A Respite in Yogyakarta (by Nolan)

At roughly $15 CAD per person, Green Garden Hostel is among the most expensive places we have stayed in the entire trip, however it was still worth every penny. Our accommodation price included free internet, a very good (and very dutch) breakfast, bicycles with which to cruise around town, even a free candlelight dinner one evening. The fact that we ended up spending an entire week in Yogya, was in no small part due to the comfort of Green Garden.

We met Roza for dinner a few times and went on a tour with her to the Water Palace. The Water Palace is a kind of enormous bath house, built by a sultan many years ago. It had a number of secret passages and chambers, which the sultan wanted to keep secret so badly that he had the architect executed to ensure he would not reveal the blueprints to anyone.

A particularly interesting part of the Water Palace  revealed itself to us when we stumbled across a small shop where artisans made shadow puppets. Shadow puppets are flat, often elaborately decorated figures made from buffalo skin. We watched some of the puppets being made and learned about their meanings and cultural significance. I should mention that Yogyakarta is the only fiefdom left in Indonesia. This gives the place a distinctly different character and culture from the rest of Java, along with an absolutely notorious beaurocracy. For instance: it’s not enough to try to learn Indonesian when in Yogya.; you have to learn Javanese in order for the locals to completely respect you. We learned this fact from Thomas – a member of the Green Garden staff whom we had befriended. Thomas grew up in Papua, which is an island in the far East of Indonesia. Despite the fact that Thomas is fluent in Indonesian, English, and Javanese, he confided to us that he was still looked down on by some of the more bigoted locals.

Amy explores the stupas at Borobudur

With Thomas and his friend Anita as our guides, we visited some of the more remarkable sites around Yogya during the days to come. The first of these, known as Borobudur, is the world’s largest Buddhist Temple and a UNESCO world heritage site. The structure itself is an enormous  stupa that covers and entire hill. Several stone terraces represent the climb towards enlightenment. Monks apparently had to walk clockwise around each terrace, studying the stone reliefs on the walls before they could progress to the next level. The place truly was a marvel of ancient architecture: Each terrace was adorned with a series of smaller stupas, each of which housed stone a Buddha statue visible through a sort of stone latticework. The intricacy of this temple combines with its cheer size is hard to contemplate, and harder still to describe.

Our next stop was a series of Hindu temples known as Prambanan. Though heavily damaged by an earthquake in 2004, these temples are  stunning even as restoration efforts are ongoing. The temples also have an interesting mythology surrounding them. I’m too lazy to try and explain it myself, but here is an excerpt I stole from Wikipedia that pretty much sums it up:

Legend tells of the story about Prince Bandung Bondowoso who fell in love with Princess Loro Jonggrang, the daughter of King Boko. But the princess rejected his proposal of marriage because Bandung Bondowoso had killed King Boko and ruled her kingdom. Bandung Bondowoso insisted on the union, and finally Loro Jonggrang was forced to agree for a union in marriage, but she posed one impossible condition: Bandung must build her a thousand temples in only one night.The Prince entered into meditation and conjured up a multitude of spirits (demons) from the earth. Helped by supernatural beings, he succeeded in building 999 temples. When the prince was about to complete the condition, the princess woke her palace maids and ordered the women of the village to begin pounding rice and set a fire in the east of the temple, attempting to make the prince and the spirits believe that the sun was about to rise. As the cocks began to crow, fooled by the light and the sounds of morning time, the supernatural helpers fled back into the ground. The prince was furious about the trick and in revenge he cursed Loro Jonggrang to stone. She became the last and the most beautiful of the thousand statues.

Between new friends, stunning temples, and blissful accommodation, our time in Yogyakarta flew by all too quickly. We would not yet realize quite how much we would come to miss this serenity over the next couple of days.

Fear and Loathing in Indonesia: Part 1 (by Nolan)

Let me start by saying that Indonesia was a mixed bag for Amy and I. The coutnry has at least as much to offer as any other Southeast Aian Country in terms of culture and natural beauty. Despite this, the enormous archapellago-nation was almost more hastle to travel around than it was worth.

Our problems started before we had even boarded our flight from Singapore to Jakarta. Despite offering tousitsts 30 day visas upon arrival, Indonesia’s immigration policy apparantly requires all foriegn arrivals to have an onward ticket, lest they be sent back to their port of embarkation — at the airlines expense. Although this legislation is rarely (if ever) enforced, a few of the crappier dicount airlines such as Tiger Airways (Motto: “Do you have any idea how cheap your flight was? Get in the plane and shut up!”)  will refuse to let passengers board unless they can present such an onward ticket. Amy and I discovered this irritating policy while trying to check in for our flight. Our only options at this point were to either forfeit our flight to Indonesia or to purchase some random onward tickets which we had no intention of using. We employed the complimentary internet at McDonalds to find the cheapest onward tickets we could. $100 later, we were able to board our flight to Jakarta.

Indonesia: 1
Nolan and Amy: 0

Our destination was the capital of Indonsesia, located on the island of Java. Although Java is one of the smaller islands within the country, it serves as the nations economic and political centre. We had been warned about Jakarta: “Get there, and then get out as fast a possible” was the general advice of fellow travellers. Even the ever-positive Lonely Planet had few kind words for the tavel-hub city.

Tired, defeated, and with wallets still stinging from our “onward ticket” debacle, Amy and I staggered up to the immigration desk in the Jakarta Airport. We were promptly sent back to another desk to purchase our on-arrival visas for $25 US each. Of course, we didn’t have any US currency and the on duty official refused to accept our Signapore money as payment, so we had to head to yet another desk to pay by credit card. After finally clearing immigration, we realized that the offical who had rejected our $50 in Singapore money had also neglected to return it to us: we had just been fleeced by our first official.

Indonesia: 2
Nolan and Amy: 0

After a greasy dinner at KFC – the airport’s only restaurant – we boarded a shuttle bus into town, where the child sitting in front of me promptly vomited in the middle of the aisle. This was eventually dealt with when the ticket collector came by and covered up the puke with some newspaper, ever so slightly muffling the vile aroma.

Indonesia: 3
Nolan and Amy: 0

Amy and Roza in Yogyakarta

The bus dropped us off in the middle of the concrete lined chaos that is Jakarta (similar to Bangkok, but less charming), at which point we decided to get the hell out of Jakarta as soon as humanly possible. We shopped around for some cheap beds in the backpacker district, but it was 11:00pm so the only places left were either grossely overpriced or complete dumps. We went witht he latter option and slept in an eceonomically priced slum. The next day we travelled straight to the airport and hopped on the earliest possible flight to Yogyakarta, where we met Roza, a lovely woman from Sumatra who would act as our de-facto gide around Yogakarta on more than one occation.

Indonesia: 3
Nolan and Amy: 1

After a short flight to Yogyakarta, we were trying to to find a particular hostel called “Green Garden” that had been recommended to us. We took a few buses, got lost, then hired a pedal taxi and paid him 50,000RP (i.e. way too much) to take us to a place with a name similar to that of Green Garden, but which was on the opposite end of town. We probably woudn’t have paid the guy, but we feft bad making him haul us and our 20 kg packs 30 km around town.

Indonesia: 4
Nolan and Amy: 1

Fortunately, once we made it to Green Garden Bed and Breakfast, it was actually one of the best hostels we had visited.

Indonesia: 4
Nolan and Amy: 2

Yogyakarta proved to be a really enjoyable city, which lulled us into a false sense of security about Indonesia. In the peacefull haven of Yogyakarta, we were blissfully unaware of the tribulations to come.

What do sleeper trains, Chinese birthday parties and leeches have in common? (by Amy)

After spending 3 weeks travelling up and down Peninsular Malaysia, I think it is safe to say that Nolan and I were no longer rookies to several of South East Asia’s finest commodities: sleeper trains, Chinese birthday parties, and leeches.

Thanks to our time spent in the  jungles of Taman Negara,  Nolan and I have become seasoned veterans in the art of leech extermination. Walking along the infested pathways, it was possible to develop a keen eye for any kind of squirmy movement on the ground and then avoid it as much as possible. By keeping the skin on our legs exposed (but remaining decent of course…good ol’ loin cloths!), we were also able to spot the leeches that did make it onto our bodies more quickly and flick them off before they employed their suckers. The morning after our night spent at the hide, we were able to make it back to base camp without any leech bites! How is that for expertise?

As much fun as it was to slay bloodsuckers while marching through old growth rain-forests trying to catch any glimpses of the ever elusive gibbons, elephants, and the 200 some-odd tigers left in the park, our time in the oldest rain-forest in the world was up. In search for some sunshine, Nolan and I headed to the Perhentian Islands.

Still accompanied by our friend from the Netherlands (Evelien),  Nolan and I caught a night train that took us through thick, leech-infested jungles to the sprawling, monitor-lizzard inhabited beaches of Perhentian Kecil (the smaller of the 2 Perhentian Islands). I use the word night-train in this case as once again, we did not sleep from the time we stepped foot onto the massive, trudging, people-filled caravan to the moment we groggily staggered onto the station platform. In all fairness, by the time we purchased our tickets, the company had sold out of spots in the ‘sleeper’ section…oh well I guess. Armed with earplugs and neck pillows, Nolan and I did the best we could to grab some shut-eye while Evelien slept like a babe. (No leech bites in the jungle, and plenty of sleep on the Asian night train; what are the secrets of the Dutch?)

Once at Perhentian Kecil, Nolan and I hunted down a nice little cheapy for accommodation: a shack equipped with a cold shower, mossie net, and power between 6pm – 6am all for the low, low price of 35 Malaysian Ringgit…boo ya! Taking full advantage of the last bit of Malaysia’s hot weather as we entered their wet season, we headed straight for the beach the very next day. Not wanting to become sunburnt, we hired a giant umbrella and rested within its shade between sessions of boogy boarding in the beautiful clear blue water that took over most of the scenery in front of us. Of course, with the protection of our beach umbrella, we did not need to reapply sunscreen after catching some surf on the boogy board, right? Pfft, we could not have been more wrong…

After spending a day on the beach, Nolan and I had to spend another 2 days isolated in our hut. With sunburns covering 80% of our bodies, we had to stay out of direct sunlight and consequently passed our time cooped up by taking cold showers and covering our red skin with aloe-vera gel. The only time we left our room, was to go and buy more aloe-vera gel. Apparently, despite our efforts to stay out of the sun by staying under a hired beach umbrella, the sun still had the better of us by reflecting its powerful UV rays off the white sand. Surrounded by tons of  reflecting sand and millions of photons of sunlight, we were sitting, cooked, ducks.

Once our burns cooled down enough to slip on a wet suit, Nolan and I  booked a ‘deep water-dive’ through Spice Divers. When we found out that it would only cost us 150 Ringgit ($50.00 CND) each to upgrade our diving certificate to include the ability to dive to depths of 30 meters, and the lady who would be our instructor was from Calgary and spoke perfect English, we were immediately sold. (For those of you who do not know, to complete one adventure dive at home to increase your certification, it normally costs $250 CND!) In the end, we passed this part of the course, neither of us were “narced”*,  and the dive was excellent. Once again, diving in South East Asia had wooed us.

The perfect mix of sunny weather, warm water, an array of vibrant sea life and cheap dive-gear makes for some prime SCUBA conditions. Not only was the dive excellent, but our snorkelling experience in the Perhentians was also fantastic. After making arrangements with our hotel (read: shack) manager, we each grabbed a set of tattered flippers and a mildewy mask with snorkel, hopped onto a small tin boat with six others and headed out to some do some snorkelling ‘sweet-spots’ – our guide had called them. As  it turned out, he was right. We saw reef sharks, green turtles, colourful coral and all sorts of other fish that I don’t know the names of…

As a diver, I neer would have thought that I would say this, but snorkelling was amazing! All of the things we saw, were things that we would have been lucky to see on a SCUBA dive and we saw them all within 7 metres of the water’s surface. Even after seeing the large variety of sea life the islands had to offer, I think that Nolan and I were most impressed by the giant monitor lizzard we spotted sauntering by the restaurant we were sitting at for dinner one night. Chatting away and cramming grilled fish down our gulletts, I looked over my shoulder when I heard a sort of slithering on the ground below us. When I looked, I had to do a double take; there was just no way that what I was seeing was real. There below us, was a 3 meter long, .5 meter high, and very fat monitor lizzard, dragging its belly along the ground toward the fruit stand next door. Where was my camera?!? It was by far, the largest lizzard I had ever seen in the wild, and it just stood there until the owner of the fruit stand came running after it with a broom. It was quite the site.

With so much excitement and so many things to do in the Perhentian Islands, Nolan and I were in need of some time to kick back in a place where the pace of life moves like a meandering river, and an inch of dust covers every shelf at the grocery store: Gua Musang. Situated North of the Cameron highlands, South of the Perhentian Islands, and just West of Taman Negara, Gua Musang is a gateway town to the more tourist destined places in Pennisular Malayasia. As a pass-through city, there are virtually no westerners staying to visit and consequently almost nobody there speaks English. With only 3 hotels in town, and only 1 of them  in our price range, it was easy to chose a place to stay. Lucky for us, the place we did choose, Uhasa Hotel, was owned and operated by a very friendly muslim man who spoke perfect English. Mr. Uhasa is a Malaysian man who served 8 years with the British Army and has spent some time abroad throughout South East Asia, so he is a little bit worldly and speaks English very well. He has a lovely family and he is very proud of his bright children who also speak English. It was a real treat to meet all of them and Mr. Uhasa himself was very accommodating. The main reason that Nolan and I wanted to go to Gua Mesang was to go rock climbing. The crag was of course a litte ways out of town, but Mr. Uhasa offered to drop us off there on the way to his banana plantation and then arranged a time later in the day when he would come and pick us up. With our arrangements with Mr. Uhasa, it was easy for Nolan and to go climbing each day we stayed in the little backwater town.

The Uhasa Family.

The crag itself was absolutely stunning: it was very easy to get to, the rock was fresh and unpolished, the bolts were shiny and new, and best of all there was nobody else there! We climbed everything on ‘A-wall’ and on our last day, we even hit up some routes on ‘C-wall’. I just could not believe that there was nobody else there. While we were in Kuala Lumpur, Nolan and I picked up a brilliant climbing book called, Climb Malaysia; Rock Climbing Guide, which is easily one of the best guide books I have ever purchased. Created as recently as 2007, this book is full of accurate detailed maps, excellent drawings and diagrams, instructions on equipment maintenance and there is even a complete list of routes that you can check off on the back as you complete them. Excellent guide book, beautiful limestone rock, easily accessible crag, secure bolts: why the hell aren’t more people climbing Malaysia? Oh well, I really cannot complain…as far as I am concerned, these stellar climbing crags can remain Malaysia’s best kept secret.

After a perfect day of climbing, it was really nice to go back into town and find a  little cafe or street stall at which to sit down and eat the local, cheap, food. One of our favourite places to eat was a little hole in the wall run by a nice Chinese family. The first time we discovered the place, we were drawn in to sit down when we noticed the food looked tastey and smelled delicious as it was being prepared on the gas stove near the street. Upon sitting down, we noticed that the only menu in the joint was written in giant Chinese characters on a peice of cardboard on the wall. “Uhhhhmmm…..how are we going to order?” I asked Nolan. Right then, a man came over to us (presumably the owner) and somehow took our order without us really knowing what food was going to be prepared for us. The only word we shared with the gentleman and were able to come to understanding with was: Milo. I knew for sure, that whatever food was served to us, we could wash down with a nice cold cup of chocolatey Milo. Mmmmmm………

The meal arrived a short time later and it turned out to be delicious. We found the restaurant to be so charming that we promised to come back the next day. When the next evening arrived, we showed up to the restaurant only to discover a big celebration - including some sort of pot-luck – was underway and that the restaurant was closed. Just as we were turning to leave and find another place to eat, the family invited us in and said to, “Eat. For free. Birthday pah-tee”. We were suprised by this more than generous gesture, but we were also more than happy to accept. We served up a paper plate full of all sorts of tastey unknowns and sat at a table where a lady was able to tell us that it was the restaurant owner’s mom’ s 60th birthday. After eating, and chatting a little bit with some of the extended family, we said thank you and I wished the old Chinese woman a happy birthday. She hugged me, and we were off.

Later that evening, Nolan and I packed our bags and headed to the train station to catch, of course, another “sleeper” train to Singapore…I really think that they should just officially change the name from ‘sleeper’, to “no-chance-in-hell-to-sleep-even-on-provided-bed-but-still-have-to-pay-more” train.

*narced – is diver slang for having nitrogen narcosis. Narcosis while diving is a reversible alteration in consciousness that can occur while SCUBA diving at depth (usually between 20-30 meters or more) that produces a state similar to alcohol intoxication.

A Symphony of Frogs (by Nolan)

Amy, Evelien and I  had just trudged through piles of ravenous leeches to arrive at our “observation hide” several kilometers  into the jungle reserve of Taman Negara. Sitting in the middle of tropical rainforest and watching day turn to night is a pretty magical experience. We eagerly prepared our flashlights, hoping we would spot something spectacular like a tiger, or an elephant, or a tiger fighting an elephant. However, a quick review of the guest log revealed that such spottings are virtually non-existant.

Amy climbing the bunks to suspend our food bag

More common sightings were of pigs, deer, and the occasional slow-lorris until more recently when rangers had  found the body of a wild boar from which a tiger had removed the head. On second thought, perhaps it was better that we didn’t see any tigers. Instead, we were graced by a family of wild boars passing through the watering hole in front of us. We heard the animals long before we saw them, but eventually about three fully grown boars and a few young came hobbling through the bush into the clearing. It was neat seeing these wild boars in their natural habitat, however they behave very much like pigs do in confinement….they eat, drink, snort, and cover themselves in mud.

Fortunately, simply watching dusk descend onto the jungle with the knowledge that we were going to spend the night there was pretty exciting in its own right. One thing that really struck me was the change in the sounds as the sun set. While most human-inhabited places tend to settle down in the evening, the jungle explodes with an immense bustle of whoops, chirps, clicks, wails and grunts: nature’s version of loud urban living. Countless creatures joined in the ruckus in search of mates or to defend their turf. The din arose rapidly and dramatically, like the noise from a crowd after the curtain drops at a sold-out play. We scanned the trees as darkness fell, occasionally spotting the dull gleam of nocturnal eyes peering back at us from the depths of the forest. Up til now, I had been pleasantly surprised by the lack of mosquitos in Taman Negara. The reason for this soon became clear as bats streaked amongst the trees and through our shelter devouring any insects they could find. One of these bats careened into our mosquito net as Amy and I were setting it up. Worried that the bat might be injured, I took a closer look. It turns out he was just stunned, and as soon as I could see he was ok, the bat leapt into the air and gracefully swooped past my ear and into the night. Bats were not the only animals sharing our hide: we spotted a giant grasshopper and a six-inch gecko hiding among the rafters. After several hours of nature watching, we unpacked our sleeping mats and let the music of the nocturnal rainforest lull us to sleep. 

When we awoke the next morning, we reluctantly dressed in our still soggy and reeking clothes and set off back towards civilization. We enjoyed our stay in the observation hide so much that we seriously considered hiring a boat to take us to a more remote hide for our last evening. We had been lucky the first time around, having the hide to ourselves and seeing at least  some sort of wildlife, so we decided to leave one a high note. After one more night at The Durian Chalet,  we headed to the Perhentian islands, where I was to experience the best snorkelling and the worst sunburn of my life.

Welcome to the Jungle (by Nolan)

Refreshed from our time spent in the cool mountain air of the Cameron Highlands, we teamed up with Evelien and headed towards one of peninsular Malaysia’s star attractions: Taman Negara. Claimed to be the oldest plot of primary tropical rain-forest still in existence, Taman Negara dates back about 130 million years. This means this ecosystem would have been be just starting out in the cretaceous period when the last of the dinosaurs were still roaming the earth. Needless to say, Amy and I were excited to see this pre-historic ecosystem. The Dinosaurs may be long gone, but the jungle is still home to wild boars, tarsiers, tigers, elephants and countless species of frogs, birds, plants and legions of large, creepy insects.

The main access point to the park is a little town called Kuala Tahan. This town exists almost entirely to accommodate park visitors and consists of a few inns, supply stores and restaurants along the wide, muddy river that separates the town from the edge of the jungle. Upon our arrival, we checked out some of the accommodation and quickly decided on The Durian Chalet. Despite its’ being named after such a repugnant fruit, this charming little family run establishment suited us well. Sure, there was a toad living in the room and the only hot water came from an electric kettle which was perpetually filled with dead ants, but it had a clean bed and truthfully, we had slept in worse before.

Once settled in our room, we set out to grab dinner and to arrange some activities to better acquaint ourselves with the jungle. Both of these things could be accomplished at one of the floating restaurants moored to the bank of the river, where we filled our bellies with fried rice and gazed up at the impenetrable wall of vegetation that loomed dark, mysterious, and foreboding over the opposite river bank.

After sorting out our park passes we managed to join a guided night-walk that very evening. The Lonely Planet had warned us about a vile and loathsome predator awaiting us in the jungle: blood-sucking, parasitic, ever present, leeches. By all accounts, the bastards are simply unavoidable in Taman Negara, especially if there has been rain recently, which there had been. While our guide was giving the group a standard preamble about the do’s and dont’s of national parks, we prepared ourselves by stylishly tucking our pants into our socks and sealing them with duct-tape. The guide noticed us and smiled. “You are afraid of leeches! If you tuck your pants in, the leaches will crawl up and get you…here,” he chuckled, indicating the exposed skin between his shirt and pants, “Or here,” he pointed to his neck. Undeterred, we set off into the jungle with he rest of the group.

Lizard clinging to a tree on the night walk

Fortunately, the walk was almost entirely along wooden walkways. We saw spiders, lizards, giant scorpions and mushrooms that glow in the dark, but the only sign of leeches was a shriek of “Aaah! bloodsuckers” from another tour group nearby. Maybe…just maybe the Lonely Planet had once again misinformed us.

The next day we decided to book some beds in an observation hide. Hides are raised wooden structures with very basic amenities including a flush toilette and a shower, both of which are fed from a large rain water barrel. The hide came equiped with wooden bunk beds and a large window overlooking a watering hole. The hide we booked was located about 7km within the park and accessed via a network of hiking trails. After ensuring we had enough food and water to last us until the following night, we set out around midday to ensure we arrived at the hide before sunset. With our pants dutifully tucked into our socks, we were ready for an adventure.

Amy and Evelien in front of an enormous rain-forest tree.

It was only a short time after we got onto the trail that we spotted our first leech: a wretched little worm with one end planted firmly on a tree root and the other swaying frantically back and forth in a ravenous search for warm flesh. The Canadian leeches, with which I am familiar, are creepy in their own right: slimy black little opportunists that wait for you in puddles, streams and rivers. The leeches of Canada may be unsavoury, but they are also largely avoidable. The Leeches of Malaysia are another matter entirely. They still require a moist environment, but in a tropical rain-forest everything is moist, so they can be found waiting in ambush on just about any surface close enough to the ground. The thing that really makes the Asian variety horrid though, is the way they actively hunt you. It’s not enough for them to hope that your juicy body comes to them; instead they constantly wave back and forth, searching for the heat of living flesh. Once they have your scent, they inch along the ground with astonishing speed, making a beeline first for your shoe, then for the nearest bit of exposed skin. Then there is the fact that the little bastards are so small they can squeeze though the weave of your socks….so much for the pants in the socks trick! This became apparent to us when a large blood stain on my sock had revealed that I had been preyed upon at least once. As I was inspecting the still leaking wound, I noticed another one of the parasites making its way towards my exposed ankle. I tried to intercept the leech, but I was too late: it squeezed between the threads of the fabric and latched onto my ankle. I quickly peeled back my sock and administered a generous helping of DEET, which soon caused the vile creature to wither and fall away.

After a nerve-racking four-hour trek through leech hell, we finally arrived at the hide. Immediately, we sat down and stripped off our shoes, socks, and rolled up our pant legs to inspect the damage. I had one or two more bites, as did Amy…except that one of Amy’s bites still had a leech feeding on it. Once again a generous helping of DEET made the slug drop to the ground in its death throes, but the plumped corpse suggested its last meal had been a hearty one. Evelien turned out to be completely untouched by the wormy little freaks: apparently Canadian blood is sweeter than the Dutch variety. Between the three of us, we found another five or so leeches crawling around on our clothes and in our shoes, looking for a snack. Needless to say, we were not looking forward to the walk back in the morning. In the mean time, however, we settled down on the porch to see what might come by…

Cooling Off to a Cup of Tea (by Amy)

Finding ourselves drowning in K.L.’s sea of “exotic” food, Nolan and I moved to higher grounds: the Cameron Highlands. There, we discovered rolling hills, cool mountain air, acres of tea plantations and a sort of ‘small-town’ feel which was a welcomed change from the hot busy streets of Kuala Lumpur. It was also in the highlands where we met Alastair from the U.K. and Evelien from Amsterdam.

Nolan, Amy, and Alastair

With our new found friends, we were able to create the perfect quartet with which we could safely trek through the local forests and enjoy the mountainous environment. During our 5 hour excursion,we came across all kinds of strange bugs, foreign noises, hole-y trees, abandoned park benches and washed-up-shore-line garbage. Yes that’s right, garbage. As we walked along the trail towards the once mighty ranger tower (now a pile of ruins), we could not help but notice the copious amounts of human refuge strewn along the banks of the creek surging through the forest.

"I swear there was supposed to be a ranger tower around here somewhere..."

This is the first time a small piece of my heart died inside of me…unfortunately it was not the last time. It seems as though the problem of improper garbage disposal is a big one throughout South East Asia. Trying to keep sad thoughts at bay, and repressing my fiery-inner-environmental-advocate, I kept up with the cheery caprice shared with my comrades.

When the four of us originally set out on our hike, we did not anticipate that it would take us 5 hours nor did we anticipate coming out of the trail at one of the neighbouring towns to Tanah Rata (the one in which we were all staying ). Luckily, the two towns were not too far from one and other and the journey back to the hostel was not grueling. In fact, the walk back to Tanah Rata was quite nice as we were able to enjoy the comforting view of the unique landscape. The vast amount of tea plantations in the Cameron Highlands cover the rolling hills very much like green shag carpets covered the floors of North American homes in the 1970′s. The tea plantations are actually highly esteemed in the highlands and they are set up in way that people may even visit any of them on a tour. Well, we did just that.

I'm no entomologist, but that there is an insect.

On one of our chilled out days in the Cameron Highlands, Nolan and I joined yet another group of people (Alastair included) and headed for the BOH TEA plantation. Once there, we were taken on a tour of the actual tea factory. Our tour guide took a more austere role and strictly informed us that we must actively listen to him while he gave us details on the workings of the factory after which we were allowed to take pictures. One interesting tidbit is that the company uses a fire fueled by old rubber trees to dry the tea leaves. Apparently, rubber trees can only be exploited of their resources for 30 years; after which BOH TEA burns them in their factory. This apparently produces a nicer flavor than a natural gas flame (It is also cheaper than using petrol to fuel the drying kilns, as our guide firmly assured us).

After touring the factory (and being reprimanded for taking photographs while the tour-guide was speaking) we had the opportunity to do a tea tasting. We had a whole menu of teas to try along with a wide range of prices for each sample. By the time the line-up wound down and it was our turn to order, we had decided on a couple of recommended teas and a few tasty scones to accompany the tea (oh, and delicious brownie!).

All in all, between visiting the tea plantation and doing a bit of trekking through local forest, our time ‘chilling-out’ in the Cameron Highlands was well spent. Teaming up with Evelien, Nolan and I said goodbye to the crisp air of the highlands and hello to the humidity of dense jungle as we headed to Taman Negara.

Lonely Planets and Lousy Advice (by Nolan)

Amy’s introduction to KL provides a pretty good description of our time in the City, but I wouldn’t feel right about things if I hadn’t thrown in my own two cents. Before I do however, I would like to start with a random aside on the famous “Lonely planet” guide books.

As we have become more seasoned travelers, Amy and I have developed a sort of love-hate relationship with our Lonely Planet Guidebook. It’s a great resource for getting oriented to a totally new place and for sometimes finding good restaurants and the best “must see” attractions, but beyond that, the book has really become a victim of its own success. Companies recommended

So...much...bad...information

by The Lonely Planet often experience a surge of business. This  often leads to diminished quality of customer service as little effort is now needed to bring customers through the door. Many of the recommendations in the book also turn out to be very mainstream tourist areas. While I would still recommend The Lonely Planet to travelers as a valuable resource, I would also caution that many of its reviews are subjective and it’s information (especially prices) rapidly becomes outdated. The book’s  hostel information has been the most disappointing, for example its recommendation in KL: Pondok Lodge. As the book promised, the place was (sort of) cheap, clean (more or less) and spacious. However, none of that matters when you room is directly above a 2000 watt sub-woofer belonging to the all-night club one floor below. Really, who gives a damn about a clean and spacious room when your bones are rattling to the beat of “Thriller” at three in the morning. This was only one example in a string of many disappointing experiences we have had with Lonely Planet’s lodging recommendations. We have gradually started to eschew the guidebook’s advise and rely on our own research and that of Hostelworld.com, which has served us very well. Perhaps the “Shoestring” edition of the series was not the right choice for us with our stringent standards of semi-quiet rooms and parasite free mattresses. However, I suspect those standards are pretty universal.

Now that I have completed my bitter rant, let’s get back to Kuala Lumpur (KL). A few things Amy forgot to mention were the Patronas Towers and Batu Caves. One morning we got up bright and early to get some tickets to go up the Patronas Towers, which were the tallest towers in the world for quite some time. The tickets are free, but that means you have to get their before they are all spoken for. We were in line by 8:00 am and after waiting for ninety minutes, we had two tickets…for 3:00 pm. We now had five- and-a-half hours to kill. Amy and I, had recently developed some concern about our malaria medication (apparently there is a strong resistance to it in North Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos), so we took this opportunity to visit a medical clinic for a consultation. To consult a doctor in Canada cost Amy and I $60 each, so we hoped that it would not be any more expensive in K.L. The clinic we found was very efficiently run and we were able to see a doctor, get the proper advice, and pick up some additional anti malaria meds all within in about 45 minutes. The whole ordeal (including the price of meds) cost us a total of 60 ringgits witch is about $20 Canadian! I wish we had bought all our travel Medication here!

After the clinic, we went to watch a traditional Malaysian dance at an amphitheater behind the main tourist centre. We were expecting something pretty cheesy as admission was free, but the dancers were well trained and their brightly coloured costumes were spectacular. Thoroughly impressed, we went back to the Petronas Towers to catch our ride in their double-decker elevator.

Amy and I sporting our uber-cool 3D Shades

While the ride up to the bridge connecting the two towers does not cost any money, there was a catch. We were ushered into a small theatre with a dozen or so other tourists, where we all dawned our 3D Glasses to watch a 15-minute propaganda film on why Petronas (Malaysia’s national oil company)  is the greatest company ever to have existed in the history of the universe.

After our indoctrination, we here herded into a large, high speed cargo elevator that contrasted markedly against the classy decor in the waiting area. Within about 20 seconds we were 40 stories up and the doors opened to let us wander the sky bridge connecting the two towers. I have to say: unlike most buildings, the gleaming towers really do look as slick and space-aged up close as they do in post cards. Large rings of staleness steel encircle the  towers between each floor, and each tower is capped by a giant steel ball. The glinting steel and polished glass of the sky bridge makes the place feel like something out of “Mission: Impossible” rather than part of a a decadent office building.

A few days later, Amy and I went to explore Batu Caves, which is a massive set of caverns that have been converted into Hindu Shrines. Before exploring the caves however, we wanted to visit the adjoining cliffs to get in some climbs. The climbing crag was excellent, with dozens of well maintained routes, bathroom facilities, and even a practice wall which was still under construction. Batu Caves is still within the city limits of Kuala Lumpur, so the location is quite urban for a climbing crag. It was particularity strange hearing the ominous call to prayer (which Muslims insist on blasting from loudspeakers on every mosque in the county five times a day) while half way up a climb; but I suppose that’s part of the experience of traveling in an Islamic country.

Wow look at the size of those...hooves?

After a solid afternoon of climbs, we made our way to the caves themselves. The 274 steps leading to the caves’ entrance led past several statues and sculptures depicting various Hindu deities (which take the form of Cows, Humans, Birds and any combination thereof). The most impressive was a gold covered statue standing roughly thirty meters high. Once we finally made it into the caves, we immediately understood why they were thought to be such a holy place: they were so massive as to be awe inspiring. The roof of the caverns loomed over 100 meters high and the sheer size of this cavity was humbling. The cave was adorned with yet more deities and shrines, one of which was a statue of some female god holding an umbrella which protected her from the water perpetually from the ceiling.

After we had seen all the Batu Caves had to offer, we turned our attention to getting back to our hostel. This meant once gain navigating the chaos that is K.L. public transit. We eventually managed to wander across a crumbling concrete shelter that apparently served as a bus stop, and on the advise of some locals, caught a bus more-or-less in the direction of our hostel. On the ride home, we befriended a transit employee who graciously guided us through the  maze of bus and train routes to the monorail station nearest to our hostel. Though his English was a little broken, we were astonished to learn he had taught himself the language entirely by watching television as a child (his favorite program had been Murder She Wrote). Who ever said kids don’t learn anything from television?

Chez K.L. (by Amy)

As I am sure most of you have read, some of our travels included a trek across the longitude of Thailand in a sleeper train. Well, after our experience of spending  8 hours breathing in exhaust, developing  head-aches from the constant slamming of the nearby train-car-door, and trying to drown out the interim happiness expressed by the numerous drunkards aboard the train, it was easy for us to make the decision to  fly into Kuala Lumpur from Krabi as we continued our journey south to Malaysia.

Just trying to sort ourselves out and get used to the new menu that K.L. (Kuala Lumpur) had to offer took us a week. The menu included: deep fried pigeon – which was accompanied by a photo of an actual whole pigeon deep-fried, as though it was plucked from the sky and thrown directly into the vat of grease -, frog porridge – this actually comes highly recommended to us now from a good friend-, several nights spent ‘sleeping’ above a bar to the blatant beats of Michael Jackson, eating chicken and rice from the sketchiest little restaurant ever, and tasting the most horrid naturally occurring herbaceous matter on Earth: the durian fruit.

The Chinese night market had a lot to offer in the way of frog-porridge and deep fried street birds, but after being recently sick in Raylay beach, I tried to be more cautious of the things I slammed down my gullet, sticking mostly to noodle or rice dishes slathered with vegetables. One day however, Nolan and I were making our way to ‘Little India’ when we were caught in a monsoonal downpour. It was near lunch, we were both hungry, and we were near a little cafe run by two very elderly Chinese people. I am not sure how long the chicken sat under the glass counter, or how long the cucumber had been crawled on by ants, but I did know that the iced coffee’s ice came from a water-source we as tourists are not advised to drink. We ate the chicken and rice, pushed aside the ants and asked to take the coffee away with us. The little old lady poured our cold coffees into one bag, and inserted a straw. We went away smiling, the old lady was smiling, and we were smiling still when we pitched the ‘to-go drink’ in the nearest garbage just around the corner as we continued our journey.

We never did find ‘Little India’, but we did stumble upon the Chinese Marketplace (different from the night market of late-night snacks). After wandering through the giant maze of stalls full with shining belt-buckles, pseudo Loui Vuitton wallets, socer jerseys, watches, sandals, clocks, coffee beans, more soccer jerseys, handbags, etc…we needed something to eat. Luckily for us, along with the numerous stalls selling useless counterfeit junk, there were also a number of fruit stands. This is where Nolan and I decided we should try the durian fruit. Durian fruit is very popular in South East Asia, and as far as fruit goes, quite expensive. There are a lot of people who just love the stuff! Well, we tried it and these are Nolan’s exact words on the matter, “If someone ate a bunch of boiled eggs, and then farted on a onion, and then the onion went bad, it would taste exactly like durian.”  I found the taste to be sulfurous: not a quality I look for when eating fruit.

Alas, the menu of K.L. did not consist of only grotesque mains; we had our fair share of dessert too. Itching to climb again soon since our fantastic time at the beaches of Railay, we “googled” climbing gyms in Kuala Lumpur. Luckily for us, we happened upon a place called Camp 5. After a 5 minute walk to the metro station, a 15 minute metro ride to the bus station, and a 1.5 hour bus ride, we finally made it to Utama mall. Breathing a sigh of relief, as we finally made it to our intended destination and  not somewhere outside the city as we truly beleived we were headed, we scoured the shopping centre for the climbing gym. Once again, this took much longer than we had anticipated and by the time we showed up to Camp 5 huffing and puffing, it was 9pm. The gym did not close until 11pm, but we had a bus to catch at 10:30pm…should we even bother trying to climb? Of course! We spent so much time trying to get to Camp 5, and we were so stressed out from our journey, that we had to climb.

And climb we did! We had so much fun at this amazing climbing gym, and the staff there were so awesome, that we made the long haul to Camp 5 the very next day…we just made sure that we left our hostel a little bit earlier.

The Lagoon (by Amy)

This is just a short entry dedicated to the memory of the hike that Nolan, Paul, and I did at Railay. The hike was called, ‘The Lagoon’.

We had first heard of the lagoon when our friend Sun from Ao Nang had mentioned it. The climbing guide-book that we had in our possession also mentioned the lagoon and gave directions on how to get there. Even with all of the information that we had attained, it took us two attempts to actually make it all the way to the locally famed brackish water hole.

Walking to the end of East Railay into a more forested area on the way to Pranang Beach, Nolan and I came across a sign with an arrow that said, “To Lagoon”. Swiveling on the spot and turning in the direction of the arrow, both of us took some time to analyze the scene before us. After several moments scanning the forest’s edge, we realized that what we were looking at was indeed a trail-head. The steep grade of the trail was at an angle just less than 90 degrees to the ground on which we were standing. It consisted of mostly boulders and tree roots covered in a slippery red mud. “Do people actually hike this?” I said to Nolan. Just then, a couple, breathing heavily and covered from the knees down with rust-coloured streaks, came stumbling down the path bracing themselves with whatever tree root was nearest.

By the time we actually began to tackle the treacherous hike, it was late in the afternoon. Once we had made our way up the trail to a viewing point it was around 3 or 4 pm. From the viewing point, we still had to traverse through the forest to a secondary trail- head that led down to the  lagoon itself. It was just after 4 pm when we arrived to a spot that opened down into what looked like an old run-out for water draining through the jungle floor. There was a rope tied to some rocks at the top of the run-out that led another 15 metres to the bottom. The rope was speckled with giant knots every 12 inches down it’s length and covered with the same rust-red mud that slicked the ground beneath it. Using a mixed technique consisting of a half-skiing action and a half-rappelling effort, we descended the muddy rope. Continuing our amble through the jungle, we came across an ominous pile of abandoned flip-flops. A little bit further past the dispensed footwear we came to a steep cliff face that went straight down to another plateau with yet another steep drop to another plateau with another cliff face, and so on. Looking at the distance we had come and then looking at the distance we still had to go, we decided that there was no way that we were going to make it all the way to the lagoon and back before dark; we would just have to wait another day to make it to the path’s end. We would also have to think of some way to convince Paul, that he too should attempt the languishing trek with us.

After a bit more preparation, and a bit of coaxing Paul with the help Beer Chang the night before, Nolan and I were ready to make our second attempt to make it to The Lagoon. Setting out a bit earlier, Paul – however hesitant -, Nolan and myself began our torturous, unforgiving, loathsome, trying, sweaty, agonizing  journey. After an hour or so of hiking, we had made our way to the secondary trail-head of the lagoon for the second time. We then made our way down the old run-out and continued the audacious exertion all the way to the bottom of the plateaus and grimy cliffs to the blue-green bayou lake. Each descent down a slimy cliff face was accompanied by bulbous rock covered in a filth so thick that each time you dared to depend on the rock for stability, you were risking a 5 metre fall to the next plateau. After a bit of sweat and a well deserved comment from an Iranian passerby, “Not bad for a girl,”  we finally had made it to The Lagoon! We still had plenty of daylight left and there were no worries about making it back to the beach before dusk. Satisfied with this knowledge, Nolan and Paul took no notice to the time passing while they hurled random items (ie: twigs, leaves, dead-ants, rocks, live-ants, bread, etc.) into the rather large spider’s web we found just in front of the lagoon, in hopes that the spider would eat/attack whatever was intruding in its place of residence. I on the other hand, found a large rock, well away from the spider and its web and contemplated how I was going to get the red mud stains off Nolan’s shorts.

 

Admitting Defeat (by Amy)

Okay, so Nolan has done a pretty decent job at describing the gem of a peninsula, now turned into a climbing mecca, known to most people as  Railay. What we had planned to be a brief 5 day stay at in this beach-climbing-bum paradise turned into almost 2 weeks.

When we first arrived on the peninsula, we were a little discouraged by the climbing because all of  the ‘easier’ routes – the same ones we wanted to warm up on to become reacquainted with the sport – were always full of beginner rock climbers taking lessons through King Climbers. When the classes would clear the cliffs at lunch time, we would hop onto the rock only to find it extremely polished* and not true to the grades** assigned to it in the King Climbers guide book. Crowded crags? Polished rock? Inaccurate beta***? How could this possibly be a world renowned climbing area?

Well, with a little bit more time to explore what Railay really had to offer to enthusiastic rock climbers, we discovered some great climbing areas that once found, had us hooked! We contacted Paul and invited him over to Railay, because we were going to be a bit longer than we planned.

After spending some time navigating the cliffs at Diamond Cave (one of the crags) and sharing the rock with a bunch of macaques who would skillfully flash**** the hard 5.11b route that we had been sweating, crying, and bleeding on for the last 3 days, we were hopeful to improve our skill by climbing every chance we had. With this mindset, it was very hard for me to accept the fact that I could not climb when I contracted some sort of GI-bug – GI as in: gastro intestinal. While at the Diamond Cave crag, I doubled over with an immense pain in my lower abdomen. The rest of my day was spent walking back and forth between the bed and the bathroom. I did not know exactly what was wrong with me, but one thing I knew for sure was that having the ‘bug’ was not as much fun as climbing.

At the onset of my fever, Nolan become more concerned over my physical state and advised me to take the medication that our doctor in Canada prescribed for Traveller’s Diarrhea. With nothing further that either of us could do to help my condition but let the medication work its way into my system, I lay in bed and watched numerous episodes of Band of Brothers as they played on the only English channel on our TV. As content and lively as I surely was, Nolan still decided to head out and find more entertaining prospects. Luckily, Paul had already made his way over to Railay and we had also befriended an English fellow named Lewis, so Nolan was not alone in his search for amusing comradery.

After 3 restless days, I was finally well enough to bounce back onto the rock! (Even though I had already tried climbing, however unsuccessfully, after only 1 day of being sick…perhaps I was jumping the gun just a little bit). With Lewis as our guide, Nolan and I were taken to a climbing area that required us to first ascend up into a giant cave through a series of ladders and next to navigate through the dark with our head-lamps, and finally rappel***** down to the base of the crag. How awesome is that!?! After a solid day of climbing, we gathered our gear and made our way back through the cave and down onto Pranang beach in time for low tide.  When the tide went out, it left shallow pools of water filled with fat sea cucumbers, ragtag coral and feisty little crabs. Lewis, perhaps not feelings worthy of our strong Canadian presence,  decided to grapple with one the tough crustaceans only to end up with it gripping firmly to his finger. I have to give Lewis credit, he did not flinch even for a second; not bad for an English bloke. Once the wrestling match had come to and end, we headed back along the beach as the sun set creating a picturesque scene behind us and the sea beckoned that we come and have a swim.

Pranang Cave beach was most certainly a spectacular little place. We could walk through the jungle next to the limestone cave system, stop and feed the monkeys, go for a dip in the South China Sea, and make our way along the beach and through the limestone bluffs only to end up at yet another climbing crag. The only bad memory I have in direct relation to climbing in the paradise Pranang had to offer, is the one climb that neither Nolan or I could complete. It was the only climb I have ever had to bale and the only climb I have ever ditched gear on. I was heartbroken.

From what we could gather from the inadequate guide book and from nearby climbers, the route that I climbed to the last bolt just before the anchor (end of the climb) at the end of the climb and baled on, was rated a 5.11d+ (that’s hard!). It was a slightly overhanging route that ripped out every ounce of energy we had bolt, by bolt. Working hard up the entire climb, the last bolt was perfectly placed just out of reach on an outcropping of smooth limestone. Finally building up the guts to make the move onto the outcropping 25 metres off the ground, I dipped each hand in my chalk******bag, nestled my left foot onto a small ledge just in front of me and reached over to my right only to grab onto a smooth bulbous piece of rock. It was slippery, but it was enough to get me over to the bolt, smack a quick-draw******* into it, and bring the rope through the other end. Fewf! I at least had some protection on this intimidating, polished, scarce rock. I looked up, and the anchor was about 4 metres above me. Sweating out most of my energy reserves on the move I just completed, I was not sure that I had enough jam to make it to the top. There was no way though,  that I was not at least going to try.

By the time I had used up every bit of my strength, I had spent a good 20 minutes on the rock closest to the last bolt. I worked out the moves I thought might work to complete the climb, but by that time, 4 metres look awfully far and I was awfully scared. Not wanting to go any further but kicking myself for feeling that way, I aired on the side of safety and replaced my quick-draw with a screw-gate caribiner and had Nolan lower me to the ground. Once my feet were firmly set down to earth, I looked up at the piece of gear I had to abandon and my heart sunk deep into my stomach. Nolan, who had recently gained a bunch of courage from completing a number of lead climbs (including his first ever) and seriously dominating the rock, decided to give this heinous climb a go.  Unfortunately, he only made it as far as I did.

It was an exhausting day for both of us, so we packed it in and headed back to the beach to grab some roasted corn from a beach vendor, and swim off our defeat in the nearby sea. Breathing in the salty air and becoming satiated with smoky corn, we both decided that we would just have to come back and try the climb again another day. Some time in the future perhaps when we are both better climbers, we will go back and we will finish what we started.

*polished – a term used to describe very smooth rock on a rock-climbing route. Polishing usually occurs when a  route is climbed quite often and becomes slick making the climbing on that rock more difficult.

**grades – a climbing grade is given to a route that concisely describes the difficulty and the danger of the route. Climbing grades are inherently subjective as they are the opinion of one or few climbers who initially created the route or were the first to ascend it.

***beta – information about a route. Beta may be in the form of verbal or written advice on the techniques used (as found in a guide book with descriptions on routes and the rating of difficulty assigned to the route) or in watching another climber make the moves.

****flash – to complete a climbing route on the first try without falling or resting upon the rope.

*****rappel – the act of self belaying down the length of a rope to descend.

******chalk – a white drying agent used to keep a climber’s hands dry. Sometimes called “white courage”.

*******quick-draw – composed of 2 caribiners connected by a webbing (usually) or rope. Quick-draws are used to link elements of protection, or more commonly, to link the rope to a piece of protection such as a bolt.