Mandatory Time Away

Khajuraho

emmavh2010 — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 23:15:00 GMT

Khajuraho

December 8^th to 10^th

It’s difficult to wander amongst the magnificent temples of Khajuraho without indulging your inner adolescent and smirking somewhat at the illustrative erotic tableaus. For a country where a glimpse of more than a woman’s face, hands and feet can seem scandalous and kissing onscreen is still taboo the carvings of Khajuraho are a beautiful and bizarre affront to the modesty of everyday life.

We arrived in the overnight train from Delhi travelling again in 3 tier a/c class which hands out blankets thus ensuring a reasonable nights sleep unlike the sleeper train which in the north resembles a refrigerated box in desperate need of an antiseptic clean. We have three days in Khajuraho owing to the train timetable and frankly one or two days is probably all that is needed however as we have three I shall endeavor to see if I can find a more bizarre carving than the man sodomizing a horse that appears on the base of Lakshmana Temple. The western group of temples which we visited yesterday are the largest and best preserved and even without the erotic carvings that sheer splendid of the architecture and mastery of the design is worth a visit but of course it is the intertwined figures that have made Khajuraho famous. The temples were rediscovered in the early 1800s by a passing British soldier and their purpose remains in debate. One suggestion is that tableau are intended as a guide to love making similar to the infamous Kama Sutra however given that many of the carvings show a couple requiring attendents to achieve their position I find that argument somewhat dubious, of course I do not pretend to be any sort of expert on roles of servants in ancient india.

Rajasthan

emmavh2010 — Tue, 7 Dec 2010 23:12:00 GMT

Rajasthan – Jodhpur, Jaiselmer and Jaipur

November 24^th to December 2nd

Rajasthan or the Princely state is the most heavily trafficked area by tourists owing to its remarkable forts, palaces and general beauty. We arrived in Jodphur the blue city (so called for the blue wash used on most of the buildings to thwart termites) after what was unfortunately the worst train ride yet in India. Jodphur is an old city and as such has the narrow higgledy-piggledy streets crammed with stalls and occasional temples that you walk along competing for space with motorbikes, auto rickshaws and the highest population of cows I’ve seen yet in India. We ended up spending six days in Jodphur as it offers some of the best shopping we’d seen yet and frankly we have so far been quite restrained in our purchases equally we moved to the lovely Veggi guesthouse a family run haveli which with home cooked meals and a pleasant ambience was hard to leave.

We visited the majestic Meherangarh Fort which rises above the angular blue lines of the rooftops of Jodphur and is the most elaborate of the Rajasthan Forts. Passing through the gates you see the orange handprints of the departing Queens and concubines who after the death of the Maharaja would perform the traditional (now outlawed) rite of Sati which is throwing yourself onto the funeral pyre of your husband. According to the audio tour the queens piously and quietly immolated in the fire, having yelped, sworn and whimpered when I’ve received even the most minor of burns I find this composed silence whilst being burnt alive somewhat fanciful. The fort itself is remarkable with beautiful artifacts from the glory days of the Maharaja on display including Elephant Seats, weaponry and palanquins. There was a short film on the current Maharaja which displayed some of the worst editing I’ve seen (almost everyone being cut off in the middle of their sentences) but on the upside some of the most elaborate eye make up on the son of the maharaja.

However mostly in Jodphur we shopped seeking out traditional embroided bedspreads (with mirrors, sparkly!) and giving in again to the allure of buying unnecessary scarves. Shopping in India like Asia is an exhausting and amusing game of haggling as you attempt to ensure a half decent price which is particularly hard when you aren’t exactly sure what that should be. As we were looking for embroidery each shop proclaimed the great skill of its artisans who were of course blind virgin widows from a village tribe that only make this unique design for their shop each monsoon as they fast in religious observance the rest of the year…naturally we would see the same design at the next store. In between shopping I discovered the glory of the cardamom lassi from the Om stall in the centre of the market which soon became a daily ritual slurping down the rich creamy yoghurt whilst watching the havoc a large population of cattle causes in a city centre. For example, it is not exactly attractive nor practical to have a bull attempt to mate an unwilling cow in the middle of the crowded market although in fairness it is very funny to watch everyone scatter.

Moving on from Jodphur we caught the bus to Jaiselmer which thankfully we boarded early enough to ensure a seat and did not end up wedged in the aisle. Arriving mid afternoon we checked into the beautifully decorated Shahi Palace and explored another fort, this time the golden fort so named for it’s golden hues of the sandstone before having a quiet night in anticipation of our CAMEL SAFARI the next day. Like using trekking instead of walking, adding safari to any activity makes it appear infinitly more exciting and dangerous. We arose the next morning and headed out in a jeep with Priya (British India girl who had been at Veggi guesthouse with us) and four very hungover English guys. After checking out some temples and pulling over from an emergency omelette for the English guys, we met our camels. Having been on Camel Rides, nay Camel SAFARIs twice before (though not long ones) I nevertheless continue to be astounded by the digestive issues of camels and can only assume that it is their relatively low population that keeps them from being the focus of global warming concerns about methane. For the SAFARI each camel is attached to the next by a short rope meaning you are always close enough to experiences the sounds and smells from both ends of the camel which continued to elicit giggles, gags and extraordinarily lame jokes throughout the two days. We traversed the arid scrub land for an hour before retiring for a freshly cooked lunch which gave our ill used legs a much needed rest. I quickly discovered on the SAFARI that my legs were not made for sitting astride a camel, by the time we reached the dunes that were to be our resting stop for the evening my legs were cramping and alighting from the camel without falling was only just achieved. Speaking of alighting, whilst the myriad of small boys who accompanied us warned us to hold tight whilst the camel stood up I was not entirely prepared for the jerking forward and down at an alarming rate that constituted the camel sitting down.

As evening drew close the sunset upon the dunes allowed for some great photo shots particularly the camel silhouette (held by one of the child labourers we had looking after us). That night we played drinking games with bad indian rum before retiring under a blanket of stars for what was a very cold very long night (stray dogs rummaging above your head whilst the wind struggles valiantly to go beneath your Odor de Camel blankets does not make for a restful evening). The next morning we heading back to the jeep with legs aching and cramping once more making me extremely thankful I did not book the three day SAFARI. We ended the afternoon admiring the view of the fort from the rooftop of Shahi Palace (highly recommended) before boarding our train to Jaipur.

We arrived in Jaipur at five in the morning and thankfully had already organized our accommodation so although our room wasn’t ready we did manage to grab a few more hours sleep on the couches of Sunder Palace our home for the next few days. Sunder Palace (again recommended) is more a mid budget option however we managed to get a room for 350 rupees which turned out to be a small shed down the side of the actual hotel which nevertheless was comfortable with sheets and towels (a rarity) and the smallest bathroom yet (not quite a metre wide and only about one and a half metres long). Jaipur I had been before so mostly I just wander the bazaars and treated myself to some birthday jewellery. We did however check out the city palace (which I’d been to before but was keen to visit the onsite palm reader). The palm reader spoke reasonable English but I was still unable exactly understand whether I would be getting married between the ages of 29-30 or I simply should be because that was the best time for me to be married either way it seems I should probably get a move on given that small timeframe. Thankfully he just told me relatively good news which surprised me as apparently many of the fortune tellers in India do not shy away from the negative.

Photos: Indian Wedding!

emmavh2010 — Sun, 7 Nov 2010 23:25:00 GMT

Veena and Seshan's wedding in Coimbatore

Myanmar Part 2

emmavh2010 — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 23:09:00 GMT

PART 2

After an exquisite dinner of shan noodle soup for a budget breaking 50 cents we organized our trek through guesthouse Golden Lily to depart the next day with guide Rambo Singh and cook to make our way the fifty kms to Inle Lake. Our first destination was a nearby village home to one of the few remaining shamans where we would be having lunch. Walking alongside villages, across train tracks laid in 1908 and detouring around military bases we were immersed in the sights and sounds of rural Myanmar from the bullock drawn ploughs and water Buffalo guarded by village children to Burmese men playing cards and women carting loads of produce. Water Buffalo are generally a favourite of mine, immense and docile you can often wander close to a pond before realizing these great beasts are enjoying a bath however they are certainly not docile when your path lies between a tied up mother buffalo and a stubborn calf who has chosen to slumber on a patch of grass on the opposite side of the path. After attempts to encourage the baby buffalo to move closer to mum failed we heeded the warning of the mother buffalo as she threatening cocked her head in our direction displaying her rather impressive horns. Lunchtime arrived and we met the medicine man the last of a generation as his son has chosen not to continue the family tradition of being a shaman. I was brave enough to try some of the herbs designed to provide energy and the most incredible wild honey I have ever tasted.

We headed on towards our first nights’ accommodation in a small village where we were put up by a local family. Dinner proved to be an enormous variety of delicious dishes and aside from an ill-advised venture without a torch to try find the outdoor toilet the night passed peacefully and we soon set off the towards our second nights’ accommodation at a monastery. The second day past with more beautiful scenery of farmland and some interesting villages including the traditional PAAA people who wear turbans and clothing without stitches. Unfortunately as the day drew on the low cloud that had accompanied us from Kalaw spilled over into rain and most of the afternoon was spent trudging through red mud which built up on the sole of your shoe until you felt as if you were wearing stilettos and were forced to try to find some stick or rock with which to attempt to scrap it off to a more reasonable kitten heel. Our second night’s accommodation was a working monastery which was large and wooden with an unfortunate odor of cat urine. Again we gorged on a momentous meal prepared especially for us and watched as the villagers gathered to watch a movie on the 30cm screen television. The next morning we briefly spoke to the head monk before making our final trek to Inle lake where we arrived soaked as showers again found us. We made our way across the lake which was still shrouded in cloud from the showers keeping an eye out for the bizarre one legged row of the inle lake inhabitants, literally the boatman will stand at the rear of the boat and in a posture that would be sure to send me into the water immediately use his right leg to propel the oar forward and move the boat.

As my flight back to Rangoon was set for the next afternoon I had only the morning at the lake and so I organized myself an early morning tour which ended up being just me on the boat (which I suspect led many of the vendors to assume I was rich and the other tourists to assume I had no friends). The tour took me around the lake which houses a number of industry including silversmiths, hand weaving and cigarette making. The silversmith still used a hand propelled pump to heat the fire and thus melt the silver, whilst the wearing was all on looms operated by village women. The cigarettes which the vendor was most upset to find I didn’t smoke had differing flavours such as apple and aniseed and have such a thick covering as to require them to be pared with a knife to smoke. Finally we visited one of the more famous temples on the lake (of course this being Myanmar there were a number of Pagodas, temples and Stupas around) which is the jumping cat temple so named for its jumping cats. Imagining a temple overrun with cats in much the manner that the monkey temples of ubud are full of greedy monkeys I was at least in part correct. Whilst the cats do not leap up on one like the monkeys of ubud there are many of them lounging around or sleeping on sombreros whilst steadfastly ignoring my entreaties at friendship. The jumping cat temple name does not however come purely from the presence of the cats it comes from their performances. Yes these cats will jump up and through hoops for treats offered by handler (unless they are the brighter ones who simply sneak into the performance grab the treat and run out again as I witnessed one doing). The cat jumping performance is not entirely impressive but amusing nonetheless and the cats all seem well looked after which is a nice change from the strays of other places.

From Inle lake I headed back to Rangoon with the surprising comfortably Air Mandalay before flying back to Bangkok and onwards to Nepal.

Myanmar Part 1

emmavh2010 — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 23:07:00 GMT

Myanmar

PART 1

Sitting in Bangkok’s Khaosan road district surrounded by a sea of amusements and adornments designed and provided for today’s backpackers, Myanmar with it’s all its peculiarities already seems a somewhat distant adventure, Like waking from a strange and wonderful dream to discover the morning as ordinary as ever.

Having been abandoned by Anusha in favour of a bout of Dengue Fever I ventured alone to what I expected to be a military state with guns, police and cowering locals. Arriving in Yangon conscious of the wad of USD in my pocket (required due to the complete absence of ATMS in Myanmar) it quickly became evident that Myanmar wasn’t quite like anywhere else. Immigration was somewhat slow but did not prove any more painful than other border crossings and I soon found myself sheparded with most of the tourists from my plane onto the waiting shuttle to Motherland Inn 2 my hostel. The shuttle, a rusty shell of a bus manufactured by some minor Chinese company in the early eighties or before was to prove prescient of the modes of transport in Myanmar.

The next day with some new found friends from the hostel we set of to explore downtown Yangon including the magnificent SCHEDEGON pagoda that rises above the city with it’s’ jewel encrusted top. We first headed up the Hitachi tower for a panoramic view of the city and an overpriced diet coke (side note Coca Cola, Sprite etc are irregularly available and cost at least 4 times that of the Myanmar knockoffs Star Cola, Fantasy and Crusher so unsurprisingly most of the trip was spent discovering the variety of knockoffs available including a redbull one). Before heading to the main event the SCHEDEGON pagoda we quickly visited the Sule Pagoda as the first introduction to Myanmar’s love affair with gold leaf and distaste for dental hygiene. Upon entering the pagoda we were quickly met by a monk with astonishing ear hair and teeth that showed a life time of betel nut chewing does not a pleasant smile make. Nonetheless he showed us around the Pagoda that was littered with locals hiding out for the torrential midday showers with enthusiasm. The SCHEDOGON Pagoda was the next stop and is filled with numerous shrines both small and large with a mixture of different artistic style. The smaller shrines allowed worshippers to pray alone and if they so choose even crawl into the shrine and sit face to face with the Buddha image. The larger shrines housed gold plated Buddha’s ringed in neon lighting resembling a casino and oddly televisions placed near the Buddha statue projecting recorded images of the statue for some unclear purpose, perhaps that worshippers not in direct eye line of the statue could view it via the screen but given the propensity of statues to stay still it seemed rather pointless.

The next day I wandered Yangon admiring the fading Colonial buildings; lively street stands as well as watching the parade of men in traditional longyi (a sarong like item tied with a knot at the front) and women in traditional Burmese make up/sunscreen that resembles a yellow chalk across their cheeks. Interspersing the crumbling apartments and potholed streets are shining new houses mostly belonging to the Generals and government aligned businessmen. Along the streets fancy new four wheeled drives overtake the myriad of battered rusted out taxis but unusually for Asia no motorbikes as they have been banished from Yangon by the Generals decree after he dreamt he was shot by a motorcyclist. Along my meandering wander I saw very few police/military men far fewer than in Thailand and much less than my cursory knowledge of Myanmar had lead me to believe. Although I did not visit “The Lady” as locals surreptiously refer to the much admired Aung San Suu Kyi whose home prison is along University Street and is heavily guarded my military police. Equally surprising was the almost complete absence of other tourists even the SCHEDEGON Pagoda contained only four or five pasty westerners with cameras.

On the Road to Mandalay I elected to take the overnight bus as the train is government run and renowned for delays lasting from hours to days. The bus proved as usual freezing cold and uncomfortable enough to allow dozing but not sleeping however like most things in Myanmar it proved odd and unique even amongst the stranger bus rides in Asia. The bus had two television both playing karaoke dvds (though sadly not the Burmese singer who remakes Bon Jovi songs) until the dinner stop at 10:30 where we rolled up to a casino like restaurant with neon flashing lights attracting swarms of moths. Being as it was late I choose only to have some popcorn which clearly was not considered a sufficient meal as a lovely Burmese lady took pity on me and I ended up with a hearty dinner of home cooked fish curry, vegetables and rice. Heading back to the bus I dozed on and off until the 4:30 breakfast stop meaning I missed viewing the new capital which is built smack bang in the middle of the jungle as the General became concerned about American invaders and had astrologers advise where would be a good spot for a new capital. After breakfast a dvd of a monk saying what seemed like an especially monotonous prayer was played for the remaining two hours until we reached Mandalay.

Mandalay does not quite meet the rather romantic imagery I had in my head being as it’s a grid based town filled with motorcyclists and bicycles trying to pin you to the road and not a country estate from the novel Rebecca. I ended up with three days in Mandalay with the highlight being a motorcycle tour around the nearby ancient cities of AMURPUR, SAIGAI and ???? Myanmar is known as the land of the golden Pagoda and from the top of SAIGAI hill you can spot numerous Pagodas in every direction. Mandalay is home to over half the monks and nuns in Myanmar and you will find it hard to not spot them walking the streets with alms bowls, riding along in taxis or even watching football at the pub. AMURPUR is home to the Buddhist university and each day you can witness around 1500 monks being lining up for lunch which provides plenty of opportunities for photos though sadly I was too slow to get the monk with his ipod or the young novice monk kicking another.

Having spent some time in Asia you become suspicious of persons striking up conversations with you as invariably it leads to a request to visit a shop, buy some knickknack or simply give them money (even from monks), pleasantly in Myanmar people genuinely wished to talk to you. At Saigai hill we were invited by a monk to visit his monastery (SAIGAI surroundings are home to over 5000 monks) which turned out essentially to be a small house with a large vegetable garden where he and four other monks resided. Despite the lack of running water and electricity in his home he did provide his gmail account should we wish to keep in contact.

Leaving Mandalay behind I boarded another bus to take me to Bagan, home of over 4400 pagodas, temples, stupas and shrines. On the bus I met a wonderful American couple Michael and Charlene who were to be my companions for the days in Bagan. We began with a horse cart ride to watch the sunset. As with Angkor Wat or the Taj Mahal seeing pictures beforehand simply does not prepare you for the splendour of the valley of Bagan. An almost inconceivable preponderance of temples dot the landscape in every direction rising from amongst the goats and crops of the surrounding farmland. Size and style vary from plain brick shrines no bigger than an outside toilet to four story architectural wonders. After taking around 100 pictures most utterly failing to capture the staggering surrounds we retired for a Myanmar beer (remarkably good) in preparation for our day of cycling. Cycling is by far the best way to see Bagan as the area is mostly flat and there isn’t much traffic, between the temples some of the dirt paths can prove challenging as sandy sections will bog you down especially if you are as uncoordinated on a bike as I am. Even given my extreme lack of skill on a bike it was an amazing way to view temple after temple. We ended up with two young boys guiding us amongst the temples and to their home village where Charlene and I had our faces painted in the traditional bark sunscreen. At the end of the day we watched another sunset before making our way back to town in the dark which I wouldn’t recommend given the almost complete lack of streetlights in Bagan. The final day in Bagan I explored the family run lacquer ware stores and visited a home where the renown lacquer ware was being made (including pieces made of horse hair!).

Leaving Bagan behind I rose early to catch my 4:30a.m. bus to Kalaw where I hoped to join a hike to Inle Lake. The bus was a local bus unlike the previous coaches I had caught which meant even at only 5’6” my knees were rammed against the seat in front of me as we navigated what I can definitively say is the worst road I’ve travelled in Asia…possibly the world. Barely wider than one lane of potholed bitumen shared with giant logging trucks and frequently turning to dirt for sections the bus bumped along until around six hours in something broke. Standing by side of the road as the driver and crew stared pensively at the back wheel before retiring to a roadside phone to sit languidly and chew betel nut while making loud phone calls. As no one on the bus spoke English the small group of tourists on the bus was unclear as to what was going on until around two hours later a large truck was pulled over by the driver and the cargo strapped to the top of our broken down bus began to be moved into the truck. After two hours on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere you would assume the prospect of transport any transport would be a positive but glancing in the open topped back of the semi-trailer soon revealed a very small space for the bus passengers to stand for the remainder of their trip (which was three hours for me) between boxes and a pile of wood with nails sticking out at dubious angles. Given my lack of stability at the best of times it seemed clear to me that I would likely end up reclining in the pile of broken wood with nails puncturing me in uneven intervals. Thankfully just as I was resigned to having to explain small puncture wounds a pick-up pulled up and I and the American couple Tram and Lisa were able to negotiate a ride to Kalaw. The pick-up was a ute with two bench seats in the back facing the cabin which we were lucky enough to have to ourselves and our backpacks. Shortly after the pick-up headed off it became clear that the bumpy broken road we had experienced in the bus was simply an introduction to the jolting ride where knees became bruised and heads bashed against the low ceiling leading to a slumped tensed riding position. Thankfully after three hours with a mountain of firewood under our feet and a load of charcoal threatening to tip us over on each corner we arrived at cool tranquil Kalaw.

Cameron Highlands

emmavh2010 — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 20:18:00 GMT

July 15^th to 17^th

Cameron Highlands, Malaysia

I am enveloped in fog that has surreptiously rolled across the cluttered garden whilst I was showering and has now settled as a fine haze mingling with cigarette smoke from the nameless European backpackers. Having hiked today, enjoyed a sumptuous lunch and hot shower I am decidedly content and have no further plans than to attempt to write this blog and perhaps loll in front of the television here that offers a brief connection to all that is trivial in the world today.

We arrived in Kuala Lumpur early Thursday morning after a restless night aboard the train from Singapore. Having been on a number of overnight trains I had expected a decent night sleep only to discover that despite clean fresh beds of reasonable size the combination of heat, light and jerking movements transpired to ensure no more than 30 minutes of light sleep at a time. Heaving my bag onto my back we headed up the lift to the heart of KL central station to find our bus to the Cameron highlands, the sign on the platform said buses were on level two and the lift only went to level two so it appeared we were on a fast track to our next destination. One hour later having completed reconnaissance to each corner of the station and followed numerous competing instructions we admit defeat in the quest to find our bus which apparently lies somewhere near a seven eleven and a mobil petrol station on either the ground, first or second floor. Thankfully we head to the main bus station and book tickets for the ten thirty bus to Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands which although eliciting a concerning cacophony of creaks and groans gets us there in one piece.

Our first full day in Tanah Rata sees us booked on a 70RM tour which promises a remarkable variety of activities including trekking to see the Rafflesia which is the largest flower in the world. We are picked us in a minibus and find our group for the day is a group of twelve on tour together, 2 Dutch guys, Anusha and I and we discover that of the group there are five of us that have abandoned employment for travel which is the first time we have run into others who’ve done that. The first stop on the tour is an Aboriginal village with a blowpipe demonstration which allows me to jinx the blowpipe as each person before me had managed to hit the target and I showing my concerning lack of lung capacity prove that I would fail miserably at catching food using the blowpipe. The blowpipe is a long pipe which unsurprisingly you blow through to shoot a poisoned dart at your prey. The Aboriginal village is a little sad as most native villages seem to be when caught between the remnants of their traditional lifestyle and the dregs of modern living that they are afforded.

From the Aboriginal village we have a 4km off road drive in a jeep that has seen better days to begin our hike to the Rafflesia. Originally when I heard off road I thought nothing of it, having only vague memories of off road driving on my Uncle Rod’s farm as a child. As soon as we began I realized that I had either never actually done any off roading or had been so terrified I’d blocked the memory. The road was a dirt track that had been turned to mud from days of rain with deep jutting ridges from previous cars that created at best a bumpy ride and at worst a deathtrap hurtle with precarious slips and gravity defying tilting. I was seated in the back which comprised two bench seats facing each other with just enough space to allow you to wedge your leg against the seat in a vain attempt to stop being catapulted towards the ceiling with each bump. Being as I was in fear of my life I began to laugh hysterically which seems something of an inappropriate reaction. Eventually we arrived and each of us staggered off the jeep thankful for our lives and ready to start the jungle trek. As the day’s activities were so numerous and given any previous tours I had been on tended to overstate gentle walks as ‘treks’ I was woefully unprepared for the hike that followed. Ninety minutes of climbing encompassed steep slopes, rivers deep enough to warrant removing shoes to wade across (partly because I was not fleet footed enough to attempt to bound across the rocks jutting unevenly across) and mud. Lots of mud, red mud, orange mud, mud that appeared to be hard dirt but infact was soft enough to allow your foot to sink down to the laces, mud that splattered up onto your pants up to your knees. Eventually with sweat running down my face (briefly pausing to cling to my eyebrows like misguided dew drops) we arrived at the Rafflesia. The Rafflesia is only found in parts of south east asia and blooms for just six days, It is the largest flower in the world and upon first opening emits a powerful unpleasant odour. It is around 60cm centimeters wide, pinky orange with a spiked center and surprisingly attractive in an otherworldly manner.

After reaching the Rafflesia we begin the journey back down the muddy terrain ensuring that any inch not covered in mud receives a fine splattering and that the one shoe Ieft dry from the uphill journey gets submerged in the river. We arrive back to the jeep and after another journey where I ponder the best manner of escaping a rolled over jeep we discovered that despite having trekked uphill and through rivers and it being a mere 7 hours since breakfast there is no lunch included in the tour. From there with empty stomachs we make our way to the tea plantation which thankfully has overpriced sandwiches and beautiful vistas across the rows of tea trees. Lastly we head to a butterfly and insect garden which convinces me that visiting an area that encloses hundreds of fluttering creatures is probably not the best idea for someone who has a deep seated fear of things that flutter towards her head with malignant intent. The young guide seems to delight in each tourists reaction to the giant horned beetle that he arranges like a brooch upon their top. Admittedly I was too much of a wimp to allow a beetle that appears to have survived since prehistoric times anywhere on my top so as per the photo below I opted to hold it on the sugarcane which is it’s food and look extremely apprehensive in each picture as if it may suddenly leap on my face and start gnawing away. We finally head back to our accommodation and after a hot shower head to dinner with a cute dutch guy to discuss the different legality of drugs and fireworks in Holland, Asia and Australia.

The next morning we rise to set off on walking trail number ten which an English guy at our hostel had assured us was an easy flat path with a slight climb at the end from which I learnt a valuable lesson, NEVER trust overly tall people in respect to their description of trails. If you are two metres tall walking uphill is a lot easier than if you are normal height or at least that’s all I can figure given trail number ten consisted of an hours uphill hike to reach the summit and look out over the Cameron Highlands. Despite there being four paths heading off from the summit after attempting to walk down each of them we soon discovered a dead end at each until eventually we began a trek down what looked like a flood control rivelet. This eventually brought us to behind an electricity station where it abruptly ended leaving us to climb between the overgrown jungle and ten foot fence to reach the road. To celebrate making it out of the trekking alive we headed to “ The Olde Smokehouse” for the best roast beef I’ve had in a long time and to bring down the standard of clientele (the ppl at the table next to us enquired about helicopters back to KL).

Tomorrow we head to Teman Negara to attempt to see Elephants and other wildlife.

Mt kinabalu - June 17th-18th

emmavh2010 — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 20:13:00 GMT

June 17^th and 18^th

Mount Kinabalu (retrospective)

The climb to Mt Kinabalu is 8.7km and apparently one of the easiest peaks to summit, accessible even for ppl with an average level of fitness. Schoolchildren and seniors are announced by the guidebook as able to make this climb which reputably means that I the intrepid backpacker should have no issues…however having played hockey against 14yrs and watched elderly Chinese women stride past my panting lumbering self on the way up the peak I was in no way confident that the success of school kids and seniors in any way implies that I will reach the summit.

Given I have never understood the drive of mountaineers, pant breathlessly when faced with more than 15 stairs and had not done anything vaguely resembling preparation I awoke on the morning of June 17^th more than a little confused and frightened about what I had signed myself up for. Each climbing group must have a guide and after looking us over the guide desk assigned us a man of advancing age with an impressive beard. After a short bus ride to the start of the mountain trail we pick up our wooden walking sticks and after pausing to admire the times of the 2009 mt kinabalu challenge winner (a mere 2 hours 20minutes) we begin the six kilometer hike to Laban Rata our overnight rest stop.

The guidebook states that the climb is 97% uphill, something I had apparently glossed over when deciding that climbing It was a good idea, very soon it becomes apparent that 3% of level hiking over 8,7km is in no way shape or form sufficient. Anusha and I quickly established we walked at differing paces and I found myself wandering ahead alone as I was certain that the only way I would reach the top was to get as much done as I possibly could as quickly as possible (bear in mind my ‘quick’ pace is still sufficiently slow as to allow a large proportion of climbers to overtake me, however thankfully unlike my last ten km run, none of them were dressed as fairies). The first three kilometers pass uneventfully as I play a continual game of overtaking a bunch of girls from KL only to have them overtake me. Every 500m a sign announces your achievement of having climbed higher and despite my desperate need for validation that my lumbering was getting me somewhere I still managed to miss a few of the signs and panic that I in fact had ceased moving at all. Thankfully it turns out that even a snail’s pace will move you forward and I made my way past the 4km sign only to be confronted with a barren slope of rockface with no obvious footholds that signaled that what had come before was only a taste of the terrain to come. Thankful that I wasn’t wearing crocs or socks and sandals as some other misguided trekkers, I still managed to slip and slide over the rocky terrain as my tiredness began to wear my already ragged breathing down. The last kilometer saw me climbing at a pace that can only be described as pre-global warming glacial although thankfully by this stage other hikers were equally slow and only the porters remained as a contrast to my staggered pace. As Laban Rata (the reststop) has no connecting roads all supplies are carried in by porters who leap from step to step with unbridled energy despite the giant packs of supplies upon their narrow shoulders. The porters are mostly young men however women and oddly children also rush past carrying up to 80kgs of supplies or other trekkers backpacks.

Laban Rata was finally reached around 2pm and as I sat down to a late lunch and hot water (no tea as it was obscenely expensive…although in fairness anything that was bought up 6km of mountain track deserves something of a price hike) I was soon to discover my trek was not yet over. Anusha and I had booked the unheated dorm being as it was the only available space remaining, I had been a little concerned that the lack of heating would be an issue but I was assured plenty of blankets were provided, what was not clarified was that the unheated dorm was another ten minute trek from laban rata. If there is one way to guarantee murderous rage it is to blithely announced to an exhausted, sweaty hiker armed with a large stick that the accommodation is a further uphill trek. Thankfully due to my immense self control and utter exhaustion I merely nodded and slowly (very slowly) made my way to our overnight accommodation.

The next morning at two thirty a.m. we arranged to meet our guide outside our accommodation so as to avoid any extra hiking and began the 2.7km trek to the summit. Anusha who decided to give the morning hike a try despite altitude sickness soon succumbed to dizziness and headed back to our dorm. I continued and discovered that I do not in any way shape or form enjoy hauling myself up ropes, the first kilometer of the day was a series of steep unrelenting steps and rocks before a rope section that for someone unfit and portly was an unique form of torture (although thankfully in the dark I could not see the steep drops besides the ropes I was struggling with). Oddly despite my frequent questioning of our mountain guide regarding if the hiking got easier he did not give a straight answer which disheartened me somewhat and I resolved to push myself until I could push no further but began to accept I may not make my goal of the summit. As we hit 7km you pass a small hut where a man checks your mountain pass and surprisingly the terrain began to flatten, my pacing improved and the next 1.7km passed relatively uneventfully until I found myself clambering up the rocky peak to overlook the scenery of Mt Kinabalu from Low’s peak!!!!

I arrived just in time for sunrise and watched the mountain be slowly lit by the sun as the low cloud clung to it’s sides. I managed to convince some of my fellow hikers to take a number of unflattering pictures of myself wrapped around the summit sign ecstatic that despite sounding like a wounded rhinoceros and frankly moving like one I still managed to make the peak!. As my breakfast had been an apple and a few biscuits and I hadn’t much sleep I blame this along with the exhaustion from the hike and the lack of oxygen as why I chose to leave my dorky bucket hat and headtorch on in each photo.

I think what is generally avoided in discussions of mountain hiking is that once you reach the summit you have to walk all the way down again, logically this makes sense but somehow in the rush to reach the peak it never fully factors into one’s mind. Standing at the top of mt Kinabalu it dawned on me that I would have to now walk 8.7km downhill and that this might actually be worse than the uphill. The first downhill section passed quickly and then as if realizing I’d had a pretty good run on the mountain, it began to rain. The rain was light and brief, just sufficient to create a non-stick surface over the mountain. I soon discovered that going down the ropes was about as fun as going up and that the stairs covered in a gloss of rain where far less enjoyable on the way down, surprisingly I managed only one spectacular fall and soon I found myself back at laban rata with only 6km to climb down.

I met Anusha and after a languid breakfast we began our descent which as expected soon proved almost as bad as the ascent. The slippery rocks and general lack of balance and coordination made it slow going and soon the distance markers I had relied on so much on the way up to convince me I was still moving became equally important. I had expected the descent to be quicker than the climb and was surprised to find it wasn’t that much different and that soon my knees began to groan and whimper in overuse. Even on the final stretch with just a kilometer to go I could not summon the enthusiasm to move faster and it was only as we exited and returned our walking sticks that I realized we were done and with that a new wave of energy carried me forward.

The days following Mt Kinabalu can only be described as blissfully inactive, we returned to Kota Kinabalu and our base camp of explorer backpackers. Staggering like old women and groaning with each stair climbed and descended we made our way to a number of massages and movies before booking our flights to Miri to hit up Niah Caves.

Photos: Komodo

emmavh2010 — Wed, 7 Jul 2010 19:46:00 GMT

Dragons!

Photos: Mt Kinabalu and Niah Caves

emmavh2010 — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 19:27:00 GMT

The triumph of the summit

Photos: Borneo, Sabah

emmavh2010 — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 22:35:00 GMT

Kota Kinabalu, Semporna , Kinabatangan River

Borneo - Uncle Tans Jungle Safari June 12-14

emmavh2010 — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 22:27:00 GMT

Part II

June 12 -14, 2010

Kinabatangan River, Sabah, Borneo

Uncle Tans 3D/2N Jungle Safari RM 380

The Kinabatangan river is famous as it has 10 species of primates that live there as well as numerous wild cats (civets), birdlife, spectacular frogs and insects and apparently a herd of pygmy elephants. Sadly we didn’t see the pygmy elephants and not because as I had imagined they are small and easily hidden amongst the shrubbery (pygmy is infact a complete misnomer as they are only small compared to regular elephants and in no way able to fit in your carrier luggage). We (our group of 16 including couples from Oz, Spain, France, Sweden and some dutch skinheads) began our adventure with a 90min bus ride and one hour speed boat trip (where showing early favouritism only one boat was given life jackets to wear, needless to say it wasn’t ours).

Uncle Tans makes no apologies for the fact that there river base camp is not luxurious, I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting but our accommodation appeared to a ramshackle collection of chicken sheds with foam mattresses on the ground protected by mosquito nets as our beds. Being in the heat and humidity of Borneo I had been studiously drinking water to avoid dehydration however after a visit the toilet and shower block I resolved to remain parched over the next 3 days. The toilets flushed by emptying a bucket of brown water pumped from the river into them, this bucket of water was also how one was expected to shower and although I had already had bucket showers in Semporna I do believe bathing in water that looks more dirty than you do defeats the purpose entirely. As such I trialed a combination of the ‘italian shower’ (frequent reapplication of deodorant) and the lesser known ‘Borneo Shower’ consisting of frequent reapplication of insect repellent which worked for the 3d/2n itinery but wouldn’t be recommended for longer or in fact for among the general populace. The toilets were of course home to a variety of insect life, huntsman spiders and one rather pleased looking frog surveying the world from on top of the water tank.

Our activities included one night cruise, one evening cruise and two morning cruises along the river in search for the many primates, birds and the falsely named pygmy elephants as well as two treks one in the daytime and one at night. On the first cruise our river guide Loy managed to point out crocodiles, long tail macaques, oriental hornbills and a group of Probiscus Monkeys which are only found in Borneo. Unfortunately due to the limitations of my camera and photography skills my photos seem to imply that Kinabatangan is home to a large variety of bloblike creatures that reside in trees. I hadn’t bought binoculars but luckily the other couples on the boat had and the French couple kindly let me look through their set so I could actually make out the animals in good detail. The Proboscus Monkey is the big nose monkey with a large rounded belly, it cannot burp or fart so if it eats to ripe fruit that gives off gas it can die as It’s belly will burst which seems a rather inelegant way to go.

The next morning we rose early to jump in the boat to attempt to spot more animals and the highlight was finding an Orangutan feasting on figs close enough to the side of the river that we were able to jump out of the boat and observe up close, the orangutan seemed remarkably at ease with the jungle paparazzi surrounding him. We also found gibbons, more macaques and more birdlife. The two jungle treks allowed us to see some of the smaller inhabitants of the jungle, i.e. the insects, birds and frogs. The night trek proved the most interesting with some great frogs and a bizarre headless bird as well as a very cute fruit bat.

The evening cruise ended unceremoniously in a torrential downpour that allowed our cheapo ponchos a chance to get wet on the outside but stopped us from finding any flying foxes.

Tomorrow we head to mount Kinabalu to attempt to make the summit, given my appalling fitness level and utter lack of preparation, I’m just hoping to not be overtaken by more than 10 spritely geriatrics. Wish me luck!

The beginnings of Borneo

emmavh2010 — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 22:54:00 GMT

June 14^th, 2010

Sepilok, Sabah, Borneo

Part I

And so it begins, as with all worthy resolutions procrastination is the key to success and as such this blog is coming to you (or rather me as I suspect my adoring audience will in fact be limited to myself and possibly the occasional insomniac web trawler) one week into my travels.

I’m currently in Sepilok, Borneo using wifi in our hotel café where I suspect the tablecloth exists solely to grant privacy to the mosquitoes feasting on my legs however given I am now in the vicinity of a real shower that does not in any way involve brown river water I am content to allow the mosquitoes their privacy. Hard to believe that only one week ago I was enjoying a resort style accommodation in Singapore and that two weeks have passed since I bid farewell to Hong Kong with suitably ridiculous attire and dancing.

The first leg of our trip is Borneo which will be Sabah, Brunei and Sarawak before heading to Bali. So far I have swum with enormous sea turtles , been caught utterly unprepared for a tropic shower that lead to walking around downtown kota kinabalu in a plastic poncho that was only wet on the inside from being put over wet clothes as a last ditch effort to avoid getting more soaked only for it to stop raining and have me wander about resembling a garbage bag with a condensation problem, learnt never to attempt to use the toilet on a bus being driven along a windy road at speed (especially when said toilet is pitch black), watched the sunset over the kinabantagan river and pondered coming back in the next life as an orangutan after observing the serene life of fig eating.

We started from Kota Kinabalu which is one of the larger cities in Borneo but in terms of tourism, mostly functions as a launching pad for expeditions to other parts of Sabah. We exhausted most of the things to see on the first day including the interesting museum of Sabah and the signal hill lookout (which is not the highest point in KK so do not start wandering up random streets trying to find it as you may end up like us being chased away but some rather unwelcoming pitbulls), day two saw us taking the ferry over to Tunku Abdul Rahmen National Park which has a number of pleasant islands to laze around the beach and snorkel or get completely soaked in the not entirely unexpected tropical shower (the deep grey clouds should really have given it all away) and end up in the aforementioned plastic garbage with condensation attire in down town.

Given that travelling to Borneo is really about the nature (although hopefully not the frightening large horned beetle/cockroach hybrids that the museum showed were in abundance in Borneo) we headed to Semporna to try our luck at diving Sipidan. We took the overnight bus, giving us ten hours to slowly freeze in the artic air conditioning whilst hurtling along the mountain roads. Arriving at 4am in Semporna we discovered you need to have a permit in advance to dive Sipadan. However we instead dived Mabul and Kapalai island with Scuba Junkie and our great instructors Paul and Vlad (who almost had me sold on Bermuda as a possible post travel abode until he mentioned the GIANT COCKROACHES that reside there). The dive sites had an abundances of coral, fish and small marine life such as nudibranches (however you spell that), most exciting were the giant turtles that seemed remarkably unperturbed by our presence.

As an entire day had been spent diving in the crystalline waters off Mabul it seemed reasonable that we should forsake clean water for a few days and head out to Kinabatangan River for a jungle safari.