, and then powered my way through a collection of Raymond Carver short stories.When I was done, I went and swapped them at a beach front book exchange for “Madame Bovary” and “No Country for Old Men”.

When the sun went down, we dined on seafood at the Matahari restaurant and watched “Poseidon”, the movie of the night. After dinner and a banana split, we walked down to the beach. We sat in the sand by some tiki torches and had a beer, talking about what we wanted to do in the jungle and about the books we had just finished reading.

Perhentian Islands – August 24

Got up, sat on the beach, read Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” and then cooled off in the sea. Rinse repeat, rinse repeat.

Perhentian Islands – August 23

Snorkeling today. Although I enjoyed the snorkeling we did in Thailand, I had no idea what I was in store for when we jumped on the boat in the hot morning sun. The guy who runs Matahari had guaranteed before we left that we would see sharks and turtles.  We all thought that this was a somewhat dubious claim, but in the end, everything he had promised came true. We saw giant sea turtles, a few reef sharks and a whole bunch of tropical fish. I watched and swam in awe at the technicolor world in front of my mask. Beautiful coral reef, endless visibility and endless schools of fish. In the words of Mike, “This trip took off Thailand’s pants and beat its ass with the rotan.”