Sixty One Degrees
An occassional journal of an Asia-overland adventure
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Taman Negara National Park, Malaysia
After the big city experience of Kuala Lumpur the only thing to do is head to the jungle. In this case Taman Negara National Park, the world's oldest rainforest and taking up a sizable chunk of Malaysia's north-east.
Despite being almost on the other coast it was just a three hour trip to the nearest town, Jerantut. From there it was a three hour boat trip up the river to the main site in the National Park. If you ignored the fact that a road was also recently put in to almost the same place you could feel quite away from it all.
Naturally I stayed in the village on the other side of the river to the proper resort. Who could turn down a 10 Ringgit bed (about $3.50)? I soon found some-one who could organise a trek in to the jungle. "They call me Crazy Like Monkey", he said, with I think a hint of sadness in his voice. I was thinking of doing a three-day two-night trek but the four others looking to go as well were a little more sensible and opted for just the one night in the jungle. I reluctantly accepted this idea.
The next morning we were preparing to go. I wanted to take my camera gear so I replaced my books and what-not in my daypack with a change of clothes. I was also going to have to carry a sleeping mat and bag and three litres of water. Our guide was going to carry all the food and cooking gear. At the last minute I dashed up to the local store to buy some tobacco. I'd heard it was good against leeches and wanted all the protection I could get.
First stop just a short way up the river was the famed (judging by the t-shirts) canopy walk. 25m high and 500m in length. But for us it was 10m high and 200m in length, as the second half was closed. Apparently the whole thing was closed until the complaints from the tourists became too loud. Judging by some of the ropes I saw they shouldn't be listening to tourists.
From there it was another half-hour or so up the river before docking at an abandoned resort. The bungalows were turned over to private management some years ago and it promptly went bankrupt. It was now decaying and being slowly reclaimed by the jungle. It was quite picturesque in it's own way.
We grabbed some lunch and then prepared for the start of the trek. Our guide pulled out his secret anti-leech weapon. Baygon! I also smeared my ankles with insect repellent then pulled out the tobacco and started stuffing it in my socks. I offered it to the others but they gave me a look like I was a little crazy.
Then we were off. The first leech-spotting occurred about five metres in to the trek. The evil little bugger waving around looking for a victim. Between dodging leeches, tree roots, mud puddles and fallen branches there wasn't much time to enjoy the wonders of the forest. Not that you could see more than a few metres to the side in any case.
After a couple of hours we stopped briefly at a hide overlooking a small clearing. We saw just what we expected. Nothing. There are actually tigers and elephants in this jungle but they are very rarely seen.
From there we continued to our nights stop. It started to rain in the afternoon. First just lightly so that it didn't even penetrate the canopy, but then harder and more persistant so soon we were all soaked. I optimistically pulled out my rain-jacket but it wasn't designed for this type of treatment. It ended up wetter on the inside than out.
After another couple of hours we reached our destination. A large cave in the middle of the jungle. The entrance was concealed behind a narrow split in the rocks so it was quite a revelation when it appeared. Once inside one of the other trekkers, Chris, and I spent a bit of time crawling up various side passages, trying to get closer to the bats.
Clothes were laid out and dinner was eaten. The rain had stopped outside so Chris and I decided to go for a night trek, armed with our powerful double double-A torches. We were soon rewarded with a sighting of a mouse deer. An animal that looks just like a small, maybe 50cm high, deer. We got quite close with both torches lighting up it's huge eyes before it scuttled off a short distance.
Emboldened by this success we ventured further in to the jungle. Fireflys abounded and eerily gave the impression of eyes everywhere. We started to wonder what would happen if we came across one of the one hundred or so remaining tigers. I foolishly had forgotten my pocket knife so we were defenceless if attacked.
The tigers didn't attack though, and the elephants seemed to be asleep also since we safely made it back to the cave. A good nights sleep on the smooth mud floor was somewhat hampered by the fact that the sleeping bags only reached lower chest high but we made it through the night.
The next day we had a leisurely breakfast before heading out. The plan today was to keep heading north for most of the day before meeting the boat at the top of the river.
Not far in to the day's trek we came across our first sign of the larger life in the forest. Elephant droppings. They were probably a little old though as a couple of mushrooms had had time to spring forth.
A little further own we turned off the trail for a short distance to visit the bat cave. This involved a short climb up a steep face supported by only a rope tied somewhere above. I tried to put out of my mind some of the knots I'd seen at the canopy walk.
I was first in to the cave and walked in a little way, hoping that my eyes would adjust to the light. I could see the bats lining the roof of the cave and several were flying around but my torch wasn't strong enough to pick them out well. I looked to my feet to see what I was walking on, at first glance it looked like fine soil. I then remembered the guide book mentioning that this cave was deep in guano. A slightly steadier look at the floor revealed that it was moving. In a scene straight out of Indiana Jones I quickly realised that the whole floor was covered in a seething mass of tiny cockroaches. At that I beat a hasty retreat to the rest of the group and more solid ground.
We stood a while looking at the bats and surroundings when our guide draw our attention to the left of the cave. Slowly sliding along the rock ledge at the back was the biggest snake I'd ever seen. Pure white and at least 3m long, probably 4. As we edged forward for a better look our guide said stop, rattlesnake. That was enough for us to keep our distance. We watched in silence as it slid across the length of the cave and started climbing the ledges on the right. Given it's size I don't give the bats much chance.
Back on the trail a little further along we saw another sign of the elephants. Footprints this time. We marvelled that they could even move through the jungle when we found the paths barely wide enough. Our guide assured us that they were quite stealthy. Which is defintely more than could be said for us.
The path began to climb and descend a little more often, as we crossed streams and climbed ridges. The ascents were only short and not too steep but in the energy-sapping conditions they seemed a lot more substantial. Finally, after another hour or two, we could here the river beside us. We all gained a little burst of energy from knowing that we were near the end.
All the streams so far we had crossed at water-level with a combination of rock-hopping and log-balancing. I was quietly pleased with my success on a couple of them. The last stream though was in a much deeper gully and so a suspension bridge had been strung across the 20m or so. We reached the edge of the bridge only to see that a huge tree had fallen across it on the far side. A few cables were still in place but the bridge was essentially wrecked. Somehow this didn't perturb our guide who proceeded to walk out a few paces on to the bridge as if nothing had happened. This emboldened Chris somewhat so he chanced it and crossed successfully. I went next and found that the bridge felt surprising stable, although the missing and rotting planks didn't do a lot for my confidence. The most difficult part turned out to be climbing over the 1.5m diameter tree. Soon we were all across but looking back at the scene of carnage, couldn't quite believe that we did it. I have no idea how high the bridge was. I wasn't looking down.
From there it was a short stroll to another abandoned resort. Again a mixture of decaying buildings and encroaching jungle. The boat had arrived at the jetty below so we trooped down to climb aboard and have a well-earned rest on the trip back. The dock was about a foot underwater so with a little disappointment I plunged my boots below water. They had kept dry for the entire trek up to now, despite mud, rain, and streams. A couple of steps and I had more than my boots to worry about. A couple of planks were completely missing and my foot plunged straight through the gap until I was hip deep in the water.
I climbed aboard the boat and we started off on the return journey. No sooner were we underway than it started raining. First a light drizzle then a full-on rainforest-in-the-wet-season downpour. This coupled with the boat driver's delight in hitting the rapids at speed and sending waves crashing in to the boat ensured we were soaked.
About half-way back we switched from the boat to inner tubes, to brave a few sets of rapids. "Any leeches in the river?", I asked. "No, not here", said the guide. I had my doubts in the first minute as I found one crawling along my hand. The weather had cleared a little so the tubing was fun. Past the rapids we got back in the boat for the rest of the journey back to the village.
Back to where we started we pulled our drenched gear out of the boat and went our separate ways to clean up. Having taken my boots off before the tubing I was particularly pleased to have had a leech count of zero. Thumbs up to the tobacco. And to think they laughed at me.
I pulled all my wet clothes off and went for a cold shower (the only kind I've had for a month). Still congratulating myself on my anti-leech success I noticed a small wriggling object in the bottom of the shower. A bloody leech! It took me a while to work out where it came from but I finally discovered the trickle of blood in the middle of my back. "The tubing!", I thought. No leeches in the river my arse.
I emptied my backpack and optimistically hung everything up to try to dry it out before heading out for some dinner with Chris and a couple of other guys I'd just met. It was New Year's Eve but most things in the village were closing at about 9pm. We thought the resort on the other side of the river might go on a bit longer but we had no way to get back. In the end we just grabbed a few cans of coke (beer being unavailable in the village) and sat around chatting. Despite the exhaustion we made it to midnight to hear a few cheers from here and there and then promptly went to bed.
Tomorrow I'm off to Pangkor Island for a little relaxation and to see if I can possibly get everything dry.
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
Well actually, it is called a Quarter Pounder, despite the metric system. But it is the little things that make it different. For instance you can also get Ayam Goreng (chicken and rice) and Lime Juice.
The day started with an exploration of Chinatown, right on the doorstep of my 16 Ringgit guest-house (about $6), then on to the historic section, with a few remnants of colonial days.
From there is was a quick trip on the super-modern monorail to the heart of the business district. Best known for the huge Petronas Towers. Despite being a Sunday the park out the front was alive with people enjoying the sunshine, and their children enjoying the pools and fountains.
I was just thinking that the towers didn't seem as large as I expected when suddenly someone was plummeting from near the top. They passed the connecting bridge half-way up and the stopped with a jerk as their parachute opened. A base jumper. Over the next half-hour another dozen or so came down as they held a competition for who can land the closest to a mark on the ground. Sometimes it seemed like they were competing for who could go closest to the bridge whilst still free-falling. It was scary even from the ground.
Eventually high winds put a halt to the competition so I wound my way back across town to see the quite new Islamic Art Museum. Quite impressive, not least for the quality of their air-conditioning.
Finally I headed back to Chinatown and had a celebratory beer for my birthday. It came in at 8 Ringgit (happy hour prices) which just made me realise how cheap the accomodation is.
Tomorrow I'm off to Taman Negara National Park. At 130 million years of age possibly the oldest forest on the planet. It's near the east coast and it's much wetter over there (they keep mentioning "monsoon") but they don't call it rainforest for nothing.
Singapore.
After a three overnight buses in four days to get from Java to Sumatra then by ferry to Singapore I didn't take much convincing to stay in Singapore for a few more days and relax.
The transition from Indonesia is remarkable: from rough roads, maniacal drivers and dirt and rubbish everywhere; to smooth freeways, pleasant drivers and not so much as a speck of dirt.
Despite the mainly non-Christian population Christmas is still big business here. The main shopping drag of Orchard Rd had more lights than I've every seen before. Christmas day itself was a fairly laid back affair, most people just taking advantage of the public holiday.
It was nice to spend a day not thinking about travelling and the next destination, but I'm off again tomorrow to Malaysia and back on the trail.
After 16 days travel across Bali, Java, and Sumatra, here are a few things I noticed:
* No tourists! A combination of the time of year (wet season), the Bali bombing and other terrorist activities, SARS and the general decline in travel, and the worldwide recession have led to very low numbers of tourists and travellers.
In many places that I stayed I was the only person. At most there was one other couple. Most tourist sites had many more Indonesians than foreigners.
In some ways Bali is the worst hit. Despite still having the most foreigners the numbers are way down on years past. And the 90% Australian ratios of the past seem unlikely to be repeated in the future. Outside of Kuta I didn't see a single Australian.
* Volcanoes everywhere. Especially in Bali and Java, there are always two or three big volcanoes looming over you, if you can see them through the mist.
* Nothing ever dries properly. It's just too humid.
* By rights everyone should be dead in a car crash. They drive like maniacs. I don't know how I survived.
* But best of all, everyone is really friendly, especially those not trying to sell you something. I've never seen so many smiles.
Borobudur, Java, Indonesia.
Another early morning rise to visit Borobudur, the Buddhist temple in Central Java and probably Indonesia's biggest tourist site.
Ideal would have been to have climbed the temple for sunrise but that was at 5:15am and the site doesn't open until 6. I met a Canadian guy who was travelling a little in Indonesia before heading to Australia and we both waited for the gates to open. A handful of other foreigners could be seen here and there. The occupants of five tour coaches outside were nowhere to be seen.
Once inside we headed straight for the temple and climbed to the top to see some of the classic angles whilst the sun was still low in the sky and the mist was thick on the ground in the distance. Given the large number of stalls outside we expected to see a lot more people but, like most places I had visited, tourist numbers seem to be very low at present.
We enjoyed the quiet and the changing light for a time, with only a few other people around, before descended to the ground to check out the whole structure. The temple is built as a sort of pyramid, with nine levels in total describing the route from earthly imperfection at the base, to heavenly nirvana at the top, by way of a series of detailed reliefs. We circled each level, admiring the reliefs and the myriad Buddha sculptures as we went.
It was now getting a little later, may 9am, and the occupants of the tour buses were revealed to be a large number of Indonesian high school students, out on an excursion. It wasn't long before one asked if we could pose with a group of them in a photo. Sure, we said. No problem. Of course then multiple cameras are produced and a huge photo shoot ensues. No sooner is that one finished and we start to go our separate ways than another group emerges from around a corner and the whole thing is repeated. We would sometimes see a group slowly coming in the distance, quietly practising amongst themselves "Can we take your photo?", only to collapse in fits of giggling once the question had to be posed for real. In the end we must have been in 20 or 30 photos and the students would have something really exotic to show their friends back home. Much better than a dull temple.
Gunung Bromo, Java, Indonesia.
I manage to wake at 3am for the walk to the viewpoint. The village is on the edge of a large crater, maybe four km across. In the middle of this are two smaller craters. A perfect cone which is dormant, and another, smaller cone which is mildly active, sending steam high in to the air. The viewpoint is further around the edge of the outside crater, a little higher up than the village.
I initally follow a road out of the village. Slowly climbing higher. After about an hour the road stops and a track continues on, much more steeply. I follow this for some time further before reaching a small viewpoint with a couple of concrete shelters. It's not quite at the summit but I can climb on top of the shelters and get a good view above the trees. There's barely a sound apart from the occasional distant 4wd, taking people from the other side to a different point.
In time the sun rises and I'm greeted by a spectacular view of the large crater below, the two new cones inside it, the left one sending out a thick stream of steam, and the much larger Gunung Semeru in the distance. As the sun rises a little higher I am suddenly rewarded with a huge blast of smoke and steam from Gunung Semeru. It's too distant to hear but the plume is hugely impressive.
I stand for a while longer, enjoying the changing light on richly green crater walls and the thick mist rolling back forth before deciding to venture back down to the village. It is now a little after 6am and the local farmers have all started to stir and there is some life on the road back.
A quick breakfast back at the hostel then it's on to the second part of the expedition. Down into the large crater and up the active central cone. Horses are a popular way for tourists to make the descent and cross the 2km or so of fine volcanic sand to reach the centre. The locals couldn't understand why I'd want to walk. By the time I reached the crater and climbed the 246 steps to the top I was getting a little tired but the view in to the crater, to the sulphur-lined central vent from which the smoke and steam was erupting, was well worth the effort. I was easy to see how this place became a religious site and you could imagine the vent descending deep into the very core of the earth.
I walked around the edge for a little way before deciding that a complete circumnavigation was probably a bit unwise. It looked a little perilous on the far side. I instead contented myself with watching the thick smoke rise and swirl around, hiding and revealing the deep sulphur walls.
Eventually I headed back to check out of the hostel and catch a bemo back down in to Probolinggo. Just as I was leaving a bemo-jockey rushed me down the road and quickly loaded my backpack on the roof, along with half-a-dozen trussed chickens. This is good, I thought, should be going soon. I hopped in and saw four others already on board, including the driver. No activity for a while then one by one everyone got off. I stayed on in the vain hope that this would speed things up. All quiet for ten minutes then suddenly the driver jumps in and starts the engine. Everyone else quickly jumps in as well then we sit there for five minutes with the engine running. Finally, after a brief bit of maneuvering ten metres up and down the street the engine goes off, everyone gets out again and we are back to where we started. Such are the joys of travel.
Cemoro Lawang, Java, Indonesia.
My destination today is the active volcano of Gunung Bromo on the eastern end of Java. I started early from the small town of Negara in Bali and headed towards the port at Gilimanuk. The local bus stops a couple of kilometres short of the ferry terminal so the last stretch was on the back of a Vespa-style motorbike (ojek in local parlance), full backpack and all.
The ferry trip was pretty short. The only trouble was trying to convince the shoeshine boy that black polish was not the best choice for my hiking boots. Then there was a four hour bus trip to Probolinggo. Being a large and somewhat official looking bus, with receipts and everything, I somewhat foolishly figured that they'd quote proper prices. After forking over my 75000Rp (about $12) I was told by a fellow passenger that I was charged about double. As it was I didn't mind too much since my backpack was taking up one seat.
At the bus terminal in Probolinggo I was immediately pounced on by a ticket agent offering a mini-bus to Cemoro Lawang for 7500Rp. I tell him that I'll just get some food and come back and as there is no protest from him (the usual "you buy now!") I figure it much be the right price. He is also offering buses to Solo, my next destination much further away, for 85000Rp. I tell him I'll think about that one.
Well, it was a scam of sorts as it turns out. The time comes and goes for the bus to Cemoro Lawang and no sign of activity from my friend. Eventually he motions for me to follow and we come to another man who explains "charter", meaning a chartered car. "Where is the bus?", I ask. "No bus", he replies. "How much for this?". "20000Rp". "I don't think so". I leave and head to the array of Colts, small Mitsubushi Colt vans converted to mini-buses. I immediately hear "Bromo?". "How much?", I ask. "10000Rp". I try for 7500Rp but no luck. Given the size of the backpack I don't mind.
The backpack goes up top, I squeeze inside, and we're off. A quick count reveals 25 people in a van who's real capacity is maybe twelve, at a squeeze. We go hurtling down the street at some unknown speed, the speedo is broken and has a huge sticker over it in any case. In fact, all the instruments appear to be broken. At least the horn works. Often.
A few kilometres down the road we amazingly pick up another passenger. The driver's assistant gives up his position hanging out the open side door and holds on even further out.
We climb higher and higher, heading up into a thick mist. Passengers get on and off at the myriad of small villages dotting the hillside. A light rain starts to fall and the assistant jumps up on the roof to put a tarp over my pack whilst the driver continues to hurtle along the narrow road hugging the mountainside.
Two hours later we reach the summit, the village of Cemoro Lawang perched on the very edge of the volcano. I decide to first check out the Lava View Lodge. Sounds promising. Unfortunately they chose to put the car park at the viewpoint, and the rooms slightly back down the hill. I decide instead to go to the much cheaper Cafe Lava, also with no view. I choose a simple room, which feels like a monk's cell but costs only 25000Rp, about $4. I won't be there long, tomorrow morning I have to be up at 3am to get to the lookout for sunrise. Aye Carumba!
Sydney, Australia.
The whole trip almost stopped before it started. After six months of painstaking preparation I was out at the airport and ready to go. Anita was coming along for the first few days in Bali and had arranged my tickets at a bit of a discount through her work. All was in place until...
"Excuse me sir. Do you have your onward ticket? This is only one-way."
I knew that I needed a return ticket, or at least some ticket out of the country but the guy that issued the ticket apparently did not. I hadn't bothered to check. I just assumed it was a return. This could be a problem.
I explained that I intended to leave via the ferry to Singapore and so didn't have another flight but I was beginning to see the signs of "I'm sorry, those are the rules and we can't change them". A hasty conference with a colleague suggested that I could buy an onward ticket at the airport in Bali, before immigration. This sounded highly dubious to me but it was enough to let them let me on the aircraft.
Once in Bali there was no sign of any such ticket counter and I was carefully studying my guidebook to make sure I could plausibly say all the possible exit ports near Singapore. Naturally enough, once I fronted immigration there was no more than a quick glance at my passport and a stamp and I was waved in to the country. First obstacle overcome.