Temporarily Averting Death By Cubicle

Photos: Jodhpur

toomanyllamas — Tue, 16 Nov 2010 02:18:00 GMT

Scenes from the blue city, the Jodhpur Fort and the Hindu and Jain temples in Ossian

Photos: India - Amritsar and Dharamshala

toomanyllamas — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 02:14:00 GMT

INDIA - Amritsar and Dharamshala

toomanyllamas — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 02:09:00 GMT

We travelled by Sleeper Class on the train to Amritsar. There was no way to prevent cold air from entering the compartment; even with all the windows shut, we were freezing and very uncomfortable, so our room at the Grand opposite the Amritsar railway station was a very welcome surprise as it seemed to be heated. There wasn’t any obvious heating equipment visible and we certainly weren’t paying much for the room, so I’m not sure what caused the room to be so toasty…it’s probably hot as a furnace in summer.

We went to the town of Wagah in the evening to watch the closing of the Indo-Pakistan border, an entertaining spectacle held every day. There was much revelry on the Indian side; patriotic Bollywood tunes blared from the loudspeakers and people danced in the border complex. All the while, soldiers in funky headgear and uniforms patrolled the crowd. The ceremony itself was very comical; two soldiers on both sides yelled simultaneously, each trying to drown out the other’s voice. There was foot-stamping, aggressive marching, and displays of bravado. Finally, the flags of both countries were lowered and with a firm handshake, the gates on each side were slammed shut.

From Wagah, we went to the Golden Temple, which was very exciting; I have wanted to visit the Golden Temple ever since I saw a picture of it on a postcard many years ago. It was stunning at night, beautifully lit, gleaming golden, and incredibly atmospheric. It was all that I had imagined it would be. Verses from the Holy Book are sung continuously; hence the temple complex has a very peaceful and reverential mood. We had a tasty dinner at the communal kitchen and headed back to the guesthouse, eager to come back again the following day.

The next day, after a deliciously oily breakfast of aloo parathas at a roadside dhaba, we headed back to the Golden Temple and spent the better part of the day there. We visited the museum and lined up for an hour to enter the Harmandir which gave me plenty of time to study the beautiful paintings on the marble and the silver work on the doors. The Harmandir itself is spectacular inside; the Holy Book is placed on a platform on the ground floor and the marble walls are covered with gilt, mirrors, and designs of flora and fauna made with precious stones.

You can’t help but be affected by the Golden Temple; it is immensely spiritual, but in a country that has innumerable places of pilgrimage and worship, it is a refreshing change to visit a holy place that is actually conducive to prayer. Visitors aren’t harassed for donations, forced to move on while they try to pray, or restricted entry because they aren’t followers of the faith. This was my favourite place of worship; I was overwhelmed its welcoming nature, the devotion of the people and the community spirit.

Dharamshala

It was a relatively short journey from Amritsar to Dharamshala in comparison to most of our travels within India; the majority of the journeys have been at least overnight. Amritsar to Dharamshala took around 7 hours and we had to travel by train and then change to a bus. Upon arriving in McLeod Ganj, we quickly realised that we were ill-equipped for the place; it was very cold even during the day and people were walking around in coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. I had brought 2 jumpers, a shawl and thermals; however, the thermals were too thin and didn’t help much. By evening, despite wearing my thermals, both jumpers and the shawl around my neck and head, I was still bitterly cold. We were going to die.

McLeod Ganj, home of his High Holiness the Dalai Lama, is a tiny town with spectacular views, friendly people and plenty of restaurants serving delicious, and more importantly, non-Indian fare. We don’t eat Indian food regularly at home and by this stage, though I was yearning for good old Singaporean prawn mee and sliced fish soup, I was more than happy to settle for pizza and momo’s. Many people come to Dharamshala to volunteer with various organisations there, so for the first time we were able to find cafes that offered free WIFI connectivity. We ended up spending a day just hanging out in a coffee shop catching up with news and family.

We had initially planned to trek into the mountains for a few days, but had to ditch the plan considering our lack of warm clothing. Instead we did a day’s hike up to the Dhauladhar mountain range. It was a lovely trek; we passed a mountainside dotted with bleating goats, a modest temple, villages, Buddhist prayer flags, and a man taking his goat for a walk. At each increasing elevation we were rewarded with brilliant views of the valley below as well as the imposing white Dhauladhar mountains.

Photos: India - Coimbatore, Haridwar, Rishikesh

toomanyllamas — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 01:41:00 GMT

Start of the India leg of our travels

INDIA - Coimbatore to Rishikesh and Haridwar

toomanyllamas — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 01:23:00 GMT

Our journey into India began in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, where we attended the wedding of my darling friend Veenaa. Like all Indian weddings it was a big celebration, with loud music, plenty of strange and comical rituals, lots of good food, and numerous costume changes. Veenaa and my classmates from secondary school, Geraldine, Dorothy, and Rachel, also attended and we spent the days shopping. The sales people at the shops were very intrigued by our party of three Chinese girls, one white girl, and one random non-South Indian. We had no trouble getting served, although plenty of the local customers were left hanging with no one attending to them. The sales girls at one of the sari stores treated Emma like a dress-up doll, each jostling for the chance to tie her sari, which really wasn’t required as she was just trying to buy a blouse. She finally relented and was then paraded around the store all the while being told how beautiful she looked. We came away with plenty of dazzling jewellery, tinkling bangles, sparkling shoes, outfits, and henna on our hands. Veena’s wedding was on the 4^thof November, and the 5^th was Diwali; the Indian New Year and the most striking of all festivals. It is celebrated all over India and the highlight of the festival is the lighting of fireworks and firecrackers. In the days leading up to the festival we were often awakened at an ungodly hour by someone setting off deafening firecrackers outside their house to ward off evil spirits. At night, every once in a while we would hear the sound of fireworks. However, nothing could have prepared us for the magical night of November 5^th; we went up to the roof of our hotel and watched enthralled as the night sky lit up with thousands of fireworks being launched from rooftops all around us. Diwali in India needs to be experienced by all.

From Coimbatore, we set off on a ridiculously long journey over land by train to Rishikesh to begin our travels proper. 7 hours to Chennai, one day and two nights from Chennai to Delhi, 7 hours from Delhi to Haridwar, and finally, one hour on a cramped public bus to Rishikesh. The bus ride was a very interesting experience and it perfectly sums up all that intrigues, baffles, and delights me about India. As soon as we got to Haridwar, we were assured by everyone we asked that there was indeed a bus to Rishikesh which left from the bus station across the road from the train station. The bus station appeared to be more a bus graveyard than a functioning station. Haridwar is one of Hinduism’s holiest cities and numerous Hindus come to Haridwar to perform last rites. Fittingly, the buses parked in the lot also looked like they had wearily made their way to Haridwar to die - ancient pieces of tin, dented in several places, so exhausted from over-work and lack of maintenance that they seemed happy to sink slowly into the muddy, wet earth in the station. A few of them were filled with people, however, and were leaving for Delhi. I was staggered by the thought that people were willing, not only to board the decrepit vehicles, but also to undertake a tedious overnight journey in them, with no apparent fear for their personal safety. I have no doubt that, had I questioned any of them, they would have replied, “It’s fine! No tension.” In India, this is an attitude that seems to be embraced by all and sundry. I digress…No one knew where the Haridwar to Rishikesh bus was although everyone agreed that there most definitely was one. We were hanging around the depot trying to figure out the buses when suddenly, we heard loud shouting. We looked around in confusion and someone said “There’s the Rishikesh bus! It’s across the road! Hurry or you’ll miss it!” People yelled out and the conductor bounded across to where we were standing, and then helped us cross the chaotic road. The bus looked full and there were still plenty of people trying to board. Loud shouting ensued; the conductor was hollering at people to move up, people in the bus were yelling at seated passengers to move in and make room for them, others were calling out to family members to ascertain the whereabouts of luggage and children, children were calling out to parents, while all around us cars, rickshaws, trucks and cycles contributed their honks, beeps and bells to the din. Emma and I finally boarded the bus, very nervously, because it looked like we would be hanging out the door. The conductor banged twice on the bus, signalling to the driver that everyone had boarded, and we were off. And then, a strange thing happened. In a matter of minutes, Emma, the conductor and I were the only people still standing. The bus, which only a few minutes before was impossibly packed, seemed to have magically expanded to fit everyone. On closer inspection, I could see that there were three people seated on seats meant for two, the rows with 4 seats accommodated 6 people, and every child was sitting on someone’s lap. A man sitting near where I was standing indicated a pile of luggage in the aisle and told me to drop my backpack there. Others started moving around bags in the overhead space to fit my smaller bag. And soon enough, I also somehow had a seat. It was remarkable. In a country of a billion plus people, there will always be more people than space to fit them comfortably. However, after the initial pushing and shoving, people usually move around and find a way to accommodate everyone.

When we finally reached Rishikesh, it was very late and we were exhausted beyond comprehension. We couldn’t find our guesthouse so we found a room at the Bombay guesthouse instead. The guy at the guesthouse was annoyingly obnoxious, and the bed was akin to a plank of wood, but I slept the restful sleep of the dead.

We changed guesthouse the next day and spent three days wandering around Rishikesh. Rishikesh is pretty great for people-watching; it’s full of large numbers of Indian pilgrims who are visiting temples, large numbers of Israeli tourists who spend days smoking up in the cafes, and large numbers of “spiritual” travellers (unfortunately I just can’t take them seriously) and hippies complete with saffron robes, dreadlocks, and ash on their foreheads. We saw a particularly weird couple who made us cringe and laugh simultaneously; they were walking majestically along the street (to the sound of surreptitious sniggers) in matching floor-length, white, shiny robes and large turbans with huge jewels on them. There was no way to get a picture. I was crushed.

We spent an evening at the Ram Jhula ghat observing women from Bihar perform rituals for the Chatth festival during which they worship the Sun God. Streamers had been hung up, women and children sat around in groups on the steps of the ghat, others prayed by the river, while the hard-core set stood waist deep in the icy cold water of the Ganges with flower offerings in their hands watching the setting sun. The ghat was a riot of colours, and one of my favourite memories of Rishikesh.

Haridwar

From Rishikesh we headed back to Haridwar and spent the day there before boarding the train to Amritsar. Like all very old cities, Haridwar is comprised of numerous narrow streets and lanes, constructed in a time before automobiles and buses. Now, the roads are choked with traffic – vehicular and pedestrian - and the city has grown without the infrastructure growing with it. When we were there I felt that it was ridiculously crowded; however, we weren’t in Haridwar during any major festivals. The Kumbh Mela pilgrimage was held in 2010 in Haridwar over a period of 4 months; during that period almost 40 million people visited the town. I honestly cannot imagine what Haridwar must have been like at that time.

We headed to the main ghat to watch the Ganga puja (prayer to the Ganges River) which is held every evening. There are many little temples to various gods built at the ghat, and it was a hive of activity. The Ganges is a sacred river; many people were taking a dip in the water, some were filling plastic bottles with holy water, and many others were floating earthen lamps and garlands of flowers down the river. A family was praying together with a priest by the river bank, and numerous people were standing around or sitting on the steps of the ghat waiting for the evening prayers to begin.

The prayers started once the sun set. Priests lit oil lamps and held them aloft, and a hymn played from the loudspeakers around the ghat. People clapped and sang along and fifteen minutes later it was all over. As we headed back towards the train station, we came across a procession. I initially thought it was a lavish wedding due to the marching band and loudspeakers, but it turned out to be a procession from a Gurudwara, complete with a painted elephant with its head covered.

My Photo scholarship 2010 entry

toomanyllamas — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 13:00:00 GMT

My 5 photos were taken in September 2010 at the Elephant Nature Park in Thailand, where I volunteered for a week. The Park is a conservation project with the aim of saving the Asian elephant from extinction, providing a rescue centre and sanctuary for abused elephants and other animals, and extending free medical care for elephants involved in tourism and logging activities. I was very moved by Lek, the founder of the Park, and her indefatigable commitment to the Asian elephant, and by the optimism and dedication of the Park’s employees and mahoots. However, most inspiring were the animals themselves, most of who had been rescued from atrocious conditions and grievous abuse, and bore the physical scars of their previous lives. These animals had no reason to trust humans, yet the majority of them were very friendly and playful. As usual, I was astounded by the spirited nature of animals. I hope my photos reflect how much vital work the Park is doing, and how conducive the environment is for the animals that reside there. My fascination with photography began when I was very young, watching my dad with his camera. I love how a good photograph can transport you to where it was taken, give you a sense of time and place, and communicate a story usually more powerfully than words. Photography makes me extremely happy and is the perfect accompaniment to my insatiable wanderlust. I would love to work as a professional photographer, but for now I hope to become good enough to volunteer as a photographer with non-profit organisations and provide photos for their marketing and websites. Winning this photography scholarship would be tantamount to a dream come true; I know my skills would develop by leaps and bounds just being around Jason and watching him work.

Photos: Elephant Nature Park 2 - Chiang Mai, Thailand

toomanyllamas — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 15:35:00 GMT

Photos: Elephant Nature Park - Chiang Mai, Thailand

toomanyllamas — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 15:24:00 GMT

We spent a week volunteering at the Elephant Nature Park. It was such a wonderful experience, one to be repeated over and over!

Rantau Abang

toomanyllamas — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 12:20:00 GMT

I wrote this last week on the beach, but had to wait till we had internet access to post it. _____________________________________________________________________________________

It’s getting to that stage in our trip where I can no longer keep track of what day of the week it is or the date. I know we’re still in the month of July and I have a vague idea that it is somewhere close to the end of the month, but that’s about it. The days are all blending together; Monday and Friday feel exactly the same, which is quite surreal.

My view at the moment is uninterrupted beach and a vast blue-green sea, stretching out infinitely, making it possible to imagine why people once thought the world was flat. I can see a boat far out on the horizon and the faint outlines of two islands.

We’re in the little town of Rantau Abang in Terengganu, which is a coastal town. The beach in Rantau Abang is only one of a handful of other beaches in the world where the giant Leatherback Turtle comes each year to nest. Other than the Leatherback, the beach is also visited by the Green, Hawksbill, and Olive Ridley Turtles.

We had very optimistically hoped to be able to see a nesting turtle since it is currently the nesting season, but the chances of that happening are slim to none. Not only does the beach stretch for 15 km, but the numbers of turtles coming on shore to nest are so low, (most turtle species are endangered, and the Leatherback turtles are critically endangered) they are pretty much at zero. It’s a very depressing statistic considering that there were around 10,000 nestings per season in the 1950’s. The staff at the chalet we are staying at were telling us today how, just 20 years ago, you could see the turtles coming up on shore right outside the chalets. The beach would be full of people but the turtles would be completely unperturbed by the crowds.

Still, coming out to Rantau Abang hasn’t been in vain – this is the first, and probably the last time that we will have a beach all to ourselves with no tourists in sight, where the sound of the waves crashing onto shore is not drowned out by a cacophony of reggae or hip-hop beats, where the beach is dark at night, illuminated by the moon instead of thousands of twinkling disco lights from beach bars, and where there isn’t the constant roaring noise of motor boats or the overwhelming smell of petrol. Our chalet room is cheap, only RM 40 per night and we’re in no hurry to get to a new destination. And on that note, I can’t ignore the water any longer; I’m going swimming.

From Singapore onwards to Malaysia

toomanyllamas — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 11:57:00 GMT

The first stop on the next leg of our trip was to be Cameron Highlands in Malaysia. I was very excited by the idea of going to Malaysia on the overnight train from Singapore as trains are one of my favourite modes of transportation. I never get bored on trains even if the journey stretches over days, and I always manage to sleep very comfortably. Alas, the Singapore to Malaysia train fell short of providing me with the enjoyable travel experience that I had hoped for.

The journey started alright enough; the train looked good and our sleeping bunks seemed comfortable. However, we were mystified by the lack of arrangement for any luggage storage – there was no space under the seats, and neither were there any shelves near the ceiling. People just left their bags in the aisle of the compartment, which explains why the lights in the aisle were never switched off throughout the night. We had to store our daypacks on our bunks near our feet so the bunk was very cramped, which made me wonder how the giant people I had seen getting into another compartment managed to make it through the night.

We became aware of other problems once the train started moving. I guess the train was extremely well-sprung – I was plagued by the uncomfortable sensation that our compartment was going to bounce off the rails at any moment. It oscillated treacherously accompanied by distressing creaks and groans. I tried to ignore the swaying and go to sleep but this was impossible due to the aforementioned lights in the compartment, which shone directly into my eyes. Luckily there was a curtain which I could draw across my bunk and this helped to keep most of the light out, so I was able to sleep for a while.

I awoke suddenly an hour or two later feeling like I was suffocating. My bunk was dark and stiflingly hot and I had this vague notion that I had been entombed. It turned out that the air conditioning ducts were also in the aisle, along with the lights, and by drawing the curtains around my bunk I had managed to shut off my exposure to air. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night staring out of the window into the darkness.

We finally arrived in Kuala Lumpur early in the morning, worn and weary, and eager to get to Cameron Highlands. We were feeling pretty good about our chances; we had done our research and knew that it was possible to get on a bus to our destination from the train station itself. One hour later we had walked every inch of the station and consulted at least 10 different people including the girl at the information counter who had all assured us that the bus we were looking for was indeed there; we just had to go out to the Mobil station. We finally gave up once we realised that, based on the directions we had been given, the way to the buses could be either on the first, second, or third level of the station, maybe all three, maybe none, or maybe on a secret halfway level like platform 9 and Three Quarters for the Hogwarts Train. We were now worn, weary and irascible.

In the end, we caught a bus from the main bus station and reached Cameron Highlands at around 4 pm, our spirits buoyed by the cool, crisp air. It was so refreshing to be somewhere that didn’t feel like the inside of an oven. We settled into the Twin Pines Hostel, ate a quick dinner, and then proceeded to sleep the sleep of the dead till the next day.

We had signed up for a full day tour the next day, which was to include a trek into the jungle to see the famous gigantic Rafflesia flower which only blooms for six days. We were also going to visit an aboriginal village, a tea plantation, a butterfly and insect farm, and a strawberry plantation. I discovered that I would be an asset in the jungle due to my skill with a blowpipe (no blowing-related jokes please, they are too obvious), and should Emma and I get lost in Taman Negara, I will have to hunt for both of us as she was rubbish. I can now add this skill to my ever-expanding list of utterly useless accomplishments and talents right below ‘ace at downing Jaeger bombs’.

After you have travelled for a while and done a couple of day trips, you start to realise how much embellishment is used in brochures in an attempt to make a lame activity sound exciting and worthwhile. A ‘trek into the jungle’ is usually more akin to a leisurely stroll through an area that is basically a grassy knoll with some trees. In this case, it turned out that the brochure was actually understating the strenuousness of the jungle trek. It started out with 15 minutes of jolting, jaw-rattling off-roading up a steep slope. The road was narrow in width, thick with wet mud, and there were deep channels created by the tires of other off-road vehicles. There were some hair-raising moments when our jeep’s tyres would slide on the mud, and the jeep would get really close to the edge of the road, beyond which there was a sheer drop into tall trees. Emma and I were gripping the sides of the jeep, staring ahead boggle–eyed, and alternating between saying “oh my god, oh my god” and just laughing in horrified hysteria. I’m not sure why we were laughing; that is hardly the appropriate response. We made it, alive, to the starting point of the trek, but our celebration of this fact was premature since it soon became obvious that, as they had failed to kill us on the off-roading portion of the trip, the tour guides were determined to do so on the trek. We set off at a manic pace along a trail which was mostly uphill, covered with tree roots that could make you twist your ankle if you weren’t careful, and with felled tree trunks that you had to scramble over (fairly easy if you’re six feet tall with long limbs, challenging if you’re midget-sized like the majority of the group). Halfway through the trek, we had to cross a gushing river. There was no bridge so we had to step bare feet into cold water and gingerly make our way across. The guide neglected to tell us that there were leeches in the water. Luckily, I didn’t get any on me. My heart and legs were protesting in agony and threatening to mutiny, but we finally made it to the Rafflesia flower. Apart from its size the flower is also famous for emitting the odour of rotting meat as it decays, but fortuitously, it had only just bloomed a day or two before so we did not have to deal with that.

Once the jungle trek was over, the rest of the day was very relaxing. The Boh Tea plantation was very pretty although I was amused by how fancy all the Boh Tea packages were. It’s just Boh Tea; you can get it at any discount supermarket. Emma and I spent most of the time at the tea plantation talking to an Australian girl in our tour group who was studying 3D animation at Uni. Halfway through the conversation she said to us “Were you guys born in the 90’s?”

The butterfly and insect farm wasn’t very big, but there were scorpions, snakes and lizards in addition to the butterflies and insects, and the guy manning the place thought that putting big bugs and butterflies on peoples clothing or hair was a hilarious joke.

On our last day in Cameron Highlands, we decided to do a trek recommended by one of the other travellers we met at Twin Pines, and end the day with jam, cream and scones. We were told that the trek was up a hill but not very strenuous, and since the downward leg of the hike ended close to the Old Smokehouse where we were going for scones, it was perfect.

Other travellers are often the best source of information, far more than most guide books. However, when you receive information about treks or hikes, I cannot stress enough the importance of making a considered assessment of the validity of the information, especially when the person you received the information from is Dutch or Danish. Life is very different when you are 6 feet tall and have long limbs. Sure enough, after around 20 minutes Emma and I were screeching “This is a mountain! Why the fuck are we climbing a fucking mountain?! All we wanted was a pleasant hike followed by scones with jam and cream!” But no one hears you screeching when you’re in the jungle.

We finally emerged from the jungle near a power station (we’re not sure if we were following the right trail by this time), ravenous, exhausted, reeking of sweat mixed with insect repellent, and looking very attractive in our grimy t-shirts and mud stained pants. We were nowhere near the Old Smokehouse. It was a further 20 minutes’ walk away, and inevitably on the way there it started to pour. When we finally got to the Smokehouse, we proceeded to gorge ourselves silly on overpriced but very delicious food, completely cognizant of the fact that we looked and smelled like mongrels and were rapidly bringing down the prestige of the venue. Later, as we sat in the lounge area drinking coffee and animatedly discussing the intricacies of the Harry Potter books, we heard the couple near us say, “Can you come up to Cameron Highlands by helicopter?” to the owner of the Smokehouse. He replied, “Yes, you can do so. The helicopter can land on our golf course.” The couple had come to Cameron Highlands by road in a private car, but had found the journey very uncomfortable. Poor things...they must have suffered such a painful ordeal.

We left the cool of the Highlands and made our way via minivan and boat to the Taman Negara National Park, a place that I have wanted to visit for as long as I have known about it. I was very keen to spend a few days in the jungle, sleeping in hides (a platform raised high above the ground used by people to observe animals without making their presence known, NOT animal skin) and caves. However, this was not to be. Taman Negara was a furnace. It was as hot as the incinerators used for cremation, and any physical movement outdoors was enough to cause death. There is a canopy walkway high above the forest which we walked along, climbed another freaking mountain, got back to our chalet around 3 pm and proceeded to sleep until the next day because we were so drained from the exertion. The next day we spent a few hours in the afternoon scrambling through some bat caves, and then departed the next morning for the Perhentian Islands.

The Perhentian Islands were a massive disappointment, and as I was pissed off for the majority of the three days we spent there (primarily due to accommodation woes), I am not going to bother to blog about them. However, if anyone has any questions about the Perhentians, let me know.

From Bali to Singapore

toomanyllamas — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 19:05:00 GMT

After 8 days of being on a boat, it took a day for our heads to catch up to the fact that we were back on dry land, and the ground was no longer moving below our feet. We spent two more days at Simpang Inn in Legian, roaming around, getting massages and body scrubs, and trying desperately to find a by-the-kilo Laundromat. Our search was in vain; there were none to be had. In hindsight, that does make sense as the clientele that frequents Kuta and Legian leans towards the type who believe that clothing is optional when wandering around in public even though the closest beach is a good 20 minute walk away. We encountered more butt-cracks, unattractive naked torsos, and spindly arms than was necessary, regardless of whether we were out during the day walking around, or at night having dinner at a restaurant. Yes, a restaurant. Yuck.

We soon left Kuta and headed to Ubud for a couple of days. Ubud is very picturesque, and a great place to see plenty of traditional Balinese architecture. I had been to Ubud before, but the place we had stayed at (it had only just opened then) was now exorbitantly priced. Instead, we found a room at Ari House, a little homestay just off Jalan Hanoman for Rp 100,000 a night inclusive of breakfast. Ari House is lovely; our room was incredibly comfortable, the breakfast was filling (an omelette, fruit, and Indonesian snacks, thankfully no toast), and the family that own the house are generous, friendly, and yet unobtrusive. They would leave snacks and a thermos of hot water with coffee and tea for us each afternoon, which was completely unexpected and always appreciated. The family living in the next door house were similarly affable and welcoming, and remarkably sane considering they owned at least 10 or more roosters which would crow incessantly. I would go to the compound of their house to play with their little puppy Mika and they would consistently give me coffee, biscuits and fruit, completely ignoring me though I would fervently implore that I was not hungry or thirsty.

From Bali we flew back to Singapore for a few days where I was finally able to dump my dive gear and lighten my load. There isn’t really a point to this post; I just wanted to wax lyrical about the nicest, friendliest accommodation we have stayed at so far.

Photos: Komodo Liveaboard

toomanyllamas — Mon, 5 Jul 2010 21:02:00 GMT

Bali to Komodo

Bali - Komodo Liveaboard

toomanyllamas — Mon, 5 Jul 2010 20:46:00 GMT

We landed in Bali at 6:30 pm on Saturday evening (26th June) and tried to secure accommodation on Kuta Beach at the airport, as the place we had emailed the night before had not responded to us. The Bali high season (July to September) was almost upon us and most cheap hotels were booked, but we managed to get a room at Simpang Inn in Legian at R 215,000 for a double room. This turned out to be a fantastic decision; halfway to Kuta it started pouring. Legian is literally three minutes away from Kuta, and I cannot stand Kuta, but since we had already told the dive company to pick us up from there, we did not really have the option to stay anywhere else. Simpang Inn turned out to be fine; the room was decent, there were no noisy neighbours or loud sounds from the street, and the pool is nice too. We spent the remainder of the night getting unintentionally blinding drunk at the bar next-door, where we had initially gone just to use the free Wi-Fi.

The next day dawned gloomy and overcast and I thought gleefully about all the suckers who were being rained out on their brief vacations from work. I still have not gotten over the fact that I am not going to go back to an office for a while. It is very liberating.

We were picked up around 2 pm along with another couple (Erma and Esa from Finland) and driven to the harbour where we were to board the dive boat. It was a damn sweet looking boat, a massive upgrade from the last Liveaboard I had been on. After the initial formalities, we were shown to our cabins. Emma and I played it cool when we saw our living space; we were all “Thanks a lot, it looks great. See you upstairs in a little while,” but as soon as we were alone, we looked at each other and said “Holy Shit!! Is this really our room?? It’s fantastic!! I can’t believe we have our own bathroom!! I just assumed we would be sharing!!” Then we proceeded to frantically take photos like dorks while the room still looked pristine.

We had no dives the first day; instead we had to sail thirteen hours non-stop to get to the first dive site. I made decent headway in my book (Bonfire of the Vanities), and then at night after a sumptuous dinner we watched Riding Giants, which was a splendid surfing movie. Yes, the dive boat also had a TV and DVD player. It just kept getting better.

Our first dive was delayed until noon because of the current, but the dive turned out to be a really relaxing check out dive. It was warm and we saw plenty of cool fish. I had not dived since Bali last September, and each time I go off on a diving holiday, I wonder why the hell I don’t dive more during the year. It just seems so stupid to not do so since I love it so much. We did three dives on the first day, one of which was a night dive since the schedule got pushed back. However, in between the second and third dives, we took the dinghy down to the beach at Satonda Island to check out the huge fresh water lake in the middle of the island.

We visited different islands over the next two or so days and the sights just kept getting better and better. Not only was there plenty of superb ocean life, but the dive sights themselves were gorgeous. One of the sites called Hot Rocks had black sand because it was volcanic. The sand was warm to the touch and you could see bubbles coming up from it as there was still lava under the sand.

There was an abundance of healthy hard and soft corals, big table corals and fan corals which housed tiny pygmy seahorses. We saw lots of colourful nudibranchs and sea slugs, scorpionfish, boxfish, pufferfish, squirrelfish with their large disproportionate eyes, schools of Moorish Idols, Moray eels, trumpetfish, octopus, and my favourite, sea turtles. The reefs were a kaleidoscope of hues, bright and picturesque.

The hours in between dives were long and languorous, spent mainly reading or sleeping. When I wasn’t reading or sleeping, I was eating; the food on the boat was delectable and there was always so much of it. We had bacon at breakfast every day, there was plenty of cold yogurt which made up for the deplorable lack of dairy on our trip so far, and at the end of every dive we were given yummy ice-cold drinks which inevitably gave me brain freeze each time because I drank them too fast. The only thing missing on the boat, (the one thing which would possibly have made it even better than it was already) was cheese. And by cheese I don’t mean Kraft Singles (they had Kraft Singles on board); I mean real cheese coated with wax. Mmmm…cheese. Oh, and Dunkin Donuts…Oh my god I am so desperately craving donuts right now.

We soon got to the cold waters of the Komodo islands, and my spirit started rapidly waning at the unappealing thought of firstly, having to kit up in a 5mm thick wetsuit and hoodie (it’s so utterly exhausting) and secondly, being confronted by the islands’ notoriously strong currents. I had not dived much in currents before so I wasn’t sure how I would deal with them. I also kept remembering Vlad’s (the dive master in Mabul) tale about his Komodo diving experience (he related the story with the utmost glee) – “There’s this one dive site where the current is like a whirlpool! You swim into the current and it whips you round and round and then spits you out somewhere else! It’s amazing! It’s like a rollercoaster!” He was in such high spirits when he was telling us the story, so I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was insane.

Fortunately, apart from the start of our first dive in Komodo where we briefly tried to swim against the current and failed dismally, we swam with the current for pretty much every single dive. We also didn’t face any horrific whirlpool currents, and for that I am most grateful. However, the strong currents meant tons of brilliant fish and marine life. On two separate dives, we saw an exhibitionist eagle ray and an exhibitionist white tip reef shark that showed off spectacularly for the paparazzi-divers (everyone except Emma and I had cameras). On a third dive, we saw a reef shark that had somehow managed to shove itself under some table corals and was just chilling. I saw the shark’s tail and was contented, but one of the dive masters motioned to me to come over to the other side of the table corals. I did so, looked through the corals, and saw the shark’s face and its eye a foot away from me. It was staggering.

We took a break from the morning dive on day 5, and went ashore for a walk in the Komodo National Park, hoping to see the infamous Komodo Dragons. We saw some birds, a couple of deer (the Komodo Dragons’ chief prey), and as luck would have it, towards the end of the walk we came across an adult dragon sunning itself. Not too far away from the adult dragon was a little baby dragon. The Komodo Dragon is a chilling amalgamation of everything that is odious about reptiles – it looks pre-historic like a crocodile, and resembles one when it is swimming; on land it is an overgrown lizard from a bad nightmare, and can move very fast in the manner of the geckos-that-permanently-reside-in-your-bathroom-and-take-sadistic-pleasure-in-racing-across-the-wall-or-the-floor-when-you-innocently-turn-the-light-on-at-night-thinking-that-it’s-your-house,-you-are-the-biggest-one-in-it,-and-you-can-do-what-you-like,-only-to-be-cruelly-reminded,-AGAIN-by-way-of-having-your-heart-being-shocked-up-into-your-gullet-and-almost-failing-that-one-day-you-will-die-but-no-toxin-produced-by-man-can-kill-those-damn-geckos-which-will-continue-to-haunt-you-and-will-follow-you-from-house-to-house-no-matter-how-many-times-you-move-or-where-you-move-to. It has scaly skin, a long serpent-tongue, it eats its young if it gets hungry (young Komodo Dragons climb trees to get away from adults), and its venom causes its prey to die a prolonged, agonising death.

At the next dive site, there were a few big and little Komodo Dragons wandering around on the shore. Of course, given that we were now so well-informed about this revolting reptile, it made complete logical sense to take the dinghy down to the shore and feed it pieces of fish. I got reasonable photos of the big dragon and stayed firmly in the boat, unlike Sami and Peter who got out of the boat and into the water in order to get really up close to the dragon…until it started to swim out to the dinghy. They scrambled back in; we went up shore to look at a baby dragon, realised that the big dragon was now following us up shore and that the baby was trying to get away from it, apologised to the baby, and sped back to the boat.

Just when I thought “surely I have had the most amazing fortune on this diving trip to have seen so much”, we reached Manta Alley and did three dives there. The first dive was crazy; we saw a few Mantas but the current was so incredibly strong that unless you held on to a rock or a reef hook, you would get swept off. Swimming against it was impossible. We dove the same site again, but from a different spot and were rewarded with the sight of so many Manta rays that we soon lost count of how many we had seen. They just kept appearing from every direction, and some of them came really close. They were truly magnificent, and I was doubly glad that I wasn’t hungover this time, unlike my previous Manta dive in Bali last year. Our final two Komodo dives were at Sumbawa Island where we did some very shallow and hugely fun muck dives. On our last day on the boat we sailed back to Bali and dived two sites hoping to see some Mola Molas, but the water was too warm.

My favourite diving memories from the Liveaboard (not including the amazing Mantas as that’s a given) are from two of our safety stops; during one of them, we were suddenly surrounded by a gargantuan school of blue-dash fusiliers. They were everywhere, swimming in unison. During another safety stop, a little sea turtle swam up near where we were, completely unperturbed by us. It then proceeded to start digging into the coral and eating it. I could have watched it for hours. My last favourite memory is of the tiny squat lobsters during the muck dive that you could barely see unless you pretty much buried your face into the sand. They were moving very fast, and again, I could have stayed there for ages just watching them. Other than the amazing diving, the scenery of the islands was beautiful. We saw some incredibly fiery sunsets, and I was reminded of how rarely I saw a sunset the last few years, since I never left the office while the sun was still up. Sorry to end on such a corny note, but I feel very lucky.

Now the only thing left to do is to do this trip with my good friends; Hazel, Erlina, Achim – start saving up! And for the rest of you, can you please hurry up and get your diving certification already? What are you waiting for??

PS. One of the other movies we watched on this boat was an appalling, nonsensical one called The Triangle. One the speed boat to the Perhentians where we are right now, the sky was very dark and threatening with rain. Emma turned to me and said “Are you getting reminded of The Triangle?” to which I replied, slightly too loudly, “Yes, but it’s going to take forever to kill every single person on this boat. Luckily we can just jump overboard and get washed up on shore,” to which I received dirty looks from the people sitting next to us. “How NOT to Make Enemies and Alienate People” lesson #250 – Stop trying to find parallels between a movie (especially a terrible one) and your life. And if you do find one, resist the urge to voice it out loud because you think you’re really clever and funny. You’re not, and people WILL take it out of context. Sigh…

White Water Rafting and the Niah Caves

toomanyllamas — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 01:03:00 GMT

Once again apologies everyone for the lack of regular posts, since I know how you all hold your breaths in anticipation for my travel updates. Apologies also to anyone who is now dead, since the next couple of posts are about our activities from around 2 plus weeks ago...internet access since we left Singapore has been abysmal, and I had not been able to write up these posts in time for our brief stop in Singapore.

On our penultimate day in KK, we decided to do a day trip to the Padas River for some white water rafting. Scuba Junkie (the dive operator in Semporna) has a sister company in KK called River Junkie; if you dive with Scuba Junkie, you get a discount on the white Water rafting day trip. One of the couples we met at Uncle Tan's (Patrick and Emma from Finland), were on the day trip with us and our group was rounded out by a couple from China. They were wearing matching T-shirts. I guess they were afraid that they might lose each other.

It's an almost 3 hour drive to the train stop for the 12:30 train to Padas river; we got picked up 30 minutes late and were then driven to an automobile workshop where the driver proceeded to get some repair work done to the mini-van. Interesting way to start. The journey itself was uneventful, but at times we drove up very steep mountainous terrain. I had plenty of time to appreciate the beauty of the surroundings as the mini-van had to ascend very slowly at around 10 km per hour. At first I didn't realise just how steep the roads were and thought maybe we had a particularly lousy van, but you soon see plenty of other buses and cars plodding along in the same way. We made it in time for the train, but it turned out to be one of those choo-choo toy trains. It only had two carriages so the majority of people had to stand, and chugged along at snail-speed for 45 minutes. I was sitting near a group of girls from Singapore who would start screeching in unison from time to time because they would see a tiny bug moving. It really was tiny, about the size of a fly. I tried to flash them looks of disgust and also said "Oh come on, it's not like there are no bugs in Singapore!", but I wasn't able to shame them into silence.

After what seemed like years, we finally reached the River Junkie stop and after an all-too-brief introduction into the basics of white water rafting, we set off on a rubber dinghy down the Padas River. I was sitting on the left behind the Chinese girl, and her partner was at the front of the boat with Patrick. We did a couple of practise strokes in the water and then headed off towards the rapids. At the first set of rapids the River Junkie guys doing the steering let us know which way to swim in case the boat capsized and instructed us to paddle hard. The river was roaring and tumultuous, the waves got bigger and higher, and suddenly I heard a piercing scream emanate from the Chinese girl who had stopped paddling and was gripping the boat and just staring at the river. I shouted "keep paddling!" so she started paddling, but at the next big wave she once again stopped and started screaming instead. Her partner too would stop paddling, so we were stuck with a dinghy where the left side was completely unproductive in the heaving waters. By this time, the others in boat had also begun chorusing "Keep paddling guys! Keep paddling!", but to no avail; as soon as the river became choppy, the couple would cease paddling. It was uber annoying but I guess they didn't realise that the key to avoiding the dinghy flipping over in the rapids was to keep on paddling hard. Sadly, the River Junkie guys didn't say anything to them, and didn't split them up either (one on each side of the boat). We managed to make through the first and second set of rapids, soaked but still seated in the dinghy. Unfortunately, the first two rapids were just swells in comparison to the behemoths that were the third and fourth sets, and sure enough by the middle of the third set we were perilously close to being tossed into the water. The boat would flip up to almost 90 degrees, lose momentum just in time, and drop back down. All it needed was a big enough wave, and this occurred very early into the fourth set. The dinghy was rocking, we got hit by waves going this way and that and suddenly, amidst a chorus of "Keep paddling! Keep paddling! Keep paddling!" we were confronted by a massive swell which dragged the dinghy up and flipped it 180 degrees into the water. We were all wearing life jackets, and I was pulled coughing and spluttering to the surface and into darkness. I realised that I had surfaced directly under the boat and there was no one else in there with me, so I ducked back into the water and struggled to come out from under the boat. We were still in the middle of the rapids and the constant splashing water made it difficult to make out what was going on, but I surfaced again to see that everyone was bobbing in the water to my right, and were trying to turn over the dinghy. The first attempt was a failure, the dinghy came crashing back down into the water, and I managed to swim out of its way just in time. The dinghy was righted on the second try; the River Junkie guys clambered back in at lightning speed and started pulling people back into the boat. We continued to paddle for a few minutes more and were finally out of the raging rapids, eager for the lunch break.

After lunch the Finnish couple, Emma and I insisted on splitting up the Chinese couple in the boat. We put them in the middle of the boat where they could do the least amount of damage, and then we went fine over the remaining rapids. Unfortunately, there were only two sets of rapids and then we were done with the rafting activity, which was disappointing. However, the disappointment soon turned to irritation when we discovered that we would have to wait for 1 hour for the return train. We whinged for a while and so did everyone else, but there was nothing we could do. Emma and I passed the time playing a game where we picked a word and then had to name songs which contained that word. It took me 5 minutes to think of a song containing the word “love”. I’m an organ donor, but I think perhaps my worthless brain should be cremated along with my weak body.

Just when we started to feel like KK was our second home, it was time to move on to Sarawak. Our first stop was the little town of Miri. Our time in Sarawak was all too brief, but we were mainly going there to visit its famous caves. We had initially hoped to be able to visit the Mulu caves but you have to fly there from Miri, and all the flights were completely booked. Alternatively, it is possible to reach Mulu via boat but the journey takes around 10 hours and unfortunately, we didn’t have that much time. We decided to visit the Niah Caves instead as they are a short 2.5 hours away from Miri by bus.

I guess the majority of tourists visit the Mulu caves, as we pretty much had the Niah Caves all to ourselves. We only saw a handful of other visitors while we were there, and it was a really cool experience. One of the caves is called Traders Cave, where people who are involved in the Birds Nest trade live and collect nests during the nest collection season. They use single ropes to climb to the ceiling of the cave; they must be really good climbers but it seems like an awful lot of effort for an object which tastes like nothing and has no proven benefits, medicinal or otherwise. The Great Cave was the next cave that we visited and it was ginormous. We ended up descending into the bowels of the cave (yes, a gross expression but it is the most fitting one since it certainly felt that way) with our pathetically inadequate headlamps which just barely illuminated the area immediately around us. As a result, I was constantly jumping at every sound regardless of whether it was an animal noise (scurrying, slithering, high-pitched squeaking) or merely water dripping. It was fun though, I felt like a bona fide adventurer. I had never been completely alone in a cave so I had not realised how magnified a little noise can become or how much it echoes. I had also not realised that light in a dark place makes the holder of the light very popular – with motherfucking flying bugs!!! AARGH!!! They kept zooming straight at my face, into my eyes, into my mouth, up my nose….It did not help that the planks we were walking on were getting more and more slippery and difficult to grip. I tried not to imagine where I would land if I were to slip off the pathway, and reluctantly held on to the guano-encrusted railings thinking, “Gloves would have been nice.” The last cave that we visited was called the Painted Cave, where you can see faint pre-historic cave drawings made in red haematite.

From Batu Niah we caught a bus to Sibu where we were going to spend the night and fly out to Bali the next day. There’s nothing much to do in Sibu, so we decided to head to the movie theatre and watch another movie for a ridiculously cheap price. There wasn’t much choice as we had already seen SATC 2 and Toy Story 3; the only other English option was Night and Day which turned out to be utterly idiotic and atrocious. It was fun to mock it though, and I was glad to see Tom Cruise burn since I find him very irritating.

Photos: Niah Caves

toomanyllamas — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 20:02:00 GMT

Miri, Sarawak

Photos: Mount Kinabalu

toomanyllamas — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 22:19:00 GMT

Pictures of Mount Kinabalu from Laban Rata

Mount Kinabalu

toomanyllamas — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 15:36:00 GMT

Oh Gunung Kinabalu, you formidable foe. You almost killed me; you made my legs feel like lead weights, you battered my knees, you almost twisted my ankles by making my feet slip on wet, muddy planks and uneven rocks. But I fought back, gasping for air, and persevered...to the rest stop. And then, I could go no further. Gunung Kinabalu, one day, when I have taken leave of my senses, I will climb you again. And make it to the summit.

I have known about Gunung Kinabalu for years. It is always mentioned in any literature about Sabah and is definitely one of THE things to do when visiting the state. Most guide books will tell you that you need a reasonable level of fitness and no mountaineering experience to climb it. This is mostly true; the path is clear cut and for the most part requires you to ascend via steps of wooden planks or rocks. However, I believe guide books should add a disclaimer stating "Reasonable level of fitness is assumed when one engages in a continuous period of moderate cardiovascular activity. Persons who have spent five years or more sitting on their ass in an airconditioned office, and who walk around 20 minutes a day in total (including the time spent to get their lunch), should be inclined to conclude that they do not possess the level of fitness required to climb this mountain." That would be more accurate and would have probably ensured that I stayed away totally.

The Gunung Kinabalu climb is one of the activities that you need to book in advance, unless you're fit enough (or mad enough) to attempt the ascent in one day. This is possible; we met people who had done so, but there is no way in hell that I would do this. The entire trek from the base to the summit is 8.7 km in total, and the rest stop for the night is Laban Rata at 6 km. The Kinabalu Park and Laban Rata are run by Sutera Sanctuary Lodges and you need to book a sleeping bunk at the rest stop. This is a hugely popular activity and there can be a long waiting time for an available date. We started checking with Sutera prior to departing from Singapore on 4th June, and were only able to climb the mountain on 17th June.

From the onset, this activity presents you with scenarios which serve no other purpose except to repeatedly thrash your self-esteem, wounding your ego, until you are left feeling spent, bruised and small.

On the way to the start of the trek, you pass a signboard which lists the fastest times for the climb, recorded at the annual mountain climbing tournament. The record holding climb by a man is 2 hours 40 minutes, and 3 hours 20 minutes by a woman. These are the times in which they climbed to the summit and RETURNED to the base. Seriously? How is this helping anybody? Move the sign, PLEASE!

Our guide up the mountain was an old gentleman with a long white beard. He hardly broke into a sweat during the climb, and 30 minutes into it said, "May I help you to carry your bag Miss?" All my manners towards the elderly were forgotten; I nodded silently (speach was too difficult) and gave him the bag because I couldn't carry it and myself up the bloody mountain. A little later on I attempted to make conversation with him and was rewarded for my congeniality by being informed that he climbs the mountain three times a week as a guide. I contemplated this information, aware that my heart was in great danger of bursting out of my chest.

As time passed, I became aware of people passing me as I wheezed and groaned along the path. Othen they passed with a friendly "Hello!" As I glanced up to acknowledge the greeting, I realised that they were carrying large, heavy parcels slung across their backs. It slowly dawned on me that there was no other way up the mnountain, no automobile road or rail line. The only way up is to climb, and these people were carrying produce to the rest stop. I suddenly felt very ashamed of surrendering my extra bag containing my DSLR and lunch to the guide, but I wasn't ashamed enough to take it back and carry it myself. A number of the porters that started climbing at the same time as me were able to complete two trips up and down in the time it took me to reach Laban Rata.

Finally, 5 hours later, I managed to gasp my way to the rest stop, all the while praying for the sweet release of death. It took me almost 45 minutes to complete the last KM, due to my inability to suck air into my lungs, and because I had begun to experience a splitting headache. The world was spinning around me and I had to fight the urge to throw up. At 5.5 KM, surrounded by forest and cold air, I realised I had altitude sickness. The ego hits just kept on coming.

It was cold at the rest stop at 3pm, and by nightfall it was freezing. However, the food at the rest stop was scrumptious, and made me forget for a while that we were in non-heated bunks (sharing with a lovely couple from the UK who were on their honeymoon). We met an uber-cute Australian traveller who was about 22, but whatever, age is just a number. He, too, had altitude sickness, which made me feel so much better about my affliction.

We set off again on the climb to the summit at around 2:30 am, but I wasn't able to go on for more than half a km; my head was spinning way too much. The guide said that for the last 1.5 km of the trek you have to pull yourself up the mountain with ropes, so I decided not to carry on for fear that I would kill myself. However, my hardy comrade Emma managed to get to the summit. Three cheers!

The trek up was bad, but the the trek down is what really kills your legs. We headed back to KK as soon as we got to the base, and spent the next two days in excruciating pain because every step was torture. I was cognizant of the fact that I was stumbling along in the manner of a person with a stick jammed up their butt, but the pain in my legs was so overwhelming that I didn't care. We ended up spending the two days getting massages and watching movies at the movie theatre, because movies are so incredibly cheap in Malaysia. We paid around SGD 4 bucks each time, (which to me is like watching movies for free) and so we watched Sex and the City 2 and Toy Story 3. I will refrain from going into my opinion of SATC 2; anyone who knows me knows I will endlessly spew virulent hatred regarding this franchise, so I will leave it for another post. Toy Story was funny though, I enjoyed it immensely. It also made me realise that I should watch Pixar movies myself, because I keep bursting into tears in every movie. My brain can't seem to process that it's a cartoon.

In hindsight, despite the pain of the whole thing, I am glad I climbed (partially) Mount Kinabalu.

Welcome to the Jungle

toomanyllamas — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 22:45:00 GMT

It is now one week into our trip, and I haven't bathed in 3 days. Nice. Ok no, I don't have latent neanderthal tendencies; this is because we spent the last three days hamming it up deep in the Borneo rainforest.

From Semporna, we made our way to Sepilok Junction to Uncle Tan's Wildlife Adventures. Uncle Tan's runs river safaris down the Kinabatangan river. This is one of Sabah's longest rivers, and I believe the forest around it hasn't suffered as much from logging activities that have devastated much of Borneo's rainforests. Still, on the boatride down the river to the accomodation in the forest, I could see huge chunks of cleared land behind fringes of trees, or areas covered by palms (which are not primary trees) due to palm oil plantations.

A 3 day 2 night trip with Uncle Tan's costs RM 380 inclusive of transportation into the jungle, river safaris, treks through the jungle, and all meals; considering the cost of most day trips or activities in Borneo, this is incredibly reasonable. However, don't expect any creature comforts. Accomodation in the jungle consists of three-sided huts (which are shared by three people and any other manner of creatures from the forest that decide to trespass) and matresses on the floor with mosquito nets.

There is no running water except water from the river (which is chocolate brown in colour), the toilets don't flush (you have to use a pail and the water from the river), there are no communication devices, and the generator for the lights only works from 6pm to midnight. However, the kids that run this place (and most of them really are no more than 18 to 20) are just fantastic. They are incredibly enthusiastic, cheerful and boisterous, running wild with no adult supervision. The food at each meal was scrumptious, and after dinner each night, they would sit around with a guitar and sing loudly. However, they do go back to civilization far more often than I would have preferred, as they knew all the latest Lady Gaga songs and would sing them over and over and over....I am going to die with Bad Romance permanently burned into my brain.

Our guide, Loy, was also excellent and very knowledgeable; we saw plenty of Long Tailed Macaques, a few Proboscis Monkeys, a large indolent orangutan in a tree eating figs, oblivious to all of us standing below taking pictures, some crocodiles in the river, civet cats, plenty of birds (hornbills, eagles, owls, kingfishers, a Storm's Stork), frogs and insects, and a little fruit bat in a tree eating a fruit that looked too big for him to finish.

I had an absolute blast at Uncle Tan's and am going to go back over and over again as long as I stay in Asia.

We're going to climb Mount Kinabalu day after tomorrow (I'm slightly freaked out), so will not have access to the internet again for a couple of days. From the mountain, we are going to head back to KK on route to Brunei, for a day, and then to the Niah caves near Miri. From Niah, we will head to Sibu for our flight out to Bali where we will be doing a liveaboard to Komodo, and then back to Singapore for a day or two.

Photos: Sungei Kinabatangan

toomanyllamas — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 21:18:00 GMT

Uncle Tan's Wildlife Adventures

Semporna and Scuba Diving in Mabul

toomanyllamas — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 20:51:00 GMT

The bus journey from KK to Semporna turned out to be more eventful than I thought it would be; we were told that the trip would take around 10 hours so we decided to take the bus that leaves KK at 7:30 pm. The hostel reserved seats for us earlier in the day but when we got to the bus terminal, we were immediately accosted by touts who paid no heed to our cries of "I already have tickets, leave me alone!" 'Accosted' is not an exaggerated comment; the touts swarmed around us like killer bees shouting the name of their respective bus company (there are only two) and it was a contest to see who could yell the loudest, with extra points for screaming directly into my ear. Other touts lunged at us trying to grab our backpacks and carry them to a bus saying "You go Semporna? This way SIR!" In the midst of all this, Emma and I were trying to find the ticket counter, prevent our bags from being taken, and push away the over-zealous salesmen who were attempting to pull us in opposite directions. It was very irritating and stressful. Anyone else planning to get on a bus at Innanam bus station, take note that this will happen to you too. Now that you have been forewarned, another thing to take note is that you can probably bargain down the price of your bus ticket at the station by engaging the touts as they are so desperate to make a sale. The hostel told us that the price of the bus ticket with Dyanna Express was 75 RM, so that's what we paid but we met another backpacker in Semporna who paid 40 RM for hers. She was on the other bus though, so I'm not certain if there is any difference in bus quality.

The bus ride itself was like being on a roller coaster in the artic circle. It was uncomfortably cold, and I think my body's natural hypothermia-fighting instincts kicked in because everytime I started to sleep, I would have dreams of slowly freezing to death in a lake, which would immediately make me wake up. Adding to this, the bus driver seemed oblivious to the fact that he was driving a large vehicle full of other human beings all counting on him to get them to their destinations, alive. The majority of the roads had no illumination from streetlamps and were up and down mountains, but the driver went hurtling along, barely avoiding oncoming traffic in a bid to overtake slower trucks, going around turns at great speed, and braking at the last moment (especially, appropriately, when we were behind a truck carrying petrol) so the bus would slow down barely a nose away from the vehicle in front. A number of times, luggage in the overhead compartments would topple over into the middle aisle and scare us sleeping passengers witless. The man in the seat in front of me got hit square in the head by a box labeled "LCD TV" elicting a loud "aiyoh!" from him. Luckily, the box didn't actually contain an LCD TV but I'm sure it would have hurt nonetheless, and for that reason, I shouldn't falling over laughing about the incident, but I am.

We finally pulled into Semporna at 4 am, 1.5 hours ahead of schedule thanks to our suicidal driver, and made our way with another backpacker over to the Dragon's Inn where we planned to stay. However, we weren't able to check in until 6am so we spent the hours in between sitting around chatting at the restaurant of the hostel and watched the sun come up. It was very beautiful, and we were lucky to have witnessed it as the sun rises very early in Semporna. If you were waking up at 6 or 6:30 am to go scuba diving (as is normal), you would have already missed the sun rise.

The Dragon's Inn is impressive to look at as the hostel is built on stilts on the water, but we weren't very happy with our stay there.

We paid 60 RM for our room and the shower didn't work, but more offputting than that is the amount of rubbish floating around in the water. Empty bottles, plastic bags full of polystyrene containers, used paper cups, bits of string all in the same water that houses the fish, crab and prawns that are cooked in the restaurant. Also, every time you take a bath, the soapy water drains straight through the bathroom floor into the sea water below. It was disgusting, especially keeping in mind that we came all the way here to go scuba diving in a protected marine park. However, it's not just the Dragon's Inn; all the water around Semporna is filthy and for that reason, it is nicer to just stay at the accomodation in Mabul. We went scuba diving with Scuba Junkie and their resort in Mabul is very nice and about 30 or so RM more (for a double room) than staying in Semporna.

We weren't able to dive in Sipadan - passes for Sipadan need to be pre-arranged and run out a month or more in advance - but the diving in Mabul was really great too. The Scuba Junkie instructors were excellent (we had Paul and Vlad on our boat) and we saw tiny nudibranchs, lobster, crabs, lionfish, stone fish, puffer fish, snappers and, my favourite, heaps of turtles (including one which was just enormous), all very unperturbed by us divers. It was an awesome day out, and made lugging around my dive gear completely worthwhile.